Even as he spoke he felt more stupid still, remembering why Fidelma had been abducted — because she had been thought to be Torna’s companion. However, he could not quite place the events into a logical sequence. Fidelma watched him as he tried to reason things through. And asked, quietly: ‘Do you recall where Torna told us that he was heading when we met him?’
‘He said he was trying to get a boat to the place of the fork in the Suir, the place called An Gabhailín.’
‘It is a small market settlement,’ Fidelma said, ‘and the closest point the river comes to the Abbey of Imleach.’
‘I don’t see how that helps us. Why would he have been going to the abbey?’
‘Because Ailgesach had been sent to Fraigh Dubh from Imleach. Remember that when Biasta arrived last night, he brought news to Abbot Cronán about the death of Bran Finn, Prince of the Déisi Muman?’
‘I remember.’
‘Before we came away from Cashel, Abbot Ségdae mentioned that he had to return to Imleach that day because he was expecting the arrival of Bran Finn there. He mentioned that Bran Finn had already visited Imleach because the Brothers at the Abbey were looking after a relative of his who was unsound of mind.’
‘I am not sure how that fits,’ said Eadulf. ‘Why would Torna and this unknown woman be waiting for Bran Finn? To assassinate him? He clearly did not succeed, if he was in search of him when we met him.’
‘Bran Finn was already dead,’ Fidelma pointed out softly.
‘I am totally confused.’
‘I agree that nothing is absolutely clear. Let me remind you of the note in Latin that we found in Brother Ailgesach’s cabin. It was signed with the letter B.’
Eadulf frowned. ‘But if you are saying that Bran Finn was due to meet with Brother Ailgesach … oh!’
He stared at Fidelma who simply shrugged and did not help him further.
‘We should move on,’ Gormán intervened. ‘The longer we stay here discussing things, the more dangerous it becomes. We should continue to put as much distance as we can between ourselves and the fortress.’
‘Then I suggest we continue north for a while,’ replied Fidelma.
‘North it is,’ grunted Gormán, nudging his horse forward over the high and firmer ground.
It was a difficult track to follow, as they had to keep to slightly higher ground; most of the low land consisted of flat, deep green plains that seemed to be fields that could be ridden across with ease. It was a deceptive landscape, for these were in fact dangerous bog lands. Fidelma knew that a horse and rider could disappear into the hungry, clawing mud in the blink of an eye, so she kept to the hilly mounds and slightly raised paths crossing the plains. Now and then they spotted sheep grazing on the low hills, and this reassured them that they were not completely alone in this great isolated wilderness.
‘Hoi! Hoi!’
Gormán swung round at the sound of the sudden cry, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.
A man was standing waving to them from a small mound a short distance from the track. He appeared unarmed, apart from a large staff of the type shepherds used, and his dress seemed to bear out that this, indeed, was his calling. He was a burly man, with a weatherbeaten face, and dark hair streaked with grey.
They halted and watched as the man bounded nimbly down from the height, moving from one tuft to another to reach the bottom of the slope, showing that he knew well the boggy patches. It did not take him long to reach the track and confront them. His eyes widened a little as he took in their dress and especially the emblems around the necks of the warriors.
‘Sorry to detain you, lords.’ He spoke in the soft country accents of the area. ‘Have you seen anyone on horseback ride by on this track? Not on steeds like yours but a good workhorse.’
‘Not along this track,’ Gormán replied. ‘We have seen no horses since we left Liath Mór.’ Gormán’s mouth suddenly clamped shut and he cast a guilty glance at Fidelma, realising that he should not have given away such information.
The man’s pleasant features turned hard. ‘You have come from Liath Mór?’
‘We have ridden from there this morning,’ Gormán replied hesitantly.
‘Liath Mór?’ The man spat at his feet. ‘Blood built that accursed place, and blood will bring it down.’
‘What do you know of the abbey?’ Fidelma prompted, leaning forward.
‘Abbey, is it? What should a poor shepherd know of such a place? If you are from there, why do you have to ask? Know this, that I am no slave of Cronán of Gleann an Ghuail! I am only looking for my horse and since you have not seen it …’
‘Wait!’ snapped Fidelma, as the man had started to move off. ‘Understand that we are no friends of Cronán. I want to know why you are seeking a horse, and why you are on foot. Did it throw you?’
The man let out a curious barking laugh.
‘My horse throw me?’ His tone was incredulous. ‘Never! We have been together too long.’
‘Then kindly explain.’
‘The horse was stolen from my field. I have been following the tracks since dawn.’
Fidelma showed her interest. ‘Stolen, you say? By whom?’
‘That I do not know. It was taken in the dark this morning. My cabin is along the way there. I was awakened by noises, and when I went outside, my horse was gone. As I say, it’s not a grand horse, like the mounts you all ride. But it was my only beast which I used to plough my field and take my cart to market.’
‘What is your name?’
‘Canacán, lady.’
‘So you say that this horse was stolen by someone in the hours before dawn this morning. Where is your farmstead, Canacán?’
‘North of the abbey, but to the west of here.’
Fidelma glanced thoughtfully at the shepherd. So Torna had acquired a horse. If he wanted to throw any pursuit off his trail, it would be a logical idea to head eastward in the opposite direction to Durlus. He would do precisely what they were doing; move in the opposite direction to where he intended to go, swing around in a semi-circle and head back west, having laid a false trail.
‘You followed the tracks to this point, heading eastwards?’
‘As soon as it was light enough, I took my staff and began to follow the tracks. At first they were easy to follow. They brought me to this place. I was hoping the man would not know this area and become bogged down somewhere so that I could overtake him. Now the tracks have vanished entirely.’
Fidelma sighed. ‘Well, we must continue our journey. But tell us, that path which heads north-east looks like a good one to follow. Where does it lead?’
Canacán shrugged. ‘It curves towards the north-east and to the mountains through the country of the Uí Duach. Is that where you want to get to?’
‘We wish to go in that general direction,’ Fidelma conceded without being specific. ‘The land of the Éile is more to the west, I understand?’
‘To enter either territory, you’ll have to cross the Black River.’
‘How good is the road to the west after that?’
‘Quite good. There is even a bridge across the Suir which you can cross and then join the highway south into Durlus. You take your choice. Alas, whichever way you go, it is of no help to me. I will never overtake the thief now.’
‘I am sorry for your loss. If we hear anything about your stolen horse we shall make an effort to inform you and see that you are compensated.’
The man sighed. ‘Alas, Brehons are few and far between in this place now Cronán controls it. Even if one is lucky enough to find a Brehon, they demand an exorbitant sum for their services.’