‘That is correct, lady,’ the farmer’s wife nodded. ‘Once a year, after harvest, Fidaig sends his warriors to collect tribute from us. We are Uí Fidgente but some of those who dwell here among us are Luachra.’
‘I thought his territory was further south in the mountains?’ Fidelma said.
‘It is not far enough away,’ Flannait remarked bitterly.
‘So, is he not a good lord?’
Flannait seemed to be suppressing a sour remark but Cadan said quickly: ‘I have known worse.’
‘How did he stand in the rebellion?’ asked Gormán.
‘Rebellion?’ queried the farmer uncertainly.
‘The war against Cashel,’ Fidelma said, with a frown at Gormán for giving away their allegiances.
‘Oh, Fidaig likes to see which way the wind is blowing before he commits himself.’
‘He did not support the Uí Fidgente at Cnoc Áine?’
‘He did not, even though he owed allegiance to Prince Eoganán. His excuse was that his warriors were needed to guard the southern borders against the Eóganacht Locha Lein and the Eóganacht Glendamnach. But it was at Cnoc Áine that the Eóganacht attacked.’
‘So Fidaig remained neutral in the war?’
‘Neutral while the wind blew against him,’ muttered Flannait. ‘He abandoned the Uí Fidgente.’
‘How did Menma stand in this conflict?’
‘Menma was first and foremost a farmer and had little time for the politics of ambitious princes. He and his sons believed their first duty was to the land. Those days were bad when death and disaster ravaged this land.’
‘But peace is restored and the kingdom is one,’ pointed out Eadulf.
‘Blood never wiped out blood,’ the farmer commented dourly. ‘The Uí Fidgente will never be at peace with Cashel.’
‘One more question,’ said Fidelma, ignoring the comment. ‘You had an apothecary here who helped nurse Suanach back to health. His name was Lachtine.’
The farmer nodded.
‘I am told that he too was in love with Liamuin.’
The farmer grimaced. ‘That he was. Just like my son, Maolán. Soon after the attack, he left here. I heard he became the apothecary in a town further downriver – ah, yes, a place called the Ford of the Oaks.’
They had taken their leave of Cadan and Flannait and ridden back down the hill towards the plains.
‘Where to now, lady?’ enquired Gormán.
‘There is nothing left but to return to Cashel. We need to speak to Ordan again, but above all, we must find out something about the warriors who served in the amuis company at that time.’
‘There are many questions to be answered,’ Eadulf said, ‘but are you sure that all the answers lie back in Cashel?’
They had barely reached the bottom of the hill and started along the track in the direction of the eastern hills when a whistling sound caught their ears, followed by a sudden thud. An arrow transfixed itself to a tree at the side of the track. Gormán was attempting to pull free his sword as the silence was abruptly pierced by shouting and the thunder of hooves.
A band of half-a-dozen horsemen came racing towards them brandishing weapons. It was obvious they were outnumbered, and any attempt to fight would end one way only. Fidelma had already seen the flash of weapons, and one of the riders had halted a little way and was stringing an arrow to his bow. The riders looked a motley bunch, but clearly had some professional training. They had an assortment of weapons, and each man was capable of using them.
For a moment, Fidelma’s blood ran cold. She thought the leader was Adamrae. Then a closer examination revealed that although he bore certain facial similarities, he was not Adamrae. Now he nudged his horse forward and scrutinised them carefully.
‘A warrior, a lady and a monk.’ He paused and grinned wickedly. ‘Well met. Undoubtedly you are Fidelma of Cashel?’
Fidelma looked at him with disfavour. ‘Well met? That arrow could have killed or wounded one of us,’ she said coldly.
‘That would have been the intention, unless you halted and surrendered.’
‘Why?’
‘We have heard of you. Visitors from Cashel, I believe, and intent on asking questions.’ The young leader was still smiling.
‘It is my right to do so as a dálaigh.’
‘My father might question that right,’ he replied. ‘You will come with us now. It is only a short ride from here, lady. But first your escort must hand over his weapons.’
Gormán glanced round at the well-armed men surrounding him and gave a philosophical shrug. Then he took out his sword and handed it to the man nearest him.