‘I will accept that until it is proved otherwise,’ she said quietly, before turning towards the door. At the door she halted as a thought occurred to her. ‘Promise me this, Delia, that you will not mention anything to anyone about the garment that is missing or my interest in it.’
Delia smiled wryly.
‘That I can easily do. I did not even know it was missing until you asked me to look for it. The garment that you are interested in, and the fact that it is missing, will remain a matter strictly between the two of us.’
Fidelma smiled.
‘Let it be so,’ she said softly before she left.
Chapter Ten
Fidelma sat opposite Eadulf as they breakfasted together on goat’s milk, freshly baked bread, cheese and apples. Fidelma had been reticent about the details of her meeting with Delia on the previous evening. She had told him about the boy at the inn and went so far as to tell him that Delia had once possessed the green and red silk cloak. She had also mentioned seeing Gorman, but little else, and Eadulf had not bothered to press her further. In fact, he had come late to their chamber, when she was almost asleep, for he had discovered in the library of Cashel a copy of Historia Francorum, a history of the Franks, by Bishop Gregory of Tours. Eadulf was always interested in the history of various peoples. The scriptor in the library had told him that this had been one of the last books to be copied at the great book-copying centre in Alexandria. The story was told with much verve and enthusiasm and Eadulf soon discovered that Gregory was no Frank but a Gaul, a Romanised Gaul it was true, but not above pointing out the error of Frankish ways and praising his own people. The time had passed quickly and so, returning to their chamber, he had found Fidelma already in bed. He re-emerged into the real world with a feeling of guilt that a mere book could provide him with escape from his problems for a few hours.
‘So what can we do now?’ Eadulf asked, as he poured a drink from the jug of goat’s milk.
‘There is little we can do but wait,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Let us hope we get a quick response to our demand for proof.’
‘Do you think that we shall?’
‘If Alchú has really been kidnapped and if his kidnappers are serious about the exchange — yes. But there is nothing to be done until we hear. Anyway, old Conchobar has asked me to go and play brandubh with him this morning. He probably knows that I need some distraction.’
Brandubh was ‘black raven’, an ancient board game which Eadulf prided himself on being rather good at. Before the coining of the Faith to the five kingdoms, it was said that the great god of arts and crafts, Lugh, had invented it and most of the kings and heroes were thought little of unless they were masters of the game.
Conchobar was an elderly apothecary and physician who dwelt at Cashel and had known Fidelma since she was born.
‘You might ask him if he can discover where Alchú is,’ Eadulf said with some bitterness in his voice.
Conchobar was not only a physician but also an adept at making speculations from the patterns of the stars. Indeed, medicine and astrology were often twins in the practice of the physician’s lore and the study of the heavens, nemgnacht, was an ancient art in this land where most people who could afford to do so had a chart cast for the moment of their children’s birth which was called nemindithib, a horoscope.
‘That is nothing to joke about,’ Fidelma replied sharply.
Eadulf sat back and gazed thoughtfully at her.
‘Who said I was joking?’ he countered. ‘Your astrologers claim to be able to answer all manner of questions and even find people, don’t they?’
Fidelma rose abruptly, her mouth a thin disapproving line.
‘I am going to join Conchobar for a game of brandubh!’
There was almost a flounce in her gait as she left the room and slammed the door shut behind her.
Eadulf sniffed in irritation and stretched in his seat, gazing at the closed door for a moment or two. Everything he said seemed to upset Fidelma. Yet he had been half serious in his suggestion, because he knew that Fidelma was not one to dismiss the ancient beliefs and customs of her people. Old Conchobar himself had often told him that Fidelma had shown a talent for casting star charts and several times her knowledge had come in handy to solve a particularly puzzling mystery. So he was not exactly being sarcastic when he suggested that the answer to Alchú’s kidnapping might be found in some astrological map of the heavens.
He finished his meal slowly and rose reluctantly, wondering how he should occupy his day. He already felt guilty at wasting time reading when he should have been thinking about how to investigate further. He went to the window and stared out across the grey walls of the palace complex. The late autumnal day was bright. There did not seem to be a cloud in the clear blue of the sky and yet the weather was not unduly cold. At this time or year when the sky was clear, it usually meant the day was cold and frost would lie on the ground. Clouds often meant the day would not be so cold even though they might bring rain.
His view from the window gave access to the south where the forest stretched from the far side of the township down towards the distant River Suir.
It was then that the notion struck him. It would probably result in hearing the same information but to pursue the idea would be better than just sitting around doing nothing.
He hurried from his chambers and made his way down to the stables.
A stableboy obligingly saddled his horse for him. Eadulf was not the most expert horseman; when it came to horses he liked to leave matters in the hands of those with better knowledge. Once it was saddled, he led the beast across the courtyard to the gates.
Caol was on duty there and saluted Eadulf.
‘I am going for a ride. I need some exercise,’ Eadulf said before being asked.
‘A good morning for it, Brother,’ replied Caol. ‘Though I had not thought of you as being one who rides for pleasure,’ he added, with a wry grin.
‘I mean to find a spot in the hills yonder,’ he indicated southward, ‘and then walk for a while.’
‘Due south is a lake, Loch Ceann,’ confirmed the warrior. ‘You’ll find good walking there.’
‘Due south? Is that near where the woodsman Conchoille works?’ Eadulf asked innocently.
‘Fairly near. The place where he is felling trees is close by at Rath na Drínne. Did you wish to see him, Brother?’
‘A few questions do occur to me now that you mention it. So I may take the opportunity to look for him.’
Eadulf thanked the warrior, mounted and trotted down the incline that led from the mound on which Cashel was built, twisting down to the start of the township below. But he avoided the edge of the town, keeping to the road that ran along its eastern border and then joined the track into the woods.
It was not Loch Ceann that he was heading for but Rath na Drínne, where the woodsman Conchoille was working. It did not take him long before the small hill rose before him and just before it was the old wooden inn with the sign swinging in the gentle morning breeze. He halted and dismounted.
There was no one inside as he entered the dark interior. It was too early in the day. However, only a few seconds passed after the door banged shut behind him before a short, rotund man, sleeves rolled up and wearing an apron, came from a side room and examined him with curious eyes for a moment before greeting him.
‘Good day, Brother, and what can I do for you?’
‘I’ll take a mug of your mead,’ replied Eadulf with a smile, ‘and the answers to some questions.’
The innkeeper frowned as he spoke.
‘A Saxon by your accent? Would you be Brother Eadulf, husband to our lady, Fidelma of Cashel?’