‘If this is something to do with the Uí Fidgente, then I do fear the future, lady. Why are you and your companions intent on entering their territory? Was there not enough conflict the other month when that crazy woman, Étain of An Dún, escaped from the Glen of Lunatics and persuaded some of the Uí Fidgente to follow her?’
‘Only a few of them were foolish enough to follow her,’ corrected Eadulf. ‘Prince Donennach actually sent warriors to help Cashel confront Étain and her ragtag of fighters.’
Aona made a dismissive gesture. ‘Isn’t there an old saying that there are four things not to be trusted: a bull’s horn, a horse’s hoof, a dog’s snarl — and the friendship of the Uí Fidgente?’
‘Do not concern yourself, Aona,’ Fidelma replied solemnly. ‘We shall take special care. Anyway, this afternoon we hope to reach Cnoc Ulla before dark and there is nothing to fear along the valley between here and there.’
‘It is afterwards that I fear, lady. If this is some plot of the Uí Fidgente, then they will not be content until it is successful or until they are destroyed.’
‘But we don’t know that it is,’ Fidelma said firmly. ‘And that is the purpose of our journey into their territory — to find out what, if anything, is going on.’
‘You are in a good position to hear news from merchants coming out of Uí Fidgente country,’ Eadulf said now. ‘If anything was stirring there, then surely the merchants would have some gossip to spread?’
Aona smiled in acknowledgement. ‘True — merchants always have gossip to spread, Brother Eadulf. The problem is judging whether the gossip is true or false. I swear some of that lot are better than the bards at their storytelling.’
‘But the resourceful listener, such as yourself, can surely detect a lie from the truth?’ Eadulf said.
The tavern-keeper grinned modestly. ‘That is true. Take Ordan for example …’
‘Ordan?’ Fidelma frowned. ‘Ordan of Rathordan?’
‘Himself, no less,’ nodded Aona. ‘He is a frequent traveller between here and the country of the Uí Fidgente and Luachra. When he came here the other afternoon-’
‘When was this?’ Fidelma interrupted.
‘It was three days ago. He arrived about midday.’
‘But that was the day of the assassination attempt,’ Eadulf said. ‘Midday? Don’t you mean midnight?’
‘I may be old but I still know the difference between midday and midnight,’ chided Aona.
‘Go on,’ Fidelma said with a warning look at Eadulf. ‘You were saying …?’
Aona cleared his throat, took a sip of his corma and then continued: ‘Well, he arrived at midday saying that he had come from Uí Fidgente country. He wanted a meal and he took his time about it. I had the impression …’ He seemed to ponder.
‘You had the impression?’ prompted Fidelma.
‘I might be wrong but I thought he was very preoccupied. You know what a vain man Ordan is, full of bombast and stories. That was why I mentioned him, because of his usual gossip and storytelling. Well, this day he was as quiet as a lamb. He was sitting over there.’ Aona pointed to a dark corner by the window.
Fidelma glanced across. ‘Not by your fire? These are cold days and often raining, when a fire’s warmth is welcome.’
‘Indeed, lady. Usually Ordan would make himself comfortable on a chair before the hearth and be talking non-stop. But that day he went and sat over there alone while I remained at the fire.’
‘So?’ Fidelma prompted again when he paused to take another swallow from his beaker.
‘He had eaten his meal and was having a drink when another traveller came in. He was difficult to place for he wore a long cloak and was hooded. I know he arrived on horseback, because Adag went to tend to it. The traveller asked for corma and went to sit just there, between the fire and near where Ordan was sitting.’
‘You saw nothing by which you could identify this man?’
Aona shook his head.
‘Was his cloak of good material; and what of his boots?’ asked Eadulf, meeting Fidelma’s nod of approval.
‘Ah, I see. His cloak was of heavy wool. It was a good weave, edged with beaver fur and doubtless expensive. He kept the hood covering his face. The cloak was tightly pinned with something … now, what was it? Ah, I have it. A polished bronze brooch. I can’t remember the pattern, but I know it kept the cloak so tight around him that I could not see what manner of clothes he was wearing beneath. The boots I noticed were of treated leather and appeared well-made.’
‘Are you suggesting that Ordan might have been waiting for this person?’ Fidelma asked.
Aona shrugged. ‘I can’t swear it was so, lady.’
‘Yet you felt it? Did they speak to one another?’
‘No more than a curt acknowledgement as the man entered. The sort of greeting strangers give when they confront one another in a confined space.’
‘But you’re not convinced?’ Fidelma said, picking up on the intonation of the tavern-keeper.
‘Funny thing — the newcomer asked me to make sure that Adag was looking after his horse correctly. I assured him he would be well cared for, but he insisted that I go to check. On my way back, I thought I heard quiet voices, but no — when I re-entered, the stranger and Ordan were still sitting in the same places. Some time later, the stranger rose, made his farewell, collected his horse and left.’
‘Do you recall what his horse looked like?’ Eadulf asked suddenly.
The old inn-keeper looked surprised for a moment but then said: ‘As a matter of fact, I do. It was grey in colour with white legs above the hocks. Even young Adag remarked on it, as it was the sort of hunter that a noble would ride.’
Eadulf smiled in satisfaction. ‘So the stranger left. What did Ordan do?’
‘That was what puzzled me. He stayed here, sipping at his ale until it began to grow dark and then he demanded another meal, it being so late. It was not until near midnight that he rose to pay his dues and said he would travel on to Cashel. I asked, was it wise to travel on during darkness? After all, I saw that his wagon was heavily laden with goods and it is not unknown for merchants to have been waylaid and robbed at the bridge over the River Suir on the road that leads to Cashel. There are some wild youths among the Múscraige Breogain who dwell in that area.’
‘And what was his answer?’ prompted Eadulf after the tavern-keeper hesitated.
‘He did not seem worried. He said that he was under the protection of the King’s warriors and that no one would dare molest him.’
‘It is true that Ordan often carries a banner on his wagon.’ Gormán spoke for the first time. ‘It is a symbol of the Nasc Niadh which he uses to frighten any would-be robbers.’ He added with a smile of pride: ‘Often, it works — for the warriors of the Golden Collar have a reputation.’
‘Indeed,’ nodded Aona. ‘That’s what I mean. The fat merchant often boasts of his personal friendship with the King of Cashel and how well-protected by the Nasc Niadh he is. Of course, it is all arrogance. Tall tales.’
Fidelma wore a thoughtful expression. ‘You say that he was heading with his wagon for the bridge across the River Suir?’
‘That was the peculiar thing,’ the innkeeper replied, scratching his head. ‘He said that he would go by a safer route, away from the bridge. He had decided to go south and cross by the Ford of the Ass.’
‘That is a longer route,’ Gormán pointed out. ‘And you say it was near midnight when he left?’
‘How far south of the bridge is it to the Ford of the Ass?’ asked Fidelma.
‘It is quite a distance from the main track, lady. It would add extra time on one’s journey and in a heavy wagon …’ The warrior shrugged.
‘But it would explain why Ordan was crossing the Ford of the Ass and picked up the girl, arriving in Cashel before dawn,’ observed Eadulf.
There was a silence and then Fidelma heaved a sigh. ‘You have told us a strange story, Aona. Can you give us nothing further about your unknown guest?’