Peter Tremayne - Chalice of Blood

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 Eóghanacht of Cashel did not recognise. They were also boastful that the daughter of their chieftain, Tasach, had been wife to Laoghaire, who had been High King when Pádraig had arrived. It was said that she had converted to the new Faith and ensured her son, Lugaidh, was raised as the first Christian High King.

‘What made you think the other was a foreigner?’ asked Fidelma.

‘He never spoke but his appearance was strange.’

‘And did they say anything to you when they stopped for water?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘Simply to ask if there had been any travellers on the road, but that is a question everyone asks, just as you have.’

Fidelma noticed the religieux hesitate. ‘You have remembered something else?’

‘It is just that I recall that they were specific. They wanted to know if there were any travellers going south from Cashel.’

‘South to Lios Mór?’ Gormán pressed, with a meaningful glance at Fidelma.

‘If you go south from here, then any traveller would come to Lios Mór,’ Brother Corbach pointed out pedantically.

‘That is true, Brother,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘And now we shallavail ourselves of your hospitality, although we must be brief for we must continue our journey soon. Can you fodder our horses as well?’

‘That I can, lady. Perhaps I may have some help …?’ He glanced from Gormán to Eadulf.

‘I will help you with the horses,’ Gormán offered.

A short time later they were all seated round the table in Brother Corbach’s little bruden , or hostel for travellers, eating cold meats, cheeses and bread, washed down with local ale.

‘So,’ Fidelma said, after a while, ‘what have the travellers been saying about the death of Brother Donnchad? You mentioned that you have heard news of his murder from them.’

Brother Corbach’s features assumed a worried expression. ‘Most were shocked by the news. Brother Donnchad was a venerated scholar who had recently travelled to the Holy Land in the east.’

‘And did anyone have an opinion about his death?’ asked Eadulf.

‘They say that Brother Donnchad was found stabbed to death in his cell, but the door was locked from the inside. They speak of some supernatural vengeance.’

Fidelma could not refrain from a cynical sniff.

‘What sort of supernatural vengeance?’ Eadulf queried quickly.

Brother Corbach shrugged. ‘I merely relate what the travellers say. They ask how the blessed man could be slain in this fashion. How could he be killed while the perpetrator could pass through stone walls as though they did not exist?’