Conri was nodding eagerly.
‘The Machaire Islands,’ he said meaningfully.
Ganicca was perplexed.
‘They are nothing except a group of small uninhabited islands… well, apart for one that is occupied by hermits. Seanach’s Island.’
Conri turned to face Fidelma with a smile of satisfaction.
‘The Machaire Islands,’ he said again with emphasis.
Eadulf, recovering from Ganicca’s claim that he was mistaken in his belief that Uaman was dead, was regarding the warlord seriously.
‘Are you claiming that the wreckage on Uaman’s island, the killing of the Abbess Faife and the disappearance of the religieuse and the attack by the mysterious warship are now all connected?’
‘I say that they must be. And if Uaman is involved, it makes perfect sense.’
Eadulf pursed his lips sceptically.
‘Ganicca is the only one who has positively identified Uaman as part of this affair,’ he pointed out.
‘The boy also did so,’ replied Conri softly.
‘But the boy didn’t know Uaman. He was repeating something he had heard adults say.’
‘And I know who I saw, Brother Saxon,’ Ganicca intervened sharply.
‘We must follow the path these people took,’ Fidelma interrupted to silence them. She recognised that this exchange might soon lead to an argument. ‘I think the answer will be found on those islands that you called the Machaire.’
‘It is nearly noon, lady, and we have little hospitality to offer now,’ Ganicca said as he realised why Fidelma had stopped the conversation. ‘What we have, you are most welcome to.’
Fidelma shook her head and thanked the old man.
‘We will move on immediately, my friend.’
‘Yet there is no hurry,’ the old man pointed out. ‘It is now three weeks since this happened and the chances of catching up with these men…’ He shook his head.
‘Nevertheless, we will ride on,’ Fidelma insisted firmly. ‘Whether the leader is Uaman or not, we must find those who have been abducted.’
‘Then may God be on all the paths you travel, lady. It is a dangerous game that you hunt.’
‘Thank you, Ganicca. I promise in my brother’s name to ensure that your village is compensated for the outrage you have suffered.’
The old man smiled sadly.
‘The Brehons have a list of honour-prices for each one of us. But how do you really judge the value of lives, lady? It is not easy. But we will survive, some of us at least. And while the names of our dead are still spoken, then their lives will have meant something in this sad world in which we live.’
A short time later they were climbing their horses along the mountain track and keeping on the west side of the river which ran rapidly through the valley below them. They were almost turning east, paralleling the course of the river, when Conri pointed to a narrow pass through the hills by a number of ancient stones that had apparently been set up by their ancestors in the dim distant past.
Taking the pass, they found they were now following a smaller stream that rose on the mountain behind them, tumbling northwards. They
‘We’ll have to think about stopping soon, lady,’ Conri suggested, ‘otherwise it will be dark before we know it and we haven’t eaten since last night.’
‘I thought I glimpsed a farmstead on the plain ahead of us,’ Fidelma replied. ‘We’ll seek hospitality there.’
Indeed, when they approached the series of wooden buildings, half hidden in the shelter of a copse of some sturdy oaks, a farmer and his son appeared to be waiting for them. They looked nervous and held some farming implements defensively in their hands.
Fidelma called out a friendly greeting and the two men began to look slightly relieved.
‘We saw you coming down the hill road, Sister,’ said the elder man, recognising her robes. ‘We saw some strange riders only and wondered who you were.’
‘No one who means harm to you and yours, my friend. We are just weary travellers who need a shelter for the night,’ replied Fidelma, dismounting.
‘My wife would be pleased to offer you a bed, Sister,‘replied the farmer, rubbing his jaw and seeming to mentally count them. ‘But your companions will have to shelter in the barn. We have little room in the house.’
‘That will suit us fine, farmer,’ Conri assured him. ‘A place out of the wind and warm straw will suit us well.’
‘There is the spring in which to wash but plenty of venison to eat and bread to take away your hunger.’
‘You hospitality is generous,’ Fidelma replied warmly. ‘Yet you still seem nervous. Have there been other travellers on this road?’
The farmer exchanged a brief glance with his son. Fidelma was right. They were nervous.
‘In truth, there have, Sister. Travellers that I would not like to play host to. It was several weeks ago but, thanks be to God, they passed on without stopping. They went across the top meadow in the direction of the sea.’
‘You appear fearful of them. Why so?’
‘They were warriors on horseback but we saw them herding a group of prisoners. They were religieuse, poor young women, with a male prisoner.’
‘Herding is an odd choice of word,’ Conri pointed out.
Herding is the only word that comes to mind, my friend,’ the farmer replied almost defensively. ‘They passed by and we prayed for their souls.’
‘You were looking to the north-west,’ Fidelma observed. ‘Is that the direction in which they went?’
‘Indeed they did. Towards the Machaire peninsula.’
Fidelma’s expression was one of satisfaction.
‘If you can tell us where we might tether our horses…?’
The farmer glanced round and pointed.
‘You can put them in the enclosure at the back. We have some sheep there but I doubt whether they will be bothered. It will keep them out of the cold winds. The spring is over there, and the barn where you may sleep. Sister, come to the house. The food will be ready after you have washed.’
The food was good and the hay was warm and, for the first time in several days, Eadulf slept a deep comfortable sleep without waking once during the night. He did not begrudge Fidelma her more civilised abode. By the time he woke and washed, everyone else was sitting down to a breakfast. Gifts were given by Conri, who had the foresight to travel with such items, to the farmer, his wife and their son in exchange for their hospitality. Socht and his companion had saddled their horses and after an exchange of farewells they rode on again.
The salty smell of the sea was never far away on the peninsula of the Corco Duibhne but now it was really strong. The air was filled with the crying of gulls, and these were joined by a few lost-looking greenshanks, wading along the few freshwater pools and lakes that they passed. But it was the noisy gulls that dominated, especially the great black-backed gull with its fierce, heavy, hooked bill. It was a fearsome butcher of a bird, eating refuse and carrion and preying on the chicks of other species like puffins, shearwaters and kittiwakes. In fact, just as the thought entered Eadulf’s mind, there came the strident call of ‘kitti-wa-a-k!’ like the eerie cry of a lost soul. Two adult kittiwakes swooped along the coastline ahead of them, with their soft grey plumage, white heads and yellow bills.
Conri was riding in front with Fidelma and Eadulf and the two warriors behind them.
‘Well,’ Eadulf said, wishing to break the silence that had lasted since they left the hospitality of the farm, ‘we have criss-crossed this peninsula twice now. I should know the place by now.’
Conri glanced across his shoulder.
‘No one can ever really know a country like this.’ He waved a hand across the mountains behind him. ‘I have been through this country before. They call those valleys Gleannta an Easig, the valleys of the waterfall.’