At that moment, Caol came hurrying up the stairs into the room and cast a look at the corpse.
‘Can I help, lady?’ he asked.
Fidelma shook her head. ‘Take a closer look and see if you agree with me. I believe the old man suffered a fit.’ She used the word taem to indicate the condition.
Caol glanced down, nodding. ‘Blue and twisted lips and a convulsion of the muscles. I have observed the like before, lady, on the battlefield. Twice now I have seen men work themselves up into such a rage that, suddenly, they clutch at their chests and their faces become contorted and they fall into a paroxysm. Many have died from it.’
Fidelma agreed. ‘There seems no barrier to the condition, old age nor youth. I have even heard that some can survive the fit, and have described it as a terrible, debilitating pain here in the centre of the chest. No, have no fear, Ferloga, yours is not the responsibility for this death.’
There was a deep sigh of relief from the doorway. Lassar had followed Caol up the stairs and stood watching them.
‘I’ll go below and prepare some refreshment for you, lady,’ she said.
‘If you have fresh bread and honey, it will more than satisfy me,’ Caol added quickly as the old woman turned away.
Fidelma was gazing quizzically down at the corpse again. ‘Who was he?’ she asked.
Ferloga shrugged. ‘I had little chance to find out. He arrived after dark, only said that he was from the north, which was not a matter of surprise for I could hear the northern accents in his speech. He answered no questions, asked only one of his own, ate nothing, drank less and demanded to be shown to his bed.’
Fidelma looked keenly at the innkeeper. ‘Asked only one question? What was that?’
‘He asked what road he should take this morning to find Cnánmchailli.’
Fidelma shook her head thoughtfully. ‘The place beyond Ara’s well? But there is nothing there, only an ancient pillar stone.’
‘Just what I said,’ agreed Ferloga. ‘But he wanted to know the road, so I told him.’
‘Did you form any opinion of the man? You have a reputation for knowing your guests even when you spend only a few moments with them.’
Ferloga grimaced wryly. ‘I was saying only this morning to Lassar that I am perplexed. At first, I thought he was a religious until I examined his clothing and ornaments more closely. Alas, this man puzzles me.’
‘And he came here on foot?’ asked Caol. When Fidelma shot him a glance of surprise, Caol added, by way of explanation: ‘When I dealt with our horses just now, I saw no other horse in the stable that would belong to a guest.’
‘You are right,’ Ferloga said. ‘This man arrived on foot with only that strange staff to help him on his travels.’
Fidelma moved to the ornately carved staff that had been propped in a corner of the room. Taking it in her hands she gazed curiously at the dark oak wood which was mounted and tipped with bronze, both as a spiked ferrule and as an ornate headed piece. In fact, at the top part of the staff, the piece of bronze was shaped as a head wearing a tore; a male head with a long, flowing moustache and some semi-precious glinting red stones for the eyes. From ear to ear was a crescent-shaped head-dress studded with little triskel-style solar symbols.
‘It’s quite beautiful,’ muttered Caol, gazing over her shoulder.
‘It’s also quite old,’ said Ferloga.
‘It’s certainly very ancient,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘I seem to have seen those symbols before, but I can’t quite recall where …’
‘There are curious symbols and animals carved all over the staff,’ observed Caol, pointing. ‘It must be very valuable.’
‘What else did he carry that might identify him?’ demanded Fidelma, turning to Ferloga.
The innkeeper gestured at a leather satchel, which the man had been carrying the night before. There was also the richly inscribed gorget, which he had worn around his neck and which was now placed on the table by the side of the bed. The old man had obviously removed it from his neck before reposing himself for sleep.
‘Apart from his robe and clothing, there is only the satchel and this ornament.’
The satchel revealed no more than a change of clothing, an extra pair of sandals and a knife, and such toilet items as anyone might carry. However, if the staff had been a fascinating object of art then the gorget was even more so. The necklet was made of intricately beaten gold, decorated with all manner of ancient symbols that also seemed disturbingly familiar to Fidelma — but which she could not place at all. She was about to remark on it when Caol gave a grunt of surprise.
She turned to see him removing a small leather bag from under the pillow on which the old man’s head lay. He held it up and the bag clinked as if it contained metal. He handed it to Fidelma.
‘I think we’ll find that this strange old man was rich,’ he said.
Fidelma opened the string that tied the leather pouch together. Indeed, it was full of coins, mainly of gold and silver but with a few bronze coins. She glanced at several of them.
‘They are mainly old coins of Gaul and Britain, ones the Britons struck before the coming of the Romans. That’s curious. I can’t see any Roman coins among them either and they are the easiest to come by these days.’
‘That may mean the old man intended to travel in Gaul or Brittany?’ suggested Caol.
Fidelma returned his smile but shook her head. ‘It only means that he was in possession of coins from those countries, but they are centuries old. If someone was going to travel, why would they not be in possession of more modern coins?’
Caol looked a little crestfallen. ‘You are right, lady. But the old man must have been some sort of merchant, to have these foreign coins and so many. Only merchants are so rich.’
‘I doubt that he was a merchant.’ It was Ferloga who uttered the thought.
Fidelma turned to give him a quizzical look. The innkeeper was looking worried.
‘Not everyone has converted to the New Faith, lady. You know that already. Some keep to the old ways.’
She suddenly realised what the innkeeper was implying. Picking up the old man’s gorget, she examined it carefully and let out a slow breath as she agreed with Ferloga’s unspoken thought.
Caol was standing frowning. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.
‘Ferloga is saying that he thinks this old man might have been a Druid priest,’ Fidelma explained.
Caol’s eyebrows shot up. ‘But the old religion has died out. The Druids are no more.’
‘I have had several encounters with those who cling to the old religion,’ Fidelma said, a little grimly. ‘It was only a short time ago that Eadulf and I were sent to the valley of Gleann Geis when Laisre decided that his people should convert from the old ways to the New Faith.’
‘Gleann Geis is way over to the west,’ Caol dismissed airily. ‘They are always slow to move with the times.’
Fidelma smiled at the young warrior’s arrogance. ‘Or perhaps they move in a different direction?’ she observed quietly. ‘You are wrong, Caol — there are many who still move along the old paths and venerate the old gods and goddesses of this land. Many, even of the New Faith, respect and do reverence to the Druids or see them as they were — as great teachers. Did not Colmcille, the dove of the Church, write in one of his poems that Christ, the son of the One God, was his Druid?’