Yet the forest was alive. A snipe suddenly flitted from a tree, arrowing down to the mud banks of the water-courses below. This set off some alarmed chattering from a couple of red grouse who had sought sanctuary here from the open moorland behind. However, their flight had been noted and followed by a small dark object rising rapidly skywards, with fast shallow wingbeats. The tiny merlin was an unforgiving bird of prey.
Led by Fidelma, the three travellers walked their horses along the path and entered the darker space of the woodland. It was not long before they saw the shadowy shape of a hut; it was well-hidden in the gloom and could easily have been missed, had they not been specifically looking for it. Even so, Fidelma and Eadulf had to leave their mounts, under the care of Gormán, on the main path and push through the ferns and bracken that grew almost to their own height, presumably in their search for the sun, as if reaching up towards the top of the forest canopy.
To their surprise, they found themselves in a cultivated space in front of the wooden cabin, a place where a few hardy root vegetables had been planted.
Fidelma paused and called: ‘Suanach! Don’t be alarmed. We wish to talk with you.’
There was a movement inside the hut and then the door creaked open.
A woman stood there with wild grey hair and a pale skin, creased with wrinkles. Her eyes were bright but the flesh seemed aged by weather as much as time. She was wrapped in a thick woollen shawl which covered an equally thick dress of wool.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded.
Fidelma reflected that suspicion seemed a natural reaction in this territory.
‘Flannait the farmer’s wife told us where we would find you,’ she began.
‘For what purpose?’ came the uncompromising response.
‘I am a dálaigh,’ Fidelma went on, unperturbed. ‘I understand you are a survivor of the attack on Menma’s rath some years ago.’
If anything, the woman’s eyes narrowed with increased suspicion. She looked from Fidelma to Eadulf – a disapproving expression on her face as she regarded him. Then she turned back.
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘No more than four years, so I am told.’
‘A long time,’ Suanach repeated as if she had not heard her.
‘Can we speak inside your cabin?’
The woman sniffed and actually stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind her.
‘No, we cannot. There is scant room for myself and none for strangers. If you must talk, there is a seat on that log. I shall sit on the porch.’
Fidelma glanced at Eadulf with a smile of resignation and went to sit on the log that the woman had indicated. Eadulf preferred to stand.
‘I merely want you to tell me the details of the attack on Menma’s rath,’ Fidelma said quietly.
‘Details?’ The woman gave a hoarse laugh. Suddenly she turned her head away and raised her long hair from the back of her neck, revealing a livid white scar. ‘Is that detail enough? Menma and all his family were all killed. I was the only survivor. A curse on the strangers from Cashel!’
Fidelma shot a warning look at Eadulf before continuing. ‘Tell me what happened. Who was at the rath that day?’
Suanach shrugged indifferently. ‘What good does it do to speak of them now? They are all dead.’
‘It may help to bring the guilty to punishment,’ Fidelma replied.
‘After all these years? I doubt it. And who will punish the Eóghanacht? Still, I shall not go to my grave without passing on the truth.’ She paused and seemed to gather herself before continuing. ‘It was a normal day. The sun was up and the warrior had gone …’
‘The warrior?’
‘It was after our defeat by the Eóghanacht. Part of our punishment was that we had bands of warriors from Cashel set to watch over us until we agreed the terms of the peace. One warrior who commanded them demanded the hospitality of the rath.’
Fidelma leaned forward eagerly. ‘Do you know his name?’
Suanach frowned. ‘It is so long ago, I forget. All I remember was that he wore a golden collar, a gold torque around his neck, and boasted that he was of the warrior élite of Cashel come to maintain order over us. He was tall and slender.’
‘Perhaps his name will come back to you as we speak,’ Fidelma replied, disappointed. ‘Let us continue. How long was he here?’
‘A long while, I think. Months, but not years. Long enough for him to pretend to be in love.’
Fidelma ran her tongue over lips that had gone dry with excitement.
‘With whom was he supposed to be in love?’
‘A woman from Dún Eochair Mháigh who was under Menma’s protection. She had come to be with us some months before. She was an attractive woman, with dark hair the colour of black night. When the sun shone on it, it danced with a blue light.’