be found, there were other things that could be done and Eadulf had made a good suggestion.
‘There is another favour we would ask of you, Rudgal,’ Fidelma went on, having considered the way forward. ‘We would like to go to Artgal’s farmstead and examine these two milch cows with which he was bribed.’
Rudgal looked uneasy.
‘Is that wise, Sister? Laisre forbade further investigation.’
‘Wise or not, we would like you to take us to his farmstead where we may examine the cows. Even a king cannot forbid a
‘I am not questioning the wisdom of you wishing to investigate but I think you should know that in spite of Laisre’s command that Artgal should not leave the ráth, he has done so. He is nowhere to be found. Artgal might contemplate harm against you for the ruin which you have brought on him.’
Fidelma rose to her feet resolutely.
‘Do you think that he is gone to his farmstead perhaps to destroy the evidence of his wrong doing? In that case, we must certainly go in search of him, for he is our only link to Ibor of Muirthemne and those cattle are confirmation of the deed.’
‘But he could have gone anywhere,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘Anywhere to escape Laisre’s justice.’
‘I do not think so,’ interposed Rudgal. ‘His cabin lies not far away on the hillside overlooking Ronan’s hamlet. Ronan was sent to his farmstead in pursuit of Ibor of Muirthemne. Ibor has fled the valley. But Ronan told me on his return that he had caught sight of Artgal on the hill path going to his farmstead. He did not think it his duty to stop him as he had only been told to bring Ibor back to the ráth. Besides, Artgal was a friend and cousin to Ronan. Ronan will say nothing to Laisre unless directly asked.’
‘So Ibor has fled the valley?’ Fidelma repeated quietly. ‘Well, that was to be expected.’
‘Ibor of Muirthemne and his horses must have left the ráth even before Murgal finished the hearing,’ Rudgal agreed. ‘However, as for Artgal, I cannot see him willingly parting with the cattle now he has them. If he intends to leave the valley to escape Laisre’s wrath, he will collect his possessions first.’
‘Then let us find out if he is still at his farmstead,’ Fidelma insisted, moving towards the door.
They left the ráth of Laisre without being challenged. As Eadulf had pointed out, although there were several hours of daylight left in the warm summer evening, everyone appeared to have taken themselves to Laisre’s feasting hall. Laughter and the noise of feasting echoed over the empty courtyard. There was no one about or at the gates of the fortress. It was Rudgal who suggested that they did not encumber themselves with horses as they might be spotted more easily on horseback if Artgal was trying to avoid them.
In any case, it was scarcely a mile to the farmstead which Rudgal indicated on the side of the hill, just above the hamlet dominated by Ronan’s farm. Rudgal led the way at an easy pace with the two religious following close behind.
It was still warm, for the summer’s day had been hot beyond the shelter of the ráth. Although it would not grow dark for two hours at least, a few dark storm clouds were hanging over the mountains and there was a threat of rain beyond their peaks. They could hear a distant rumble of thunder from the other side of the surrounding pinnacles. At least the clouds were hanging around the summits of the hills, as if anchored to them, and not moving across the bright blue sky above the valley.
Rudgal caught Eadulf’s anxious gaze and chuckled softly.
‘With God’s help, the weather will pass us by on the other side of the mountains.’
They continued on their way skirting Ronan’s farmstead and Nemon’s dwelling, before climbing the hill towards the small cabin perched above, which Rudgal had indicated belonged to Artgal. The fair-haired warrior wagon-maker led the way up a steep path whose ascent had been made easier by the placing of large stones every so often. This gave the path the appearance of a stairway. Fidelma followed next and then Eadulf. There was little conversation between them except when Rudgal pointed out areas along the path to be avoided, springy patches of boggy turf or the occasional pit hidden by gorse.
They came to a narrow shelving area of stone-hedged small fields among which stood the grey stone cabin. It was a simple beehive-shaped cabin with a straw-thatched roof and a fence around it. Adjacent to the cabin was a smithy’s shop but with the fire dead. It looked as if it had not been used in some considerable time. Even some of the tools were rusting.
Fidelma could see no sign of any cattle in the vicinity.
They paused at the entrance of the cabin to recover their breath. Then Fidelma called sharply: ‘Artgal!’
There was no answer. A curious silence permeated the place.
‘Artgal!’ echoed Rudgal more loudly. Then in an aside he added apologetically: ‘I was sure that he would come here. Perhaps he has already been here, taken the cows and fled. But he could not have gone far in the valley herding cows. We would surely have seen him.’
When there was no reply from the second call, Rudgal pushed open the door of the cabin and went inside. The others followed. The cabin seemed deserted but its few meagre possessions were placed in orderly fashion. There was no indication that the owner had made a hurried departure. The only object out of order was a cloth lying on the floor as if dropped unobserved by its owner. Fidelma went over to it and picked it up. She suddenly realised thatit was an apron. She placed it on a nearby hook, thinking it was a curious item for a man like Artgal to have. But then it did seem to fit in with the tidy personality of the cabin. It was probably normal for Artgal to wear such an outsized garment to protect him if he were so fastidious.
‘Perhaps I was wrong,’ muttered Rudgal. ‘Perhaps he has gone elsewhere but where I would not know.’
‘I saw no sign of the cows around here,’ Eadulf remarked.
‘And if he took them we would surely have spotted him,’ Rudgal repeated. ‘A lone herdsman and two cows in this countryside are easy to observe.’
This was true for there were few trees in the valley itself.
‘But there seems to be no other explanation,’ he added. ‘Artgal must have gone and taken the cows with him. I will see if there are any tracks which we may follow.’
He left the cabin. Fidelma was still standing in the middle of the single room, her sharp eyes moving cautiously around it, examining every nook and cranny keenly. She suddenly realised that there were two pottery beakers standing on the table. It seemed that Artgal had had a visitor recently; recently enough for him not to clear away the remains of a shared drink and to have failed to observe the discarded apron on the floor.
She bent to examine the beakers, sniffing cautiously at the aroma left by their contents. She had scented the distinctive pungent fragrance before but, for the moment, she could not place it.
‘This Artgal is a very tidy man for a blacksmith and warrior,’ she reflected softly.
Eadulf grinned.
‘Are blacksmiths and warriors invariably untidy, then?’
‘You have seen Artgal. I would have expected Artgal not to be so fastidious. One may tell much from a person’s attention to their clothing. Yet the cabin here is scrupulously clean.’
‘I have known of such people who are slovenly in their appearance but fastidious in their homes and vice versa,’ Eadulf observed.
There came a sudden cry of alarm outside the cabin.
‘Sister! Brother!’
It was Rudgal’s voice raised in horror.
Eadulf and Fidelma exchanged a glance and hurried outside. Rudgal was at the back of the cabin. He was standing staring down at something on the ground. It was sprawled half in and half out of a small shed. Eadulf recognised it by the clothing.
It was the body of Brother Dianach.
‘I was walking round the cabin to look for tracks when I stumbled across the body,’ Rudgal explained unnecessarily.
Eadulf genuflected while Fidelma went down on one knee beside the body.
The young religieux lay on his side, his feet and lower body were in the small shed, the torso was sprawled outside, face down, one arm flung in front of him. There was fresh blood staining the ground. Cautiously, Fidelma pushed the body over on its back. Blood was everywhere. It was clear that Dianach had had his throat cut; one
