‘I am an Angle,’ replied Eadulf.
‘Angle or Saxon — what matters? You are a foreigner.’
‘And now you know who we are, I suggest you identify yourself,’ Fidelma said again, to show she would not be intimidated.
The man turned his gaze on her for a moment and then said, ‘I see no reason to do so.’ He addressed one of his companions. ‘These folk have no use for their horses. Turn them loose.’
With a grin at his leader, the man trotted off to the makeshift paddock where Gormán had left their horses. A few moments later came the sound of shouting and the thud of hooves on the soft ground. Then the man returned.
‘In more arduous times,’ the leader of the group addressed them languidly, ‘we might have had need of your horses. But we can dispense with them.’
Once again he signalled to his two immediate companions who, leaving the others with their arrows still strung and threatening, dismounted swords in hand and moved towards the captives.
‘This can either be done easily without the shedding of blood, or the harder way which will cause you much suffering,’ the leader called.
‘What is it that you want?’ Fidelma demanded suspiciously.
‘Only that which is valuable,’ replied the man. ‘We will take your belongings and leave.’
Fidelma’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You are just thieves? Robbers?’
‘Were you expecting that we were warriors with some lofty purpose in mind?’ The sandy-haired man laughed in amusement. ‘I regret that I have disappointed you. Alas, I am no more than a simple brigand who would relieve you of the burden of carrying such items as the golden torque that your friend of the Golden Collar wears around his neck.’
Even as he said this, his two men began to search Gormán at swordpoint, removing his dagger that he wore at his belt, the gold circlet showing his rank, a ring from his finger and a few other trinkets. Then they moved on to Eadulf, taking the silver crucifix he wore and a few other items of value including the silver seal that Brother Conchobhar had given him.
Fidelma glared at the leader of the brigands. ‘You may regret this day,’ she said fiercely.
The man made a bored gesture with his hand. ‘Indeed, I may. But “may” is a word of uncertainty. I may regret it and I may not. That is something only the future and soothsayers can tell.’
While the arrows unwaveringly covered them, the two men searched Fidelma with professional detachment, removing her jewellery and the smaller version of the golden circlet she wore at her neck. In her marsupium they also discovered a small wand of white rowan wood on which was fixed a figurine in gold. It was the image of an antlered stag, the emblem of Fidelma’s authority when acting for her brother. They added this to their store of booty while Fidelma and her companions looked on powerlessly. When they had finished collecting the spoils, one of the men packed the loot into a bag and tied it to his saddle while the other went into the ruined chapel and apparently searched the belongings they had left there. He came out after a few moments, holding Gormán’s sword which he handed to the leader. The sandy-haired man glanced at it, weighed it in his hand and muttered approval.
‘A good blade, warrior,’ he said. ‘I expect it has been put to expert use. I could use a better blade than I have.’
Gormán gritted his teeth in impotence. The sword had been an especial favourite of his.
The leader of the brigands now glanced at his comrade but the man shook his head.
‘That is all,’ the man said. ‘But the trinkets and gold torcs will pay well for this day’s work.’
‘That is true.’ The leader turned to Fidelma. ‘Think yourself lucky. I feel in a generous mood, so we’ll leave you with your lives. Two days ago we encountered a young merchant who was not as accommodating as you. He objected to us in most aggressive terms. So we hanged him.’
He gestured to his companions, who swung up on their horses. The two silent bowmen remained with their arrows still aimed while this was done. Then the sandy-bearded man yelled: ‘Ride!’
Before Fidelma and her companions could move, the band of five brigands had wheeled round and set off at a fast pace through the ruined village towards the western hills.
Gormán uttered a curse, hand to his empty scabbard. Then he was peering on the ground, apparently trying to retrieve his dagger.
Fidelma heaved a sigh, moved to a boulder and sat down.
‘Well, what now?’ Eadulf asked resignedly.
Gormán had recovered his dagger and rejoined them.
‘They have driven off our horses,’ he said, stating the obvious.
‘In that they have made one mistake,’ Fidelma replied confidently, suddenly rising to her feet again.
‘I don’t understand,’ the young warrior replied.
‘Had they been sensible, they would have driven the horses before them. Or, indeed, have taken them. Instead, they just turned them loose.’
Gormán and Eadulf looked puzzled as Fidelma strode back to the ruined chapel and, with some dexterity, managed to scramble to the top of one of the thick walls and stood eyes shaded against the rising sun. She caught sight of Aonbharr, her horse, some distance away, grazing unconcernedly. She raised her voice and began a series of long, loud wordless calls. She saw the beast’s head raise, the ears prick forward. Then the head shook up and down on its thick neck, the mane flowing in each direction. The horse gave an answering series of snorts and whinnies, pounding the earth with a front hoof, and then came trotting back towards the ruins.
Fidelma climbed down from her perch and went to stroke the muzzle of the animal as it came up to her.
‘Obviously our thieves know little about the bonds that can develop between people and their mounts. Aonbharr is not one to be chased off like that.’
‘That is well and good,’ replied Eadulf. ‘But I don’t think our horses have the same affection for us.’
Fidelma gazed at him reprovingly. ‘If you will look behind Aonbharr you’ll see that he is not alone. Horses are herd animals. The other two beasts are following him back. All we have to do now is saddle them. But I think we should break our fast first and see what these brigands have left us.’
Indeed, there was little of value that had been left, although Fidelma always carried some gold pieces for emergencies and these the thieves had missed. However, the most important items missing were the symbols of office, the white rowan-wood wand and the golden torcs which showed her and Gormán to be of the Order of the Golden Collar. Jewels and rings could be replaced, but the symbols of rank and authority were more difficult to obtain.
‘Perhaps we should turn back,’ Gormán suggested uneasily. ‘If we are to ride into Uí Fidgente country we will need to do so with some authority.’
Fidelma disagreed. ‘We are less than a day’s ride from the Abbey of Mungairit, and to turn back now would be an act of foolishness.’
‘I have no sword, nor means to defend you,’ protested Gormán.
‘Surely a sword is easily replaced?’
‘You do not understand, lady. That was a special sword.’
‘A sword is only as good as the hand that wields it,’ replied Fidelma firmly.
Gormán knew when to give up the argument.
The remaining belongings were gathered. They ate sparingly, not having much appetite after the morning’s encounter. Gormán went to refill the water bags before they mounted their horses and began to move off along the track that led to the north-west. For the main part, they journeyed in silence, a slow and thoughtful trek over the cold, undulating hills, fording numerous small streams and rivers. They passed close to the banks of a larger river, which Fidelma identified as An Mhaoilchearn.
Even Gormán, who seemed depressed over the theft of his emblem and sword, which Eadulf knew was considered a loss to his honour and status as a warrior of the bodyguard of the King of Cashel, roused himself from his torpor.