Eadulf was disappointed but Fidelma did not give up.
‘Sometimes memories have to be teased out,’ she observed. ‘You say the man looked like a professional archer. Describe him.’
After some hesitation Nion the smith described the bowman whom Gionga had slain. It was a good description and there was no doubting the identification of the man.
‘You spoke to him. How did he sound?’
The smith rubbed his jaw and then his eyes brightened. ‘He spoke roughly, like any professional soldier but he was not of the warrior caste; not a man born into the nobility of the craft of arms.’
‘Did you not ask what he was doing here?’ intervened Eadulf.
‘No. Nor would I ask him. Better not to ask a warrior why he wants weapons unless he wants to volunteer such information.’
‘I can understand that,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘So he volunteered no information?’
The smith shook his head.
‘Did he have any companion with him?’
‘No.’
‘You seem certain of that. Did he ride a horse?’
‘Oh yes. He rode a chestnut mare. I noticed that for the beast’s rear shoes needed fixing. One had been struck loose by a stone. I sorted out that problem at once.’
‘Could you tell anything from the horse?’ Fidelma knew well enough that a professional smith should tell in what style a horse was shod, sometimes even to identifying the geographical location of the smith who did the work.
‘That it was last shoed in the north was obvious,’ the smith replied at once. ‘I have seen that style before and know it is used by the smiths of Clan Brasil. I could also tell that the animal had seen its best years. It was not the sort of animal that a warrior of status would ride, though it was a war horse.’
‘So what else did you discern?’
‘Nothing. What business was it of mine?’
‘You are the bó-aire,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘It is your responsibilityto be aware of what takes place in your territory. These arrows that you sold to this archer were used in an attempted assassination on my brother, the King, and the Prince of the Uí Fidgente. Have you not heard?’
Nion stared at her without speaking. It was obvious that the news shocked him.
‘I had no hand in this affair, lady,’ he said anxiously. ‘I merely made the arrows and sold them. I did not know who the man was …’
Fidelma raised her hand to quiet his outburst.
‘I tell you this only to show that sometimes these matters can be your business, magistrate of Imleach. Bearing this in mind, is there anything else that you should tell me about this archer?’
There was no doubt that Nion was trying his best to think now, and he raised one hand to the back of his head to rub it as an aid to the process.
‘I can add nothing further, lady. But, of course, if he were a stranger in the area, then this archer must have stayed a few days within this vicinity in order to wait for the arrows. Perhaps the inn where he stayed might have further knowledge?’
‘Where would that inn be?’
Nion gestured eloquently. ‘Assuming that he did not seek shelter in the abbey itself, there is only Cred’s inn down the street at the far end of the town. It has a reputation and is not licensed by me. That is the abbot’s wish, incidentally. He has tried to close it down on moral grounds. But it is the only inn within the town. I think this archer must have stayed there. If he did not, then there is no further help that I can offer.’
Fidelma thanked the smith and left him standing, hands on his hips, feet splayed apart, regarding her with a suspicious look as she walked away with Eadulf.
‘If the archer had had his horse shod by a smith in the territory of Clan Brasil,’ volunteered Eadulf reflectively, ‘then perhaps he knew Brother Mochta? Didn’t the abbot say he came from Clan Brasil?’
‘Well spotted, Eadulf. But though Mochta came from Clan Brasil and the archer’s horse was shod there, we have been told that the archer’s accent does not place him as a native from those northern lands.’
Fidelma was silent a minute as she considered the matter. ‘We still have to place Brother Mochta in a relationship with this archer, if, indeed, we can square this mystery of the tonsure.’
Eadulf groaned softly in despair. ‘These links are so obvious but they fall on that one mystery of the tonsure.’
They had been proceeding along the main street to the far end ofthe township. There was a complex of small buildings standing apart from the others. Fidelma paused.
‘This looks like Cred’s tavern.’ She gazed back down the street. ‘Well, it is sufficiently out of the way here for the archer to have stayed without the smith necessarily knowing if he came from here or not.’
‘You mean that you suspected the bó-aire of lying?’
‘Not really,’ Fidelma replied. ‘But it is wise to be as precise as possible and double-check all the facts. Let us go in and speak with this Cred who seems so disapproved of in this community.’
Fidelma started forward but Eadulf held her back a moment, pointing up at the tavern sign. It was a muscular smith, swinging his hammer on an anvil.
‘Isn’t that a coincidence?’ he asked.
‘Not really,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘Creidne Cred was the divine artificer of the ancient gods of Ireland who worked in bronze, brass and gold. He was the one who made hilts for swords, rivets for spears and bosses and rims for shields during the war between the pagan gods and their enemies.’
‘Then one more thing, before we pass in. I heard both the abbot and the bó-aire say that this place was not licensed. What does that mean?’
‘It would appear to be a tavern which also brews its own ales but it is not a lawful one, what we call dligtech.’
‘Then surely the bó-aire, as the local law officer, can close it down?’
Fidelma shook her head with a smile. ‘It does not mean that this tavern is contrary to law but merely that the law takes no cognisance of it. What this means is, if a question of dispute arises, the person going into an unlawful tavern must be made aware of it for he has no legal grounds for taking action.’
‘I am not sure that I understand,’ replied Eadulf.
‘A lawful tavern keeper must pass three strict tests regarding the quality of the drink he serves. If he serves bad ale he can be challenged under law. In an unlawful house, if a person complains about the quality of the ale, then he cannot demand recompense under the law. Now, enough, let’s find this Cred.’
She passed into the tavern. The room seemed deserted except for two men in a corner drinking ale. They were roughly dressed, bearded men, who had the appearance of labourers. They glanced at Fidelma and Eadulf indifferently and carried on with their drinking and their soft-toned conversation.
There was a movement behind a curtained doorway which causedthem to turn and the curtain swung back to reveal a woman of ample proportions. She had obviously seen better days. She came forward eagerly but her face fell when she saw the nature of their apparel.
‘The abbey has better accommodation for the religious,’ she began uncompromisingly. ‘You will find this place a little too crude for the likes of the well bred and pious people.’
One of the two men chuckled wheezily in appreciation at what he considered was the woman’s wit.
‘We do not seek accommodation,’ Eadulf replied immediately and with a stern voice. ‘We seek some information.’
The woman sniffed and folded her flabby arms across her generous bosom. ‘Why seek information here?’
‘Because we believe that you can supply it,’ replied Eadulf uncompromisingly.
‘Information comes expensive, especially to a foreign cleric,’ the woman replied, hearing Eadulf’s accent. Her eyes examined him speculatively as if wondering how much he carried with him.