Eadulf was not aware that he had made a noise of satisfaction when he remembered the name. The slight sound drew an exasperated sigh from Fidelma.
‘Can’t you ever relax?’ she complained.
‘I thought I was,’ protested Eadulf.
‘I swear I could hear your mind working from here,’ she replied. ‘The purpose of the dercad is to empty the mind of thoughts, not to fill it.’
‘That’s impossible.’
‘It is difficult to begin, but never impossible.’
‘I was merely looking at our surroundings.’ Eadulf was irritated. He thought he had been occupying his time meaningfully.
‘Indeed, and you were being distracted by the sounds and vision of the world about you. The idea of the dercad is to see into the internal and not be distracted by the external.’
They fell silent again and this time Eadulf closed his eyes and tried to let his mind drift. It seemed only a second later that he found Gormán halting before him and realised, with a feeling of guilt, that he had nodded off. He was aware of Fidelma asking: ‘Is it time to be moving?’
‘We can reach Durlus at nightfall if we start now,’ the warrior confirmed. ‘There has been no other movement on the road.’
‘Very well.’ She glanced at Eadulf, who was blinking and yawning. She smiled and shook her head. ‘You were supposed to be meditating, not sleeping.’
He sprang hastily to his feet, brushing the leaves and twigs from his clothing. The others were mounting and he went to untether his horse, thinking he would never get the hang of this meditation. His mind was either too active or he emptied it so much that he fell asleep.
Led by Gormán they once more set off south along the road to the township that surrounded the fortress of the Éile.
Gormán was right. They reached the outskirts of the township when darkness had begun to engulf it and when tiny flickering lights began to spread from building to building. The main square was lit well, and there was a brazier in the centre around which a few people still congregated. Above the town was the dark outlines of the fortress of Gelgéis, the Princess of the Éile. The road to it was also well lit so they could see that the gates still stood open, with warriors pacing up and down outside.
Gormán took them straight through the square and along the road to the southern outskirts where Gobán’s forge was situated. Although it was dark, the fires at the smithy were still ablaze and the ring of metal against metal could be heard, showing that the smith was still at work. As they came to the entrance of the forge, they saw him bent over his anvil.
Gormán raised his voice to greet the smith.
Gobán turned in surprise, lowering his hammer.
‘So, you have all returned safely,’ he greeted them. ‘Did you discover what it was that you set out to find?’
Fidelma dismounted. ‘Partially,’ she replied. ‘But once more we come to you seeking hospitality … and some information if you have it.’
The smith grinned. ‘Well, I suppose I should now end my day’s toil. I was trying to sharpen a plough-share for my neighbour, Lorcán. But it can be finished in the morning. Bring your horses in and we’ll put them out to grass in the back field again. There’s water there for them as well. As for hospitality, there is ale and meat enough, but the sleeping accommodation will be cramped, as well you know. I can sleep in the forge …’
‘As can Enda and I,’ said Gormán immediately.
Gobán asked Enda to keep watch on the forge fire to make sure that it didn’t spark but died gently. There was always a danger of fire at a smithy’s forge. Then he organised the leading of the horses into the field, and providing fodder and water for them. Before long he had also arranged ale and platters of food for his guests in the cabin behind his forge.
‘So, Gobán?’ asked Fidelma, after they had settled to their meal. ‘We are anxious for any news. Has anything been happening since we left?’
‘They found the body of the ferryman’s son where you said it would be,’ he replied soberly. ‘Then Bishop Daig took the body downriver to the young man’s father, Echna, the ferryman.’
Fidelma nodded sadly. ‘Justice has already caught up with some of those who took his life,’ she murmured.
The smith gave her an uneasy glance but did not press for details.
‘Tell me,’ she went on, ‘what have you heard of Liath Mór?’
‘The old Abbey of Liath Mór? Apparently it has been rebuilt. Have you seen it, lady?’
‘We have, but what have you heard about it, other than it has been rebuilt?’
Gobán shrugged. ‘I have only heard from travellers that it is now more of a fortress than an abbey. I was also told that it is an unfriendly place that denies hospitality to passing travellers.’
‘Have you heard anything about Cronán?’ asked Eadulf.
The smith scratched his head. ‘All I know is that Cronán of Gleann an Ghuail is a warlord, related to the Prince of the Osraige, Tuaim Snámha. He declared himself abbot and started rebuilding the abbey. I gather it is completed.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Only that no member of the former community remained there after the rebuilding started. There was even a story that the real abbot, Cuanchear, had been killed by Cronán. These were rumours,’ he said heavily. ‘No one knew the truth.’
Fidelma sighed. ‘What you say does not surprise me,’ she said. ‘What happened to the rest of the brethren there?’
‘I think the remaining brethren fled into Laigin. In truth, lady, it is a place to be avoided. At least it is isolated in the bogs and wastes, so we are not much concerned with it.’
The smith went outside to fetch water and Eadulf gazed thoughtfully at the smouldering fire. ‘It is Cronán’s intentions that I want to know about,’ he said at last.
‘Intentions?’ Gormán stretched on his seat. ‘That’s simple.’ Fidelma and Eadulf stared at him in surprise. ‘Think like a warrior intent on warfare. You saw the work they are doing, laying the new roadways across the bog land. Then we have evidence of Cronán trying to increase his strength in labourers.’
‘You are right.’ Eadulf turned suddenly to Fidelma. ‘It is a highway system into Éile where none expect it. Think of horses being able to move rapidly over what was impenetrable bog land. He means to send raids into Éile. Most important is the question — how long will it be before an attack is launched along the new roadways?’
‘From what I saw, it would take only several days before it is completed,’ said Gormán.
Fidelma was shaking her head. ‘Raids? I don’t think he is going to all that trouble just for raids.’
Gobán had come back with the water and overheard the last remarks. He stood bewildered. ‘I don’t understand. Are you saying that the Osraige are going to attack us?’
‘Perhaps not just the Osraige,’ replied Fidelma grimly. ‘Cronán’s roadways stretch to the east as well as the west, and I agree that I do not think he means them for friendly trade.’
‘But it is over in the west that we hear of attacks, raids and battles,’ protested Gobán.
‘Battles?’ Fidelma picked out the word. ‘We have heard of raids in the west but not of a battle.’
‘There has been news of one,’ Gobán told her. ‘The King’s warriors clashed with the raiders.’
‘Who was victorious?’ Gormán asked anxiously. Both he and Enda were friends as well as comrades of Dego, who had been sent to track down the raiders.
The smith held up a hand in a helpless gesture. ‘It was only yesterday when a merchant came to the tavern in the market square. He was bursting to tell his news. I will try to stick to the basic facts, so far as I can claim them to be facts, because I swear that with each telling he grew more colourful in his account.’ He paused and took a sip of his ale. ‘Do you know the place in the Land of the Uí Fidgente called Muine Gairid? There is a large religious community there.’