Fidelma was silent for a moment or two, trying to think of a means to stop the fight. But the existing legal criteria had been fulfilled. Both men, it seemed, were determined to pursue the matter.
‘Very well. Let them step forward.’ When the combatants did so, Fidelma addressed each of them in turn. ‘There is no other way you will resolve this?’
The warrior Loeg said, ‘There is no way but death!’ and Artgal was smiling as he agreed. ‘Loeg challenged me this morning and I accepted. Now it shall be resolved.’
Fidelma was about to confirm the proceedings when she paused. ‘When did you say that the challenge was issued?’
‘This morning. We agreed,’ replied Artgal in a confident tone.
‘They have witnesses,’ Fidaig said quickly, seeing a smile on her lips. ‘I recalled the law and there stand the witnesses on each side. Each combatant has sworn to abide by the result of the fight.’
‘But the fight will not take place, for it is illegal,’ Fidelma stated firmly.
Fidaig gazed at her in astonishment. ‘What squeamish judgement is this, lady?’ he sneered. ‘I have ensured that everything is done within the law, as you have heard.’
‘All except one thing, Fidaig. You should know that according to the Senchus Mór, five full days must elapse between the challenge and the duel.’
Fidaig clenched a fist in annoyance. ‘Where does it say this?’ he demanded. ‘This is not right.’
‘There is a story of two famous champions — Conall Cernach and Laegaire,’ explained Fidelma. ‘They quarrelled and challenged each other to a single combat in legal form. The Chief Brehon Sencha decreed that five days should elapse for them to cool their tempers before they fought. Thus all other combats since then can only be held five days after the formal challenge is made.’
Fidaig struggled to find an answer and could not. Fidelma ignored him and dismissed the combatants and their companions. ‘At least it gives them five more days to think it over,’ she explained quietly to Eadulf.
Even as they were finally relaxing and someone had signalled for the music to restart, there came the sound of a warning horn piercing the darkness close by with three short blasts. Gormán looked round, wondering what new threat was emerging.
‘Don’t be alarmed,’ Fidaig called immediately. ‘It is a signal from one of our sentinels.’ Then he frowned. ‘Curious. We expect no other guests.’
He was looking towards the edge of the camp where the bulky shape of a wagon had emerged, having just crossed the river. It was being escorted by a couple of warriors.
‘I thought all my wagons had been safely gathered in for the night.’ Fidaig was surprised by the new arrival. ‘I do not know this one.’
The wagon had halted on the rim of the encampment with the other wagons. The stocky driver had climbed down. One of Fidaig’s warriors was escorting him towards the pupall. They noticed that he was not so much guiding him as propelling him forward with the point of a sword.
The driver of the wagon was a balding man of stout proportions. He came wheezing before them, his head lowered, his pudgy hands rubbing together.
Fidelma glanced at Eadulf in surprise before turning back to the newcomer.
‘Well, Ordan, I did not expect to meet you again so soon and in this place.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The merchant recovered quickly from his obvious shock and forced a sickly smile to spread over his fleshy features.
‘Lady Fidelma,’ he bowed his head briefly. ‘I, also, hardly expected to find you here and in such distinguished company.’ He looked at Eadulf and made his curious bow again. His small glittering eyes missed nothing, observing Gormán behind them. Then he turned to Fidaig and made an artificial obeisance.
Fidaig simply ignored him but raised a questioning eyebrow to the warrior who had escorted Ordan into the camp.
‘Lord,’ began the warrior, ‘we were returning from the north, and just by the place known as the Hill of Green we saw a campfire. There we found this merchant.’
‘I had camped there for the night, lord,’ Ordan explained hastily. ‘Had I realised your encampment was nearby, I would have hastened to join you. Better to spend the night in numbers than in isolation. I have heard that the wolves and bears are many in these fastnesses.’
The warrior gave the merchant a pitying glance and went on, ‘Your campfires, lord, were clearly visible from where we found this man.’
‘Yet I had failed to see them until your warriors kindly pointed them out to me and invited me to join you,’ the merchant said suavely.
Fidaig stared at the fat man in distaste. ‘So you are Ordan of Rathordan? I hear you have often been in my territory but have never once come to my fortress to pay your respects to me.’
‘When we questioned him, he told us that he was heading for the Ford of Oaks in the land of the Uí Fidgente,’ interrupted the escorting warrior.
‘Your route is curious for one heading to the Ford of the Oaks,’ pointed out Fidaig.
The merchant spread his hands nervously. ‘I missed the road. I mean … the road I usually take was muddy and impassable.’
‘Yet you have put an entire day or more on your journey to see Gláed, haven’t you?’ Fidelma said softly.
‘It was better to arrive safely than …’ Ordan suddenly stopped, realising that he had unwittingly admitted he was going to meet Gláed. His jaw went slack and he was at a loss to continue.
‘Perhaps, lord,’ said the warrior, ‘you might like to see what is in the wagon of this merchant?’
‘That will not be necessary,’ protested Ordan. ‘I am trading a few weapons, that’s all.’
Fidaig’s expression did not favour the merchant. ‘I have heard of you, Ordan. Reports have reached me that you have often been in my territory but that you favour my son to trade with. I am curious.’
‘I trade with many people,’ Ordan muttered sullenly.
‘We shall see what goods you bring to my son.’ Fidaig turned to one of his warriors. ‘Keep our guest company while we look at his wagon.’ Then he gestured for Fidelma and Eadulf to accompany him.
Led by the warrior who had escorted Ordan into the camp, they walked across to the place where the wagon had been left under guard. Lanterns were called for and Fidaig climbed up and drew aside the covering. His gasp was audible. Without a word, he turned and signalled for Fidelma to join him. Eadulf assisted her in climbing onto the heavily laden wagon before he followed her. Gormán, not to be left behind, also climbed up.
The wagon was packed with an array of swords, spears and shields as well as bows and quivers of arrows. There was no room in the wagon for anything else.
Gormán whistled softly.
‘It looks as though your Cashel merchant was ready to start a war,’ Fidaig said, turning a suspicious glance on Fidelma.
‘Don’t get the idea that this merchant came here with Cashel’s blessing,’ Fidelma said. ‘I am as anxious to find out what use your son would put these weapons to as you doubtless are.’
‘My son shall have much to explain,’ replied Fidaig. ‘But weapons of this quantity and quality are not part of a simple trade.’
Gormán had picked up one of the swords and examined it. ‘You have observed well, Fidaig,’ he said. ‘These swords are new and the work of the famous smiths of Magh Méine. I know their work well.’
The smiths of Magh Méine, the ‘Plain of Minerals’, were also known to Fidelma, for Fhear Máighe was the centre and it was at the library there that Fidelma had managed to piece together the secret that had led to the murder of Donnchad of Lios Mór.
Gormán was continuing to examine the other weapons and shields.
‘Indeed, these are all new-made, lady,’ he said to Fidelma. Then he came across something wrapped in sacking. Gormán bent forward and picked it up. It was a battle standard. The shaft was new polished wood. He tore the sacking from it. On the top of the shaft, exquisitely worked in gold metal and inlaid with semi-precious stones, was the image of a ravening wolf. They immediately recognised the Uí Fidgente symbol.