‘Suanach did not know the meaning of the shield,’ Fidelma objected.
‘But the person she told might have done. That person thought it was your brother, and if we find the person she told, we know the assassin. Don’t we need to go back and ask who she has told?’
‘You believe that the assassin came to Cashel to claim blood vengeance?’ Fidelma was reflective. ‘I am not sure. The fact that he cried “Remember Liamuin!” and not “Menma” would indicate that he sought vengeance for her and no other. It is logical, but then why wait all these years?’
‘Time? Opportunity? And isn’t there a saying that vengeance is a dish best served cold?’ offered Gormán.
‘This is true,’ Fidelma conceded. ‘But there are many things that concern me about this explanation. Suanach did not know who this warrior was. She merely described his gold torque and then the emblem on the shield of the attacker. I have never known my brother to lie. He claimed that the name Liamuin meant nothing to him. If he had stayed at Menma’s rath for the time it was said, he must have been known. His warriors had just defeated the Uí Fidgente. What was he doing here? How could he have stayed here long enough to have an affair with Liamuin? And then what purpose would have been served by this massacre?’
‘All good questions,’ Eadulf replied thoughtfully.
‘Better if we had answers,’ muttered Gormán.
‘And that is why we are going back to Flannait’s farmstead,’ Fidelma said.
‘And there is another question to be answered,’ added Eadulf. ‘Lachtine was the name of the local apothecary who attended Suanach, and he too was in love with Liamuin. He bore the same name as the apothecary at the Ford of Oaks. Is this a coincidence, or was he the same man and is there a connection?’
‘I have not forgotten,’ Fidelma replied. Then she indicated the farm buildings that spread before them on the lower slope of the hill. ‘Let us hope we shall now learn more from Flannait.’
As they approached Flannait’s farmstead, a swarthy man, of medium stature, was emerging from the cabin. Ice-blue eyes stared out from a face that wore an expression of curiosity mixed with anxiety. He called something over his shoulder and was joined in a moment by the woman Flannait, who said something hurriedly to him before coming forward to greet them. This time Fidelma slid from her horse.
‘Well, dálaigh, did you find Suanach?’
‘We did,’ Fidelma replied. The others dismounted and Eadulf joined her while Gormán secured the horses to a nearby wooden fence. The swarthy man had taken his place beside Flannait.
‘This is my man,’ muttered the woman by way of introduction.
‘My name is Cadan, lady,’ he introduced himself. ‘How may we serve you?’
Fidelma smiled reassuringly. ‘Just a few questions more. I understand that after the attack took place on Menma’s rath, you and your son were the first to arrive there and that you managed to rescue Suanach?’
The farmer shifted his weight from one foot to the other and bobbed his head in acknowledgement. His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides in his nervousness.
‘That is right, lady. We brought her back here.’
‘I understand. Can you tell me any reason why Menma’s rath should have been burned?’
The man raised his shoulder expressively. ‘It was an Eóghanacht attack,’ he said, as if that should explain everything.
‘So I am told. But why was only Menma attacked? It makes no sense.’
‘Menma was a bó-aire. He had the biggest and richest farmstead,’ Flannait said almost defensively. ‘I suppose they attacked it for those reasons — or because of Menma’s rank.’
‘Did they sack it or carry off anything?’ demanded Fidelma.
‘Nothing was taken as far as we could see,’ replied the farmer.
‘Then there was no question of it being done for profit or gain,’ Eadulf decided. ‘It was a case of simple destruction. People killed, the place torched.’
‘Who knows the reason? It was done by the man who stayed there. The Eóghanacht warrior.’
‘I need to know more about this man,’ Fidelma said. ‘Can you tell me anything at all about him?’
‘It was long ago.’
Fidelma looked round. ‘You said your son was with you. Perhaps he might remember something?’
Cadan and Flannait looked uncomfortable.
‘Maolán? He is no longer with us, lady,’ Cadan said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Soon after the attack he left us to join the religious. He was very …’ the man chose his words carefully, ‘very sweet on the woman who was staying with Menma.’
‘Liamuin?’
‘That was her name. He took her death very badly.’
‘But she was in love with the warrior who stayed with them?’
‘So she was. But Maolán had his hopes. So did others, like our local apothecary, Lachtine. He also left us not long after. Liamuin was an attractive woman and she had plenty of admirers. We tried to persuade our son not to leave us. We have no other children. Who will look after us when the winter of our days comes upon us, which must surely be soon?’
‘Did he know that it was the warrior she apparently had affection for, the one who carried out the attack?’ asked Eadulf.
‘He did. For he left after Suanach had recovered and told her story.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘Alas, we don’t know. Maolán was talented and set out to make his way in the world. He had an eye, that boy.’
‘An eye?’ asked Eadulf curiously, not understanding the expression.
‘He was a good copyist. He went off to do that as a means of earning his living.’
‘So is there nothing you can tell me that would help identify this warrior?’ Fidelma asked in frustration, returning to the main question. She was looking intently at Cadan as she spoke and he tugged at his lower lip with one hand under her scrutiny.
‘What sort of things?’ he countered. ‘I only saw him once or twice from a distance. All I know is that he wore the Eóganacht golden collar.’
‘Was he old or young? Fair or dark? That sort of thing,’ intervened Eadulf.
‘He was not a boy, he was a young man. That is all I recall.’
‘Surely you could tell whether he was fair or dark.’
‘Fair.’
‘Not red-haired,’ Fidelma suddenly said. ‘Say red hair like mine?’
The farmer looked at her red tresses and then shook his head. There seemed an easing of tension in Fidelma’s body.
‘Presumably this warrior with fair hair carried a shield? A warrior has on his shield his suaicheantas, his emblem, by which his friends and his enemies alike would know him,’ Eadulf said.
Cadan’s brows drew together in concentration as he tried to remember. ‘His shield was plain. There was no motif upon it except …’ He paused. ‘No, the shield was coloured red with a single, narrow blue strip across it.’
Fidelma glanced at Gormán, who shook his head.
She knew that the warriors of the Golden Collar who formed the Lucht-tíghe, the house company, were the chosen élite among the bodyguards of the King. But each had his own individual emblem or insignia. These men were classed as the ridire or champions. Beyond them the King could call on larger forces in times of danger, but he usually kept one Catha or battalion, of 3,000 warriors, permanently on call throughout the kingdom. These were divided into various units: each unit was marked by a shield emblem.
‘Is there no way of identifying which unit held such an emblem?’ asked Fidelma, knowing vaguely that the position of the stripe on the shield had some significance. ‘After all, the man wore a golden collar as well.’
Gormán took out his sword and traced the outline of a shield on the wet soil.
‘Now, you say the narrow blue strip was placed this way?’ He drew the line.
Cadan the farmer looked at it quizzically and shook his head.