The night was dark and chill, the clouds, chasing one another across the night sky, obscured the stars and the moon for the most part, making it almost impossible to see far.

‘It’s best to give the horses their heads,’ advised Enda. ‘In that way, they may tread the path homeward more carefully.’

Fidelma smiled in the shadows. She had ridden almost before she could walk and knew the habits of horses well enough. She rode with a loose rein allowing the horse to pick its way along the track, guiding gently only now and then to keep the beast moving in the right direction. She rode behind Enda, a dark shadow in front of her, knowing that the young warrior was keenly aware of his surroundings, attuned to any sense of danger.

The late autumn evening was really cold. Instinctively she knew that there would be a frost that night, the first frost of the oncoming winter. She hoped that Eadulf was not sleeping out in the open. She shivered at the thought. Yet if he were not hiding in the surrounding forests or hills, where was he? Who would be sheltering him?

She had pondered long on the problem of how he had managed to effect his escape from his cell in the abbey. Time and again she had come back to the conclusion that he must have been helped by an outside force. But who? And why?

‘Not that path, lady!’ called Enda from the darkness ahead.

Fidelma blinked.

She realised that she had fallen so deeply into her thoughts that she had given her horse too much head. As they reached a fork in the track, the horse, with free rein, had begun to turn down the left-hand path. Fidelma hauled quickly on the rein and turned the animal’s path towards the shadow of Enda.

‘Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,’ she called. ‘Do you know where that path leads? It seems to go directly south.’

‘It leads to a place called Cam Eolaing. I was told that it is on the same river that passes by the abbey but it is a longer route to Fearna if we go down to Cam Eolaing and turn along the river track.’

‘Cam Eolaing?’ Fidelma wondered why the name seemed familiar to her. She had heard it recently but could not place where and in what context. ‘And this is the quickest way?’

‘It is. We shall be-’

It was Enda who heard the danger a split second before the cry caused Fidelma to start. Three or four shadows burst through the woods and brush at the side of the road, attempting to grab their horses’ heads. Instinctively Fidelma jerked the reins of her mount, causing it to rear up on its hind legs and lash out with its forelegs in protest as the bit tugged at the corner of its mouth. It was this that caused its flying hooves to connect with the body of one of the forms, knocking itbackwards with a harsh scream of agony.

The figures were men and they were wielding weapons; not sticks or staves but swords, so far as the darkness allowed her to identify them. She tugged at her horse again, as it seemed the only means of protection.

In front of her, Enda had drawn his sword and smashed it down on another attacker.

‘Ride, lady, ride!’ the young man yelled.

It was as she dug her heels into the animal’s flanks to spur it forward, that the clouds parted for a second or so and the bright white winter moon shone down, causing the scene to be lit with an ethereal brilliance. She glanced down and for a moment time stood still.

It was the face of the boatman, Gabrán, which stared up at her in anger.

Then her horse surged forward and she was tearing along the darkened track with Enda at her side.

It was only after a kilometre had passed that they drew rein to allow their snorting mounts to recover from the swift gallop. They were lucky that the track was straight, its surface fairly even, otherwise the precipitous gallop through the darkness might have been extremely dangerous.

Enda replaced the sword that he had drawn. ‘Robbers!’ he snorted in disgust. ‘This country is filled with robbers!’

‘I don’t think so,’ rejoined Fidelma.

Enda’s head came up sharply. ‘What do you mean, lady?’

‘The moon came out for a second behind the cloud and I recognised their leader. It was Gabrán.’

‘Gabrán?’ Enda’s tone displayed his astonishment, mingled with some satisfaction. ‘Didn’t I say that he was the connection?’

‘You did. I had quite forgotten that his boat had been moored at the quay on the night the girl was killed. Then the next night, one of his crew is killed. You were right to point it out. Agnus Dei!’ she ended with an exclamation.

Enda was startled. ‘What is it, lady?’

‘Gabrán’s boat was also there when Daig was found drowned. Didn’t Deog tell us that a boatman from a boat called the Cág found his body? The Cág is Gabrán’s boat.’

Enda let out a low whistle. ‘Are you sure that you recognised him, lady? It was dark.’

‘The moonlight was full on his face long enough for me to recognisethe man, Enda. His is a face that one does not forget.’

‘Then we’d better push on to Fearna in case they have mounts and ride behind us,’ he said uneasily. ‘What do you think his game is, lady?’

They began to walk their mounts quickly along the track, side by side.

‘I’ve no idea. You have done well in making this connection, Enda. It was staring me in the face and I did not see it. There is a big mystery here. It grows each moment and always, as you say, we find Gabrán close by.’

Enda was silent for a moment. Then he said: ‘I must confess that I am at a loss, lady, as to why Gabrán attacked us. Surely he must think we know more than we do?’

Fidelma had been thinking the same thing, turning over the facts as she knew them.

Usually, facts were like a string of beads. There was always a connecting thread between them even if many of the beads were missing and had to be sorted out; there was always some inevitable connection. But this time there was no thread that Fidelma could see; no connection to the facts that she had garnered so far — none except this curious fact that the thin little river boat man was always near-at-hand in every event. Moreover, he traded with the abbey and seemed to have unrestricted access to Abbess Fainder’s rooms, as she had witnessed. He also stayed at the Inn of the Yellow Mountain. Was he the thread that linked everything together? But how?

As they joined the track along the river and came up by the grim, dark walls of the abbey, Fidelma raised her head from her contemplation.

‘We will have to find out more about Gabrán,’ she finally spoke aloud, realising immediately that she was stating the obvious.

‘Do you think he realised that you recognised him?’ asked Enda.

‘I am not sure. See if his boat is still alongside the abbey quay. I suspect it is not. It would probably be moored close to the spot where we were attacked. But it is worth a look.’

They were passing the quays now and Enda swung down and handed his reins to Fidelma while he went to check on the river boats.

‘His boat was called the Cág, wasn’t it?’ Enda asked.

‘The Jackdaw, that’s right.’

Enda went to where there was a dark shadow of a boat tied up on theabbey quay. She saw a shadow emerge on the deck and heard voices. Then Enda came back, shaking his head.

‘Was that Gabrán’s boat?’ Fidelma asked.

‘No, lady,’ Enda said, remounting. ‘The man said that the Cág pulled out earlier in the evening, heading upriver.’

‘Did the man know where Gabrán comes from?’

‘I asked him that. He did not. But surely Lassar, at the inn, will know where his home port on the river is. She seemed to know him well enough.’

‘I suppose that you are right.’

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