communication among Gulban’s people.
‘I believe that Ross trades regularly along the coast,’ she replied.
‘I would have thought there was little trade to be had on Dóirse. It is a bleak, windswept island,’ Adnár observed.
‘I am not acquainted with the trading conditions along this coast,’ Fidelma responded.
There was a movement and some servants entered to clear away the dishes and presented a variety of new dishes for dessert with apples, honey, and nuts of many varieties.
‘We do a good trade in copper from our mines near here,’ offered Olcán as he helped himself to more wine.
Fidelma was pretending to examine the dish of nuts but she had the impression that Torcán was gazing at her as if trying to examine her reactions.
‘I have heard that there are many copper mines in this district.’ It was better to stick to truth as far as it was possible. ‘Do you do much foreign trade?’
‘Gaulish ships sometimes come and trade wine for copper,’ Adnár answered.
Fidelma raised her goblet as if in toast.
‘It seems a good exchange,’ she smiled. ‘Especially if this wine is anything to go by.’
Adnár deflected any further questions by offering her more wine.
‘How is your brother, our king?’ Torcán asked the question abruptly.
At once Fidelma felt a new tension around the table. She was suddenly on her guard wondering if the stories that Ross had picked up were true. She had been wondering how to raise this topic without alerting suspicion. She must be careful.
‘My brother Colgú? I have not seen him since the judgment at Ros Ailithir.’
‘Ah yes; my father was there,’ replied Olcán helping himself to an apple.
‘As was mine,’ Torcán added coldly. ‘I hear that Colgú claims many grand new plans for Muman.’
Fidelma was dismissive.
‘I have seen my brother only the one time since he became king at Cashel,’ she said. ‘My community is at Kildare, at the house of the Blessed Brigit. I have not interested myself in the affairs of Muman very much.’
‘Ah,’ the syllable was a soft breath from Torcán.
Olcán turned a now somewhat bleary eye towards her.
‘But you were at Ros Ailithir when the Loígde assembly rejected my father’s claims for chieftainship and hailed Bran Finn Mael Ochtraighe as chieftain?’
Fidelma admitted as much.
‘That upset my father greatly. You know all about Bran Finn, of course?’
She detected that the others had become uneasy.
‘Who has not?’ she replied. ‘He has a reputation as a poet and a warrior.’
‘My father, Gulban, thinks he is an usurper.’
‘Olcán!’ Torcán turned with a warning look on the young man who was clearly the worse for his wine.
‘I hope he will prove a better chieftain than Salbach,’ Fidelma rejoined.
She saw Adnár cast what appeared to be a warning glance at Torcán, nodding in the direction of Olcán, before turning with a bland smile to Fidelma.
‘I am sure he will,’ the chieftain of Dún Boí assured her. ‘He has the good wishes of the people behind him, as does your brother Colgú. Isn’t that so, Torcán?’
‘Not so, according to my father, Gulban,’ muttered Olcán.
‘Ignore him, Sister Fidelma,’ Torcán said. ‘The wine is in, the wit is out.’
‘Of course,’ Fidelma said gravely but the words of the old Roman proverb had come to mind;
Torcán raised his head.
‘Indeed, we hope to be in Cashel soon to give our allegiance to Colgú personally.’
Olcán suddenly spluttered into his goblet, spilling some of the contents over him. He began coughing fiercely.
‘Something … something went down the wrong way,’ he gasped, looking sheepishly around him.
Torcán, with a frown, handed him some water to drink.
‘It is evident that you have drunk enough wine this evening,’ he reproved sharply.
But Fidelma was rising, realising the lateness of the hour.
‘It is near midnight. I must return to the abbey.’
Must you go?’ Torcán was pleasantry personified. ‘Adnárhere prides himself on his musicians and we have yet to listen to their accomplishments.’
‘Thank you, but I must return.’
Adnár waved to a servant to come forward and issued whispered instructions.
‘I have ordered the boat to take you back. Perhaps you will come and listen to my musicians some other time?’
‘That I will,’ replied Fidelma as an attendant brought her shoes and helped her fasten her cloak around her shoulders.
As the boat pulled away from the jetty of Dún Boí into the darkness of the night, Fidelma felt a relief to be out of the dark, brooding walls of the fortress. She had a feeling that she had passed along a knife edge between safety and extreme peril.
Chapter Fourteen
The echoing tones of the gong proclaiming the midnight hour reverberated clearly from the tower of the abbey. Fidelma, her woollen cloak trimmed with beaver fur wrapped tightly around her, moved silently through the white shrouded woods. The newly-laid snow crunched crisply under her feet and her breath hung like a mist before her as the cold air caught it. In spite of the hour, the night was made bright by a full, rounded moon, which had appeared between the clouds, and whose rays sparkled against the snowy carpet below.
She was sure that no one had seen her leave the guests’ hostel and make her way silently out of the abbey grounds into the surrounding woods. She had paused once or twice to look back but nothing seemed to be stirring in the deathly quiet of the night. She moved rapidly now, her breath coming in pants, the cold air causing her to make more exertion than normal.
She was reassured when she heard the soft whinny of horses ahead of her and, after a minute or two, she saw the animals with Ross and Odar holding their reins.
‘Excellently done, Ross!’ she greeted him breathlessly.
‘Is all well, sister?’ the sailor asked anxiously. ‘Did anyone see you leaving the abbey?’
She shook her head.
‘Let us move out straight away for I believe that we have much to do this night.’
Odar came forward and assisted her into the saddle of adark mare. Then Ross and Odar swung on to their mounts. Ross led the way for he apparently knew the direction to be taken. Fidelma came next with Odar bringing up the rear.
‘Where did you get the horses from?’ Fidelma asked approvingly, as they moved slowly along the forest track. She was a good judge of horses.
‘Odar traded for them.’
‘A small farmer not far from here. A man named Barr,’ Odar supplied gruffly. ‘His farm seems to be prospering since the last time I had business with him. He could not afford horses then. I have paid him for a night’s use of the animals.’
‘Barr?’ Fidelma frowned. ‘I seem to have heard that name before. No matter. Oh, yes,’ she suddenly recalled. ‘I know now. And has Barr found his missing daughter?’
