There was a silence and then Fidelma heaved a sigh. ‘You have told us a strange story, Aona. Can you give us nothing further about your unknown guest?’
The elderly tavern-keeper shook his head. ‘Alas, lady, if there was more to tell then I would tell it. I have searched my mind. As I said, he had a hood over his head, although I caught sight of a sharp chin and the fact that he was badly in need of a shave. I had the impression of gauntness. That is all I can say.’
Eadulf chuckled and laid a hand on the elderly inn-keeper’s arm.
‘Well, friend Aona, for a man who says he did not notice much, you seem to have noticed a great deal.’
For a moment or two Fidelma sat in silence and then she rose and stretched. ‘It is time to be off,’ she said decisively. ‘We need to reach Cnoc Ulla before the winter darkness is upon us and I don’t want to exhaust our horses by needless speed.’
After Aona had gone off to the stables, shouting for his grandson to get the mounts ready, Fidelma turned to her companions. ‘Well, we know that Ordan came here and that he met the assassin. We cannot be sure that they knew each other, but Aona suspects they exchanged words. But what were these words? Then the assassin left on his way to Cashel. Why did Ordan stay until midnight and then take the long way home? Did he stay because he knew what was going to take place at Cashel that evening? As Eadulf observed, at least Aibell’s story of being picked up by Ordan at the Ford of the Ass is confirmed.’
‘I think we should ride back to Cashel and have a word with that merchant,’ suggested Gormán.
Fidelma thought for a moment and then shook her head. ‘The merchant will keep until our return. We have other matters to pursue.’
As Eadulf knew, the road running directly to the west would bring them to the famous Abbey of Ailbe at Imleach, but they soon left this road and turned northwards, along a stream which fed the Ara. While riding at Fidelma’s side, with Gormán a little way ahead, Eadulf re-opened the subject that had been worrying him.
‘Have you considered that Ordan may have taken the detour towards the Ford of the Ass because the girl was also involved in the conspiracy?’
Fidelma smiled at him. ‘At the moment, we are not even sure it is a conspiracy. And if Ordan and Aibell were fellow conspirators, they are poor ones to concoct a story that paints Ordan in such a bad light.’
Eadulf relapsed into silence and in this fashion they continued onwards for a while.
The day was turning colder as the sun started its descent towards the rim of the western hills. Dark clouds began to race across the sky. A bitter wind was gusting across the narrow valley through which they were travelling along the bank of the stream. Had they been on higher ground, unsheltered by the surrounding hills, the cold would have been sharp. They drew their cloaks more tightly around them.
‘Let’s hope the wind remains strong,’ muttered Fidelma.
Eadulf glanced at her in surprise. ‘Why would you wish that?’
‘Because if the wind blows those clouds away, it will not rain. Those are heavy stormclouds and I would not like to be drenched before we find shelter.’
Eadulf saw the logic in the observation and glanced up at the clouds that were racing along, almost at hilltop-level.
‘How far is it to this place where we intend to stay tonight?’
‘Not far now, if we can keep up this pace,’ replied Fidelma.
As she spoke, they both became aware that Gormán had halted and was peering in the direction of a small copse of trees that grew to one side of the track.
‘What is it?’ called Fidelma as they came up to him.
Gormán merely pointed. Among the trees, a black shadow seemed to be moving in the wind. As they stared at it, the horrible realisation dawned that it was a human body hanging from a branch of one of the trees. The young warrior had already unsheathed his sword and his gaze scoured the surrounding woods.
‘Wait here,’ he ordered, and nudged his horse across the short distance to the edge of the little wood, his keen eyes alert for any danger.
They waited while he entered the wood, halted and looked about. Then he turned and waved them forward.
The body was hanging by the neck: it was clear that he had not come to that position through his own means. Eadulf noticed that the skin of the arms and hands was mottled, the features deathly white.
‘He has not hung here very long,’ Eadulf ventured. ‘No more than a day or two, perhaps less.’
The body was that of a young man. The face was cleanshaven. His hair was corn-coloured, long but dishevelled, with dirt and dead leaves mingled in it. The clothes, too, were torn and caked with dirt and dried blood. He wore a linen shirt covered by a short, tight-fitting jacket that had been ripped open so that the fixings had been torn away. He wore triubhas, trousers that fitted snug from hip to ankle with straps that passed underneath the feet to keep them in place. The man’s feet were bleeding and there was no sign of any footwear. It was hard to discern the quality of the clothes. They had once been bright and possibly of good craftsmanship. There was no jewellery on the corpse.