coins to Ferloga. She knew what he had been thinking.
‘Tell them it is my wish that they give the deceased a proper burial,’ she said. ‘And you will find there is enough there that you will not be wanting for your fee for his night’s repose.’
‘But I can’t accept that,’ protested the innkeeper, half-heartedly.
‘I am taking the old man’s purse,’ Fidelma cut off his protests, ‘because I believe that the coins may be a means of discovering more about him. I would not have you suffering any loss for this misfortune — and if anyone comes by making enquiries for him, tell them to come to Cashel.’
Ferloga’s hand closed over the coins. ‘A blessing on you, lady.’ He hesitated and then added nervously, ‘Do you think anyone
‘Why so uneasy?’ asked Fidelma.
Ferloga compressed his lower lip with his top one for a moment. ‘If he is a man of the old religion, his comrades might also be of that belief and custom. We are good Christians here, lady. My grandfather was baptised in the Siúr by the Blessed Ailbe himself.’
Fidelma smiled. ‘There is nothing to worry about, Ferloga.’
‘But if this man were a pagan and knew the ancient arts, the secret arts, and curses …’
Fidelma’s expression grew sharp. ‘We do not have a monopoly on all that is good, Ferloga. The New Faith binds us to have charity towards all and not to fear those who follow different paths.’
She glanced at Caol and, reading the meaning of her expression, Caol picked up the gorget, staff, the satchel and the purse of coins, and then followed her to the lower floor, where Lassar had set out a table with their refreshments on it.
Ferloga went to find the boy who usually helped him with the stables and outside work in order to instruct him to go to the chapel and summon the aid of the religious as Fidelma had advised. Meanwhile, Fidelma and Caol sat down to break their fast with freshly baked bread, honey and mugs of sweet mead. Fidelma took time to reassure Lassar about the situation and then, when Ferloga returned, she asked if he had any news from Cashel. The inns were the one sure way of hearing news and gossip.
‘There is little of consequence that has happened in the last few days, lady,’ he said. ‘Did anything of significance transpire at Lios Mhór? Were there any matters of importance that came before you?’
‘Nothing at all that is worth the breath of a storyteller,’ she observed. It had been a boring week with only petty crimes to speak of, such as a man failing to support his wife and a woman charging rape against a man who turned out to be innocent. Fidelma’s interrogation had discovered that the woman was inspired by vengeance after the man had rejected her. ‘Have there been no other travellers with news who have stayed at your inn?’
‘Only some religious who passed through a few days ago who were lately returned from the kingdom of Dál Riada beyond the seas,’ Ferloga told her.
Fidelma was at once interested for she had once travelled through Dál Riada and stayed at the tiny island of I, called Iona, where Colmcille had built an abbey. It had been nearly five years ago since she had stayed there when travelling to the Synod at Witebia for the great debate between the Irish clerics and those who supported Roman rule.
‘What news did they bring? Does Iona still send missionaries into the Saxon kingdoms?’
‘They did not say. They spoke of warfare among the Cruithin and among the Saxons. But there was peace in Dál Riada. The King, whom they named as Domangart, son of Diomhnall Brecc, has succeeded in consolidating affairs and bringing peace to the country. They say that everyone speaks well of this King.’
‘So Dál Riada prospers?’
‘Yes, but there is some fear and unrest, due to a Saxon King called Wulfhere who rules a kingdom called Mercia, which I understood is situated to the south of Dál Riada. Apparently he is attempting to expand his borders even among the other Saxon kingdoms and beyond. These same travellers brought news that a great abbey of the Britons in Gwynedd hasbeen burned down in one of his raids into that country. Many of the religious have been killed.’
Fidelma sighed sadly. ‘The Saxons always seem to be fighting, and when it is not with their neighbours, then they fight among themselves,’ she observed. Then she thought of Eadulf and flushed guiltily. Yet, she thought, it was a true comment nonetheless.
‘Oh, and they brought word that the abbot of Iona had died.’
Fidelma eyes widened. ‘Cumméne the Fair?’ she queried.
‘That, indeed, was the name they mentioned, lady. You have a great knowledge of such things,’ Ferloga added, showing a little awe.
Fidelma shrugged indifferently. ‘It is when I travelled through that land that I met the old abbot.’ Cumméne was a respected scholar, the seventh abbot of Colmcille’s foundation, who had written a life of the holy founder. ‘Was the cause of his death a natural one?’
‘They said so, lady, for the abbot was apparently very aged and infirm.’
‘Who replaces him? Did they say?’
‘Failbe of the Cenél Conaill.’
It seemed that Iona was following the custom of many of the Irish abbeys where the abbacy succeeded in the same family, being elected by the
‘Failbe will have much to contend with,’ she observed, thinking aloud. ‘Cumméne will be hard to replace, for he was a great thinker and scholar.’
They chatted on for a while over the meal until Fidelma rose unhurriedly and announced that they must continue on to Cashel.
Caol went out to prepare the horses while Fidelma again reassured the innkeeper and his wife that they had no reason to feel responsible about the death of the stranger at their inn. Soon, she and Caol were back on the road out of Ráth na Drínne and trotting along the highway that wound through the woods towards her brother’s fortress.
CHAPTER TWO
The journey to the fortress of Cashel passed swiftly. As soon as they arrived, Fidelma left Caol to take care of the horses while she made her way to the chambers that she and Eadulf shared. Muirgen, the nurse, had been alerted to her arrival and was already waiting to greet her, holding young Alchú by the hand. Fidelma paused on the threshold, her eyes anxiously on the child. A moment’s examination to ensure that he was well and then she crouched down with her arms held out. Muirgen let go of the boy’s hand and he came stumbling into his mother’s embrace. They clung together, making those strange, inarticulate sounds that only a mother and child can exchange.
Finally, Fidelma glanced up at the old nurse with a smile. ‘Has all been well, Muirgen?’
‘Yes, lady,’ the nurse replied. ‘Brother Eadulf returned yesterday and he is in good spirits.’
‘He has returned already?’ Fidelma was surprised. ‘Where is he?’
‘He is with Bishop Ségdae discussing his findings at Ros Ailithir. Now — shall I prepare a bath or would you prefer refreshments first?’
Fidelma stood up and threw off her badger-fur riding cloak. ‘We halted at Ferloga’s inn to break our fast this morning, so a bath would not come amiss,’ she replied, before turning to her son. ‘Come, my little hound. We’ll sit for a while until Muirgen has prepared my bath. Your mother is dusty after such a long ride this morning.’
As Muirgen headed for the door, it opened suddenly and Eadulf came hurrying in, his face expectant.
‘I heard that-’ He stopped when he saw Fidelma and made straight for her. Wisely, Muirgen left them together, closing the door quietly behind her.
After a while, Eadulf was anxiously plying Fidelma with questions.Little Alchú had wandered to a corner to play with his toys. Fidelma assured Eadulf that her time at Lios Mhór had been a tedious one with nothing exciting about the charges brought by the plaintiffs. Eadulf told her that his trip to Ros Ailithir had been equally boring, the return journey even more so. Then his eyes fell on the staff that Fidelma had brought with her.
