‘That must be it,’ he agreed, pointing to a corner where he could just make out a large, curving bough. It was obviously man-hewn, and rose from the misty ground to a height of nine feet or more. At the end of this they could see a rope from which a wooden bucket was suspended.
Fidelma led the way again, climbing on the low stone wall into the field and proceeding across the damp, ploughed soil towards the well.
‘No one seems to be here yet,’ grunted Eadulf as he looked about him in the semi-gloom.
Almost as he spoke there was a movement on the other side of the small stone wall which surrounded the well head; it was a wall made of piled boulders of varying sizes placed there without mortar.
‘Who’s there?’ demanded Fidelma.
There was a wheezy cough and the voice of Samradán’s driver greeted them.
They moved around the well head and found the man seated with his back to the low wall. His legs were placed straight out in front of him and his arms were loose at his side. They could not discern his features in the shadows.
‘I … I was hoping that you would come soon,’ the man said, raising his head to them.
Fidelma gazed down at him with a frown. ‘Is there something the matter?’ she asked, wondering why he did not rise.
‘I have not long,’ the man broke in impatiently. ‘Do not speak but listen to what I say.’
Fidelma and Eadulf exchanged a glance expressing their perplexity.
Nearby came the plaintive wail of a wolf once more. This time it was joined by several others so that the sounds seemed to rise all around them.
‘Speak, then,’ Fidelma invited, seating herself on top of the small wall. ‘What do you want with us?’
Eadulf continued to stand, his hands on his staff, gazing anxiously into the growing dusk. ‘A fine place to set for a meeting,’ he muttered. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to leave here and seek some more protective spot?’
The man still had not risen and he ignored Eadulf. ‘Sister Fidelma
… I am of Cashel. Let that suffice, for my name will mean nothing to you. Cred did not tell you the whole truth.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Fidelma greeted the statement in even tones. ‘We all shape truth to fit our perception of it.’
‘She lied in what she admitted to you,’ the driver insisted. ‘I saw the man she calls the archer meet with other people at the tavern. She knew it and lied.’
‘Why would she do that?’ ‘Listen to me first. The archer met with a Brother of the faith. I saw this Brother enter the inn. He did so when Cred was in the inn. She did not think that I observed him for I was taking a nap by the fire after my meal. The archer’s entry had disturbed me and I was about to bestir myself when I saw the religieux enter. He was nervous so I decided to pretend that I was still asleep and watched from under lowered lids.’
‘Who was he? Did you recognise the man?’
‘No. But I felt it strange for a religieux to have entered a tavern the like of which Cred ran, if you know what I mean.’
‘So you saw a religieux enter. Was he a rotund, moon-faced Brother?’ asked Fidlelma.
The driver nodded.
‘With greying, curly hair which had once been cut into the tonsure of Rome?’ added Eadulf. ‘A tonsure like mine?’
‘No,’ the man shook his head. ‘He wore the tonsure of an Irish brother. What you call the tonsure of St John. But he was, as you say, a rotund, moon-faced brother.’
‘When was this?’
‘Less than a week ago. I cannot be precise.’
‘Did you see the monk leave the inn?’
‘Some time later. I had gone to the blacksmith’s by then. One of the wagons had a broken axle and the smith was mending it. While I was there I saw the very same Brother hurrying by towards the abbey.’
‘Brother Mochta?’ queried Eadulf, more to Fidelma than to the driver.
‘The name means nothing to me,’ the man insisted.
‘How do you know that he met with the archer? He could have been visiting someone else in the tavern.’
‘Apart from myself and the other two drivers, only the archer was staying at the tavern. When the Brother came in, he said something to Cred who replied, “He is waiting for you above the stair”. Who else could be waiting for him but the archer?’
‘Very well,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘I cannot flaw your logic. So the Brother from the abbey met with the archer.’
‘There is another thing which confirms that this religieux came in search of the archer.’
‘What?’
‘Several days later he came again to the inn, this time in broad daylight and with another member of his community. The Brother asked Cred where the archer was. He was not there, so this religieux and his companion left.’
‘Did you see this religieux or his companion again?’
‘No. But there is something else and something more important. I saw the archer meet another man later on the same night that the religieux paid his first visit to the inn. I was disturbed in my sleep and I heard voices below my window in the courtyard of the tavern. Curious, I peered out. There were two men there, one of them holding a horse. They were engaged in conversation. They were standing underneath the tavern light.’
One of the duties, enforced by law on all tavern keepers, was that a light had to be kept burning during the night to guide travellers to the hostel, whether it was situated in the countryside or in the town.
The driver suddenly coughed, a racking cough. Then he recovered himself. ‘One of the men was, of course, the archer.’
‘The other?’ pressed Eadulf eagerly. ‘Did you recognise the other man?’
‘No. He had a cloak and hood over him. I can tell you this. He was a man of rich apparel. His cloak was of wool, edged with fur. There was little else that I could see but it was the horse with its saddle and bridle which really showed a richness few people could afford. Anyway, I tried to listen to their conversation. I could tell but little. The archer was very respectful of the man in the cloak. Then …’
The driver hesitated and started coughing again. Fidelma and Eadulf waited patiently until he had regained his composure.
‘Then the fine lord said, well … I think it was an old proverb. Ríoghacht gan duadh, ní dual go bhfagthar.’
‘No kingdom is to be obtained without trouble,’ repeated Fidelma softly. ‘It is, indeed, an old proverb meaning that without pain you do not gain anything.’
The driver was coughing again.
‘It is a bad cough for you to be seated on the damp ground with,’ chided Eadulf.
The driver went on as if he had not heard him. ‘The archer responded. He said, “I will not be found wanting, rígdomna.” His exact words.’
Fidelma started forward, her body suddenly tense. ‘Rígdomna? Are you sure that he used that form of address?’
‘He did so, Sister,’ replied the driver.
Eadulf looked at Fidelma in the deep gloom which had now descended over the field. ‘That word is a title for a prince, isn’t it?’
The term meant literally ‘king material’ and was an official term of an address to the son of a king.
The driver was coughing again.
‘What is the matter with you?’ demanded Fidelma, beginning to wonder at the man’s condition.
The driver gasped for breath. ‘I think that I will have to ask you to help me back to the town, for I fear I cannot make it by myself.’
He started to move and then began to cough again. Abruptly he gave a curious whining cry and fell forward onto his side.
Eadulf dropped his staff and knelt down in the darkness, for dusk and mist had combined so swiftly as to obscure all details from their sight. He reached for the man’s head and felt along the neck for a pulse. He found it fluttering and then it stopped.
‘What is it?’ asked Fidelma impatiently.
Eadulf stared up, unable to see her features. ‘He is dead.’