Conrí’s tent. All she would do was smile gently and say: ‘The sun does not shine without shadows being cast.’
Chapter Seventeen
At Rath Raithlen Fidelma consulted with Becc and made her plans for a hearing to be arranged for the next day at the noon hour.
That evening, before the meal, she realised that she had one more person to question and slipped out of Becc’s guest hostel without consulting Eadulf. She made her way straight to Gobnuid’s forge and found the surly smith still bent over his anvil.
‘Well, Gobnuid, you are working late this night.’
The smith glanced up with a growl, but whether of annoyance or merely a greeting it was hard to discern.
‘Did you deliver your hides safely?’ Fidelma smiled.
The smith glared at her. There seemed to be some concern on his features.
‘Why do you ask me that?’ he demanded.
‘Because you returned early from your trip. You could not have reached the Bandan river and returned so soon.’ She perched herself on a small wooden stool that stood near the forge furnace and stretched comfortably in the heat.
Gobnuid scowled. ‘If you must know, the wheel of my wagon broke and I had to do a makeshift repair and leave it with a friend for safety while I returned here to get a replacement.’ He gestured to a wheel in the corner of his forge.
‘It is taking you some time to return to your wagon,’ observed Fidelma.
‘You know full well that the Uí Fidgente raided and everyone was needed. Now I am told by the tanist that I am required to attend this meeting you have called in the Great Hall tomorrow. My business will wait until afterwards.’
‘Do you often work for the tanist?’
The smith’s brows drew together. ‘What makes you ask that?’
‘You mentioned you were transporting the hides for Accobrán. How often do you do that?’
Gobnuid stood uncertainly. ‘Well, I do jobs for him when I have time. Is there something wrong with that?’
Fidelma smiled sweetly at his defensive tone. ‘Not at all. It is just that transporting hides is not that rewarding for a talented craftsman.’
‘I often shoe his horse and now and then sharpen his weapons,’ replied Gobnuid.
‘The tanist seems to do a fair and regular trade in hides. I wonder where he gets the hides from in the first place?’
‘The question is best put to him. I suppose he buys them from farmers hereabout. It saves them having to do the business themselves.’
‘Yet I would have thought that Lesren the tanner was best equipped to conduct the trade in hides,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘Still, I suppose there is not a great deal of metal working here these days. I mean, what with the mines closed down. Do you do jobs for the abbey, for the Aksumites who stay there, for example?’
She noticed Gobnuid stiffen.
‘What is it you want, lady?’ he demanded, turning and glaring pugnaciously at her.
‘This land used to be full of metal workings,’ she went on, ignoring him. ‘Did you ever work in the mines?’
The smith turned from her and bent over his furnace, stirring the charcoal into a spitting display of sparks. ‘The mines closed when I was a young lad.’
‘Did you know that one of the Aksumites, Brother Dangila, worked in the gold mines of his country? You know Brother Dangila?’
Gobnuid was tight-lipped. ‘I have seen the man.’
Fidelma slowly stood up. She realised that Gobnuid was stubborn.
‘If you know Brother Dangila, I was wondering why you supported that cousin of yours, Brocc, in his attack on the Aksumites?’
The smith glowered at her. ‘Strangers are strangers, family is family. Anyway, I have already admitted that I took part in the attack on the abbey.’
‘I’ll bid you a good night, then, Gobnuid,’ Fidelma said in resignation. ‘I will see you tomorrow.’
She turned and began to walk away, feeling his curious gaze upon her. Gobnuid had an obstinate nature. It would be impossible to wring the truth from him but she felt that she had learnt enough.
The guest house of Becc lay on the far side of the great complex of buildings that made up Rath Raithlen and the way to it led through a collection of buildings from which the artisans and traders of the fortress conducted their businesses. Now the buildings were dark and deserted. Only Gobnuid had been working late this dark and chilly night.
Fidelma swung confidently down the darkened alley. It was not any great length and she could see some brand torches lighting its far end, which led into the squares constituting the stables at the back of the chieftain’s hall. It was only when she was halfway along the darkened alley that some sixth sense caused her to feel a tingling of the hairs at the nape of her neck. She was sure eyes were watching her. There was no logic to the feeling. But Fidelma had an acute sense of surroundings. An awareness of environment was essential to survival. Ever since she was a child Fidelma had trained herself to notice anything out of the ordinary. She rather admired old Liag, the apothecary, for while he might overdramatise his sense of environment in the woods, the basic concepts were right. Without that sense, a person was blind.
She did not show her concern by altering her step or turning her head but the feeling grew stronger. From the corner of her eye she identified a shadow in the darkness of the buildings, just a slight movement. Something, someone, was there. She continued her steady pace, head erect, but eyes alert to the dark. She was only a few yards from the lighted area by the stables when she was aware that the shadow was on the move, moving rapidly and moving towards her.
She spun round on her heel towards the oncoming shadow, which grew into the shape of a burly man. One hand was upraised and the faint light from the burning brand torch at the end of the street glinted on something in that hand which reflected and shone for a moment.
The learned ones of Éireann, both in pre-Christian times and now that they were the repositories of the New Faith, used often to journey far and wide. Travellers were frequently the object of attacks by thieves and bandits. But those learned ones believed it was wrong to carry weapons even to protect themselves from attack. Violence was abhorrent to them and against their teachings. They were therefore forced to develop a technique which they called
In a split second, she saw the danger. She stood, waiting for the man’s assault as he bore down on her. As he reached her, her two hands shot out to take the raised arm and she grasped the wrist, swaying backwards and allowing the momentum of the man’s assault to carry him stumbling forward. He went crashing to the ground, unable to stop that forward movement, while Fidelma heaved on the wrist holding the knife.
The man was strong and he managed to retain hold of the knife. When it became apparent that she could not break his grip, Fidelma let go of his wrist for fear that she would be dragged down with him. She skipped backwards and shouted: ‘Guards! Guards! Help!’
The figure on the floor scrambled up and had turned and was facing her once more, wielding the knife. He was moving forward again.
But two warriors had suddenly appeared at the end of the alley and one gave a shout as they bore down on Fidelma, swords in hand.
The attacker was disconcerted for a moment, glancing behind him.
