‘We will take it slowly. We can probably pick up a wagon at the abbey of Coimán. That will be easier on him.’
The physician continued to smile. ‘And how is the child to take nourishment?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you require a trophos?’
Eadulf had not heard the Greek word before. ‘Take nourishment…?’ Then it dawned on him. On the journey from Cashel to the abbey of Coimán, the herbalist’s wife had acted as wet nurse to the child. Of course, the baby needed a wet nurse for the journey back. He glanced to where Muirgen was saying her farewells to the child. The solution appeared simple. Then another thought struck him. He stood in contemplation a moment or two before turning to Gormán.
‘You said that you were at Cnoc Áine, didn’t you? Callada, Sárait’s husband, was killed there, wasn’t he?’
The tall warrior nodded impatiently. ‘I did, and Callada was slain during the battle. Now,’ he glanced at the sky, ‘if we want to get back to the village by the ford before dark, we should start soon, Brother Eadulf.’
‘When was that battle?’ insisted Eadulf. ‘Remind me.’
‘It took place in the month of Dubh-Luacran, the darkest time of the year,’ replied Gormán, puzzled by his excitement.
Eadulf waved an impatient hand. ‘But when? How long ago?’
‘We lack but two months before it will be exactly two years since the battle.’
Eadulf exhaled slowly.
‘We should be on our way, Brother,’ Gormán chided again.
Eadulf brought himself back to the present and smiled at Basil Nestorios. He suddenly felt in buoyant mood.
Thank you for your good advice, my friend. Trophos, eh?’ He turned to the shepherd’s wife. ‘Muirgen, I have been reminded of the child’s care. Will you be his wet nurse on the journey back to Cashel? You will be well paid for your trouble.’
The woman was startled by the abruptness of the offer. She glanced at her husband.
‘I have never left these mountains in my life,’ she began.
‘Your husband can accompany you, and I will ensure that you are both rewarded and escorted on your return to ensure your safe passage,’ Eadulf said to pre-empt any further debate.
‘And we will receive compensation?’ Nessán wore a thoughtful expression.
‘And I will argue your case before the Brehon Dathal,’ Eadulf conceded.
The shepherd and his wife exchanged another glance and then a silent agreement passed between them.
‘My sheep are in the lower pasture for the winter. I need only inform my neighbour that we shall be gone awhile and that he will be compensated for looking after them. I can be away for a few weeks before I need to return.’
Eadulf thrust his hand into the leather purse he wore at his belt and drew forth two screpalls.
‘Give him this on account.’
Nessán hurried off. The neighbour and his wife had already come out of their hut to watch what the strangers were doing, and the business was soon concluded. It was not long before the procession set off on the first leg of their journey back to Cashel. Muirgen, with the baby slung in a shawl in front of her, was seated on Basil Nestorios’s spare horse, which the physician led with a rein from his own mount. Nessán rode pillion behind Gormán, and Eadulf led the way.
Eadulf felt a real sense of elation. A sense of achievement. He had retrieved Alchú — his child — entirely through his own efforts and powers of deduction. It was his achievement and no other’s. He smiled as he recalled a saying of his father, who had been hereditary gerefa of the South Folk before him. ‘Remember, my son, that when you raise your sword, it is not enough merely to aim it. You must hit your target.’ He had ridden away from Cashel with only a suspicion of the target. Now he was returning thither having accomplished what all Cashel had been trying to achieve for well over a week. He could quote Fidelma’s favourite philosopher at her — what was it Publilius Syrus had written? Great rivers can be leapt at the source. He had found the source and leapt the great river and would return in triumph.
Chapter Seventeen
Since returning to Cashel two days before, the time had passed for Fidelma with incredible slowness. There was no word of Eadulf and Brother Conchobar was still in Lios Mhór. Gormán had been missing for some days, while Capa had only just returned from his mission to the borders of the Uí Fidgente country. The two surviving Uí Fidgente chieftains had been returned to their prison and would be tried for the killing of old Duach, the king’s lodge keeper, and his son Tulcha. Conrí, the warlord of the Uí Fidgente, and his men had been given hospitality at Cashel and started talks with Colgú on the rebuilding of relationships between the two peoples. But apart from that, for Fidelma, it seemed that there had been no progress at all. If anything, things had regressed. Now there was no clue to the whereabouts of either Alchú or Eadulf.
Fidelma decided that the only thing to do was try to retrace the steps that had led Eadulf to leave Cashel. He had gone to see the woodsman Conchoille and, having done so, he had come back to the palace, taken a full saddle bag and made off to the abbey of Coimán. That is what she would have to do. But first she would see Conchoille and find out what passed between them.
Caol was on duty at the gates of the palace and he raised his hand in salute as she walked towards him leading her horse.
‘What news, lady?’
‘I was about to ask the same question of you, Caol.’
The warrior shrugged. ‘Rumours in plenty but little news.’
‘I am going to see Conchoille the woodsman. I want to ask what he said to Eadulf which made him go westward,’ she said.
‘In that case, lady, you will not have far to go. As I came up from the town a short time ago, I saw Conchoille entering Capa’s house.’
‘Capa’s house?’
‘He often delivers logs there as well as to other houses. He is paid for that service.’
Fidelma thanked the warrior for his information and made her way down the road into the township.
Capa, the guard commander, opened his door to her knock and stared at her in surprise.
‘What brings you here, lady?’ he asked, and when she told him her purpose he stood aside and motioned her into the small but warm room. Capa’s wife, Gobnat, came forward almost nervously with an offer of hospitality, a mug of mead, but Fidelma politely declined. Conchoille the woodsman had risen from a seat by the fire. He stood awkwardly.
‘You came in search of me, lady?’ His hands twisted nervously round the pottery mug he had been drinking from.
‘I did, Conchoille, but I will not delay you long,’ she replied. ‘I believe that Brother Eadulf came to see you on the day he left Cashel.’
The woodsman turned owlish eyes on her.
‘He did not, lady,’ he replied.
Fidelma was not expecting this response.
‘He did not come to see you at Rath na Drínne?’ she asked in surprise.
Conchoille shook his head. ‘I never spoke to the noble brother after the council met in the palace. I was told that he had left Cashel but I never saw him on that day. He went to see Ferloga, though. Maybe he was looking for me.’
‘Ferloga the innkeeper?’
There came the distracting howl of a dog outside the house. From where she stood, Fidelma could see Capa’s brown, wire-haired hound digging furiously for something in the yard.
Gobnat looked angrily at her husband.
‘Go and control your hound, man!’ she said in a vicious tone. ‘We will have no yard left at this rate.’
The warrior glanced apologetically at Fidelma.
‘It is my dog, lady. He’s probably after some old bones.’
He went outside and grabbed the animal roughly by the collar and secured him, whimpering, to a tree. Fidelma turned back to Conchoille for clarification, and accidentally kicked a small metal cauldron by the fire. Looking down, she noticed a large dent in it.