Most of the journey was in silence for it was a cold day, and now and again the wind brought a fine spray of rain. Fidelma and Eadulf were thankful for their lummon – thick woollen cloaks edged in beaver fur. The wool was from the black-fleeced sheep that were prevalent in the country; it was of a thick texture and could protect against the most persistent rain, having an oily quality that allowed water to drain off it without penetrating.
It was not long before they were passing north of the hills on which the rath of Menma could just be glimpsed. Then they were heading back over the marshy plains to pick up the small stream that would eventually emerge as the great River Mháigh. The trees began to grow thickly, so that woods became forests before thinning out again.
Just after midday, the smells and then the sounds of Marban’s watermill assailed their senses. A short time later, the fields, kilns and the mill itself came into their vision.
One of the workmen at the kilns saw them and, with a shout, went running to the mill, doubtless to inform Marban. Sure enough, the burly miller came out of the mill, greeting them with a raised hand.
‘Welcome back, my friends. I did not expect you to return.’
Fidelma swung down from her horse. ‘In truth, Marban, we did not expect to do so … at least not in this direction. My intention was to return directly to Cashel after we had visited Menma’s rath, or what remained of it.’
A sad look momentarily crossed the miller’s features. ‘And did you see it?’
‘We did and more.’
‘More?’
‘We were invited to encamp with Fidaig himself. Our new companions are two of his warriors.’
‘Fidaig was there?’ The miller looked concerned.
‘Not there exactly,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘However, from our journey there are a few more questions we have to ask you before we move on.’
The miller hesitated a moment. Then he said: ‘Stable your horses and let your companions rest as they will.’ He turned and ordered one of his workmen to look after Gormán and the other warriors. Gormán seemed unwilling, but Fidelma glanced at him and nodded slightly.
‘Now,’ said Marban, ‘come into the mill where we may be warm and I may provide you with hospitality and information.’
Inside, the mill was indeed as warm as they had previously experienced. They took off their cloaks and spread them on the wooden benches to sit more comfortably while Marban poured the inevitable beakers of corma.
‘Did you find out what you wanted?’ he asked Fidelma as he handed the drinks to them.
‘I found out what I was able,’ she countered. ‘Now I think you could add to that knowledge.’
Marban frowned. ‘I will answer if I can.’
‘I would like you to tell me the real reason why Liamuin ran away from her husband, Escmug.’
Marban looked astonished at the abruptness of the question. ‘He was a bully and an evil man,’ he said defensively.
‘Then why did she not leave him before?’
‘Her daughter was the reason. I told you.’
‘Yet what happened this time that she fled and abandoned her daughter? She had put up with Escmug’s beatings for fourteen years. Why choose this moment to run away?’
Marban could not meet her eye.
‘Come!’ snapped Fidelma, suddenly becoming angry. ‘Are there no Brehons here? Women are equal to men in their right to divorce or to separation. Women who have been ill-used or beaten can be divorced with full compensation – especially if blemishes have been raised on the skin by such ill-treatment. Why did Liamuin not have recourse to the law? Instead she flees – and the law states that a woman who flees from her marital contact without sufficient cause is classed in the same manner as a fugitive thief.’
The miller raised his hands, spread slightly outwards. ‘Liamuin is dead, lady. Surely the dead should be allowed to rest in peace?’
‘Not if their resurrection goes to explaining their death and exonerating their reputation. And not if their resurrection will save lives.’
‘I cannot help, lady,’ the miller replied stubbornly.
Fidelma turned to Eadulf. ‘Would you ask Gormán to bring the … the object in here.’
Eadulf rose and went off to fulfil his task. He knew that Fidelma had an idea but he was not sure what it was. He was back with Gormán within moments.
‘Gormán, unwrap the sacking and show the miller what you have there.’
As Gormán obeyed, Fidelma watched the miller’s face turn pale. A number of expressions chased across his features. He reached forward and ran his trembling hands over the golden wolf.
‘It is the same, yet it has been expertly repaired,’ he breathed at last.