‘Well,’ observed Eadulf, ‘we have not learnt anything of significance about this archer. In fact, we do not appear to have learnt anything of significance at all.’
He was surprised when Fidelma reached out a hand to his elbow and propelled him to a corner of a building away from the main road.
‘On the contrary, I think we have learnt a great deal,’ she replied after she had glanced up the street behind them. ‘We will wait here a moment.’
Eadulf was astonished at her behaviour.
Fidelma took pity on him. ‘We have learnt that he was a professional archer but not of the warrior caste. So he was no noble. We have learnt he had had his horse shod in Clan Brasil. We have learnt where he obtained his arrows. We have learnt that he had a chestnut mare. We have learnt that he seemed to have plenty of money.We have learnt that he spent a few days riding in the hills south of here.’
Eadulf mentally ticked off the points. ‘But that is little enough. We more or less knew this much when we left Cashel?’
Fidelma raised her eyes to the heavens and gestured as if in despair. ‘Think, Eadulf! There are three important things that we have learnt about this archer. Two of those things raise important questions which we must resolve.’
‘You mean, where did he go to in the southern hills?’
‘That stands investigation, yes. But what else have we learnt?’
Eadulf hit his forehead with his clenched fist. ‘Of course! Where is his chestnut mare? He was without a horse when he was killed.’
Fidelma smiled and suppressed an exasperated sigh. ‘You are the most inconsistent person I know. Sometimes you point to the most obvious point that we have all overlooked. Other times you overlook the obvious which everyone else has accepted. You really are frustrating, Eadulf. Yes, I mean the matter of the archer’s mare. Where is it? It seems that there was another accomplice waiting with the horses of both assassins. This accomplice rode off with the horses to hide them once he knew that the archer and his friend had been killed by Gionga.’
‘Which means there is still a third assassin in Cashel?’
‘Perhaps more. How many are in this plot? And what of the other point we have learnt?’ pressed Fidelma.
Eadulf thought hard but could not identify any other point. Fidelma was patient.
‘The archer and his friend had hardly any money on them when they were killed. Cred, the innkeeper, tells us that the archer was not lacking in money. Where did he keep it?’ she suggested at last.
Eadulf pursed his lips, annoyed with himself for missing the obvious. ‘There is another question,’ he said. ‘Why are we waiting here?’
Fidelma smiled mysteriously and put her head around the corner of the building again to glance up the street. ‘The answer is on its way.’
At that moment, one of the drivers from Cred’s tavern, the one from Cashel who had recognised her, came hurrying along the street, gazing about him as if looking for something.
‘A person can signal with his eyes as well as his hands and mouth,’ Fidelma muttered to Eadulf.
The driver came abreast of them and Fidelma coughed. He gave a startled glance in their direction. Then, without acknowledging them, he dropped to one knee and began to fiddle with his boot.
‘Pretend that you are not talking with me,’ he whispered sibilantly, his eyes on his boot. ‘There are eyes and ears everywhere.’
‘What do you want with us,’ asked Fidelma, turning her head as if she were still talking to Eadulf.
‘I cannot discuss that here. Do you know the Well at Gurteen, the little tilled field?’
‘No.’
‘It is less than a mile north-east from this point. You proceed along a pathway towards the yew woods and come to a field bordered by a drystone wall. The well is just beyond the wall. You cannot miss it.’
‘We can find it.’
‘Be there at dusk and we shall speak. Tell no one about this meeting. It is dangerous for all of us.’
Then the driver rose and ambled off as if he had simply been adjusting his boot.
Eadulf exchanged a glance with Fidelma.
‘A trap?’ suggested Eadulf.
‘But why would the driver want to lure us into a trap?’
‘He and his friends might think we know more than we actually do,’ Eadulf suggested.
Fidelma considered this for a moment, head to one side, pondering. ‘No, I don’t think so. His fear of being seen talking with us was genuine enough.’
‘Well, I think it is dangerous to go … and at dusk no less. It is a trap for the fox.’
Fidelma grinned. ‘The fox never found a better messenger than myself,’ she replied.
Eadulf groaned in impatience at another of Fidelma’s axioms.
‘Don’t you have another proverb in this land — do not show your teeth until you can bite?’ he demanded sarcastically.
Fidelma chuckled. ‘Well said, Eadulf. You are learning. But tonight at dusk we shall be at the Well at Gurteen.’
Chapter Eleven
Dusk was approaching when Fidelma and Eadulf left the abbey. Making sure that they were not observed, they began to follow the directions that Samradan’s driver had given them to the Well of Gurteen. As the day had been warm and the approaching night was clearly going to be cold, there was a faint ground mist already beginning to rise from the fields around them. There was no movement for there was no wind, not even an evening breeze to rustle the trees or bushes.
They had decided to walk from the abbey rather than ride for Fidelma believed it would draw less attention to their excursion. Eadulf had brought a stout staff with him, a discarded pilgrim’s staff which he had found in the abbey. It was wise to have some means of protection when being late abroad. At night wolf packs roamed the countryside and it was not unknown for them to attack lonely wayfarers. In some areas they were so numerous, dwelling in the woods and fastness that, if pressed by hunger, they could present a formidable danger to whole communities let alone those who dwelt on the isolated farmsteads.
Even as they walked along the track, a lonely howl rent the air not too far away. Eadulf clenched his staff more tightly and glanced quickly in the direction of the wailing, siren-like sound.
‘Now I understand why the Irish word for a collection of wolves is glademain,’ he observed, his eyes anxious. The word was derived from glaid meaning ‘cry’; hence, a cry of wolves.
‘They have a strange, bewitching call,’ Fidelma admitted. ‘Sometimes people have been so beguiled by it as to forget the dangers. They are the only really dangerous animal in the country. Many of the nobles have annual hunts to keep down their numbers.’
A dog began to bark in answer to the howling of the wolf.
‘Now that’s another danger,’ Fidelma observed. ‘It is custom and law that watch-dogs on farms are tied up early in the morning but set free at cow-stalling to protect the farmsteads. Sometimes they can be just as vicious in their attack as that “son of the country” you hear calling.’
Eadulf was about to say something when the eerie call of the wolf came again. He waited until the cry died away.
‘I have heard a wolf called many things but “son of the country” — why that?’ He shivered slightly.
‘I can think of four names for the animal as well as the collective name. To call it mac-tíre, “son of the country”, is just an allusion to the fact that it haunts the wild woods and fastnesses.’
She suddenly halted and gestured for him to also stand still.
‘Up ahead,’ she said quietly. ‘There is the tilled field which I think Samradán’s driver alluded to. The well must be nearby.’
The twilight, coupled with the ground mist, had not yet obscured the field. In fact, the mist had not risen more than a few feet. It swirled around their lower legs as if they were wading through white, shallow water. Eadulf followed the direction of her outstretched arm and saw in the gloom a rectangular enclosure which was clearly outlined by surrounding trees.