‘What are you gawping at, you big bully!’ she growled at the young warrior.
Gormán started at being addressed in such a fashion. Then he slowly replaced his sword in its sheath before reaching out a hand to assist the girl to rise.
She ignored him, rolling quickly over and scrambling to her feet. They could see now that she was no more than twenty.
‘And who are you?’ Fidelma asked mildly.
The girl turned on her with an unfriendly expression.
‘What business is it of yours?’ she replied pugnaciously.
‘The lady is Fidelma of Cashel and a dálaigh,’ Gormán said in a shocked tone. ‘When an attorney of the courts of the Brehons asks, it is your duty to give your name.’
The girl raised her hands to her hips and stared truculently at him.
‘My name is mine to keep.’
‘Watch your manners, girl!’ Gormán replied, anger in his voice. ‘You are speaking to the King’s sister.’
There was a slight narrowing of the girl’s eyes, which was the only reaction to this information. She remained as belligerent as before.
‘And that makes a difference as to whether I care to give my name or not?’ she sneered.
‘Not that I am a King’s sister,’ replied Fidelma. Her voice was dangerously cold and even. ‘But that I am a member of the courts of the Brehons and that I am qualified to the level of … ah, but I doubt whether that would mean much to you. Sufficient to say that my office gives me the right to question you and places you under the obligation of answering.’
‘You use long words,’ sniffed the girl.
‘It means that you are required to answer,’ snapped Gormán, clearly outraged by the girl’s behaviour. ‘And you should do so with deference.’
‘Words I have no use for,’ the girl went on.
‘Do you have a use for the word “punishment”?’ asked Gormán, taking a menacing step forward.
The girl wheeled around towards him, almost in a crouch. In her hand there had appeared a small glinting dagger.
‘Try to attack me, bully, and you are a dead man!’
Gormán took a step back, surprise clearly showing on his features.
Eadulf, who had been standing in silence during this time, leaped forward, grasped the girl’s wrist and twisted it slightly, so that the knife dropped from her hand onto the forest floor, then kicked it out of her reach. She spun round, her eyes flashing and her teeth bared. For a moment or so it seemed she was about to launch herself on Eadulf, her hands clenching and unclenching like claws.
‘The hellcat!’ breathed Gormán, recovering his poise. He made to move towards the girl but Fidelma held up her hand to stay him.
‘Why are you so frightened, girl?’ she asked gently.
The young woman relaxed and straightened herself, but her jaw remained thrust forward combatively.
‘Who says that I am frightened?’ she demanded.
‘You do,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Otherwise you would not be behaving in this manner.’
‘Clever, aren’t you?’ was the insolent response.
‘It does not require cleverness. However, I cannot sympathise with you about the troubles that afflict you unless you tell me what they are and allow me to do so.’
The girl still stood silently defiant. Fidelma sighed. Authority was of little use unless it was freely recognised.
‘Gormán,’ she said to the young warrior. ‘Search the hut.’ Then: ‘Eadulf, pick up this woman’s knife and return it to her.’
Eadulf made to protest then went to find the knife he had removed from the girl’s grasp. He handed it to her hilt first, but warily. She snatched it from him without thanks and replaced it in the worn leather sheath that hung from the rope belt at her waist. She remained regarding Fidelma with suspicion.
There was a cry of triumph from within the hut. A moment later, Gormán emerged with a saddle-bag in one hand and a saddle and bridle in the other. He was grinning.
‘A bag of clothes.’ He held it up. ‘It seems we were right. This is the place where the assassin changed.’
Eadulf, watching the girl, saw an expression of bewilderment spread across her face.
‘Let’s examine the clothing. It might tell us something,’ Fidelma instructed. Then she paused and looked at the girl. ‘Did you know these things were in there?’
Once more the pugnacious look returned.
‘Why should I?’ she countered.
‘You were asked if you knew that they were there,’ Gormán demanded. ‘Not why you should know.’
The girl blinked at the intensity of his tone and replied sullenly, ‘No, I did not know they were there.’
‘How long have you been in the hut?’ Fidelma asked.
‘I came here just after dawn. I wanted to sleep.’
‘You were not here last night?’
‘I said as much, didn’t I?’
‘So you did. And if you came here just after dawn, where did you spend the night?’
‘I was walking, most of it,’ conceded the girl.
‘Walking through the night? Alone?’
‘Have you found anyone else with me?’ she sneered.
‘That does not prove you were walking alone during the night,’ Gormán said irritably. ‘Do you know who left this bag here?’
‘I did not even know it was in the hut. How many times must I tell you?’
‘Whether you knew or not, we have yet to discover. But you are in serious trouble.’
For the first time the girl looked uncertain. ‘What do you mean?’
‘There was an attempt on the life of the King last night. This is where the assassin sheltered. Now we find you here, and with his belongings,’ replied Gormán.
Fidelma was watching the girl’s expression closely. There was a subtle change, a hint of fear as the girl seemed to realise the seriousness of her position.
‘That is nothing to do with me. I arrived here during the morning. There was no one here.’ The words were truculent but some of her confidence had gone.
‘And your name is …?’ Fidelma asked sternly.
The girl hesitated and gave in. ‘If you must know, my name is Aibell.’
‘And where are you from?’
‘From the west.’
Fidelma smiled sceptically. ‘That is a large area.’
‘I came from An Mháigh, the River of the Plain.’
‘And that is a long river,’ murmured Eadulf.
The girl glanced at him in annoyance. ‘I was born and raised by Dún Eochair Mháigh.’
Gormán’s eyebrows rose a little. ‘That is the fortress on the ridge of the Mháigh. It is the principal fortress of the princes of the Uí Fidgente.’
‘So, what of it?’
It seemed to Fidelma, watching her closely, that this Aibell was in constant battle with the world around her.
‘But the Uí Fidgente … Mungairit is not far,’ the young warrior protested.
Fidelma’s glance was expressive enough to silence him. She turned back to the girl.
‘The attempted assassination of the King is a very grave matter, Aibell. It will go better with you if you tell us the complete truth.’
‘It is the truth.’
‘So you travelled through the night — all the way from the fortress of the Uí Fidgente?’
Aibell saw Fidelma’s disbelieving look and bit her lip. ‘Not exactly.’
‘Then how … exactly?’
‘I left my father’s house there as soon as I reached the age of choice.’
‘When I asked you where you are from, I did not mean where were you born, or even where were you raised, but from whence you travelled last night.’ Fidelma spoke firmly.
‘Last night I met a merchant who was travelling here. He offered me a seat on his wagon. I accepted it.’
‘A merchant who was travelling at night?’ Gormán snorted. ‘That is unusual.’
‘He said he wanted to be at his destination by dawn.’ It was the first time Aibell had bothered to explain her short answers.