He stuck out his tongue at the little girl.
‘Boys!’ sneered Ciar. ‘Anyway, sometimes he brought another sister with him. But she was strange. She was not really like a sister!’
‘Girls are so stupid!’ grunted the young boy. ‘She was dressed like a sister.’
Sister Aíbnat caught Fidelma’s eye. She obviously felt that the questioning had continued long enough.
Fidelma held up a hand to prevent the argument developing.
‘All right now. Just one more thing … are you sure the man came from Ros Ailithir?’
Tressach nodded vehemently.
‘That’s what Cosrach told me when his brother threatened to punch me.’
‘And this sister who accompanied him? Can you describe her? What was she like?’
The boy shrugged disinterestedly.
‘Just like a sister.’
The children seemed to lose interest now and scampered away in the direction of the sister who was playing the reed pipe.
Fidelma, deep in thought, accompanied Aíbnat back to where Molua had laid the table for their meal. Aíbnat seemed totally bewildered by the conversation but did not question Fidelma further on the matter. Fidelma welcomed the silence as she turned the facts over in her mind. As they entered, Cass looked up and examined Fidelma’s perplexed expression.
‘Did you get the information you want?’ he asked brightly.
Fidelma laughed dryly.
‘I do not know what information I wanted,’ she responded. ‘But I have gathered another stone to build my cairn ofknowledge. Yet one which does not make sense at the moment. No sense at all.’
The meal which Aíbnat and Molua provided was comparable to the feasts that Fidelma had enjoyed in many a feasting hall of kings. She had to force herself to eat sparingly for she realised that it was a ten-mile ride back to Ros Ailithir and riding on a full stomach was not good for the body. Cass, on the other hand, gave himself unchecked to the meal and accepted more of the heady cuirm spirit.
Aíbnat quietly attended to their wants while her husband excused himself and disappeared to look after some mysterious errand.
When Molua brought out their horses, they found that the big farmer had watered, fed and groomed the animals.
Fidelma thanked both Aíbnat and Molua profusely for their hospitality and swung into the saddle.
Fidelma gave their erstwhile hosts a blessing and they began to turn their path back towards Ros Ailithir.
‘What did you learn, Fidelma?’ demanded Cass, once they were out of earshot, crossing the river’s ford and ascending across the wooded hills which crowned the large headland.
‘I found out, Cass, that Cétach and Cosrach were taken to Rae na Scríne just a few weeks ago to live with Sister Eisten. They are …’ she paused to correct herself, ‘They were the sons of Illan.’
‘But the brother at Sceilig Mhichil said that Illan’s sons had copper-coloured hair, like the little girls.’
‘Anyone can dye hair,’ observed Fidelma. ‘Moreover, they were several times visited by someone from Ros Ailithir. Cosrach boasted to the boy Tressach that the man was a scholar. That someone Cétach and Cosrach called aite!’
Cass looked amazed.
‘But if this person was their father then they were not the sons of Illan. Illan was killed a year ago.’
‘Aite can also mean foster-father,’ Fidelma pointed out.
‘Perhaps,’ Cass said reluctantly. ‘But what does it mean and how does it fit the puzzle of this murder?’
‘It would be no puzzle if I knew,’ Fidelma reproved. ‘The man was sometimes accompanied by one of the sisters. There is a path here which leads to Intat! And we know that Intat is Salbach’s man. There is a circle here if only we could find a way of entering it.’
She lapsed into a thoughtful silence.
They had gone over a mile, perhaps not more than two miles, when, topping a rise, Cass glanced over his shoulder and exclaimed in surprise.
‘What is it?’ cried Fidelma, swinging round in her saddle to follow his gaze.
Cass did not have to reply.
A tall, black column of smoke was rising into the pale-blue, cold autumnal sky behind them.
‘That’s coming from the direction of Molua’s place, surely?’ Fidelma said, her heart beginning to beat fast.
Cass stood in his stirrups and seized the overhanging branch of a tree, hauling himself up into the topmost branches with an agility which surprised Fidelma.
‘What do you see?’ she cried, peering up into the dangerously swaying branches.
‘It is Molua’s place. It must be on fire.’
Cass scrambled down the tree and jumped to the ground, a pile of early fallen leaves breaking his drop. He brushed himself down and grabbed the reins of his horse.
‘I don’t understand it. It’s a big fire.’
Fidelma bit her lip, almost causing blood to flow as a terrible idea grew in her mind.
‘We must go back!’ she shouted, turning her horse.
‘But we must be careful,’ warned Cass. ‘Let the incident at Rae na Scríne serve us as a warning.’
‘That is precisely what I fear!’ cried Fidelma, and she was already racing her horse back towards the column of smoke.Cass had to urge his horse to its utmost stride to keep place with her. Although he knew that Fidelma was of the Eóganacht and brother to Colgú, who was now his king, Cass was always surprised that a religieuse could ride so well as Fidelma did. It seemed that she had been born in the saddle; that she was at one with her horse. She nursed it with dexterity as it thundered along the trail they had only recently traversed.
It was not long before they came over the brow of the hill and saw the great muddy estuary spread before them.
‘Halt!’ yelled Cass, pulling rein. ‘Behind those trees, quickly!’
He was thankful that for once Fidelma did not question him but obeyed his orders immediately.
They drew up behind the cover of a copse of amber-yellow leafed aspens with a surrounding dense thicket.
‘What did you see?’ Fidelma commanded.
Cass simply pointed down the hill.
She narrowed her eyes and saw a band of armed horsemen breaking through the fragile fences which surrounded the small community of Molua and Aíbnat. A squat man sat on his horse before the burning buildings as if surveying the handiwork of his men. There were a dozen of them. They completed their grim business and then went riding away through the trees on the far side of the river. The squat rider, who was obviously their leader, turned with a final glance at the burning buildings and galloped after them.
Fidelma suddenly gave vent to a cry of impotent rage. She had heard Salbach say, as he rode away from the cabin in the forest, ‘I know where they might be … I’ll give you my instructions for Intat.’ She had heard and not understood. She should have realised. She could have prevented … At the back of her raging mind a voice told her it was the second major mistake she had made.
‘We must get down there!’ cried Fidelma in fury. ‘They may be hurt.’
‘Wait a moment,’ snapped Cass. ‘Wait for the assassins to leave.’
His face was grey, his jaw was tight set, the muscles clenched. He already knew what they were bound to find in the inferno that was the once the prosperous farm settlement.
However, Fidelma was already urging her horse from the cover and racing down the hill.
Cass gave a cry after her but, realising that she would not obey, even though there might be danger from the attackers, he drew his sword and urged his horse after her.
She galloped down the hill, splashing through the ford at speed and tore to a halt in front of the buildings.
She flung herself from the saddle and, raising an arm, to protect herself from the fierceness of the heat, she ran forward towards the burning buildings.