‘I will explain,’ the inn-keeper said hastily. ‘Lachtine recognised the man with the wagon as a merchant who frequently passes by here.’
‘And you are going to tell us who that was?’ Fidelma asked patiently.
‘Of course. It was Ordan of Rathordan.’
There was a silence in which Fidelma could not help exchanging a quick glance with Eadulf.
‘I presume that you know Ordan?’ Sitae went on, noticing the look.
‘Rathordan is next to Cashel,’ Gormán answered for her. ‘So yes, we know him.’
‘And how does this answer my question of why did Brother Adamrae visit this inn so frequently?’ asked Fidelma.
Sitae smiled as if he was about to produce some wonderful object to tempt them.
‘Adamrae first came to my inn five days ago and asked after Ordan. He paid me to keep the matter between us but said that he had business with Ordan and must be told the moment he came here.’
‘Why have you decided to tell us now?’ asked Conrí. ‘Adamrae has been here five days.’
‘Because of the news of Lachtine’s death.’
‘Please explain.’
‘Brother Adamrae was the young man whom Lachtine saw in the forest.’
‘Did Lachtine tell you this?’
‘It is my own conclusion. It was on that first day that Brother Adamrae arrived here and came into the inn to ask about Ordan. While he was here, Lachtine came in. They did not speak, but I had the strange feeling the two men recognised one another.’
Eadulf saw a sudden look of excitement come into Fidelma’s eyes.
‘Can you be certain?’ she demanded.
‘As I say, they did not acknowledge one another. Lachtine hurried off while Brother Adamrae asked his question about Ordan. Then, as he was leaving, Adamrae asked me who Lachtine was. I told him. Then he left the inn.’
‘You had not seen Brother Adamrae before that?’
‘I had not. Anyway, I was suspicious of him as it is not often a religieux rides up on a horse more suited for a warrior. Later that day I heard he was supposed to have come from Mungairit to help Brother Cronan administer to our settlement.’
‘Yet you did not alert anyone?’
‘Who — and about what?’ replied Sitae. ‘I heard that Lachtine had gone off into the woods, which was a normal occurrence, and that the new religieux was helping Brother Cronan.’
‘Let’s return to Ordan of Rathordan,’ Fidelma said. ‘You say the merchant came here regularly?’
‘He has passed through here several times during the past year. Sometimes he has arrived from the south and heads north, and sometimes he goes in the opposite direction. But he always stays at my inn.’
‘It is interesting that he never travels from east to west or vice versa. That would be a more usual route for a merchant from Cashel.’
The inn-keeper gave a shrug.
‘Did Brother Adamrae ever say why he was enquiring about Ordan?’
The inn-keeper shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Do you know who Ordan trades with?’
‘I presume he trades with the Abbey at Mungairit, of course. Then, as he spent time in the country of the Luachra, he must have business with them. In truth, lady, Ordan is a man who speaks a lot but says little about his business.’
‘Have you ever been curious about what he trades in?’
‘I would not press someone who does not want to tell me,’ the inn-keeper replied with some dignity.
‘Not even one peek under the canvas awnings on his wagon?’ It was Eadulf who intervened, having assessed the inn-keeper’s curiosity correctly.
The man grimaced, then as Eadulf continued to stare at him, he admitted, ‘Well, there was one time when I happened to be checking that the wagons were parked safely. There was a high wind and some of the coverings were coming loose, and not wishing my guests’ goods to be ruined, I went to secure them. I could not help but see what was in the wagons.’
‘And what was in his wagon?’ asked Fidelma.
‘Ingots. Metal ingots of the types smiths use in their forges. There was also scrap metal. Broken weapons, that sort of thing.’
‘Broken weapons? An odd thing to trade in.’
‘I could not tell exactly what they were. It was only a passing glance as I tied down the covering.’
Eadulf smiled cynically. ‘A passing glance?’
‘Truly, Brother. That was all I saw,’ the inn-keeper replied defensively.
‘Broken weapons? Bars of metal?’ mused Fidelma thoughtfully. Then she rose to her feet, forcing the others to rise too. ‘Very well, Sitae. We thank you for your information.’
They left the man at the door of his inn, still bobbing and clucking after them. Fidelma had become quiet. Eadulf knew enough of her moods not to press for information until she was ready. Nor did Conrí break the silence, for his mind was still considering the possibility of some impending conspiracy against Prince Donennach.
They were nearing the gates of the fortress when a mounted warrior rode across the square towards them.
‘This is one of the men I sent after Adamrae last night,’ Socht explained, turning to greet the man.
The warrior halted before them and swung down from his horse, raising his hand in acknowledgement of the warlord.
‘What news?’ demanded Conrí. ‘Have you found him?’
‘He has vanished, Lord,’ the man said with a shake of his head. ‘No trace of him to the north …’
‘I was wondering if he might have been heading for Mungairit,’ muttered Fidelma to Eadulf.
The warrior overheard her remark and said, ‘If so, lady, then he has chosen a circuitous route to do so. One of my men found signs of him passing to the south.’
‘To the south?’ Conrí was puzzled.
‘Yes. South on the road towards Dún Eochair Mháigh.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
For the principal fortress of the Princes of the Uí Fidgente, Fidelma saw that Dún Eochair Mháigh was surprisingly small. The arrogant Uí Fidgente rulers had called it Brú Rí — the King’s abode — claiming it as the equal of Cashel. It was true that the stone fortress towered over the eastern bank of the river and the settlement that spread beneath its walls, but apart from its strategic position, there was nothing particularly awe-inspiring about the edifice. Apart from the grey stone dominance rearing above it, the settlement itself appeared as just a peaceful, small farming community. As they approached along the opposite bank of the Mháigh, the riders could see boats plying their trade along the waterway and hear the reassuring ring of a blacksmith’s hammer combined with the noise of cattle being herded. People were moving here and there. But there seemed little movement on the walls of the fortress — whose gates, they could observe, stood wide open.
Socht had brought a company of twenty-five warriors as an escort. He rode at the head of ten of them. The war banner of red silk with the ravening wolf emblem was borne aloft by the standard-bearer at his side. Then came Conrí with Fidelma, Eadulf and Gormán. They were followed by the remaining warriors. It had been an easy ride from the Ford of Oaks. They had kept to a track on the western side of the river, as Conrí had said it would save them time rather than having to follow the wriggling path of the water on the eastern side. Beyond the Ford of Oaks the river seemed to increase the number of twists and turns in its path from where it rose in the distant southern mountains.
Conrí surveyed the settlement. ‘It seems our fears might have been for nothing, lady,’ he observed. ‘The place appears tranquil enough. If there had been an attempt to attack it, we would surely have seen evidence.’
‘Better to be wrong than to have one’s fears set aside until too late,’ Eadulf offered defensively.
Fidelma made no comment as they rode down the short hill towards the riverbank and found a wooden bridge, still under construction, across the river into the centre of the settlement. Although it was still being worked on, the bridge had been reinforced sufficiently to take the passage of horses.