Atonement of Blood (29 page)

They were silent for a moment or two and then Eadulf said, ‘Nevertheless, there is something going on that is dark and mysterious.’

‘I agree and I am not abandoning the search for answers to the question. I merely think that it is time to part company with Conrí and Socht. That is why I am pretending to go directly to Fidaig’s territory, before returning to Cashel.’

‘Wouldn’t that alarm Conrí and Cúana if they are involved in this?’

‘It would alarm them more if we said that we had given up our search and were heading directly back to Cashel. Then they would know that we are suspicious. So I let them think we are heading to the mountains of the Luachra to search for more information.’

‘So we are to see this millwright, Marban, on the way back?’

‘That is the idea,’ she smiled. ‘We must ensure that we keep our wits about us at all times.’

There came a soft tap on the door. Eadulf and Fidelma exchanged a quick look of surprise before Eadulf moved to the door and unlatched it.

It was the girl Ciarnat. She looked nervous. She pushed quickly by Eadulf, who then peered out into the passageway. There was no one about and so he shut the door behind her.

Fidelma smiled encouragingly at the girl. ‘You want to see me?’ She patted the bed beside her. ‘Come – sit down and tell me all about it.’

‘I should not have told you about Marban,’ the girl blurted out.

‘Why not? Is he not the relative of Escmug? Did you not tell me the truth?’

The girl hesitated. ‘I do not want to get into trouble, lady.’

‘You will be in no trouble if you have told me the truth.’

Ciarnat bit her lower lip.

‘One of the attendants told me of some of the conversation at the feasting table. The steward has denied knowing about Marban.’

‘Why do you think he did that?’ Eadulf asked quickly.

The girl looked uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know. Cúana knew Marban well enough. I think that I should not have mentioned Marban, for now it seems as if I was not telling the truth.’

‘Or that the steward was not telling the truth?’ Fidelma pointed out.

Ciarnat looked confused.

‘Are you saying that Cúana knew that Marban was a relative of Escmug?’ asked Fidelma gently.

‘Why, everyone knows that.’ She caught herself. ‘I mean …’

‘I know what you mean,’ Fidelma said brightly. ‘Don’t worry. He shall not learn from me that you told us about Marban. However, if everyone knows this fact, we could have learned it from anyone. It is curious that Cúana does not wish us to know it.’

Ciarnat sat looking unhappy.

‘Since you knew Aibell, tell us something about her,’ invited Fidelma.

‘There’s little enough to tell. We were young girls growing up together. We explored and played together – but that was only when Aibell’s father was away working. He had a boat and often went fishing, and sometimes that kept him away for a time. These were the happy times, for when he was at home he was usually drunk.’

‘But during happy times, how was it?’

Ciarnat smiled. ‘It was good. Aibell was a great friend.’

‘What of Aibell’s mother, Liamuin? What was she like?’

‘She was young and attractive. But she was a sad person.’

‘Was she now?’ Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘Was she younger than Escmug? I know it might be difficult to say, as a child is not a good judge of age.’

‘Oh, but I do know. Escmug was evil and old. Liamuin was young, and many a man would have willingly exchanged places with him. I heard men speaking. I did not understand much then, but I remember what they said.’

‘So she was attractive and what did Aibell think of her?’

‘She loved her mother and it was not one-sided for Liamuin was Aibell’s only protection against her father. Aibell would often appear with a bruise or two. After her mother disappeared, things were very bad for Aibell.’

‘When was this?’

‘About the time I came to the age of choice. That was …’ she frowned ‘… four years ago, just after the great Battle at Cnoc Áine.’

‘Did you think it odd that Liamuin disappeared and left Aibell?’

‘I did. It was known that Liamuin loved poor Aibell and that she would never have left her behind at the mercy of Escmug. He drank more than ever and treated Aibell like … like …’ She ended with a shiver. ‘I cannot say the words.’

‘But Aibell’s mother did run away.’

‘True. Everyone hoped that she had run away and found somewhere safe, but few places were safe at that time.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Eadulf asked, curious.

‘For six months after the defeat of our army at Cnoc Áine, we had warriors of the King of Cashel quartered throughout the clan lands, and many of our nobles who had sided with Eoganán decided to flee rather than live under their orders. They took to the fastnesses and fought in small bands. Eventually, they accepted defeat and Prince Donennach made a treaty with Cashel. Things became better after that.’

‘But not at first?’ asked Fidelma.

The girl was uncomfortable. ‘Begging your pardon, lady, most of the Eóghanacht treated us fairly but there was one man, the commander, Uallach of Áine, who believed all Uí Fidgente should be treated no better than animals. He was eventually killed in an ambush. Then the treaty with Cashel was agreed.’

It was Eadulf who suddenly posed the question. ‘Did the King of Cashel, did Colgú ever come to this place during that time?’

Ciarnat stared at him in bewilderment. ‘Why would he do so?’

‘I meant, after the Battle at Cnoc Áine, when Eoganán was defeated, I am told Eóghanacht warriors were quartered in all parts of the Uí Fidgente territory. Did Colgú come here?’

Ciarnat shook her head. ‘I never heard that he was in this part of the country. He never came here to visit Prince Donennach. Donennach always had to go to him.’

There was a sound outside in the corridor. They stopped speaking and heard footsteps, the slap of leather shoes on wooden boards. The girl rose nervously. She waited until the steps faded.

‘I must go. I have said more than I intended. I don’t want to get into trouble.’

‘Then say nothing further to anyone,’ Fidelma advised with a reassuring smile, ‘and you will not get into any trouble. We shall be gone in the morning.’

The girl paused at the door. ‘If ever you find out what happened to Aibell and you can tell me, I would like to know. She was once my friend.’ Then she disappeared, closing the door quietly behind her.

H
ad Ciarnat not given them specific directions, Fidelma and her companions would never have found the mill of Marban. They had left the fortress as dawn was breaking over the distant eastern hills and begun to move south along the western bank of the river, whose path continued to frequently twist and change. It was Gormán who indicated where they should turn westward, following what appeared to be an insignificant watercourse that had entered the main flow of the waterway.

He was quietly confident, saying, ‘We need to look for a rocky place – that is, if the name An Cregáin indicates the terrain.’

They could smell the cornmill before they came to it: it was the aroma of corn drying in the kilns in preparation for the grinding. Most mills would have large kilns or ovens which were called
sorn-na hátha
, heated by wood. These required skill to work. If the person looking after them was lax and the ovens overheated or caught fire, then the corn would be burned and ruined. In some rural parts Eadulf had seen a more primitive form of drying which was done by roasting the corn on the ear. The person in charge would set fire to the ear and then watch for the right moment when the outer husk or chaff was burned but before it had a chance to reach the grain. It was then that the burning chaff was struck off, using a stick.

The mill seemed to be well-hidden. They followed the smell of the drying corn along a small path through the trees, emerging from the treeline onto some high rocky ground, where they caught sight of the mill. It was a watermill, situated by a stream, a millpond before it and a spring behind it. To one side were storehouses and beyond them, at some distance, were two large stonebuilt kilns with smoke billowing and men checking the corn that was being fed into them or turning it to heat it evenly. There were several workers at the mill, which was clearly a large and important one.

Suddenly, one of the men spotted them; laying aside his fork, he came over to meet them. His eyes swept over them, taking in their clothes and lingering a moment on Gormán and his gold torc.

‘Is this the mill of Marban?’ Fidelma enquired.

‘It is, indeed, lady,’ replied the other with a courteous bow.

‘Are you Marban?’

‘I am not. Marban is in his millhouse. Shall I summon him?’

‘No, we will go to him,’ Fidelma answered as she dismounted. Gormán remained with the horses while Eadulf accompanied her to the mill. They had not reached the door when it opened. A giant of a man appeared. He was shirtless but with a leather apron covering his great chest and leaving his muscular tanned arms bare. He had a large head, covered with a mass of dark red hair, and a large bristling beard. His arrogant light blue eyes were half-covered by drooping lids. He gazed at them with a truculent expression.

‘Are you Marban?’ asked Fidelma.

The man did not reply immediately. If anything he seemed to intensify his scrutiny of her.

‘I am Marban the miller,’ he finally conceded. ‘I do not know you, lady. You travel with a foreign religieux but I see you also travel with a warrior of the Golden Collar,’ he indicated Gormán, still seated astride his horse behind them. ‘Further, I see you wear the same golden collar round your neck. That means you are an Eóghanacht.’

‘You have a sharp eye, Marban the miller.’

‘A man with poor eyesight is no judge of cows on the distant hill.’

‘’Tis true for you. But we come in peace, my friend.’

‘Then you may go in peace.’

Fidelma glanced around. The workmen had not stopped their tasks but she was aware that eyes were watching them, noting their every move.

‘You are wary, my friend. What ails you?’ she demanded softly.

Marban eased his weight from one foot to the other.

‘You may recall that you are in Uí Fidgente country, lady. As yet I do not know who you are but the golden collar denotes where you come from.’

‘Then know, Marban, I am Fidelma of Cashel, sister to Colgú.’

The big man’s eyes narrowed further. He shifted his weight once again.

‘There has been some talk of you in these parts,’ he admitted. ‘You are a Brehon. It was also said that you were married to a foreigner.’ He glanced towards Eadulf.

‘I hope you will also have heard that I am a
dálaigh
,’ Fidelma said quietly. ‘And you will know that you must answer when I put questions to you.’

Marban’s mouth was barely discernible through his bristling beard but there was a movement of the facial muscles that might have indicated a smile.

‘I have no fear of lawyers, lady. This is my own mill and I block no one’s access to the water supply. Those farms about me have their fill. The mill has been assessed according to the eight parts as listed in the
Senchus Mór
, and anyone who is injured in the working of the mill is compensated according to the direction of the
Book of Aicill
. Sometimes accidents happen and the proper assignment of liability is provided for in accordance with the instruction of the local Brehon.’

Fidelma hid her amusement. ‘You seem to know much about your rights and obligations under the law, Marban. Perhaps you are a lawyer, too?’

The big man shook his mane of hair. ‘Not I.’

Eadulf was looking puzzled so Fidelma explained quickly: ‘The law lists the eight components of the mill and the legal construction of them.’ She turned back to the miller. ‘Are you often in need of a Brehon?’

‘No, not often, because Prince Donennach rules in justice.’

‘Ah? So you approve of Prince Donennach?’

‘He has done much to save our territory from devastation,’ replied the miller gruffly.

‘From devastation … from the warriors of Cashel?’ Fidelma’s voice was almost teasing.

‘I have told you, lady, that you are in the territory of the Uí Fidgente.’

‘I understand.’

‘I don’t think you truly do,’ countered the miller. ‘When our warriors suffered defeat on Cnoc Áine, our people were shattered. Your brother’s warriors came among us to make sure that we continued to be weak enough not to challenge Cashel again. Many of those leaders who had supported Prince Eoganán and his vain attempt to gain the kingdom were dead or fled. For a while we were without order and law – unless it was the order of your brother’s warriors and their law.’

‘You cannot expect us to feel sympathy for the Uí Fidgente who unwisely followed Eoganán on his foolish venture to overthrow Colgú and who, being justly defeated, were also justly punished,’ Eadulf intervened. ‘I myself was taken off a ship on the high seas and sent as a slave to work in the copper mines which were being used by Torcán, the son of Eoganán, to trade for men and arms. Eoganán and his son were not so concerned about the treatment they gave to those they intended to conquer so I shall not feel much sympathy either.’