The old man smiled sadly.
‘The Brehons have a list of honour-prices for each one of us. But how do you really judge the value of lives, lady? It is not easy. But we will survive, some of us at least. And while the names of our dead are still spoken, then their lives will have meant something in this sad world in which we live.’
A short time later they were climbing their horses along the mountain track and keeping on the west side of the river which ran rapidly through the valley below them. They were almost turning east, paralleling the course of the river, when Conri pointed to a narrow pass through the hills by a number of ancient stones that had apparently been set up by their ancestors in the dim distant past.
Taking the pass, they found they were now following a smaller stream that rose on the mountain behind them, tumbling northwards. They
‘We’ll have to think about stopping soon, lady,’ Conri suggested, ‘otherwise it will be dark before we know it and we haven’t eaten since last night.’
‘I thought I glimpsed a farmstead on the plain ahead of us,’ Fidelma replied. ‘We’ll seek hospitality there.’
Indeed, when they approached the series of wooden buildings, half hidden in the shelter of a copse of some sturdy oaks, a farmer and his son appeared to be waiting for them. They looked nervous and held some farming implements defensively in their hands.
Fidelma called out a friendly greeting and the two men began to look slightly relieved.
‘We saw you coming down the hill road, Sister,’ said the elder man, recognising her robes. ‘We saw some strange riders only and wondered who you were.’
‘No one who means harm to you and yours, my friend. We are just weary travellers who need a shelter for the night,’ replied Fidelma, dismounting.
‘My wife would be pleased to offer you a bed, Sister,‘replied the farmer, rubbing his jaw and seeming to mentally count them. ‘But your companions will have to shelter in the barn. We have little room in the house.’
‘That will suit us fine, farmer,’ Conri assured him. ‘A place out of the wind and warm straw will suit us well.’
‘There is the spring in which to wash but plenty of venison to eat and bread to take away your hunger.’
‘You hospitality is generous,’ Fidelma replied warmly. ‘Yet you still seem nervous. Have there been other travellers on this road?’
The farmer exchanged a brief glance with his son. Fidelma was right. They were nervous.
‘In truth, there have, Sister. Travellers that I would not like to play host to. It was several weeks ago but, thanks be to God, they passed on without stopping. They went across the top meadow in the direction of the sea.’
‘You appear fearful of them. Why so?’
‘They were warriors on horseback but we saw them herding a group of prisoners. They were religieuse, poor young women, with a male prisoner.’
‘Herding is an odd choice of word,’ Conri pointed out.
Herding is the only word that comes to mind, my friend,’ the farmer replied almost defensively. ‘They passed by and we prayed for their souls.’
‘You were looking to the north-west,’ Fidelma observed. ‘Is that the direction in which they went?’
‘Indeed they did. Towards the Machaire peninsula.’
Fidelma’s expression was one of satisfaction.
‘If you can tell us where we might tether our horses…?’
The farmer glanced round and pointed.
‘You can put them in the enclosure at the back. We have some sheep there but I doubt whether they will be bothered. It will keep them out of the cold winds. The spring is over there, and the barn where you may sleep. Sister, come to the house. The food will be ready after you have washed.’
The food was good and the hay was warm and, for the first time in several days, Eadulf slept a deep comfortable sleep without waking once during the night. He did not begrudge Fidelma her more civilised abode. By the time he woke and washed, everyone else was sitting down to a breakfast. Gifts were given by Conri, who had the foresight to travel with such items, to the farmer, his wife and their son in exchange for their hospitality. Socht and his companion had saddled their horses and after an exchange of farewells they rode on again.
The salty smell of the sea was never far away on the peninsula of the Corco Duibhne but now it was really strong. The air was filled with the crying of gulls, and these were joined by a few lost-looking greenshanks, wading along the few freshwater pools and lakes that they passed. But it was the noisy gulls that dominated, especially the great black-backed gull with its fierce, heavy, hooked bill. It was a fearsome butcher of a bird, eating refuse and carrion and preying on the chicks of other species like puffins, shearwaters and kittiwakes. In fact, just as the thought entered Eadulf’s mind, there came the strident call of ‘kitti-wa-a-k!’ like the eerie cry of a lost soul. Two adult kittiwakes swooped along the coastline ahead of them, with their soft grey plumage, white heads and yellow bills.
Conri was riding in front with Fidelma and Eadulf and the two warriors behind them.
‘Well,’ Eadulf said, wishing to break the silence that had lasted since they left the hospitality of the farm, ‘we have criss-crossed this peninsula twice now. I should know the place by now.’
Conri glanced across his shoulder.
‘No one can ever really know a country like this.’ He waved a hand across the mountains behind him. ‘I have been through this country before. They call those valleys Gleannta an Easig, the valleys of the waterfall.’
Eadulf could see why. It was a curious land, he thought, where cliffs rose overshadowing lakes and rivers meandered through valleys that were green and tree covered before changing in turn into bleak and rocky areas and then back again into verdant swaths. The land seemed barely populated but as they passed along the white sandy shore leading to the small finger of what they now knew was the Machaire peninsula, Eadulf could see a few isolated farmsteads and buildings almost hidden here and there among trees and rocks.
They passed within sight of a broad lake to their left, a bright loch which seemed swarming with wildfowl. Smoke rose from a point on its shore.
‘It looks like a smith’s forge.’ Conri commented as he followed the direction in which Eadulf was staring. The faint clang of metal on metal came to their ears as if in confirmation of the fact.
They rode on down the narrow green spit of land with the white sands on either side until the reached the end bay with low headlands either side like the claws of a crab, edging in and narrowing at the mouth. It was a rock-clustered, inhospitable shore, not like the broad sandy slopes that had stretched either side of the main strip of land that thrust out into the sea. The only sign that man had been here at all was a tall gallan or standing stone that rose erect at least five metres above the ground.
Beyond the entrance of the bay they could see some of the distant islands of Machaire. But it was the keen- sighted Conri who became aware of something else.
‘Look there!’ he shouted abruptly, causing them to start.
He pointed beyond the rocky eastern headland.
At first, seen against the choppy grey sea, it looked like a dark plank of wood being tossed and thrown about over the waves. Then as it came closer into the bay, heading for the rocky shore, Eadulf realised it was one of the light canoes they used in this part of the world, a wickerwork frame covered with hides stitched together with thongs. There seemed to be only one figure bent to the oars although the light craft must have been eight metres long and a metre or more wide.
‘It’s a naomhog,’ muttered Fidelma, supplying him with the name of the vessel. ‘See, the man has just lost an oar. He is in trouble.’
Already Conri and his two warrior companions were racing their horses on the ground high above the shore, for in this part of the bay the rocks met the waters.
‘He’ll smash the vessel on the rocks,’ Eadulf called unnecessarily, as he and Fidelma followed the others.
‘The man is hurt, I think,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Look, he’s slipped to the bottom of the boat. It’s out of control.’
The long canoe had swung broadside on to the rocks and was suddenly lifted up by one of the racing breakers and thrown on to them. As the sea receded, Conri’s men, jumping from their horses, raced forward,
