‘You think he was a warrior of rank?’ demanded Eadulf in surprise.
‘The thought that he was a professional warrior did not escape me,’ Fidelma affirmed.
‘But he is not of the Nasc Niadh, lady,’ pointed out Gormán.
‘We are not the only people whose élite warriors wear the torc of gold. It is an old custom, even among peoples in Gaul and among the Britons.’
‘Are you saying that this person is some élite warrior in disguise?’ repeated Eadulf. ‘I do not understand.’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘We are not saying anything except that this man poses several questions. Why would he and his companion be waiting here on this road? Were they robbers lying in wait for any passer-by? Why did they attempt to kill us first? They could have simply threatened us if the intention was to rob.’
‘Given the quick retreat of the second man, perhaps they did not have sufficient courage to do so and thought to rob us after we were killed,’ Gormán offered.
‘Or was it us in particular they were waiting for?’ mused Eadulf.
‘You mean that they might have been waiting specifically to ambush us?’ Fidelma queried. She gave a shake of her head. ‘That’s absurd.’
But Gormán was frowning thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps not, lady. After all, you and Eadulf have made many enemies these last few years. There’s no denying it. Uncovering guilt and meting out justice inevitably causes one to gather enemies like a bee gathers honey. This man was lying in wait out of sight with a good bow. Had I not spotted him move forward to release his arrow and pushed Brother Eadulf from his horse, that arrow would have surely transfixed him. He drew quickly, this man, and his next arrow was already on the way to you, lady, when I cried to you to take cover. This archer was no novice when it came to the use of the bow.’
‘In other words,’ Fidelma said quietly, ‘you think these men were professional assassins whose aim was to kill Eadulf or myself?’
‘Or all three of us,’ added Gormán with a grimace. ‘I have gathered enemies as well. Although you were his first targets.’
‘This might have been a means to prevent us going to Lios Mór,’ Eadulf suddenly remarked.
Fidelma stared at him a moment and then turned thoughtfully to Gormán.
‘When my brother, Colgú, asked you to accompany us, did he say that he suspected something like this would happen?’ she asked.
The young warrior shook his head quickly. ‘Your brother, the King, felt that you might have need of me. That is all. If he had such a concern, then surely he would have suggested I bring a couple of companions with me. As I have said, lady, you have gained many enemies in your career. Those whose crimes are found out always think they are hard done by when caught and punished. They often swear to exact revenge on those responsible for their undoing.’
Fidelma glanced down at the face of the dead man. ‘If he is an enemy, I do not recognise him. Anyway, we are speculating without knowledge. He and his companion might just have been robbers. But we will keep a careful watch in case his companion doubles back. We’ll take this man’s horse and weapons. Perhaps we will eventually be able to identify him by them. There is nothing else. We will have to leave the body in this ditch. I’m afraid the wolves and other scavengers will have to dispose of it.’
Gormán bent swiftly to the task of removing the weaponry from their assailant and tied the bundle up before placing it on the brown pony that was tethered nearby. He glanced quickly over the beast before he did so and said, ‘The horse is unmarked as well. Nothing to tell where it came from other than the breed is popular in these parts.’
Fidelma compressed her lips in annoyance at herself. She should have considered that the horse might have carried anidentifying brand. Gormán had diplomatically reminded her of the question that she should have asked.
‘Shall we continue on this road?’ asked Eadulf uneasily, distracting her. ‘If this was an attempt to prevent us reaching Lios Mór then it might be better to choose another route.’
She remounted her horse and turned to him. ‘It is the quickest route and, as I said, we want to be at the abbey before nightfall. The road swings to our left towards the Gallagh, the river that passes through the glen of stones. You may remember it. We shall follow it through the glen. At the head of the glen is the little chapel of Domnoc where we can rest the horses and refresh ourselves at the hostel before starting the climb through the mountains. We will follow the track up Cnoc Mhaol Domnaigh. It will not take us long to reach Lios Mór once we are through the mountains.’
Eadulf remounted and glanced at Gormán. ‘Can you manage leading that pony?’ he asked, indicating the dead man’s mount.
‘I can,’ the young warrior answered cheerfully. He knew well that Eadulf was not a good horseman and when it came to climbing through the mountains he felt he would be better able to handle their newly acquired pony.
‘Then let us start out again,’ Fidelma called, already moving off. ‘But this time let us proceed with caution.’
They rode on with senses alert but saw no one until they reached the little chapel of Domnoc, which stood by the roadside at the head of Glen Gallagh. A thickset man was working with a hoe in the field nearby and, at the sight of them, he stopped his work and approached them with a cheery greeting. He turned out to be the brother in charge of the chapel, Brother Corbach. His cheeks were red and he had bright sky-blue eyes. He recognised Fidelma immediately from previous trips she had made along this road, acknowledged Eadulf and noted Gormán’s gold torc. With some deference, he set about offeringwhat hospitality he could. ‘I can provide good beds for the night, lady,’ he added but Fidelma shook her head.
‘We mean to cross the mountain and be in Lios Mór before nightfall if the weather stays fair,’ she said.
Brother Corbach glanced up at the sky. ‘It will be a fine evening.’ He paused before asking: ‘Is it because of the news from Lios Mór that you are journeying there?’
‘The news?’ asked Fidelma, curious at the man’s question.
‘Why, the news of the murder of Brother Donnchad,’ replied the man. ‘Travellers passing on this road have told me of it.’
‘And have there been many travellers today?’ Fidelma asked, deflecting his question.
‘Not many today. Why do you ask, lady?’
It was Gormán who pointed to the horse that he had been leading, the bow and quiver hanging from its saddle.
‘Did two men pass here, one being an archer riding this horse with those weapons on him?’
Brother Corbach looked puzzled but examined the horse and weapons more closely. Then his eyes widened and he nodded slowly.
‘Two men passed early this morning and halted only for some water. What happened to the archer who rode that steed?’
‘I killed him,’ replied Gormán quietly.
The religieux looked shocked. ‘That is not a good jest, my friend.’
‘It is not meant as one,’ Fidelma intervened solemnly. ‘The man and his companion tried to ambush us. My companion here killed one assailant and chased the other away. Did you know either of them? Had you seen them before?’
The man shook his head slowly. ‘Both men were strangers to me. They came over the mountain from the south.’
‘And their speech? Could you tell where they came from by their tones of speech?’
Brother Corbach reflected a moment or two. ‘I would say that the one who rode this horse might have been of the Uí Liatháin. The other man, who had strange, white hair, could have been a foreigner.’
Gormán frowned. ‘Uí Liatháin? They are always causing trouble,’ he muttered softly.
The clans of the Uí Liatháin dwelt to the south, beyond the river An Tuairigh. They claimed to be Eóghanacht but not of the line of Corc who had founded the royal dynasty at Cashel. Instead, they claimed that an ancestor called Bressal had been King of Muman. It was a claim that the genealogists of
