Muirgen saw his expression and flounced off in annoyance. At once Eadulf felt contrite. He realised that he should have known better than to make sport of other people’s beliefs and he called her back with an apology.
‘I meant no disrespect to you, Muirgen. All I say is that, in place of a common language, the more languages we can absorb the more we can understand and communicate, especially with our neighbours. I believe it will be a sad day when languages are destroyed because we do not appreciate them. Why, just think what would be lost if, in the fullness of time, the very language of the Kings of Éireann is destroyed and its culture lost?’
Muirgen turned with a laugh. ‘Now you are making fun, Brother Eadulf. Sooner will the mountains disappear than that will ever happen. But I will allow that Alchú, if his mother so wills it, may speak what languages he likes. That is because the lady Fidelma is a noble, the sister of a king and a descendant of kings,’ the woman said, as if that was the explanation.
‘And is not Alchú my son as well?’ Eadulf found a note of hurt creeping into his voice. He felt guilty once more for snapping at the woman, for she was a simple soul and did not mean to rouse his insecurity. Under the law of the country he had been classed as a cú glas, literally a ‘grey fox’, which meant an exile from over the seas without any rights and no honour price. On his marriage to Fidelma, her family had acknowledged him and he was elevated to the status of deorad Dé, exile of God. He therefore was bestowed with half the honour price of Fidelma’s rank, but without the rights or responsibility for rearing his own children. It was Fidelma who had the final say in such matters. But Muirgen would not, perhaps, have known this. She would not have questioned him on that account. Nevertheless, it was often difficult for Eadulf, as a foreigner in this land, to feel totally secure.
He was about to frame another apology when the door opened and Fidelma herself came in.
‘Are you ready, both of you?’ she asked brightly.
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ cried the child. ‘Are we going riding? Are we?’
‘Yes, we are,’ answered Fidelma. She fussed over the boy, making sure he had the right clothes and cloak and then she and Eadulf led their son down to the courtyard.
Gormán was already there with the horses. There was a small piebald pony for Alchú, and Eadulf’s roan-coloured cob, which he had actually come to enjoy riding, though still admitting that he was not a good rider. Fidelma preferred her short-necked, ancient breed from Gaul, which she called Aonbharr, the ‘supreme one’, after the horse ridden by the Ocean God, Mannanán Mac Lir. Gormán was accompanying them on his cob.
‘Where are we off to?’ asked the boy again. He sat on his pony with ease and without fear, much to Eadulf’s quiet admiration.
‘We are going eastward a little way, towards a place called the rath of Ordan,’ Fidelma replied with a smile.
‘What’s a rath?’
‘It can be many things. It can be goods, chattels, property that is given as surety in law …’
The boy looked blank and Fidelma realised that the lawyer in her was speaking. It was Gormán who explained.
‘A rath is also the ramparts that surround a chieftain’s residence; it can be his fortress.’
‘Oh.’ Alchú was excited. ‘Are we going to see a fortress?’
‘Except Rathordan is no fortress,’ muttered Gormán. ‘It is just a pretend chieftain’s residence, for Ordan is certainly no chief.’
Alchú either didn’t hear or had lost interest as he guided his little mount out of the courtyard between his parents on their horses. Gormán brought up the rear.
They had descended from the Rock to the road that led towards the eastern hills when they saw a man walking up in the direction of the palace. He was elderly and dressed in clothes that easily identified him as a shepherd. It was Muirgen’s husband.
‘Hello, Nessán,’ called Fidelma.
Little Alchú smiled broadly and waved a tiny hand, ‘Nees-awn, Nees-awn!’ he chanted.
The shepherd touched his forehead nervously at the party. He always appeared uneasy in the presence of Fidelma and Eadulf even though his wife was nurse to young Alchú. He could never forget that when the boy had been kidnapped as a baby, he and his wife had been given the child to raise as a shepherd by the kidnapper, the evil Uaman, lord of the Passes. The motive of the kidnap was vengeance. Nessán and Muirgen were to have taken in and hidden the child without them knowing whose son he really was. Fidelma and Eadulf had tracked down their son and, instead of punishing the elderly couple for their unwitting role, they had invited Muirgen to be Alchú’s nurse at Cashel while her husband had been employed to look after Colgú’s sheep.
Nessán cleared his throat. ‘There is great sorrow on me at the news of the attack on your brother, lady. Is there better news of his health?’
‘He is doing as well as can be expected.’
‘He is in my prayers, lady.’
‘Thank you, Nessán. It is good that we should meet you on this road. Perhaps you can help us?’
‘If I can, lady.’
‘Were you abroad early this morning?’
‘As you know, I attend your brother’s sheep in the northern rough pasture, behind the Rock. But I was up late last night, lady. I am afraid I went to Rumann’s tavern in the town and so it was after dawn that I left to tend the sheep today.’
‘At An Screagán — I know the place.’ Fidelma was disappointed because Della’s homestead lay on the other side of the township. Then a further thought occurred. ‘Do you know any of the other shepherds around the township? Those that pasture their flocks to the west of the town?’
‘I dare say, lady. I meet with them on lambing days and when the time comes to shear the flocks. And when there is no work in common, we gather in Rumann’s inn.’
‘Do you know anyone who would be going to the fields to the west, just beyond Della’s homestead, very early this morning? You see, I am trying to find a man, a shepherd, who was abroad before dawn and said he was going to tend his sheep. Would you know who that was?’
The shepherd replied almost at once.
‘Well, that might be Spelán. Doesn’t he have a flock along the road of rocks to the west of her place? I met him in the tavern only last night, and he was complaining about trouble with one of his ewes. That might have caused him to stir early this morning. He was truly concerned.’
‘Spelán, I don’t think I know him.’ Fidelma glanced at Gormán, and the young warrior nodded quickly.
‘I know the man,’ he said, ‘and if he is not up with his flocks, then he may well be found in Rumann’s tavern. It is a favourite place of the shepherds here.’
With a wave of farewell towards Nessán, Fidelma indicated that they should ride on.
The rath of Ordan was certainly no rath, as Gormán had foretold. The attempt to construct ramparts was no more than a ditch which would scarcely keep livestock in. However, the gate to the homestead was more substantial. It consisted of two stone pillars through which one passed into a large yard before coming to the single-storey house of stone. On top of each pillar were geese carved with beak and wings extended as if threatening the visitors — an odd symbolism for a merchant, thought Eadulf. Indeed, the building beyond seemed full of the owner’s aristocratic pretensions but did not quite measure up to the houses of nobles that Eadulf had seen throughout the country. To one side of the complex were a number of large sheds where the merchant presumably stored his goods, and outside these were two large wagons. To the other side were some buildings that showed that Ordan was self-sufficient in livestock, with pigs and some milch cows in a fenced area.
Three or four people were moving about, pursuing various tasks. One of them, having spotted their arrival, had run to the house, doubtless to inform his master of the arrival of guests.