‘You …’ He suddenly glanced at Eadulf and took in his clothing and Roman tonsure in one swift glance. ‘You and your Saxon companion are most welcome to my hospitality.’
‘I need to change my clothes and dry myself,’ Eadulf muttered, almost in a voice of complaint.
‘Did you fall from your horse into the river, then?’ asked Aona.
‘No I did not,’ Eadulf snapped. He did not bother to explain further.
‘There is a fire inside,’ Aona advised. ‘Come in; come in both of you.’ He pushed open the door and stood aside to usher them in.
‘Alas, we cannot stay long. I need to get to Imleach before nightfall,’ Fidelma told him as she followed Eadulf inside.
Eadulf made a straight line to the roaring fire, where flames ate hungrily at a pile of glowing logs.
‘You will stay for a meal, surely?’
Eadulf was just about to say they would but Fidelma shook herhead firmly. ‘There is no time. We will stay here long enough to warm ourselves with a drink and for Brother Eadulf to change his sodden garments and then be off.’
Aona’s features mirrored his disappointment.
Fidelma reached out a hand and touched his arm. ‘Let us hope that our journey will return us here quickly and then we will do justice to your hospitality. But this is a matter of some urgency, of importance to the safety of the kingdom, and not a matter of mere whim.’
Aona had served most of his younger life in the bodyguard of the Kings of Cashel and he grew erect. ‘If the kingdom is in danger, lady, tell me how best I may serve it?’
Fidelma. turned to where Eadulf was uncomfortably standing, with steam rising from his wet garments, in front of the fire.
‘Have you a room where Brother Eadulf might change his clothes?’
Aona pointed to a side door across the main tavern room.
‘In there, Brother. Bring out your wet clothes and we will dry them before the fire.’
‘Time is important,’ Fidelma added, as if to excuse her peremptoriness. When Eadulf had disappeared, taking his saddle bag with him, and Aona had filled two mugs with
‘How did the Uí Fidgente behave while they were waiting for my brother?’ she asked the innkeeper.
Aona frowned. ‘Behave?’
‘Yes. Were they friendly or truculent and ill-mannered? What?’
‘They behaved well enough, I suppose. Why do you ask?’
‘You heard no rumours among them of any discontent? Received no feelings that some conspiracy was afoot among them?’
The old innkeeper shook his head negatively, handing Fidelma one of the mugs of the potent ale.
She sipped at it absently, then asked, ‘And all the members of Donennach’s entourage went with him to Cashel? They met with no one else here?’
‘No one that I saw. What does this mean?’
‘There was an assassination attempt against my brother and Donennach as soon as they reached Cashel.’
The old man started. He looked alarmed. ‘Was the King … was he badly hurt?’
‘Flesh wounds,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘The wounds were bad enough but they will soon heal. However, some warriors of the Uí Fidgente have accused Cashel of deception and have claimed, in spite of his wound, that my brother is behind this attack.’
Eadulf entered in dry clothes, and bearing his sodden garment over his arm.
The innkeeper automatically took it from him and hung it on a pole in front of the fire. ‘It will be dry shortly,’ he told Eadulf before handing him the second mug of ale that he had poured. Then he turned back to Fidelma. ‘The Uí Fidgente must be mad to make such an accusation … unless it be part of their plan.’
Eadulf drained his ale in one swallow and then started to cough as the effects of the fiery liquid were felt.
Aona gave him a sad smile. ‘My
Eadulf nodded, gasping slightly.
Aona filled the mug with water from a jug and Eadulf drained it immediately, gasping for breath.
Fidelma ignored her companion and sat staring into the fire, as if deep in thought. Then she looked up at the old man.
‘Are you sure, Aona, that you observed nothing out of the ordinary, nothing strange?’
‘Nothing at all, lady. You have my word on it,’ the old warrior assured her. ‘Donennach and his entourage arrived here last evening. The Prince of the Uí Fidgente and his personal aides slept in the inn. His warriors encamped in the fields by the river bank. They were well behaved. Then this morning, your brother arrived and they all set off together towards Cashel. That is all I know.’
‘They were not followed by anyone? A tall man, an archer, nor a short, rotund man?’
Aona shook his head emphatically. ‘I saw no such people, lady.’
‘Very well, Aona. But keep a careful watch these next few days. I do not trust the Uí Fidgente.’
‘And if I see anything?’
‘Do you know Capa?’
Aona chuckled humorously. ‘I taught that youngster all he knew. He was but a slip of a youth when he came to join the bodyguard of the King of Cashel. He had no more idea of warfare than …’
Fidelma gently interrupted his memories. ‘Your pupil is captain of the King’s bodyguard as you once were, Aona. If you have news of any movement on the part of the Uí Fidgente, then send a message to Capa at Cashel. Do you understand?’
Aona nodded emphatically. ‘That I do, lady. What else can I do for you?’
Eadulf coughed politely. ‘Perhaps more of that brew you call
Aona turned away to pour more of the beverage from a wooden cask into Eadulf mug. When he turned back he was frowning as if something had occurred to him.
‘Is something wrong, Aona?’ Fidelma was quick to notice his expression.
The elderly innkeeper scratched the side of his nose. ‘I was trying to recall something. You asked about a tall man; an archer, and a shorter man, his companion?’
Fidelma leant forward eagerly. ‘You did see them? You could not very well miss them if they were together. Side by side, they looked so incongruous.’
‘I saw them,’ confirmed the innkeeper.
Fidelma’s expression was one of triumph. ‘You did? Yet when I asked you first, you said that you were sure they were not here.’
Aona shook his head. ‘That was because you asked me whether they were here with the UíFidgente within the last twenty-four hours. I saw such a pair a week ago.’
‘A week ago?’ intervened Eadulf in disappointment. ‘Then they may not be our pair of villains.’
‘Can you describe the men?’ pressed Fidelma.
Aona rubbed his jaw with his left hand as if the process would aid his thoughts. ‘I can tell you that the round, shorter man was like him.’ He jerked his thumb to Eadulf.
Eadulf s mouth opened and an expression of indignation crossed his features. ‘What are you implying?’ he demanded. ‘That I am short and fat? Why …’
Fidelma impatiently raised a hand to silence him.
‘You should explain, Aona,’ she said quietly. ‘As my companion is neither short nor fat, you have posed a question. How, then, is he like the man you claim to be built in such a fashion?’
Aona grimaced. ‘I did not mean that he looked like the Saxon, either in stature or features. No, I meant that the man was a religieux and that he wore his hair cut in that similar fashion which is unlike the tonsure of our Irish monks. I noticed it most particularly.’
