‘Time is important,’ Fidelma added, as if to excuse her peremptoriness. When Eadulf had disappeared, taking his saddle bag with him, and Aona had filled two mugs with corma, Fidelma sat in a chair and held the hem of her own garment to the fire.
‘How did the Uí Fidgente behave while they were waiting for my brother?’ she asked the innkeeper.
Aona frowned. ‘Behave?’
‘Yes. Were they friendly or truculent and ill-mannered? What?’
‘They behaved well enough, I suppose. Why do you ask?’
‘You heard no rumours among them of any discontent? Received no feelings that some conspiracy was afoot among them?’
The old innkeeper shook his head negatively, handing Fidelma one of the mugs of the potent ale.
She sipped at it absently, then asked, ‘And all the members of Donennach’s entourage went with him to Cashel? They met with no one else here?’
‘No one that I saw. What does this mean?’
‘There was an assassination attempt against my brother and Donennach as soon as they reached Cashel.’
The old man started. He looked alarmed. ‘Was the King … was he badly hurt?’
‘Flesh wounds,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘The wounds were bad enough but they will soon heal. However, some warriors of the Uí Fidgente have accused Cashel of deception and have claimed, in spite of his wound, that my brother is behind this attack.’
Eadulf entered in dry clothes, and bearing his sodden garment over his arm.
The innkeeper automatically took it from him and hung it on a pole in front of the fire. ‘It will be dry shortly,’ he told Eadulf before handing him the second mug of ale that he had poured. Then he turned back to Fidelma. ‘The Uí Fidgente must be mad to make such an accusation … unless it be part of their plan.’
Eadulf drained his ale in one swallow and then started to cough as the effects of the fiery liquid were felt.
Aona gave him a sad smile. ‘My corma is not to be taken like water, Saxon,’ he rebuked. ‘Perhaps you would like water to ease the effects?’
Eadulf nodded, gasping slightly.
Aona filled the mug with water from a jug and Eadulf drained it immediately, gasping for breath.
Fidelma ignored her companion and sat staring into the fire, as if deep in thought. Then she looked up at the old man.
‘Are you sure, Aona, that you observed nothing out of the ordinary, nothing strange?’
‘Nothing at all, lady. You have my word on it,’ the old warrior assured her. ‘Donennach and his entourage arrived here last evening. The Prince of the Uí Fidgente and his personal aides slept in the inn. His warriors encamped in the fields by the river bank. They were well behaved. Then this morning, your brother arrived and they all set off together towards Cashel. That is all I know.’
‘They were not followed by anyone? A tall man, an archer, nor a short, rotund man?’
Aona shook his head emphatically. ‘I saw no such people, lady.’
‘Very well, Aona. But keep a careful watch these next few days. I do not trust the Uí Fidgente.’
‘And if I see anything?’
‘Do you know Capa?’
Aona chuckled humorously. ‘I taught that youngster all he knew. He was but a slip of a youth when he came to join the bodyguard of the King of Cashel. He had no more idea of warfare than …’
Fidelma gently interrupted his memories. ‘Your pupil is captain of the King’s bodyguard as you once were, Aona. If you have news of any movement on the part of the Uí Fidgente, then send a message to Capa at Cashel. Do you understand?’
Aona nodded emphatically. ‘That I do, lady. What else can I do for you?’
Eadulf coughed politely. ‘Perhaps more of that brew you call corma. This time I shall treat it with respect.’
Aona turned away to pour more of the beverage from a wooden cask into Eadulf mug. When he turned back he was frowning as if something had occurred to him.
‘Is something wrong, Aona?’ Fidelma was quick to notice his expression.
The elderly innkeeper scratched the side of his nose. ‘I was trying to recall something. You asked about a tall man; an archer, and a shorter man, his companion?’
Fidelma leant forward eagerly. ‘You did see them? You could not very well miss them if they were together. Side by side, they looked so incongruous.’
‘I saw them,’ confirmed the innkeeper.
Fidelma’s expression was one of triumph. ‘You did? Yet when I asked you first, you said that you were sure they were not here.’
Aona shook his head. ‘That was because you asked me whether they were here with the UíFidgente within the last twenty-four hours. I saw such a pair a week ago.’
‘A week ago?’ intervened Eadulf in disappointment. ‘Then they may not be our pair of villains.’
‘Can you describe the men?’ pressed Fidelma.
Aona rubbed his jaw with his left hand as if the process would aid his thoughts. ‘I can tell you that the round, shorter man was like him.’ He jerked his thumb to Eadulf.
Eadulf s mouth opened and an expression of indignation crossed his features. ‘What are you implying?’ he demanded. ‘That I am short and fat? Why …’
Fidelma impatiently raised a hand to silence him.
‘You should explain, Aona,’ she said quietly. ‘As my companion is neither short nor fat, you have posed a question. How, then, is he like the man you claim to be built in such a fashion?’
Aona grimaced. ‘I did not mean that he looked like the Saxon, either in stature or features. No, I meant that the man was a religieux and that he wore his hair cut in that similar fashion which is unlike the tonsure of our Irish monks. I noticed it most particularly.’
Fidelma’s eyes narrowed.
‘You mean that he wore a tonsure on the crown of his head cut in the same fashion as my companion?’
‘Have I not said as much?’ protested the innkeeper. ‘Why I noticed it so particularly, and found it curious, was because it was no longer clean-shaven but as if he had started to grow his hair to cover the tonsure.’
‘What else can you describe about this short man?’
That he was short and of ample girth; that his hair was grey andcurly otherwise. He was of middle age and although he did not wear the clothes of the religious, he certainly had the manner of one.’
Eadulf glanced to Fidelma. ‘That sounds like our assassin.’ He turned back to the innkeeper. ‘And what of his companion?’
Aona thought a moment. ‘I think the other man was fair-haired. The hair was long at the back. I cannot be sure. He wore a cap and was dressed in a leather jerkin. He carried a quiver and bow and by that token I thought he was a professional bowman.’
Fidelma sighed in satisfaction. ‘Near enough, I think. And you say that these two were in this very inn a week ago?’
‘So far as I can remember. The only other thing that makes me clearly remember the pair was the discrepancies in their build. Just as you have pointed out.’
‘You do not recall from whence they came nor where they went.’
‘Not I,’ replied the innkeeper.
Eadulf’s face fell. ‘That means we know no more than we did before.’
Fidelma pursed her lips in disappointment.
The door suddenly opened and the boy whom Fidelma had spoken to about his fishing entered.
Aona gestured to the child. ‘My grandson, Adag, might be able to help you further. He served them while I tended their horses.’
Before she could raise a question, Aona had turned to his grandson. ‘Adag, do you remember the sport you made of the two fellows who were in the inn two weeks ago?’
The boy placed his fishing line and basket on the table and glanced nervously at Fidelma and Eadulf. He said nothing.
‘Come on, Adag, you are not in trouble. You must remember that you had such fun because one was tall and lean and the other short and fat and together they made a funny pair?’
The boy inclined his head almost reluctantly.
‘Can you tell us anything about them, Adag?’ pressed Fidelma. ‘Apart from their appearance that is.’