‘Curious as this news is, there are more urgent matters that we should be concerned with,’ Eadulf concluded.
Fidelma stirred uncomfortably. Eadulf was right. She suddenly felt a new vigour after her ordeal as she looked at her companions.
‘We three will proceed to the fortress and speak with the Lady Gelgéis. After all, there is the matter of the body of the poor ferryman in a shed owned by her.’
Gormán raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Is that wise, lady? Do you mean to confront her?’
‘Not confront her but only to ask questions,’ she corrected.
‘You know that there are many in Cashel, advisers in your brother’s council, who do not trust Gelgéis? Those who abducted you might even be working for her. If so, you are putting yourself in harm’s way. They could find out that you did not die from asphyxiation and might be able to identify them. Also, if the body of the poor ferryman’s son has been discovered, or if we were seen, or even if this beggar, Leathlobhair, reports us, well … there are so many things that can present dangers to you.’
‘Nevertheless, my intention is clear,’ replied Fidelma firmly. ‘If harm came to me in Gelgéis’s fortress then she would know the consequences. She would have to answer to my brother and the Eóghanacht.’
Gobán had entered and overheard her last words. Now he stood with a harried expression on his face.
‘I have told your companions, lady, that I am loyal to the Éile and the Lady Gelgéis. I will not be party to any conspiracy that harms them. I have helped thus far because of what you did for my sister.’
Fidelma rose and laid a hand reassuringly on his shoulder. ‘I give you my word that we are not seeking to harm anyone, only seeking truth, Gobán. We are going to see Gelgéis to discover whether she is able to help us with finding that truth. As a guarantee of our good intentions, we shall leave our horses and baggage here with you, and shall walk the short distance up to her fortress. Do you agree?’
The smith looked embarrassed. ‘I will accept your word, lady,’ he acknowledged.
‘The walk will do us good — rather, it will do me good,’ she continued briskly. ‘It is uncomfortable to spend over a day bound hand and foot in the bottom of a boat and not be able to flex a muscle or limb. I need to take the exercise. So the horses will remain here.’
She turned to Eadulf. ‘We are going to meet the Princess of the Éile.’ She paused and smiled. ‘And you have not washed this morning. Better use the spring at the back and make yourself presentable.’ She picked up her linen towel and threw it at him. He caught it and pulled a face at her. It was true, however, that he was feeling in need of a wash. They had bathed in the river when they had all camped by it. But since then, they had ridden all day to Durlus and then spent all night in the smith’s cabin. Once more he was reminded of the strict toilet customs of the people of the Five Kingdoms. In the morning, they would wash face and hands, while each evening they would have a bath, a full body-wash. In both washing and bathing they used a soap called sléic and Eadulf had become used also to using an altan, a razor to shave with. This was a sharp piece of steel that he always carried with him. He had even grown used to using a cíor or comb to sort out the tangle of his hair. In a peculiar way he was growing used to the routine and even enjoyed it. During his childhood in Seaxmund’s Ham, he was lucky to take a regular dip in the river.
The others were waiting impatiently when he returned. The clang of metal told him that Gobán had returned to his forge and was starting to fire up his furnace.
It was a bright and warm autumnal morning. This time, in their walk from Gobán’s forge, Eadulf could appreciate the pleasant approach through the outer buildings of the township. The hedgerow was interspersed with birch trees with their silver-white bark. Among them were groups of elders, their blue-black berries still ripening. The hedgerow was alive. He could see wood pigeons and a shrill, rattling warble announced the presence of wrens somewhere nearby.
‘I wonder if they have discovered the body of the ferryman’s son yet?’ muttered Gormán, gazing tensely about him.
Fidelma seemed to have recovered her dry sense of humour. ‘We will soon learn if they have.’
They followed the road leading into the main square of the town, where Eadulf and Gormán had encountered the lonely girl selling her bread and cheese. This time the square was crowded. Various merchants had set up stalls and there was even entertainment from jugglers and tumblers. The noise of the crowd was loud. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves and no one took any notice of a few more strangers strolling through the market square.
They halted at the edge of the square and gazed about with interest. There were many merchants and visitors in the town, presumably most having attended the Lady Gelgéis’s feasting on the previous day. Fidelma led them up the incline towards the tall wooden gates of the fortress, which gave its name to Durlus Éile. It dominated the jumble of smaller buildings below it. These structures stretched from the quays on the edge of the river upwards until they were halted as if by an invisible border some distance before the walls. Those responsible for the defence of the fortress would be lacking in skill if they allowed buildings to encroach any nearer the walls and threaten their security.
The gates stood wide open with a single warrior planted firmly in the middle of the path that led through this portal. He had one hand on his hip, the other on the hilt of his sword. He watched their approach with an inquisitive expression. They halted before him.
‘Fidelma of Cashel demands an audience with Gelgéis of the Éile.’ Gormán spoke in a ringing tone of authority.
The warrior stared at Gormán, his eyes falling on his golden torque, which Gormán had now resumed wearing. Fidelma had produced her own emblem of authority from her comb bag. He hesitated, looking from one to another, before inclining his head in acknowledgement towards Fidelma. ‘Follow me,’ he said courteously, and led them through the gates and across a large stone-flagged courtyard where groups of warriors and servants hurried to and fro. The interior of the fortress gave the impression of a bustling centre with its own on-site smithy. Nearby were warriors busy sharpening their weapons on a grinder. Merchants were loading or unloading their wares from mule carts, and other groups were just standing exchanging gossip. There was an atmosphere of prosperity about the place.
A man with short, greying hair and penetrating black eyes stood on the steps of the main building watching their approach. He was cleanshaven, with sallow skin and a jutting jawline. His dress proclaimed him as someone of rank albeit not a warrior, in spite of a short sword attached to his belt and a gold chain of office hung about his neck.
The warrior halted before him and saluted.
‘Fidelma of Cashel seeks an audience with the Lady Gelgéis,’ relayed their guide, diplomatically changing Gormán’s ‘demands’ to ‘seeks’.
The man’s eyes swept over them and then he bowed to Fidelma.
‘I am Spealáin, steward to the Lady Gelgéis,’ he announced in a pleasant but authoritative voice. ‘Welcome to Durlus Éile, lady. We had no word of your approach. You seem to have arrived on foot.’
Fidelma did not respond to this, but introduced her companions instead.
‘You are all welcome,’ Spealáin told them. ‘The fame of Fidelma and Eadulf is known here, as among all the Five Kingdoms. I will announce your presence to Lady Gelgéis. However, it is our rule that armed warriors shall remain outside of my lady’s personal quarters unless expressly invited.’
Fidelma turned to Gormán with a tone of apology. ‘I am sure you will be able to pass the time usefully while we are within,’ she said. She did not need to be more specific, in hinting that Gormán should see what gossip he could pick up that might be of use to them. Gormán acknowledged her wish with a brief nod.