Fidelma guided her mare carefully along the pathway. Eadulf, even in his saddle, could feel the springy surface beneath the hooves of his colt and he prayed that the horse would not stumble from the path and precipitate him into the dark mire on either side. The young horse had been chosen for him by Fidelma, who was an excellent judge of horseflesh. She had chosen the colt not because of its youth but because it was one of the most docile beasts in her brother’s stable and she knew that Eadulf was not the most expert of horsemen.
They emerged from the waving reeds onto a lush, green embankment, whose turf was still exceptionally springy. Before them was the broad stretch of the River Suir.
Eadulf regarded the fast-flowing water, bubbling with yellow froth over and around the stony surface, with disquiet.
‘How deep is it?’
Fidelma gave him a smile of encouragement. ‘It will come up to the chest of your horse. Give the animal a free rein and do not try to guide it. The colt has good sense. It will pick its own way through the shallows. I will go first.’
Without another word, she nudged her mare into the waters. The animal was nervous at first, shaking its head and rolling its eyes. Then it began to move forward, placing its feet carefully, stumbling once or twice but recovering. By the time it was in mid-stream, the frothing waters had reached its chest and were swirling over Fidelma’s s lower legs.
She turned in the saddle and waved Eadulf to come forward.
Eadulf looked at the wild, surging, white water and was almost paralysed with anxiety. He was aware of Fidelma waving urgentlyat him to start the crossing and he found his hands trembling. He did not want to cross that violent fluctuating deluge. He was aware of Fidelma’s eyes upon him and he did not have courage enough to admit his cowardice.
Chapter Seven
Uttering up a prayer, Eadulf urged his sorrel into the waters and in his nervousness he made the horse respond too quickly. The hind legs slipped in the mud and Eadulf thought he was going to be thrown. He clung on for dear life and the colt, snorting and panting, managed to recover and find the rocky shallow. Eadulf let his reins go limp and simply sat with closed eyes, trying to imagine himself safely across.
Now and then the horse jolted him in the saddle as it struggled to find firm footing. Then the icy cold waters of the river were lapping at his feet and then his lower legs up to his knees. Suddenly, turbulent water swept over him at waist level, causing him to gasp with the shock of it. He clutched tightly at the saddle pommel. Then the horse rose above the water level again and he dared open his eyes to find himself only a few yards from the far bank. Fidelma was already there, sitting slightly forward in her saddle, awaiting him.
With a surge of energy, the animal scrambled up the bank and came to a halt beside her.
Eadulf was enough of a horseman to reach forward and pat the animal’s neck in gratitude.
‘We’d best put some distance between ourselves and this place,’ Fidelma advised. ‘The sooner we reach Imleach, the better.’
‘How about a moment to dry ourselves? I am soaked from the waist down,’ protested Eadulf.
‘Don’t bother, we might have to go swimming again. There is a smaller stream to cross, the Fidhaghta. And if the Uí Fidgente have left more warriors at the Well of Ara, which is the main ford across the river, we might be in trouble again.’
Eadulf groaned loudly.
‘How far is the Well of Ara?’
‘No more than seven miles. We will be there shortly.’
She turned and moved off into the surrounding woodland, heading directly westward. Without turning to see whether Eadulf was following she called over her shoulder: ‘The path broadens here and we can canter for a while.’
She pressed her heels into the side of her mount and the powerful white mare surged forward in response. So eager was its stride that Fidelma had to shorten her rein to ensure the horse stayed at a steady canter.
Eadulf followed close behind, bobbing up and down in his saddle, his sodden clothing making him feel more miserable and uncomfortable than he had felt in his life.
It seemed an eternity before they came to a small rise where the road dipped towards another substantial river which bent almost at a right angle at a point where there was a cluster of buildings along its banks. The river seemed to flow from west to east and then turn directly south.
‘That is the Well of Ara.’ Fidelma smiled in satisfaction. ‘That is the crossing point and Imleach lies some miles further on. We can follow the north bank of the river for a while. I can’t see any of Gionga’s warriors there, though.’
Eadulf sniffed in his discomfiture. ‘There are buildings there and smoke. Can’t we rest and dry out?’
Fidelma glanced up at the sky. ‘We will not have long. We must be at Imleach before dark. However, if there are no warriors of the Ui Fidgente warriors hanging around, there is a tavern at the crossing where you may change or dry your clothes.’
Without more ado she led the way down the hill towards the group of buildings that straddled both sides of the water. Here the water crossed shallows but nowhere as dangerous nor turbulent as the crossing of the Suir.
A couple of boys were sitting on the river bank, casting a line into the waters. Fidelma approached just as one was lifting a wild, brown trout which he brought triumphantly to the bank.
‘A good catch,’ called Fidelma appreciatively as she halted her horse.
The boy, no more than eleven, smiled indifferently. ‘I have made better, Sister,’ he replied solemnly, in deference to her habit.
‘I don’t doubt it,’ she replied. ‘Tell me, do you live here?’
‘Here, where else?’ replied the child in a worldly manner.
‘Are there strangers in your village?’
‘There were strangers last night. The Prince of the Uí Fidgente, so my father says. He and his men. But they left this morning when the great King from Cashel arrived to meet them.’
‘But there are no strangers left in the village now?’
‘No. They all went to Cashel.’
‘Good. We are obliged to you.’
Fidelma turned her mare and moved on towards the river, wavingEadulf forward. The waters barely came up to the fetlocks of the horses as they crossed the waters of the Ara and reached the far bank. It was not difficult to spot the tavern for it lay exactly by the ford with its swinging sign outside the door.
Thankfully, Eadulf slid from the saddle and hitched the reins to a convenient post. He removed his saddle bag in which he had a change of dry clothing, hoping to find time to change into something warmer.
As he was doing so, the door of the tavern opened and an elderly man came out.
‘Greetings, travellers, you are most …’ The man stopped short as his eyes fell on Fidelma. A smile of welcome broke over his features and he hurried forward to help her from her horse.
‘It is good to see you, lady. Why, it was only this morning that your brother was here to …’
‘To meet with Donennach of the Uí Fidgente,’ rejoined Fidelma, recognising the man with a friendly smile. ‘I know, good Aona. It is a long time since I have seen you.’
The man beamed in pleasure that she had remembered his name. ‘I have not seen you since you were celebrating the attainment of the age of choice. Why, that must have been twelve years or more ago.’
‘It was a long time ago, Aona.’
‘Long, indeed, and yet you recall my name.’
‘You were ever a loyal follower of my family. It would be a bad member of the Eóghanacht who did not remember the name of Aona, one-time captain of the guard of Cashel. I heard that you had decided to retire to run a wayside tavern. I had not realised it was this one.’
