The question was addressed to the young farmer.
‘No, your friends will not find any horses around here. I have only one strong plough horse and there are no other farmsteads for quite a distance.’
‘Then we might be able to gain on them,’ Gormán said with satisfaction.
‘Catch them after a night and a day’s start?’ Eadulf was sceptical.
‘If they are heading east, their way will take them through bog land. One has to know the safe tracks. Although the countryside is flat, it is difficult terrain through which to maintain speed, especially on foot.’
‘Are there no marks on the boat to show to whom it originally belonged?’ asked Fidelma, turning back to the craft.
‘None that I saw,’ Gormán told her. ‘It is fairly typical of the boats along the Suir, having four oars and plenty of space.’
Fidelma addressed the young farmer: ‘You do realise that under the law the boat constitutes a fríthe.’ The term meant ‘that which has been found’ and implied a lost property.
‘I have no knowledge of the law, lady,’ muttered the young man.
‘Who is the chieftain of this territory?’ she asked. ‘Are we in the territory of the Osraige?’
The young farmer looked indignant. ‘This is still the land of the Éile, lady. Our land ends further on when you come to a fork in the river.’
‘Then you must travel to Durlus Éile and ask to see the steward of the Lady Gelgéis. Say that it is Fidelma of Cashel who has sent you.’
The farmer was staring at her with wide eyes, very nervous now that he had learned who she was.
‘Tell Spealáin the steward that you have found this boat. Say that you have come to proclaim the finding of the boat as it is stated in law, for the finding of all lost property must be proclaimed in this fashion. Do you understand?’
‘I understand, lady.’ The young man licked his dry lips.
‘But this trip will be your gain,’ continued Fidelma, smiling. ‘You see, you are entitled to part of the value of your find. The more remote the place in which the find is made, then the greater proportion of the value goes to you.’
The farmer was frowning. ‘But you came along and helped me bring it ashore.’
‘We are not interested in the financial value of your find,’ replied Fidelma. ‘And you may well have brought it to the riverbank yourself, even had we not been passing. The value will help towards your farmstead. In fact, tell the steward of the Lady Gelgéis that I suggest this river be considered a highway, in which case I recommend that you are to be compenstated with half to two-thirds of the value and, indeed, the payment of an austad, a storage fee, for as long as the boat remains on your land. If it is not disposed of, then you are entitled to the full value. Say that is my judgement, and when I return to Durlus Éile I shall hope to see that it has been carried out.’
Leaving the farmer stammering his thanks, they mounted their horses and began to move off, this time with Enda leading the way, bending slightly forward to follow the tracks on the ground. It was only a short time before they emerged from a small stretch of woodland to a more open grassy plain and saw that they had come to the fork in the river. One arm flowed directly from the north, continuing on towards the Suir while a smaller arm flowed from the south to feed the Dríse. Although this smaller river blocked their path, it was narrow and easily fordable.
‘If I recall, the northerly arm is still the River Dríse while the southerly one is called the Bréagagh, the Deceitful River,’ reflected Gormán. ‘Once we cross this river we are in Osraige territory — the Land of the People of the Deer. This whole area beyond is low-lying and very boggy.’
‘Which way then, Enda?’ asked Fidelma. ‘Do we try to turn north along the Dríse?’
Enda glanced down and his keen eyes followed some trail that they could not see on the ground.
‘Six men walking and one appears to be stumbling quite a bit,’ he told her. He walked his horse slowly to the confluence and then moved along the bank of the smaller southern river, where he halted. ‘They decided to ford the river here, lady. It’s quite shallow. They are continuing to move directly east.’
As if to prove the point, he rode across to the far bank, halted and then peered towards the ground. Then he turned and called them across.
‘They came to this point and set off eastward,’ he confirmed.
They swiftly joined him and Gormán pointed across the flat plains towards some distant, low-lying hills, saying, ‘This way lies the old Abbey of Liath Mór.’
‘Will they be able to pick up horses there?’ asked Eadulf.
‘Perhaps,’ replied Fidelma. ‘I have not visited the Abbey of Liath Mór before. The community was formed by the Blessed Chaemóc scarcely seventy years ago. He was a good man, by all accounts.’
‘So he might assist us?’
‘Alas, he died many years ago. I have no idea who his successor is.’
‘What are those hills to the south-east?’ asked Eadulf. ‘Could they be making for those?’
They relied on Gormán, who appeared to know something of the topography of the area, to supply the answer.
‘They are called the Sliabh Ardachaidh — the Hills of the High Field. It is not a tall range of hills but they are the highest hills that stand between the boggy plains of Osraige and the borders of Laigin further east. The men we follow would have to travel further east before they could turn on a safe road through the bogs towards them.’
They continued to ride in silence for a while, with Enda now and then checking the tracks left by the group they were pursuing. Even these tracks had come to an end now, for they had arrived at more boggy land over which, to their surprise, stretched a newly built causeway. There were many causeways of this nature throughout the Five Kingdoms on which to cross the bogs; they were constructed with quantities of timber, mainly birch for the base structure, its long, straight planks used for the supports for the upper timbers of alder, elm or hazels. There were even sections of it paved with stones that had been smashed and laid almost like flagging. Most of this was very new. Indeed, there were piles of materials lying on both sides of the road — clearly not abandoned but indicative of work in hand. It seemed as if the workers had merely left their toil for the day so that they could return home before nightfall.
‘I presume the community are trying to build a roadway from the Abbey to the river crossing into Durlus Éile,’ Fidelma said.
‘But through their efforts I have lost the tracks,’ Enda complained in exasperation, since any traces left by the walkers had now vanished.
‘Even so, I think they will stick to the easy path along the causeway and not go wandering off into the bog land,’ Fidelma replied.
Gormán had turned to her with a puzzled frown. ‘Nevertheless, the Osraige have obviously been doing a lot of new road-building here.’
She agreed that she too was surprised at the amount of new work. Eadulf knew that her people classified their roads in terms of size: the laws mentioned seven classes of roadway, starting with the five great slige or main highways that linked the Five Kingdoms to the High King’s seat at Tara. This new roadway was undoubtedly curious for, as Fidelma pointed out, it could only come from the old Abbey of Liath Mór. But as they rode along it, it became plain that it was no small by-road of the type that usually led to abbeys. It was what could be classed as a ramut, a wide highway with no fencing but open on either side so that war horses and chariots could travel from fortress to fortress. Such a road was usually the main highway from a King’s residence, to which all small by-roads led. She noted the structure with interest. This causeway, or tóchar, was laid first with branches of trees, earth and stones and bushes placed in layers and pressed down until they were firm enough to cover with the planks. There was room enough for two chariots, drawn by two horses apiece, to pass each other at the gallop without slowing. Four horses abreast and still space to spare … What manner of highway was this, and for what purpose?