‘A curious gap,’ observed Eadulf, still looking at the silhouette of the dark table-top of the mountain.
Enda, who had overheard the conversation, interrupted with a chuckle. ‘A curious legend has originated here. I heard it from the mouth of a merchant of the Éile. He was trying to belittle Cashel. The story is this: local people say that the devil was flying over this land and decided to take a bite out of the mountain-top. The people of the Éile were so pure and unblemished that it was reflected in the clean and unpolluted taste of their green fields and mountains. The devil didn’t like the taste and so, further on, he spat it out. The piece he spat out, which landed on the plain further south, was the Rock of Cashel.’
‘A silly story and one not worth its repeating,’ Fidelma said dismissively. ‘However, it is a ride south to Durlus, so let us not waste time.’
Enda grimaced at Eadulf. It was clear Fidelma did not share their sense of humour.
They moved on, proceeding at a comfortable pace down the track along the riverbank. The road was well-kept, according to law, and it was clear that the Éile were keen to impress visitors from the north when approaching their principal fortress and capital. The road was wide enough, allowing, according to law, for two large wagons to pass one another in opposite directions with ease. Hedges, weeds and brushwood were cleared or cut back and tended. Where the road passed over soft, muddy ground, planks were laid, resting on trestles so that they did not sink. It was a technique used for causeways and crossing bog land, as they had witnessed in the lands of the Osraige. Eadulf knew that, according to the Book of Aicill, which contained the laws on the subject, each local chieftain had to see that these highways were maintained in a proper manner.
Large sections of the way, which moved directly south, did not follow the course of the Suir but passed through a forest.
Gormán had been riding a short distance ahead of them as he had done almost since they had left Cronán’s fortress early that morning. He had volunteered to do this in order to give them warning in case of any attack. But now he suddenly turned his horse, almost rearing it on its hind legs, and came galloping back to them.
‘Take cover!’ he ordered sharply. ‘There, down there!’ He pointed to a gap between thick bushes of gorse and blackthorn which led into a depression sheltered from the roadway.
‘What is it?’ demanded Fidelma, as she and the others instantly obeyed.
‘Warriors! Coming up the road.’
They followed his instruction quickly, moving down an incline into a deep hollow and finding themselves completely hidden in a thicket reinforced with closely growing trees. They were able to halt there and sit quietly on their horses. Within a few moments the sound of cantering horses vibrated along the track and continued quickly by. Gormán had, in fact, swung off his mount and, crouching low, had moved out of the hollow to a spot where he could observe the passing of the riders without being seen. They heard the receding sounds of the party and began to relax as Gormán returned.
‘Mounted warriors, lady,’ he reported. ‘I felt it better that we do not encounter any strange warriors while we are outside the protection of Durlus.’
‘Did you see who they were?’ Fidelma asked.
‘They bore the standard of the Éile. But until we know who our enemies are, it is best to take precautions.’
‘I would agree,’ she said. ‘You saw no sign of any religious emblems carried by them?’
Gormán immediately shook his head. ‘These looked like the warriors who guard the Princess of the Éile.’
‘And they were riding north towards the Gap of Éile?’ Fidelma mused. ‘If any danger threatens Muman, that is where one would expect it to come from. I wonder if Gelgéis has already heard news from Osraige.’
‘You think that there is some threat to Durlus? Some connection with what is happening among the Osraige?’ asked Enda.
‘Until we can find out what is at the core of these matters, we have to proceed with caution. I suggest that we wait until darkness before we enter Durlus, and then proceed directly to our friend Gobán the smith.’
Eadulf looked surprised. ‘Why go to the smith and not to the fortress of Gelgéis?’
‘We don’t know yet where Gelgéis stands in these matters. I think she has lied to me about Torna. It was in one of her store sheds that my abductors left me for dead with the body of the poor ferryman’s son. Even though she expressed horror and denied knowledge of this, I want to see if Gobán can provide any more information for us before we go to see the Princess of the Éile again.’
‘Very well, lady,’ Gormán said. ‘Remembering that Gobán’s forge is on the far side of town, do you want to ride through the town or swing around it and approach from the west?’
‘Can we do so?’
‘It is not an easy route, lady, as we would have to travel on lesser roads than this one, perhaps those of the tuagrota category.’
Eadulf knew this was a small track usually called a ‘farmer’s road’, since farmers used these tracks as a right of way to an adjacent main road. But Fidelma was shaking her head.
‘With darkness coming on, I think we should stay on the main road. In this case it is a matter of better the path that we can see rather than go in darkness along byways we do not know.’
Gormán glanced up at the sky. ‘Then, perhaps, we should wait here for a while before proceeding. We can then move through the town after dark.’
Eadulf knew that Fidelma was not the most patient of people when there was a purpose to be fulfilled. But she could sit still for long periods when she began to meditate as the ancient priests in her country were wont to do. It was called an act of dercad in which the body and mind were still and rested. Fidelma slid from the back of Aonbharr, securing the beast’s reins over a bush before choosing a dry spot to be seated, cross-legged and hands in her lap. She closed her eyes.
Eadulf dismounted, following the example of securing the reins of his own horse. As if by an unspoken agreement, both warriors went to separate places where they could watch the road, while Eadulf moved to take a seat on a fallen log. Eadulf always found it hard to do nothing, merely awaiting the passing of time. He could never master the ancient dercad technique that Fidelma had tried to teach him. He tried to sit still but instead of closing his eyes, he let them wander around the small clearing. There was a slight breeze and he was aware of the rustling of the leaves of the hardy rowans, whose white blossoms had now transformed into bunches of red berries. Among them were their almost inevitable companions, the slim trunks and grey-white bark of the silver birches, with their hanging branches. The whisper of the trees distracted him a little.
He turned to the area of thicker growth which concealed them from the roadside. Here, dense blackthorns, with their cruel thorns, provided a basic defence, interspersed with the yellow flowers and curved spiny leaves of a gorse species that also provided evergreen cover. Eadulf suddenly caught sight of a small brown furry creature scuttling at his feet. It was no bigger than the distance between the first and second knuckles of his forefinger. A tiny shrew in search of insects for its food. A faint fluttering noise then captured his attention and a bird with a long stiff tail, down-curved bill and a distinctive stream of white around its eyes, landed at the foot of one of the nearby rowan trees.
Eadulf watched with mild interest as it suddenly started to ascend the trunk, uttering a shrill ‘tsee’-sounding call. It climbed in a spiral, in jerky fashion with sharp talons around the trunk. Now and then its bill would strike at the tree as it found its prey: weevils, beetles, earwigs, woodlice and spiders that hid in the cavities of the trunk. Eadulf frowned, trying to recall what sort of bird it was. Was it a meanglán? He tried to think of the name in his own language. The tree-creeper — that was it! The name exactly described what the bird did when it went in search of its food.