‘But we must not tarry too long, as I know that Conri and a band of warriors will soon be on our trail.’
Marban raised his brows in surprise. ‘I thought Conri was a friend of yours, lady?’
‘He is also warlord of the Ui Fidgente and his allegiance is to Prince Donennach and Brehon Faolchair. His duty is to track down Gorman and return him to the custody of the fortress. We must ensure that we reach Gorman first.’
‘I understand,’ the miller acknowledged. ‘How far behind is he?’
Enda was the expert. The young warrior thought for a moment. ‘It depends how far they went northwards over the bridge in the wrong direction. If they went to the Hill of Truth before they turned back, it could be as much as two days.’
‘Let us hope that is the course they have taken, for we need to gain as much time as possible.’
Marban left the millhouse and they heard him shouting orders to arrange the food. The miller’s idea of a frugal meal did not match their own. Usually the etar-shod was a light affair because the main meal of the day was in the evening. However, the aroma of roasting meat, baking bread and several other delicious odours they could not identify, soon assailed their nostrils. Several wooden tables were swiftly erected before the mill, on which the workers and their wives placed the feast, along with the inevitable jugs of apple cider, and were now seating themselves.
Marban escorted his visitors to the end of one of the tables and seated them around his own chair. The atmosphere was cordial. The millworkers, many of whom remembered Fidelma and Eadulf from the previous year, were friendly. There was no hierarchy here, unlike the formal meals given by princes and kings. Meat was cut from two nearby roasting spits, placed on dishes and brought to the table where those seated just helped themselves. Everyone lent a hand and no one was appointed carver or server as at formal feasts.
As Eadulf examined the dishes of meat, hesitating to make a choice, he found Marban at his side. The miller explained the dishes with pride. ‘That is muilt-fheoil, mutton, and that is fiadh-fheoil, venison. The venison I particularly recommend, my friend. It is basted on the spit with honey and salt and is quite sweet.’
Also on the table were hard-boiled eggs, freshly baked small loaves, still warm, called tortine, and some dishes of green vegetables which Eadulf identified as a kind of kale or cabbage, whose taste had been enhanced by crem or wild garlic, as well as some other herbs. As these various dishes were pressed on him, he joked, ‘If I succumbed to all these temptations, I swear I would not be able to ride out of the millyard, let alone to our destination.’
Fidelma cast him a disapproving look. ‘Well, I would advise moderation, especially with the apple cider. A full belly is not a good travelling companion.’
Eadulf reluctantly pushed his platter from him, saying to the miller with a smile of regret: ‘It is a good feast, Marban. I had not expected millworkers to eat so well.’
‘We also work well,’ Marban replied seriously. ‘It’s a hard day’s work to keep the mill productive. Sometimes we work our kilns all night as well – and a man cannot fulfil such work and maintain his health on just a small bowl of gruel. These,’ he waved a hand to encompass everyone, ‘are my people. I am responsible for them.’
‘That reminds me, Marban,’ Fidelma said. ‘You are not well protected here. Do you have plans if the news from the merchants proves true? What happens if Glaed and the men of Sliabh Luachra come riding down on your mill? It was here that we captured him after he killed his father in one of your sheds. Your mill also lies on the route to Dun Eochair Mhaigh.’
‘You make a good point, lady,’ agreed the miller. ‘And it is on that point that I decided I must remain here to protect my mill and ensure the safety of my people.’
Fidelma gazed around her. ‘I see no defences,’ she commented.
‘Neither will Glaed, I hope,’ the miller smiled confidently. ‘The path to this mill from Sliabh Luachra is one that passes across the marsh plains. You see, lady, I have learned a few tricks since you were last here. There are eyes and ears that will alert us of any approach of Glaed and his marauding wolves.’
Eadulf had to think for a moment before remembering that foilc, the term for marauding wolves, was also used for bands of robbers and brigands.
‘But even if you knew Glaed’s brigands were on their way, you could hardly sustain a defence against an attack.’ Fidelma remained concerned.
‘We don’t mean to,’ Marban said easily. ‘As soon as we get warning of Glaed’s ravening wolves coming out of Sliabh Luachra, everyone will make for the forests.’ He gestured across the stream to the south which, unlike the areas to the north and south-west, was a thick tangle of forest.
‘Glaed could destroy the mill,’ Eadulf pointed out.
‘I have my strategy, lady. We’ll retreat until the threat is gone, and if Glaed tries to follow us into the forests then it will be to his detriment. My people and I are forest-dwellers so we shall survive any attack.’
It was finally time to leave. They bade farewell to Marban, who showed them the track that led north-west across the flat plains criss-crossed by streams and watercourses. At first it was easy riding, although the atmosphere was close and humid. The track eventually became muddy even in this summer month. The area was, in effect, a marshland not too dissimilar from the stretches that lay east of Cashel and bordered on the lands of Osraige – and with the same amount of midges, so Eadulf morosely observed. There were no more little hillocks poking out to alleviate the flatness of the scenery and they had long since left the high trees to the south.
Eadulf disliked travelling through such terrain, if terrain it could be called for there was little of land in it. It was a treacherous wetland of bogs, waterholes and mires whose liquid traps could swallow men and horses if they mistook their way and deviated from the narrow, safe tracks that ran through it. The predominate growth through which they passed consisted of reed mace, or bulrushes, standing thirty centimetres high and reminding Eadulf of dark sausages on spikes. Here and there he saw what appeared as little sprouts of white on the green parts of plants: experience told him they were groups of white leeches, nasty little carnivores that it was best to avoid, as were most little insects that populated the area. Dragonflies, flea-flies, damselflies – each were irritants and bearers of disease. Now and then they had to flick away such creatures from their patiently plodding horses.
The area was strangely quiet to Eadulf’s ears. He glanced up several times at the blue canopy above, shielding his eyes against the lowering but unprotected sun. There was not a cloud in the sky. Neither was there any sign of birds – and that seemed unusual to him. The only bird he had seen was a stately grey heron, standing on its long legs in some shallow water and, with its long sinuous neck, poised ready to stab its prey and swallow it whole. Once he spotted an otter marking its territory, appearing incongruous in the climate with its thick fur and webbed feet.
He was not sure how long they had been moving through this wilderness when Enda called, pointing before them.
‘We are coming to the treeline. The land is beginning to rise. The forest is just ahead.’
‘We’ll pause a moment to rest the horses as soon as we reach the shade of the trees,’ replied Fidelma.
It was not long before they could feel the ground hardening beneath their mounts and rising away from the low-lying marshland. A short while later, they entered the shelter of the forest and paused by a freshwater stream. It gushed down the hill and emptied into the marshland. They dismounted and allowed their horses to drink while Eadulf took the opportunity to wash the taste of the marshland and its sticky odours from his mouth. Then he gazed around. They were surrounded by hazel trees but here and there, mainly along the borders of the marshes, were a variety of yew trees.