‘She had every right to kill that swine,’ he said stubbornly. ‘She is a poor frightened girl, trying desperately to survive. That beast has made her change from a beautiful, intelligent young woman into someone who can only act out of instinct and who thinks the entire world is against her.’
‘Does she know that you believe she killed Ultán? When I spoke to her before she disappeared this time, she thought that you supported her.’
‘I would have done so,’ Fergus said, suddenly avoiding her eyes.
‘Even though you believe she killed Ultán? What makes you so certain that she killed him?’
Fergus Fanat raised a hand slowly to his bandaged skull. ‘Because on the night that Ultán was killed, I was passing along the corridor and saw Marga entering his chamber. .’
‘When was this?’ pressed Fidelma quickly.
‘Close to midnight, I suppose.’
‘Think carefully, man,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘Describe the scene. Where were you?’
‘I didn’t see her face,’ he admitted. ‘I was coming up the corridor which faces Ultán’s door. In fact, Brother Drón had just come out of his chamber a little way in front of me just as Marga came out of Ultán’s chamber. .’
‘How did you know it was Ultán’s chamber?’
‘It was pointed out to me earlier. All the representatives of Ulaidh were placed in apartments close together.’
‘Go on. Did Brother Drón say anything to you?’
‘He did not see me. He was too busy looking at Marga and then he went back into his room. Marga did not glance in our direction but went directly along the other corridor. I went on to my own chamber which was close by that of Brother Drón.’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘So you saw her leaving Ultán’s chamber. I still do not understand what makes you so sure it was Marga who killed him.’
Fergus Fanat stared at her for a few moments and then shrugged with a sad expression.
‘I am sure because. . Marga tried to kill me,’ he said simply.
The rain was cold and blustery but very fine as the group of horsemen approached the Lake of Pigs on their way to cross the river Siúr. It was a small lake standing just south of the Ford of the Ass which Eadulf knew well. Gormán, however, insisted that due south from this little lake was a shallow crossing which could be negotiated over the broad river and that would be a shorter route into the great glen which was their destination.
All four men had heavy woollen cloaks to protect them against the fine but penetrating rain. The route lay over the plains where there were numerous little homesteads and prosperous farming lands.
Gormán was leading the way confidently and setting a good pace. Eadulf came next and behind him the two Saxon brothers, Pecanum and Naovan.
‘We should be at Ardane just after nightfall,’ called Gormán. He pointed one hand to the sky. ‘The clouds are breaking up in the west. The rain will cease soon. We can let the horses water at the lake.’
By the time they reached the Lake of Pigs, as Gormán had foretold, the rain had stopped and a pale winter sun had even appeared between the drifting, dark clouds. But it was not warm enough to remove their heavy cloaks, and Gormán suggested they have a swallow of
The lake lay surrounded by oaks and yews that seemed to vie with one another for predominance.
They had let the horses water themselves, though not too much, and having taken their drink of fiery spirit were about to mount up when Eadulf saw a movement among the trees at the far end of the lake.
‘Another traveller,’ he observed to Gormán, nodding in the direction of the movement, as he mounted his horse.
Gormán, already seated in the saddle, squinted in the direction Eadulf had indicated. There was a glimpse of a rider moving swiftly through the trees.
‘A religious,’ Gormán observed. ‘In a hurry. . a female at that.’
The thought struck Eadulf immediately. Could it be Sister Marga? She had disappeared from Cashel before midnight. But she had been on foot, not on horseback — and had she had a horse she would have surely been able to travel farther than this? Nevertheless, some instinct pricked his curiosity.
‘Can we catch up with her? It may be the missing woman from Cill Ria.’
‘Keep straight on this path with the others, for this is the path she will join further along,’ replied Gormán, pointing. ‘I think I may be able to halt her long enough for you to catch up with her.’ The young warrior turned, nudged his horse forward into the shallows of the lake and swam it across.
Eadulf waved his companions, Pecanum and Naovan, to follow him. He did not pretend to be a good horseman but he nudged his horse into a swift trot that soon became a canter. He hung on grimly, thankful that his mount seemed to sense, as intelligent horses do, what was wanted of it. He had no idea where Gormán was going, though he presumed that the young warrior knew a short cut over the small lake that would bring him round to cut off the figure in front. It was now that Eadulf began to have second thoughts. Why would the lonely figure be the missing Sister Marga? What made him think it was? The girl, if running away from Cashel, would surely not head in this direction but east towards Laigin as she had done before? Yet the instinct that made him act was strong.
He felt as if the canter would never end. In reality it was a short time indeed before he saw the figure of the religieuse on the road ahead, riding at a steady pace and apparently unaware of pursuit. The thudding of their hooves, however, eventually came to her ears and she glanced back. Even so, Eadulf was unable to identify her. Her action denoted panic for she turned and kicked her beast forward, but at that very moment Gormán appeared, bursting through the woods on to the track just in front of her.
Her horse, startled first by her vicious kick and then by the appearance of another horse and rider blocking its path, reared up. The slight figure fought to maintain her balance, lost hold and rolled off its back. Gormán grabbed the beast’s reins and brought it under control just as Eadulf and the others came up.
Eadulf slid from his horse’s back and bent down to the girl. She lay on her back winded.
He felt a strange combination of relief and concern.
It was Sister Marga.
Sister Fidelma’s face was impassive as she regarded Fergus Fanat as he lay stretched on his bed.
‘Tell me, Fergus, what happened when you were attacked?’
‘I didn’t see. I was hit from behind.’
‘Yet you say that you are sure it was Sister Marga.’
‘I am sure.’
‘When was the last time you spoke to Marga before that?’
‘After we came back I promised her that I would try to resolve the problem. It was some time before I came up with an idea. The resolution was simple. I would go to my cousin, Blathmac the king, who, like me, knew of Abbot Ultán’s unsavoury reputation. I would tell him the story and ask for his intervention. At least he could prevent Marga’s being sent back to Cill Ria.’
‘There is one thing that puzzles me.’
‘Which is?’
‘If you thought Marga had killed Abbot Ultán, did you believe that she had also killed Muirchertach Nár?’
He hesitated and then nodded. ‘When I asked her about Muirchertach, she became very angry. She denied it, of course. But I wondered if she had killed him because Muirchertach had seen her on that night of Ultán’s killing just as I had and was trying to use it as a weapon over her. He wanted a weapon against Cill Ria.’
‘That sounds very far-fetched. From what I know, Marga would have been happy to join with anyone who wanted to bring Cill Ria into disrepute.’
‘Marga is a woman who does not like to be forced into anything,’ he said grimly. ‘In the forest, when I asked her if she had seen Muirchertach during the hunt she denied it. I believe she killed him.’
