His doubts were quickly confirmed as large splatters of rain began to come down, increasing in size and rapidity.
Gormán, screwing his eyes against the sting of the almost horizontal rain, suddenly pointed.
‘There is a cabin ahead. It looks like a farmstead. Let’s seek shelter there.’
Heads down against the now wild, wailing wind, which seemed to be throwing the rain in torrents against them, the crack of thunder and sudden bright flashes of lightning spooking their horses, they pushed on towards the buildings.
‘You seek shelter with friend Eadulf at the cabin, lady,’ yelled Gormán. ‘I’ll take the horses to that stable over there.’ He gestured to a dark outbuilding.
Fidelma and Eadulf slipped from their horses into the squelching mud while Gormán gathered the reins and fought his way through the sleeting rain towards the stable. Wiping the water from her face, Fidelma hammered on the door. She heard a muffled exclamation and then the door swung open.
A tall, well-built man stood framed against the light of a lantern. The darkness of the storm had made it necessary for, although it was only midday, the heavy clouds seemed to have plunged them into the night.
The man seemed to be a person of quick comprehension and decision. He simply stood back and motioned them inside, shutting the door behind them.
‘Stay, Failinis!’ he shouted.
They turned to see that a large hound had risen from its place by the hearth and was sniffing enquiringly towards them. It immediately returned to its place, yet its eyes remained on them, watchful and ready.
‘Our companion has taken our horses to your stable for shelter,’ gasped Fidelma, still wiping the wetness from her face. ‘We hope that you have no objections.’
‘I would not deprive anyone of shelter on such a day as this,’ the man replied. ‘There is plenty of room in the stable. Will he need help?’
‘He will manage,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘And we thank you for your hospitality.’
The man seemed to examine them for a moment or two from eyes that sparkled like points of fire, reflecting the flicker of the lantern. He was of middle age with lean features and tanned skin. The remains of youth and handsome good looks were still etched in his features and yet there seemed a tension around his mouth which gave the impression of age and weariness. Although he was dressed as a farmer there was something about his carriage, the upright way he held himself, that did not quite match.
‘My name is Temnén,’ he announced, as if he realised that they were waiting for him to introduce himself first. He turned to Eadulf with raised brows.
‘I am Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, in the Land of the South Folk.’
‘A Saxon?’
‘An Angle,’ corrected Eadulf patiently.
The man’s eyes suddenly narrowed as if trying to remember something. ‘Brother Eadulf … ?’
He was interrupted by a knocking at the door. He turned and swung it open and Gormán staggered in, mud-stained and soaked.
‘Thanks,’ he muttered, thrusting the door shut behind him. He stood leaning against it, breathing heavily from his exertion running through the mud and storm to the cabin.
Temnén nodded briefly and went to a side table where there was a jug and clay beakers.
‘A drink of corma to keep out the winter chill?’ he asked, his gaze sweeping over them. They assented readily.
He began to pour. ‘We were in the middle of introductions,’ he said across his shoulder. ‘If this is Brother Eadulf, then you, lady, are …’
‘My name is Fidelma,’ she replied. ‘Our companion is Gormán.’
Temnén swung round rapidly, beakers in hand, examining each in turn before he handed Fidelma and Eadulf their drinks. He then poured one for Gormán and one for himself, raising his drink in a silent toast as they all took a swallow of the fiery liquid. He motioned for them to seat themselves round a central hearth in which a smouldering peat fire was sending out its warmth.
‘The heat will quickly dry your clothes, but I would suggest that you remove your cloaks to allow them to dry more quickly. You are all soaked through.’
They did so with gratitude.
‘So,’ resumed Fidelma, ‘your name, you say, is Temnén? I take it you are a farmer?’
The man bowed his head in a solemn gesture. ‘That is now my lot, lady. I farm this small piece of land with some cattle, some pigs, two horses and my hound as my companion.’
‘You do not look like a farmer,’ Eadulf commented.
‘What is a farmer supposed to look like?’ laughed their host good-naturedly.
Eadulf shrugged. ‘I suppose I could only give the answer that I will know a farmer when I see him. You do not look like a man who has spent his life tilling the soil or herding cattle.’