‘I am told that you had a guest here last night.’
‘Yes.’
‘A man from the ráth? Thick-set. Wearing fine clothes with his head in a tonsure … cut in the fashion of my friend here?’
‘What of it?’ Nemon made no attempt to disguise the fact.
‘When did he come?’
‘Late. After midnight, I believe. I had to dispense with two customers to accommodate him.’
‘Why?’
‘He paid me.’
‘Yet a stranger … would you not have been better served to continue with your local clients than serve a stranger who might visit you only once?’
Nemon sniffed.
‘True enough. But Murgal was with him and told me that I would not lose by it.’
‘Murgal?’
‘Yes. He brought the man to me. Solin was the man’s name. I remember now.’
‘And Murgal the Druid to Laisre brought the man from the ráth to you and asked you to … to bestow your favours on him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did Murgal give you a reason why you should do this?’
‘Do you think that people give me reasons for what they do? I ask no questions so long as I receive money for my services.’
‘Have you known Murgal long?’
‘He is my foster-father. He looks after me.’
‘Your foster-father? And he looks after you?’ Fidelma’s voice took on an air of cynicism. ‘Have you known any other life but the one you now pursue?’
Nemon laughed disdainfully.
‘You are disapproving? Do you think I should be like Ronan’s woman across the yard there? Look at her, a woman who is younger than I am but who looks old enough to be my mother. Old before her time because she is condemned to go out into the fields at the crack of dawn and milk the cows while her husband lies in a drunken slumber. She has to plough fields and dig and sow and harvest while he rides about pretending to be a great warrior, not a lord, as he claims, but merely a sub-chieftain of this pitiful collection of hovels. No, I want no other life than the one I have. At least I sleep in fine linen sheets and for as long as I like.’
The derision on the woman’s face was plain.
‘Yet I notice that you have a small farm to run,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘There are cows outside to be milked. Who does your work if you do not?’
Nemon screwed up her face in an ugly gesture.
‘I only keep them because they are money. I would sell them tomorrow if the price was right. They are too much hard work. But, as I said, this valley is mainly a place of barter, so I must expect cows, goats, chickens, eggs and the like in place of coins.’
‘Thank you for speaking with us,’ Fidelma abruptly said, rising to leave.
‘No thanks are necessary. You paid me for my time. Come again, if you need more conversation.’
Outside the cabin of Nemon, Eadulf exchanged a wry look with Fidelma.
‘Do you think that Murgal was appeasing Brother Solin in some way?’
Fidelma looked speculative as she considered the question.
‘You mean, he bribed him? He used Nemon to put Solin in a good mood in order to take part in this morning’s play-acting at the council meeting?’
Eadulf nodded.
‘Perhaps,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Perhaps Brother Solin simply cannot resist the comfort that a woman like Nemon can provide. Maybe heasked Murgal where he might find such comfort. Murgal seems to have ideas in that direction himself.’
‘You refer to the incident with Marga, the apothecary?’
Fidelma did not reply but mounted her horse.
Bairsech, the wife of Ronan, was still standing outside her door, her broad arms folded, and watching them with intense dislike as, together, they began to ride slowly away from the group of farm buildings over the bridge in the direction of the ráth.
‘I wonder if Ultan of Armagh knows that his secretary is the sort of person to visit a woman of the flesh?’ mused Eadulf.
Fidelma was serious.
‘I doubt it. Ultan is in favour of the new ideas emanating from Rome on the celibacy of clergy.’
‘It will never catch on,’ Eadulf averred. ‘It is true that there are always going to be some aesthetics but for all the clergy of the Faith to take such vows is demanding too much of human beings.’
Fidelma gave him a sideways glance.
‘I thought you approved of the idea?’
Eadulf coloured but did not answer.
‘Well, at least we have solved the mystery of where Brother Solin was last night,’ he said hurriedly.
‘Yes, but not why. We will have to keep a watch on both Murgal and our Brother Solin.’
Eadulf sighed.
‘All I want, at the moment, is to be able to stretch out and sleep until my head stops pounding.’
Chapter Nine
They rode slowly back to the ráth. There were only a few people about. It being midday, most had retired for the midday meal. Eadulf was still moaning about his headache and Fidelma, finally taking pity on him, suggested that he go straight to the hostel while she stabled the horses. He received the suggestion without demur and he left her outside the stables and made his way across the stone-flagged courtyard. Fidelma led the two horses inside and took them to the far stalls which were the only empty ones. There was no sign of the two boys who usually looked after the stables but it did not take her long to unsaddle the horses and provide them with fodder and water.
She was bending in the stalls to retrieve the discarded saddle bags when she heard someone enter the stable. She was about to stand up when she heard Brother Solin’s voice speaking in a defensive tone. She hesitated for a moment and then some instinct made her sink back to her knees behind the cover of the stall’s panels.
There were two voices. It was easy to recognise the sibilant wheezy tones of Brother Solin but she could not recognise the second voice. It was young and masculine. What made her hesitate in identifying herself was the fact that this second voice also spoke in a northern accent. She edged carefully to the entrance of the stall and managed a quick glance around its shelter. Brother Solin and a young man were standing just inside the doors of the stable. She darted back behind the cover of the wooden stall.
‘There,’ came Brother Solin’s tones, ‘at least we can be unobserved.’
‘It matters not whether we are observed or not,’ replied the younger voice. There was anger in his tone.
‘On the contrary,’ Brother Solin replied suavely, ‘if anyone here knew that you were here to spy among these people they would not take kindly to it. They might decide to do something … shall we say, drastic?’
‘A harsh word is “spy” especially from such as you,’ sneered the young man. ‘And what of your own mission here?’
‘Do you question my right to be in this place?’
‘Right? What right? I certainly question your intentions.’
‘Listen, my young friend,’ Brother Solin seemed unperturbed, ‘and listen to me well. I advise you to stay out
