‘You have a sharp eye, Marban the miller.’
‘A man with poor eyesight is no judge of cows on the distant hill.’
‘’Tis true for you. But we come in peace, my friend.’
‘Then you may go in peace.’
Fidelma glanced around. The workmen had not stopped their tasks but she was aware that eyes were watching them, noting their every move.
‘You are wary, my friend. What ails you?’ she demanded softly.
Marban eased his weight from one foot to the other.
‘You may recall that you are in Uí Fidgente country, lady. As yet I do not know who you are but the golden collar denotes where you come from.’
‘Then know, Marban, I am Fidelma of Cashel, sister to Colgú.’
The big man’s eyes narrowed further. He shifted his weight once again.
‘There has been some talk of you in these parts,’ he admitted. ‘You are a Brehon. It was also said that you were married to a foreigner.’ He glanced towards Eadulf.
‘I hope you will also have heard that I am a dálaigh,’ Fidelma said quietly. ‘And you will know that you must answer when I put questions to you.’
Marban’s mouth was barely discernible through his bristling beard but there was a movement of the facial muscles that might have indicated a smile.
‘I have no fear of lawyers, lady. This is my own mill and I block no one’s access to the water supply. Those farms about me have their fill. The mill has been assessed according to the eight parts as listed in the Senchus Mór, and anyone who is injured in the working of the mill is compensated according to the direction of the Book of Aicill. Sometimes accidents happen and the proper assignment of liability is provided for in accordance with the instruction of the local Brehon.’
Fidelma hid her amusement. ‘You seem to know much about your rights and obligations under the law, Marban. Perhaps you are a lawyer, too?’
The big man shook his mane of hair. ‘Not I.’
Eadulf was looking puzzled so Fidelma explained quickly: ‘The law lists the eight components of the mill and the legal construction of them.’ She turned back to the miller. ‘Are you often in need of a Brehon?’
‘No, not often, because Prince Donennach rules in justice.’
‘Ah? So you approve of Prince Donennach?’
‘He has done much to save our territory from devastation,’ replied the miller gruffly.
‘From devastation … from the warriors of Cashel?’ Fidelma’s voice was almost teasing.
‘I have told you, lady, that you are in the territory of the Uí Fidgente.’
‘I understand.’
‘I don’t think you truly do,’ countered the miller. ‘When our warriors suffered defeat on Cnoc Áine, our people were shattered. Your brother’s warriors came among us to make sure that we continued to be weak enough not to challenge Cashel again. Many of those leaders who had supported Prince Eoganán and his vain attempt to gain the kingdom were dead or fled. For a while we were without order and law – unless it was the order of your brother’s warriors and their law.’
‘You cannot expect us to feel sympathy for the Uí Fidgente who unwisely followed Eoganán on his foolish venture to overthrow Colgú and who, being justly defeated, were also justly punished,’ Eadulf intervened. ‘I myself was taken off a ship on the high seas and sent as a slave to work in the copper mines which were being used by Torcán, the son of Eoganán, to trade for men and arms. Eoganán and his son were not so concerned about the treatment they gave to those they intended to conquer so I shall not feel much sympathy either.’
Marban stood regarding Eadulf as he spoke. Eventually he said, ‘I can understand how you must feel. But an injustice faced by an injustice does not equate to justice.’
‘A good philosophical argument, Miller.’ Fidelma’s tone was distant. ‘But a discussion on the ethics of the conflict is not why we have come here.’
The burly miller sniffed. ‘I was wondering if your visit had a purpose.’
‘I am told that you are related to a ferryman, sometime fisherman, called Escmug.’
The miller’s eyes widened for the first time and he seemed about to make an involuntary movement backwards but straightened himself.
‘Escmug? He is dead.’ The words came out emphatically.
‘Then you will not object to telling us something about him?’
Suspicion was shaping Marban’s features. ‘Why?’
A fine, misty rain had started to spread, almost indiscernibly at first, like settling dew. Fidelma drew her cloak more tightly across her shoulders.