Fidelma turned to Gormán. ‘Did you come straight back here when you left the palace?’
‘I stopped at Rumann’s tavern on the square,’ Gormán admitted sheepishly. ‘But I had only one beaker of his ale before I returned here and went straight to my bed.’
‘You don’t lock your door?’ Eadulf asked Della.
She laughed pleasantly. ‘Locks and bolts are for nobles, brother. We poorer folk do not bother with such things, for who would want to intrude on us?’
Gormán was nodding agreement when Fidelma suddenly asked: ‘The dog made no sound when you came in?’
‘He must know my step by now, but …’ Gormán broke off as if a thought had struck him.
‘But?’ echoed Fidelma.
‘If truth be told, he usually barks and snarls until I call out to him and he recognises my voice.’
‘And last night he did not?’
‘He seemed to be sleeping soundly.’
‘He does not appear to be a docile dog,’ remarked Eadulf. ‘I have seen these cross-breeds before. They are good for hunting.’
‘How was your dog’s behaviour last evening?’ Fidelma asked Della thoughtfully.
Della shrugged. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Was he alert? Or did he become sleepy?’
‘He was running about all afternoon. I think he tired himself out …’ Her voice suddenly trailed off.
‘You’ve thought of something?’ prompted Fidelma.
‘Yes, something curious. He came back just before I had begun to prepare my evening meal. He was carrying a bone. I presumed that he had helped himself to a bone given to one of my neighbour’s dogs. He went quietly to his spot and lay down. I usually give him a slice of meat if I am eating it for the evening meal.’
‘And last night, you were eating meat?’ Eadulf asked.
‘I was. I threw him a small chunk, but he didn’t even touch it.’
‘Where does he sleep?’
Della took them to the porch of her wooden cabin and pointed to where some sacking was spread in a dry spot. As they moved towards it, the dog trotted forward and picked up the remains of a piece of meat and, growling softly, began to chew it. However, it was a bone that lay on the sacking that Fidelma was after. She reached down and scooped it up. There were still strands of meat hanging from it. She sniffed at it cautiously before handing it to Eadulf.
Eadulf grimaced at the strong and disagreeable odour. ‘Cáerthann curraig,’ the Irish name came immediately to his lips.
‘What is that?’ asked Della, puzzled.
‘Valerian root,’ he translated. ‘Apothecaries use it to allay pain and promote sleep. It tranquillises the mind.’
‘Except that this seems stronger than the usual valerian that I know,’ commented Fidelma.
Della was looking horrified. ‘Are you saying that someone tried to poison my dog?’
‘Probably not,’ Eadulf said. ‘They just wanted to ensure that he was sleepy enough not to arouse any alarm, and then they could paddock the horse and change any clothing without being challenged.’
Fidelma was looking unconvinced. ‘Why go to all that bother? Our assassin would have already arrived here with his horse and the dog would have had the chance to raise an alarm before the tranquilliser had been given to it.’
‘I have no understanding of this, lady,’ Gormán said.
‘And I have no explanation to offer at the moment,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Let us see if we can find the bridle and saddle that belong to this horse and the clothes belonging to the assassin.’
‘As I said, lady, we have made that search already and found nothing.’
‘Perhaps he used some other shelter nearby,’ offered Gormán, ‘rather than our outbuildings.’
‘Do you have any suggestions?’ Eadulf asked.
Gormán pointed to the treeline at the far end of the field. ‘There is a small woodsman’s hut among those trees. The rider could have used that to change in and to store his clothes. I know of no other shelter nearby.’
‘Then let us examine it.’
Gormán gave his mother a reassuring smile and indicated that she did not have to accompany them before turning and leading the way across the small field, passing the now indifferently grazing horses. A short distance beyond the back fencing of the paddock, the edge of the forest began to stretch south of the township, and beyond that was a large area of grassland, the Plain of Femen. It was an area abounding in ancient legends, so Eadulf had learned, and much associated with the stories of the ancient gods and heroes, goddesses and heroines of Fidelma’s people. However, the forest was large enough to supply the townsfolk of Cashel with many kinds of wood. Eadulf knew that the ancient Irish laws were very specific about the illegal felling of trees, with fines according to each class of trees. He noticed that this area was composed of birch and elm, which were fairly common, but it also had several tall yew trees which were highly valued.
Gormán saw his wandering gaze and smiled.
‘This wood used to abound in yew when I was a boy. It’s why the old woodsman’s hut is there. It’s a difficult wood to work and they say it requires much skill, for it is used for so many things.’
‘I have noticed it is prized for making beds and couches as well as decoration in the houses of nobles,’ replied Eadulf.
‘The ancient law has a special provision for protection of items that are made of yew,’ Fidelma put in. ‘The law lists fines for damage caused to such articles by visitors to places where they are displayed. So if you visit a person’s home and damage furniture made of yew, then you are in trouble.’
Gormán led them down a short path through the trees. A few moments later, they came to a small clearing in which stood a hut hardly big enough for an average man to stand up in or to lie down in, full length. In fact, a man could stand in the centre and stretch his hands out to touch each wall. They could not easily discern what wood it was constructed of because it was almost obliterated by thickly growing ivy.
Eadulf was moving towards the door when a rustling sound from within caused him to halt, head to one side, not sure whether it was merely the wind among the ivy leaves.
A hand fell on his shoulder. Gormán, behind him, had raised a finger to his lips. So he had heard it too. The young warrior drew his sword and motioned Eadulf and Fidelma to stay back. He paused for a moment and then raised his right foot and kicked out, sending the door flying inwards. The crash of the shattering wood was accompanied by a frightened cry. Sword at the ready, Gormán moved quickly inside and a moment later dragged a small figure out, screaming and struggling, and threw it on the leaf-strewn floor of the glade before them.
Straddling the figure with his sword pointing downwards in readiness, Gormán commanded, ‘Identify yourself, boy!’
The figure rolled over and scowled up at him.
Fidelma turned to Gormán in amusement. ‘You have your sexes mixed, Gormán. This is clearly a girl.’
CHAPTER THREE
Gormán stood staring down in astonishment at the young woman.
Her tousled blue-black hair was cut short, not in the usual fashion, and it was quite dirty, scattered with dead leaves and wisps of straw. There were patches of dried mud on her face but, nonetheless, the features were quite attractive, symmetrical with a splash of freckles on the cheeks, dark flashing eyes and full lips that needed no berry-juice to enhance them. At the moment, those lips were drawn back in a snarl showing very white and even teeth. Her clothes were of poor quality, soiled and torn, and there were no shoes on her feet.