‘I have said before, lady, that you are a wise woman,’ Temnén said after a moment or two. He turned to Eadulf: ‘You are truly a man to be envied, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham.’
They left Temnén’s farm and turned south along the main track again. The storm had completely disappeared and hardy winter birds seemed to be raising their beaks in a chorus of thanksgiving for its passing.
‘A sad man,’ commented Gormán after a while, breaking the silence that had fallen between the three of them. He was riding just behind the couple.
‘Life is sad,’ returned Eadulf over his shoulder. ‘But we can only mourn for a brief while and then must move on in life. Our friend seems to be making a virtue of his sadness.’
‘It’s a harsh judgement, Eadulf,’ commented Fidelma. ‘He has lost his wife and child.’
‘I do not mean to belittle his loss. But I would hope that he moves on as you suggested to him.’ Then Eadulf returned to the matter that had been worrying him. ‘Brother Lugna was brother to Lorcán and Torcán, which makes him …’
‘The son of the late and unlamented Prince Eoganán as well,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Yet it seems he is unlike his father or brothers. I remember Abbot Nannid telling us that he left his family when he was seventeen to serve in the abbey stables. It shows how, even in the same family, there will be differences in character.’
‘But someone smothered old Brother Ledbán,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘I was thinking …’
‘You were speculating,’ she reproved him.
At that moment, they came to a pillar stone and halted. It was a tall stone with a circular hole in it.
‘We are approaching a township,’ explained Gormán, who looked uncomfortable and kept peering round nervously.
‘Indeed,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘This is the gallan that proclaims a territorial border.’
‘A gallan?’ asked Eadulf. ‘I have heard these markers called by several names, but that is new to me.’
‘It is said that they are so named because it was a colony of Gauls who came to this land in ancient times and were the first to erect such stones to delineate their territories. Come on, we should be able to get to the Ford of the Oaks before the daylight goes.’
She was about to move off when Gormán stayed her with a piercing whisper.
‘Lady, do not look round. I think we are being observed. Be very still, Eadulf.’ The sharp command was added as Eadulf began to turn.
Fidelma bent forward to pat her horse’s neck and said, in an even tone, ‘Have you spotted who it is, Gormán?’
‘I’ve had a feeling for some time that we were being followed. I wasn’t sure, otherwise I would have said something sooner. The feeling began soon after we left Temnén’s farmstead when the forest began to thicken to our left. Several times I thought that I saw movement among the trees.’
‘Brigands again? Well, they have already taken most of our valuables,’ Fidelma said tiredly.
‘If they were brigands, they could have attacked us at any time before now,’ muttered Gormán. ‘I wish I had been able to find a replacement sword.’
‘We had best ignore them and ride on. They surely won’t attack so close to a township.’
She led the way past the pillar stone and they moved slowly at a walking pace along the track. The treeline had come down to the road now, obscuring their view to the left, and as the road swung to follow the line of the river on their right, they were suddenly halted by three riders facing them in the middle of the track, forcing them to draw rein. One of them held a fluttering red silk banner with the design of a ravening wolf. It was the meirge or battle standard of the Uí Fidgente.
‘Let your sword remain in its sheath, warrior!’ the leading rider said to Gormán, who had been automatically groping for his non-existent weapon. ‘Do not be foolish enough to throw your life away. There is an arrow aimed at your heart.’
A bowman had stepped out from the cover of the trees. The strange warrior had not been bluffing, for the man had a bow full strung, with an arrow pointing directly at Gormán. Six more mounted warriors now rode up behind them and sat at ease on their horses, their weapons carelessly displayed in their hands.
Gormán stifled an exclamation of anger and despair and raised his hands.
‘I carry no weapons. My scabbard is empty.’
The leading warrior who had issued the order looked sceptical but one of his men soon acknowledged that Gormán spoke the truth.
‘Welcome to the Land of the Uí Fidgente, Fidelma of Cashel,’ the leader then said. ‘We have been waiting patiently for you.’