Fidaig appeared to recognise something else. He drew a long breath and said slowly, ‘By the powers of the Mórrígan!’
Fidelma turned a cold eye towards him. ‘Is there a reason to invoke the ancient Goddess of War?’
Fidaig blinked, staring at the standard that Gormán held. The lanterns of the onlookers flickered on the golden image and the red stones set as the wolf’s eyes. Fidaig’s warriors had fallen silent, almost in awe.
‘The reason is that this is the symbol of the ancient Goddess of War,’ Fidaig said slowly. ‘It is the sacred totem of the Uí Fidgente. It disappeared after the great defeat of Cnoc Áine.’
‘A sacred totem?’ demanded Fidelma.
‘It is the Cathach of Fiachu Fidgenid,’ Fidaig uttered reverently.
Eadulf knew that most clans, when they went to battle, usually carried into the conflict a sacred object which they believed gave them strength and protection. The object was known as a cathach or battler. More recently, as the New Faith spread, some clans carried a copy of one or other of the Scriptures while others carried a reliquary of the great teachers of the Faith. But this was an ancient symbol from the time before the New Faith.
As if reading his thoughts, Fidaig said: ‘This is supposed to be the very standard that the Goddess of Darkness and Sorcery, the Mongfhind, gave to Fiachu Fidgenid, the progenitor of the Uí Fidgente, at the time before time.’ His tone was a mixture of wonder and dread.
‘Are you saying that it is the battle standard of the Uí Fidgente, last seen during the conflict at Cnoc Áine?’ asked Fidelma.
‘It disappeared from the battlefield. It was thought to have been looted and taken to Cashel, but your brother denied all knowledge of taking it as part of the spoils of battle.’
‘Had it been taken to Cashel, then it would have been destroyed,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘Its symbol would have aroused too many passions among the Uí Fidgente. The question is — how has it fallen into the hands of Ordan?’
‘A question we should now attempt to answer,’ Eadulf said, turning and jumping down from the wagon before he held out his arm to assist Fidelma down.
Her feet had barely touched the ground when there were shouts coming from the direction of Fidaig’s tent, followed by the sound of a horse galloping off.
‘If the guard has let that merchant escape …’ began Fidaig, stifling an oath.
They were running for the tent across the campsite. The warriors milled around in confusion as Fidaig began yelling orders for the wagon to be protected, for others to chase after the fugitive.
They halted at the entrance of the pupall. There, lying on the ground, was the rotund form of Ordan. Eadulf went immediately to kneel by him. Ordan was clutching his side where blood was seeping over his clothing. His face was deathly white. One look into his eyes and Eadulf knew that Ordan had resigned himself to death. A tongue licked over the pale lips.
‘Wealth … more wealth than I ever dreamed of. He promised me … he promised …’
Fidelma knelt by his other side, glancing at Eadulf who shook his head.
‘Who promised you this, Ordan?’ she asked softly.
‘He would be King … he promised.’
‘Gláed? Did he promise you wealth? What was he to be King of?’
The dying merchant stared at Fidelma as if not recognising her.
‘Not Gláed. Must get it … get to Mungairit. He promised … he …’
With a sigh, Ordan suddenly went limp. Fidelma did not have to ask Eadulf whether he was dead or not.
Slowly, she and Eadulf stood up. Fidaig had just been speaking to his son Artgal. He came towards them with an angry expression.
‘It seems that one of my warriors drew his knife and killed Ordan. Then he leaped on a horse and rode away. It was Loeg, one of the men you prevented from engaging in the single combat earlier.’
Fidelma glanced into the darkness beyond the campfires. ‘Was Loeg one of Gláed’s men?’ she asked.
‘He came from Barr an Bheithe,’ acknowledged Fidaig bitterly.
‘I suppose there will be no chance of overtaking him in this darkness?’
‘Half a dozen of my men are now chasing him,’ Fidaig replied. ‘I doubt that they will be able to catch him. Come daylight, they might be able to track him, but I suspect that he will have gone to ground before then.’
‘Was the attack unprovoked?’ Eadulf asked, although he already knew the answer. ‘Did Ordan make an attempt to escape?’
‘It was when you discovered the Cathach and the news spread that Loeg struck,’ Artgal said, having followed his father to their group.
‘You think that he did it to prevent Ordan revealing where he obtained it?’ queried Fidaig, troubled. ‘If my son was buying arms then he was surely plotting against me — plotting my overthrow.’
‘That might well be,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Except that I think it was a bigger conspiracy — and one to which the Cathach of the Uí Fidgente is the key. You heard what Ordan said. The answer is at Mungairit.’
The lord of the Luachra shook his head stubbornly. ‘My concern is to stop Gláed’s folly. If he wants to take over the chieftainship of the Luachra, then he must confront me first. I am taking my men to Barr an Bheithe tomorrow. Gláed has much to learn if he thinks he can outsmart me, lady.’
‘Then I suggest that we split up and go our separate ways. I think it is important that we get to Mungairit in view of the discovery of the Cathach and Ordan’s dying words, so Eadulf, Gormán and I will continue north to Mungairit at sun-up.’
‘It could be a trap.’
Fidelma disagreed. ‘I think the totem of the Uí Fidgente is essential to this conspiracy — whatever it is. If Loeg reports that you have it, Fidaig, then they will not come after me. So I suggest that you take good care to hide Ordan’s wagon. I also suggest that you hand over this totem to me for temporary safekeeping. I think it will help to solve the many mysteries which now lie hidden. I promise that I will keep it safe. Will you trust me with that?’
Fidaig rubbed his chin thoughtfully and then he finally gave a quick nod of confirmation.
‘The Uí Fidgente mean little to me. I am content as lord of the Luachra. You may take their totem back to them or destroy it as you will. But remember, it is a powerful symbol. Even some of my own warriors have followed it and been seduced by its power. You saw how they reacted just now when it was discovered. So have a care, lady. Guard it safely.’
Fidelma turned to Gormán but before she spoke he said solemnly: ‘My honour and sword hand will defend it, lady, or I will be dead when it is taken from me.’
‘Rather you remain alive than dead, my friend,’ she replied dryly.
‘To ensure that you reach Mungairit, I can give you two of my men to accompany you,’ offered Fidaig.
To Eadulf’s surprise, Fidelma accepted the offer.
Later that night, in the darkness of their tent, Eadulf rolled over and peered towards the figure of Fidelma. The sounds of her breathing made him realise that she was awake.
‘I still don’t trust Fidaig,’ he whispered without preamble.
‘Trust does not come into it,’ she whispered back. ‘I think Fidaig is genuinely concerned about Gláed, although I don’t believe it is Gláed’s intention to overthrow his father. I return to my earlier thought about the overthrow of Prince Donennach. Why else would Gláed, in his guise of Brother Adamrae, be trading for new weapons with Ordan? I know that Ordan was a merchant without morals and that he had traded with the smiths of Magh Méine for years. Perhaps it is as simple as that. It is not every merchant who has such connections or who is willing to trade in weapons and is not too scrupulous with whom he trades. But the Cathach is something else.’