With that, the shepherd turned back the way he had come, and they all sat watching him bound away and disappear beyond the mound on which he had first appeared.
‘Which way now, lady?’ Gormán asked. ‘I think it is obvious that our friend, Torna, was the thief who took the shepherd’s horse and laid a false trail to the east.’
Fidelma sat thinking for a moment, trying to consider the options.
‘We’ll cross this Black River and move west at the first opportunity.’ She added thoughtfully: ‘The eastern branch of the road leads to the country of the Uí Duach. Ségnat and most of the daer-fuidir in the abbey were of the Uí Duach. But we will then turn west towards Éile territory and cross the Suir. I made a promise to the girl Ségnat and her helpers and I mean to keep it. We will find the answers to many questions in Durlus and not in this bleak land.’
‘Who are the Uí Duach?’ asked Eadulf. ‘They have been mentioned before but I don’t know this clan.’
Gormán glanced at Fidelma. ‘I know the story well, lady, unless …?’
‘You tell it,’ invited Fidelma. ‘It will help pass the time as we ride.’
‘The Uí Duach was once a powerful family who ruled Osraige. The original Duach’s son was called Feredach Fionn. He was known to have great wealth and prestige. But the son of a chieftain named Connla grew jealous and coveted not only his wealth but he also wanted to rule the Osraige. The story is that he waited until Feredach Fionn was lying on his sickbed before he burst into his house, slew him and made off with his wealth. That was less than a hundred years ago. Feredach Fionn’s son, Colmán, managed to wrest back the kingdom and rule for nearly twenty years in peace, before members of Connla’s family seized the rulership after he died.’
‘The Uí Duach never won back the rulership of the Osraige?’
‘They did not. But, by all accounts, Uí Duach clan lands were once rich and fertile and no one went hungry, which is as things should be.’
‘Is Cronán related to Tuaim Snámha, who is Prince of Osraige?’ Eadulf asked.
‘That is something we must find an answer to,’ intervened Fidelma. ‘The question is whether Cronán is a rebellious chieftain or whether Tuaim Snámha, the Prince of the Osraige, is supporting him? Again, I think we shall find an answer in Durlus Éile.’
‘Back to Durlus,’ sighed Eadulf. ‘We seem to be travelling in a circle.’
‘I would have thought you would have grown used to long journeys on horseback by now,’ Fidelma replied cheerfully.
‘I was never meant to be a horseman,’ he said gloomily. ‘Yet it seems that ever since I left my people in Seaxmund’s Ham, to follow the New Faith, I have continually travelled. Is there no place in this world where I have not been? I have been to Rome, to Autun, to Gaul, Burgundia and to Armorica; across the Kingdoms of Angles and Saxons and Britons, and all over these Five Kingdoms of Éireann. I have been sea-sick many, many times. Is there such a malady as horse-sickness? If so, I have had it.’
Gormán chuckled and slapped his thigh in appreciation. ‘And yet, my friend, you will not quit until you have reached your goal. That is a sign of perseverance in the pursuit of truth, which anyone should be proud of.’
‘If we resolve this mystery, Eadulf,’ Fidelma, riding alongside him, leaned over and laid a hand on his arm, ‘I guarantee that we shall not move out of sight of the great Rock of Cashel for a long, long while.’
‘If I recall, our journey started by the finding of a body almost under the shadow of your brother’s palace. Now see where we have been led.’ Eadulf gestured across the flat boggy plains.
‘Then the sooner we start for Durlus, the sooner we will arrive.’
‘Which leads me to suggest, lady, with the sun being high, not having broken our fast this morning, we might usefully stop at the next tavern we come across,’ suggested Enda.
‘I doubt there are many taverns within this country,’ replied Fidelma sceptically. ‘Nevertheless, I think you have made a good suggestion … if we find one. It is always good to pick up any local gossip. We might be able to find out more about Cronán.’
They continued onward in silence through the almost desolate countryside and then started to notice slight changes as more trees began to grow and the ground became firmer. The distant mountains were becoming clearer as they approached. They forded several streams before they came to one which was quite wide but not so deep that they could not cross it on horseback. This was undoubtedly the Black River. On the far side, Gormán let out a grunt of satisfaction and pointed. Among some thinning trees ahead they could see some cabins and hear the sound of a hammer striking an anvil. Then they saw movement of animals and people.
‘A small settlement,’ Gormán announced unnecessarily. ‘Let’s hope they have a tavern rather than asking hospitality from farmers.’
A shout from the woods told them that their approach had been spotted and they were aware of several men taking up farm implements — scythes, rakes, hammers, whatever came to hand. They moved slowly forward to what appeared to be the entrance of the small settlement while women were gathering the children who had been playing and drawing them back towards the shelter of the cabins.
‘They seem a nervous set of folk,’ murmured Eadulf.
‘Don’t touch your weapons,’ Fidelma ordered, noticing that Gormán and Enda’s hands were near their sword-hilts. ‘Let me go first.’
As they trotted up the track, they saw that trees encircled a dozen cabins, almost as if planted as a protective wall. One of the huts was obviously a smith’s forge; smoke was lazily circling from the fire before it.
‘Halt there, strangers!’ instructed a strong, firm voice. The speaker was a tall, well-muscled man, who held a blacksmith’s hammer across his chest in a ready position. His leather apron and sleeveless jacket proclaimed his profession. Not only was his face cleanshaven, but his head as well. Fidelma brought her horse to a halt and her companions followed her example.
‘Peace and health to you, smith,’ she greeted.
The man’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘You know me?’
Fidelma laughed in amusement. ‘It would take someone with no sight in their eyes to mistake you as other than a smith. Or do you often put on that garb and take up a smith’s hammer to mislead passing strangers?’
One or two of the men standing close by smiled at this. The smith shifted uncomfortably. Obviously he did not want to appear a fool in front of his fellows.
‘What do you want here?’ he demanded gruffly.
‘We were looking for a tavern to refresh ourselves on our journey to Durlus. If there be no tavern, then we would seek some hospitality; that is all.’
The group of men looked at each other and there was a perceptible loosening of their grip on their weapons.
‘You seem very nervous, my friends,’ Fidelma continued. ‘Is there a reason why you would treat travellers in this manner which contravenes the laws of hospitality?’
Only the smith had not made any indication of changing his suspicious gaze.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded.
‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, sister to Colgú, and these are my companions. Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, and Gormán and Enda of my brother’s bodyguard.’
The names effected an immediate change on the smith and his companions. At once they put down their makeshift weapons and the smith came forward with his head lowered respectfully.
‘Your pardon, lady. These are worrying times. You are welcome to the Baile Coll, the township of Coll of the Uí Duach. I am Coccán. As you rightly say, I am the smith here. I am also the tavern-keeper and many other things beside. Please, step down and let us offer you refreshment, as poor as it is.’
He turned and signalled a young boy to come forward to hold Fidelma’s horse as she dismounted. The boy then gathered the reins of the four horses and led them towards a fenced paddock.