Peter Tremayne - Chalice of Blood

Eolann was almost a replica of Muirgíos. His story was also simple.

‘I had been to Ard Mór to take a religious brother seeking transportation there. He had journeyed from Gúagan Barra, a littleabbey to the west of here. I have a boat that I can manoeuvre single-handed. Having delivered the brother to the abbey, I was returning. I was not far beyond the point where the River Bríd enters into The Great River when I saw Muirgíos’s sailing barge coming downriver. I was about to call a greeting when I saw the crew were all strangers. There was no sign of Muirgíos and there were no men of the Fir Maige Féne that I recognised. So I sailed on by with no more than a courteous wave as one bargeman gives another when passing on the river.’

He paused for a moment before continuing.

‘I knew Muirgíos well, and he had told me that he was taking books to Ard Mór on his next trip there. I also knew that Ard Mór was expecting his barge. So I drew in my sail and turned back after his barge. I let the flow of the river take me after it, keeping as close to the bank as I could. I saw it manoeuvre into the Bríd. So I hove to and waited for a while in the shelter of the bank. Then I went more cautiously along the river but it was not long before I found the barge abandoned.’

‘Which side of the river was it abandoned on?’ asked Fidelma. ‘I mean, was it on the side of the territory of the Uí Liatháin or was it on the side of the territory of the Fir Maige Féne?’

‘It was on the south side,’ confirmed Eolann immediately. ‘On the side of the Uí Liatháin.’

‘What then?’

‘Seeing no sign of anyone, I went aboard. I feared I would find Muirgíos and his crew below, perhaps slaughtered. But there was no sign of anyone. Curiously, the cargo seemed intact, although I saw some chests broken open and empty. I have sailed with Muirgíos before and realised that was where he usually stored the copies of manuscripts and books that were often transported from our library to Lios Mór and Ard Mór.’

‘How were you able to bring word here so quickly?’ Fidelmaasked. ‘You could not crew the barge and to sail here in your small boat would have taken a while against the current of the river.’

Eolann smiled. ‘I knew further upriver was a small settlement, a place where compara grows.’

Seeing Fidelma frown, Eadulf explained quickly: ‘The henna plant, camphire.’

‘I went there and sought out men who could bring the barge to the north bank into our territory. While they did that, I borrowed a horse and rode here directly across the hills, so that our chief could be immediately alerted to what had happened.’

Fidelma nodded approvingly. ‘You did well, Eolann. One more question. Did you glimpse a bánaí with these men?’

‘I heard one was killed in the attack on the library. I did not glimpse any such person, though.’

Fidelma turned to Cumscrad, glancing up at the darkening sky. ‘I have heard enough. My companions and I will ride south at first light to confront Uallachán on these matters before returning to Lios Mór. So I ask you for hospitality for the night. I would like your word that you will undertake no action against the Uí Liatháin until Gormán brings you Uallachán’s response and my advice. Do I have it?’

Cumscrad hesitated before agreeing.

‘Excellent. Have no concern, Cumscrad. The Uí Liatháin will be made to account for any deeds that they have committed contrary to the law. They will be answerable to my brother, just as you will be if you attempt to take the law into your own hands.’

It was not long after daybreak that Fidelma, Eadulf and Gormán set off southwards over the forested hills towards the meandering Bríd, the river that marked the border between the two clans. The sky indicated fine weather for their journey, withonly a few clouds spread like woolly sheep’s fleeces across the blue. If the clouds grew larger, the innocent looking fleece could turn into thunderclouds. But the early signs, together with the glorious red sunset the previous evening, gave them every expectation of good weather.

From Fhear Maighe to the River Bríd was only some eight kilometres. Taking the track south-east, they moved through a small valley and from there only one large hill lay between them and the river. Once across the hill, they would descend on to a plain towards a fortress that had once dominated the river crossing and had long been a subject of dispute between the Fir Maige Féne and the Uí Liatháin. The disputed fortress was regarded as Fir Maige Féne, but it was still called Caisleán Uí Liatháin after the southern tribe’s claim. Ancient standing stones rose in the surrounding countryside.

The place was strangely silent as they rode by the deserted fortress walls. They could hear the distant sound of animals, the clucking of chicken, bleating of sheep and the occasional protesting moo of a cow, which they supposed belonged to an isolated farmstead further back on the hill. Yet Gormán was growing uncomfortable and Fidelma’s eyes searched the deserted buildings.

‘It’s too quiet,’ whispered Eadulf.

Fidelma did not reply; she had noticed a movement in the shadow of a wall.

‘Gormán,’ she said softly but Gormán was already reaching for his sword. Before he could draw it, a stentorian voice called out.

‘Hold, warrior! Even breathe and you are a dead man!’

Gormán had spotted at least two bowmen with weapons levelled and he let his sword hand stay motionless in the air. Abruptly two riders came round the corner of the fortress wall, blocking the pathway. They edged their horses closer.

‘Well, well,’ the leader, clearly a warrior, sneered as he examined them. ‘Who do we have here? More thieves and liars of the Fir Maige Féne?’

Neither Fidelma nor Eadulf made any response or movement. They were aware of several other people among the buildings now. It had been a simple and successful ambush and Fidelma was silently chastising herself.

‘I advise you,’ called Gormán, undeterred, ‘that you stand in grave danger. This is Fidelma of Cashel, sister to King Colgú. Threatening her and her husband, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, is an affront to her brother, your rightful King.’

‘I serve only Uallachán, chief of the Uí Liatháin,’ replied the man with a sardonic smile. ‘I stand in danger only of his displeasure if I do not carry out his orders.’

He turned and waved to his men to close in. With growing apprehension, Eadulf saw that one of the riders carried a banner with a grey fox’s head on it. Then another rider, dressed in the brown robes of a religious, moved forward.

‘Is that Fidelma? Fidelma of Cashel?’ The man clearly recognised her and turned to the leader of the warriors. ‘It is true that she is Fidelma of Cashel, sister to King Colgú.’ Then he turned to her. ‘What are you doing here? Do you recognise me?’

Fidelma frowned slightly. ‘I seem to know your face …’

‘At Ard Mór when you were waiting to go on board the Barnacle Goose on a pilgrimage voyage.’

Her features cleared. ‘You were the librarian of the abbey. Brother … Brother …’

‘Brother Temnen,’ supplied the man eagerly.

‘It was some years ago,’ Fidelma admitted.

‘I also remember you during the summer that you solved the murder of poor Sister Aróc,’ said Brother Temnen.

‘This is Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham,’ introduced Fidelma, ‘and this is a warrior of my brother’s bodyguard, Gormán.’

‘Of Eadulf I have heard,’ acknowledged the librarian. He turned again to the leader of the warriors. ‘These are not our enemies, my friend. They are not Fir Maige Féne.’

The man seemed undecided. ‘My chief, Uallachán, should be here within the hour. It will be for him to decide what is to be done.’