‘No, the other way — horizontally, as if dividing it in half.’
‘I think it was one of the units that fought at Cnoc Áine and belonged to the amuis command.’ The amuis were companies raised in times of conflict, often hired from territories outside the immediate clanland of the King.
Fidelma sighed and shook her head.
‘Well, it might help us a little.’ She turned back to the puzzled farmer and his wife. ‘As far as you were aware, was there anyone else in the vicinity of Menma’s rath when it was attacked?’
‘As soon as I saw smoke rising, my son and I went running across the hill,’ the man replied. ‘It took us a while to get there as we have no horses. When we reached the rath, there was no one else there.’
‘What of other neighbouring farmsteads? As I approached these hills I thought I saw several rath-like buildings spaced along them.’
‘We were the nearest. After those times, some of the farms fell into disuse.’
‘Did Menma answer Prince Eoganán’s call to arms?’ Eadulf suddenly asked.
‘He did not agree with the cause,’ replied the farmer with a shrug.
‘So what you are saying is that no one saw the rath on fire except yourself?’
‘So far as I know.’
‘Who is the lord of this territory?’ asked Gormán. ‘Rather, who was lord in Menma’s time?’
Cadan looked quizzically at him. ‘You mean who was Menma’s lord?’
‘Was there anyone who could tell us something about him? I mean, someone more local than the Prince at Dún Eochair Mháigh.’
‘These are the borderlands, the edge of the lands controlled by the Múscraige Luachra. Beyond the hills behind us are the mountains of the Luachra. Although we are of the Uí Fidgente here, Fidaig of the Luachra claims tribute from us.’
‘That is correct, lady,’ the farmer’s wife nodded. ‘Once a year, after harvest, Fidaig sends his warriors to collect tribute from us. We are Uí Fidgente but some of those who dwell here among us are Luachra.’
‘I thought his territory was further south in the mountains?’ Fidelma said.
‘It is not far enough away,’ Flannait remarked bitterly.
‘So, is he not a good lord?’
Flannait seemed to be suppressing a sour remark but Cadan said quickly: ‘I have known worse.’
‘How did he stand in the rebellion?’ asked Gormán.
‘Rebellion?’ queried the farmer uncertainly.
‘The war against Cashel,’ Fidelma said, with a frown at Gormán for giving away their allegiances.
‘Oh, Fidaig likes to see which way the wind is blowing before he commits himself.’
‘He did not support the Uí Fidgente at Cnoc Áine?’
‘He did not, even though he owed allegiance to Prince Eoganán. His excuse was that his warriors were needed to guard the southern borders against the Eóganacht Locha Lein and the Eóganacht Glendamnach. But it was at Cnoc Áine that the Eóganacht attacked.’
‘So Fidaig remained neutral in the war?’
‘Neutral while the wind blew against him,’ muttered Flannait. ‘He abandoned the Uí Fidgente.’
‘How did Menma stand in this conflict?’
‘Menma was first and foremost a farmer and had little time for the politics of ambitious princes. He and his sons believed their first duty was to the land. Those days were bad when death and disaster ravaged this land.’
‘But peace is restored and the kingdom is one,’ pointed out Eadulf.
‘Blood never wiped out blood,’ the farmer commented dourly. ‘The Uí Fidgente will never be at peace with Cashel.’
‘One more question,’ said Fidelma, ignoring the comment. ‘You had an apothecary here who helped nurse Suanach back to health. His name was Lachtine.’
The farmer nodded.
‘I am told that he too was in love with Liamuin.’
The farmer grimaced. ‘That he was. Just like my son, Maolán. Soon after the attack, he left here. I heard he became the apothecary in a town further downriver — ah, yes, a place called the Ford of the Oaks.’
They had taken their leave of Cadan and Flannait and ridden back down the hill towards the plains.
‘Where to now, lady?’ enquired Gormán.
‘There is nothing left but to return to Cashel. We need to speak to Ordan again, but above all, we must find out something about the warriors who served in the amuis company at that time.’
‘There are many questions to be answered,’ Eadulf said, ‘but are you sure that all the answers lie back in Cashel?’
They had barely reached the bottom of the hill and started along the track in the direction of the eastern hills when a whistling sound caught their ears, followed by a sudden thud. An arrow transfixed itself to a tree at the side of the track. Gormán was attempting to pull free his sword as the silence was abruptly pierced by shouting and the thunder of hooves.
A band of half-a-dozen horsemen came racing towards them brandishing weapons. It was obvious they were outnumbered, and any attempt to fight would end one way only. Fidelma had already seen the flash of weapons, and one of the riders had halted a little way and was stringing an arrow to his bow. The riders looked a motley bunch, but clearly had some professional training. They had an assortment of weapons, and each man was capable of using them.
For a moment, Fidelma’s blood ran cold. She thought the leader was Adamrae. Then a closer examination revealed that although he bore certain facial similarities, he was not Adamrae. Now he nudged his horse forward and scrutinised them carefully.
‘A warrior, a lady and a monk.’ He paused and grinned wickedly. ‘Well met. Undoubtedly you are Fidelma of Cashel?’
Fidelma looked at him with disfavour. ‘Well met? That arrow could have killed or wounded one of us,’ she said coldly.
‘That would have been the intention, unless you halted and surrendered.’
‘Why?’
‘We have heard of you. Visitors from Cashel, I believe, and intent on asking questions.’ The young leader was still smiling.
‘It is my right to do so as a dálaigh.’
‘My father might question that right,’ he replied. ‘You will come with us now. It is only a short ride from here, lady. But first your escort must hand over his weapons.’
Gormán glanced round at the well-armed men surrounding him and gave a philosophical shrug. Then he took out his sword and handed it to the man nearest him.
‘To whom have we surrendered — and why?’ Fidelma demanded.
‘The why, I shall leave for my lord to explain. The who? You have surrendered to Artgal, son of Fidaig of the Luachra. It is Fidaig who asks for your company. So it is to him that I shall now escort you.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Their escort set off at a brisk trot along the wide track towards the south-western mountains. But dusk was descending before they reached the ford of a broad river, beyond which dark shadows of the mountains began to rise sharply.
‘That’s the territory of the Luachra,’ Fidelma muttered for Eadulf’s benefit.
‘So this is Sliabh Luachra?’
‘The whole mountain range is known by that name,’ she confirmed. ‘Once it was a vast, uninhabited marsh area guarded by the surrounding mountains and so inhospitable that little could be farmed there. Sliabh Luachra is not a single mountain but several, with seven glens between them. The place is filled with peat bogs — and woe betide if you fall into one of them, for you will never get out.’
The leader of their escort, without checking the forward momentum of his horse, turned in his saddle and pointed to where a group of lights flickered in the darkness on the far bank of the river.
‘This is the ford of the Ealla. My father, Fidaig, is encamped on the far side.’
A moment later they were splashing through a shallow ford and entering an encampment, where fires were burning and lanterns were lit. It was not a large encampment but enough, so Fidelma estimated, to contain one hundred warriors. Nor was it a permanent encampment. Fidelma knew that even when warriors halted for one night, certain officers were in charge as to the placing of tents, bathing, cooking and rest places. Everything was planned in detail to fortify it and set up sentinels.