Eadulf asked Enda, ‘When you were preparing our horses, you didn’t notice anyone else in the stables – anyone particularly interested among the warriors there in what you were doing?’
‘I did not,’ the young warrior replied. ‘Even the echaire, the stable-keeper, was obligingly asleep on a pile of hay and did not move while I was there saddling up the horses.’
Fidelma nodded. ‘I suspect that Donennach and Brehon Faolchair believe that they might learn far more by sending Conri to follow us discreetly. Perhaps they think that if we are not following Abbot Nannid we might even lead them to Gorman.’
In the desolate town square, a few brand torches were spluttering as the embers were dying. But with the coming dawn there was light enough to see that the square was empty and Fidelma looked around to make sure they were unobserved. She turned her horse to the right, towards the wooden bridge over the river. On their left were a number of storage huts lining the riverbank which provided an area of shadowy darkness. She increased the pace a little and then abruptly turned into the dark embrace of the buildings. Once hidden from the main area among the shadows, she halted. ‘Stay quiet,’ she ordered before slipping from her horse, handing the reins to Enda and hurrying back the way they had come.
Only a few moments later, the sound of a band of horses came to their ears. Even from where they had halted, Eadulf and Enda could hear hooves thudding hollowly on the wooden bridge across the river. They heard someone swear and a harsh voice rebuking the man who had broken the silence.
After a little while, Fidelma reappeared out of the darkness and remounted her horse.
‘I was right,’ she told them, but without satisfaction. ‘That was our friend, Conri, with six or more mounted warriors apparently trying to follow us.’
‘So what now, lady?’ asked Enda. ‘It will be full light soon.’
‘I remember the route we first took to Marban’s mill. We followed the river to the south and crossed it over a ford to the west. I think that must have been the route Gorman took. Once over the river it was not too long before we reached the mill.’
‘Then I suggest that we start immediately, before Conri and his band of warriors realise they have been tricked and come back to find us,’ Eadulf suggested.
It was with feelings of familiarity that they passed through some rocky terrain and started to smell the aroma of drying grains from the wood kilns. It was now a warm day with a cloudless blue sky. They followed the smells along a small path emerging from the trees on to a high rocky ground. It was not so many months before that they had been here and caught sight of the mill where they had once hidden from the murderous brigands of Sliabh Luachra. Marban’s mill was a watermill, situated by a fast-flowing stream, a millpond before it and a spring behind it. At one side of the mill were storehouses and beyond them, two large stone-built kilns. Even against the bright cloudless sky they could see the heat haze rising and some smoke billowing now and then. Apart from the difference due to the change of seasons, it being mid-summer now compared with winter when they had first come to the mill, the scene appeared the same. There were several workers around the mill which, as they already knew, was a large and important one.
As they trotted their horses down the rocky slope, a shout told them they had been observed. A giant of a man appeared from the mill. He was shirtless but wore a leather apron that covered his great chest but left his muscular tanned arms bare. His large head was covered with a mass of dark red hair, and a bristling beard. He gazed at them for a moment, from light blue eyes, and then his face became wreathed in a broad grin.
He ran forward to help Fidelma dismount, although she did not need his attention.
‘Fidelma!’ he grinned, then: ‘And friend Eadulf! Aibell suspected that you would turn up here sooner or later.’
‘You know why we have come then?’ Fidelma asked once the greetings had been exchanged.
Marban’s grin disappeared and he motioned to the mill. ‘Come and let me provide you with good apple cider and let us talk.’
As they walked across to the mill, Fidelma glanced around her. ‘Are Gorman and Aibell here?’
‘They are not,’ Marban replied without hesitation.
‘But you do know where they are?’ pressed Fidelma.
To her surprise he shook his head. ‘Not exactly.’ He opened the door and motioned them inside. It was comfortable inside the slightly stuffy millhouse and the place brought back memories. Marban handed out some clay mugs and then went to the side door which gave access on the flowing stream beyond. A thin rope was attached to a basket that was balanced in the waters; from the basket he produced a large pottery jug and filled their mugs with an amber-coloured liquid. Enda tasted it immediately, licking his lips appreciatively.
Marban smiled. ‘It’s nice and chilled. Good apple cider.’
‘It is that,’ Enda agreed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Fidelma was inwardly chafing at the delay in coming to the point of their visit. Only the etiquette of hospitality caused her to raise the drink to her lips and take a sip before she spoke.
‘Now you say you do not know where Gorman and Aibell are … exactly?’
Marban raised his own mug and swallowed, hunching his shoulders for a moment before letting them relax.
‘You know that Gorman and Aibell are married?’
‘We do. We had the story from her friend Ciarnat.’
‘Ah yes. The girl who helped them escape from Dun Eochair Mhaigh.’
Fidelma and Eadulf exchanged a quick glance of surprise. ‘How do you know this?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Aibell told me.’
‘She told you that Ciarnat helped them?’ Eadulf clarified.
‘She did,’ confirmed the miller.
‘Did she say why?’ Fidelma wanted to know.
‘Ciarnat said that you had betrayed Gorman and was not going to help to free him.’
‘But …’ Eadulf exploded and was stopped with a gesture by Fidelma.
‘It is not true,’ she said quietly. ‘Why was this believed?’
‘I thought it didn’t sound like the dalaigh I knew, lady. But Aibell believed her friend.’
‘I can think of no conversation that I had with Ciarnat from which she could have mistaken my intentions.’
‘Unless …’ Eadulf said, ‘unless Ciarnat was told this by someone she trusted, then she would have been wary of checking the truth with us and Aibell would take her word.’
‘It would fit,’ Marban agreed slowly. ‘Gorman was certainly reluctant to believe the story that you would abandon him, but Aibell was convinced. There was a necessity to move quickly and no time to debate the matter. So Gorman accepted it as the truth.’
‘It might also explain the reason why Ciarnat was killed,’ Eadulf pointed out.
Marban looked shocked. ‘What? You say that Ciarnat has been killed?’
‘Murdered,’ Eadulf said heavily. Then, warming to an idea, he went on. ‘What if the person who told Ciarnat that we intended to abandon Gorman had done so knowing that an escape would be made? Once the plan had gone as expected, what if that person then killed the girl to prevent her being a witness against him?’
Enda leaned forward. ‘Why make it look as if Brother Mael Anfaid killed her?’
Eadulf was terse. ‘We know the killer had tried to implicate him, hanging the girl with his loman after he had killed Brother Mael Anfaid. Perhaps it was simply to lead a false trail? If Brother Mael Anfaid had fed her the lie about Gorman’s warning having been dismissed by Donennach, it is likely that he also told her that we had betrayed Gorman.’