Fidelma and Eadulf had reached a fork in the River Suir, about four miles west of Cashel, where a wooden bridge spanned the fast-flowing waters, crossing a small island in the middle on which stood a minute rath which served as a fortification to protect the approaches to Cashel in times of war. Now it was not used for no enemy host had come close enough to threaten the capital of the Eóghanacht for many years. On either side of the bridge, along the river bank, woodlands stretched for some way. The roadway across the bridge was, so far as Eadulf knew, the only main road westward out of Cashel, joining roads leading north and south on the far side of the river.
Fidelma, riding her white mare from her brother’s stables, just in front of Eadulf, halted at the centre of the bridge. Eadulf drew rein on his sorrel colt, frowning.
‘What is it?’ he demanded.
Fidelma had noticed that there was movement in the rath itself. Then from the shadows of the timbers at the end of the bridge, where it joined the island, two archers appeared with drawn bows. The arrows were strung and pointing in their direction. A third warrior, whose shield carried the insignia of a rampant boar, his sword casually held in his right hand, came forward a pace to halt between the archers. He was careful not to obstruct the bowmen’s aim.
Fidelma’s eyes narrowed as she observed them.
‘Stay alert, Eadulf,’ she said quietly. ‘That warrior appears to be bearing the insignia of the Uí Fidgente.’
She nudged her horse forward a few paces.
‘Halt!’ called the central warrior, raising his sword. ‘Come no further!’
‘Who gives orders on this bridge within sight of the King of Cashel’s s palace?’ she demanded in annoyance.
The warrior laughed sourly. ‘One who wishes to stop people from crossing it, Sister,’ came the sarcastic riposte.
‘Know you that I am a
The man’s posture did not change. ‘I know well enough who you are, sister of Colgú. And I know your Saxon puppy of a companion there.’
‘Then, if you know that, you must also know that you have to clear the way, Uí Fidgente, for you have no right to block any public highway in this kingdom.’
The warrior gestured to the archers behind him. ‘They give me the right.’
‘And who gives you your orders?’
‘My lord, Gionga, captain of the bodyguard of Prince Donennach. No one passes this bridge until the time of the hearing at Cashel. Those are the orders I have been given from my lord in order to prevent any further conspiracies against the Prince of the Uí Fidgente.’
Fidelma’s eyes widened slightly. Her mind worked rapidly. So Gionga had posted a guard to stop her going to Imleach? The bridge guarded the only quick route across the river on the road to Imleach. How had Gionga known of her journey and why did he feel that he should prevent it? What did he fear that she could discover?
‘The bridge is closed to you,’ replied the warrior without volunteering further information. ‘Now be gone back to Cashel.’
‘My brother’s guard will soon unblock this barrier,’ she retorted.
The warrior made a careful pantomime of looking in both directions. ‘I do not see your brother’s guard,’ he jeered.
Fidelma had not only scrutinised the archers and their commander carefully but noted the fact that there seemed to be more than a dozen other Uí Fidgente warriors encamped within the rath. There was no point in arguing further with them.
She turned her mare carefully on the bridge and walked it back to Eadulf, the shod hooves of the horse echoing like a drumbeat on the wooden planking.
‘Follow me,’ she instructed quietly. ‘Did you hear all that passed between me and the Uí Fidgente warrior?’
Eadulf asserted that he had, obeying her instructions without question. He felt a tingling sensation in his back as he exposed it to the aim of the archers with their taut bows, ready to strike.
‘This seems to confirm that there is an Ui Fidgenteplot,’ he whispered, after they had moved out of range. ‘Gionga must have been desperate to attempt to prevent us going to Cnoc Aine to search for evidence. This is all the proof we need of his culpability.’
‘That is what makes me worried. Surely Gionga would realise that it would not take long for Cashel’s warriors to be alerted and ride here to disperse these men? The logical deduction would be that the Uí Fidgente have admitted their guilt by this action.’
‘Well, they have succeeded in one thing, that is that we cannot reach Imleach tonight. It is four miles back to Cashel.’
‘We will be there tonight.’ Fidelma’s voice was firm and confident. ‘When we pass the bend of the road ahead, out of sight of the men on the bridge, you will observe a track on the right-hand side leading south. Turn along it.’
‘South? I thought this was the only bridge spanning this river for miles?’
Fidelma chuckled. ‘It is.’
‘Then what …?’
‘Quickly, here is the track.’
To call it a track was to do it honour. It was no more than a small pathway along which a horse went with difficulty, brushing against bushes and trees on either side. It plunged blindly into a great strip of dark woodland that ran along the river bank.
‘What now?’ called Eadulf, as he urged his young horse forward through the dark verdure.
‘This leads south through the forests on the river banks. About half a mile further on the forest will give way to open marshy land. I’ll take over the lead then, for we will walk our horses through the reeds and marshland. From that point, in another half-mile, we should come to a ford across the river which not many people know of. It is called Atha Asail, the ford of the ass. It is a treacherous crossing but we will make it. We will not be delayed long on our journey.’
‘Are you sure this is the best plan?’ wailed Eadulf, thinking of the turbulent waters of the rushing river. Although he had found himself in countless dangerous situations, he was not one to go out in search of danger. He did not believe the Saxon proverb that danger and delight grew from the same stalk. Eadulf once found his philosophy in the writing of Lucretius: that it was pleasurable, when the winds disturbed the waves of some great sea, to gaze out from the security of the land upon the dangers of another.
‘I used to cross the Ass’s Ford when I was a child. There is no danger in it for one who is careful,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘If youneed to exercise your mind, why not consider how Gionga could have found out that we were going to Imleach?’
Eadulf frowned. The point had not even occurred to him. ‘Maybe he overheard us discussing it with your brother? Or again, maybe he overheard our discussion with old Brother Conchobar when you asked him to draw a copy of the crucifix? Maybe he simply saw us saddling our horses and made a clever guess?’
Fidelma made a disapproving sound with her tongue against her teeth. ‘You are of little help in this matter,’ she chided, ‘for all you do is give articulations to questions that I have already asked. I need answers. I have already answered your last question in the negative for how would he have had time to send his men to meet us at the bridge, or, if they were already there, to send someone to warn them of our coming. He knew where we were going some time before we set out.’
‘Then you need a prophet to answer you,’ mumbled Eadulf, irritated because of the discomfit of the road through the snatching briars and branches of the woodland and because of his anxiety of the crossing of the rapid river ahead. ‘You should have consulted that old magician friend of yours, Brother Conchobar.’
Fidelma pouted. ‘Why do you call him a magician?’
Eadulf groaned as a briar scratched across his ankle. ‘Because he practices divination from the stars, doesn’t he? How can he claim to be a Christian and do that?’
‘Are the two things in conflict?’ mused Fidelma.
