‘I am sorry, I didn’t catch him,’ he said as he rejoined them. ‘I might recognise him again, though. He was a thin man with long hair as white as snow.’
‘Elderly?’ asked Fidelma.
Gormán grimaced briefly. ‘Bánaí,’ he replied, using a word that meant someone whose hair, skin and eyes lacked normalcoloration. Fidelma had only seen such a person twice before and remembered the whiteness of their hair and skin and the pinkness of their eyes.
‘Robbers, do you think?’
‘Hard to tell. Assassins certainly, for if their arrows had struck home …’ He shrugged.
‘I have you to thank for my life, Gormán’ Eadulf began awkwardly.
‘That is my duty, Brother Eadulf,’ he replied quickly, walking across to the tree and extracting the arrow. He examined it with a shake of his head. ‘Nothing to indicate an origin. Well-crafted, though, but any one of a hundred fletchers could have made it.’
‘Let us see if we can get any explanation from our would-be killer,’ Fidelma said.
Gormán’s mouth drooped cynically. ‘I doubt it, lady. My sword bit deep.’
When they reached the body of the assailant, they could see that the man was certainly dead. He was not old although his hair was streaked grey. It was cut fairly short and his face was closely shaven. The man was tanned, which proclaimed he led an outdoor life. Regarding this, Fidelma bent to look at the hands of the man. They were neither the rough callused hands of a field worker nor the soft hands of someone unused to hard work. His clothes were nondescript, a field worker’s clothing of furs and leather. The clothing indicated someone who was neither wealthy nor poor. There was no purse on him, nothing to identify him.
It was Fidelma who pointed out that the sword that still hung from his belt was of good-quality workmanship, a warrior’s sword rather than some cheap ornament. It would not be chosen by someone who had little means to purchase it. There was also a dagger with an embossed handle, which was unusual for afield worker. He had a quiver of arrows hanging on one side of his belt. His bow lay where it had been discarded when he received his death blow from Gormán. Fidelma picked it up and, turned it over in her hands. It was well made of yew wood, a war bow rather than one used just for hunting. She turned and handed it to Gormán, asking a silent question with raised eyebrows.
‘A professional warrior’s bow,’ he muttered, having given it a quick examination. ‘Well strung.’ He paused and tested the pull on it. ‘It would take a trained bowman to pull it. There is good tension on it and a secure grip.’
Fidelma knelt again beside the body and examined it closely.
‘He wears no ornamentation, which is unusual. There is nothing decorative on him. But see here, what do you make of this, Eadulf?’ She pointed to the neck where there was a slight discoloration, like bruising or an abrasion. Eadulf’s mind went back to the customs of his own people.
‘The mark of a slave collar?’ he hazarded. ‘The slaves among my people are often given iron collars to indicate their position.’
An expression of distaste crossed Fidelma’s features. Then she turned to Gormán.
‘What do you think?’
The young warrior pursed his lips in thought for a moment and then replied, ‘Brother Eadulf has a point. I have seen Saxon slaves at the seaports wearing iron collars. But I doubt this man is a Saxon. Given his weaponry, and despite his clothing and lack of ornamentation, this might be the mark of a torc.’ His hand went automatically to the circlet of gold at his own neck, showing that he was of the élite warriors of the Nasc Niadh.
‘You think he was a warrior of rank?’ demanded Eadulf in surprise.
‘The thought that he was a professional warrior did not escape me,’ Fidelma affirmed.
‘But he is not of the Nasc Niadh, lady,’ pointed out Gormán.
‘We are not the only people whose élite warriors wear the torc of gold. It is an old custom, even among peoples in Gaul and among the Britons.’
‘Are you saying that this person is some élite warrior in disguise?’ repeated Eadulf. ‘I do not understand.’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘We are not saying anything except that this man poses several questions. Why would he and his companion be waiting here on this road? Were they robbers lying in wait for any passer-by? Why did they attempt to kill us first? They could have simply threatened us if the intention was to rob.’
‘Given the quick retreat of the second man, perhaps they did not have sufficient courage to do so and thought to rob us after we were killed,’ Gormán offered.
‘Or was it us in particular they were waiting for?’ mused Eadulf.
‘You mean that they might have been waiting specifically to ambush us?’ Fidelma queried. She gave a shake of her head. ‘That’s absurd.’
But Gormán was frowning thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps not, lady. After all, you and Eadulf have made many enemies these last few years. There’s no denying it. Uncovering guilt and meting out justice inevitably causes one to gather enemies like a bee gathers honey. This man was lying in wait out of sight with a good bow. Had I not spotted him move forward to release his arrow and pushed Brother Eadulf from his horse, that arrow would have surely transfixed him. He drew quickly, this man, and his next arrow was already on the way to you, lady, when I cried to you to take cover. This archer was no novice when it came to the use of the bow.’
‘In other words,’ Fidelma said quietly, ‘you think these men were professional assassins whose aim was to kill Eadulf or myself?’
‘Or all three of us,’ added Gormán with a grimace. ‘I have gathered enemies as well. Although you were his first targets.’
‘This might have been a means to prevent us going to Lios Mór,’ Eadulf suddenly remarked.
Fidelma stared at him a moment and then turned thoughtfully to Gormán.
‘When my brother, Colgú, asked you to accompany us, did he say that he suspected something like this would happen?’ she asked.
The young warrior shook his head quickly. ‘Your brother, the King, felt that you might have need of me. That is all. If he had such a concern, then surely he would have suggested I bring a couple of companions with me. As I have said, lady, you have gained many enemies in your career. Those whose crimes are found out always think they are hard done by when caught and punished. They often swear to exact revenge on those responsible for their undoing.’
Fidelma glanced down at the face of the dead man. ‘If he is an enemy, I do not recognise him. Anyway, we are speculating without knowledge. He and his companion might just have been robbers. But we will keep a careful watch in case his companion doubles back. We’ll take this man’s horse and weapons. Perhaps we will eventually be able to identify him by them. There is nothing else. We will have to leave the body in this ditch. I’m afraid the wolves and other scavengers will have to dispose of it.’
Gormán bent swiftly to the task of removing the weaponry from their assailant and tied the bundle up before placing it on the brown pony that was tethered nearby. He glanced quickly over the beast before he did so and said, ‘The horse is unmarked as well. Nothing to tell where it came from other than the breed is popular in these parts.’
Fidelma compressed her lips in annoyance at herself. She should have considered that the horse might have carried anidentifying brand. Gormán had diplomatically reminded her of the question that she should have asked.
‘Shall we continue on this road?’ asked Eadulf uneasily, distracting her. ‘If this was an attempt to prevent us reaching Lios Mór then it might be better to choose another route.’