‘Then …’ Eadulf began but Fidelma interrupted sharply.
‘Perhaps it was just a gang of plunderers searching for easy pickings. But they will have learnt a lesson for now.’
Eadulf looked as if he were about to say something but, catching Fidelma’s eye, he clamped his jaw shut.
‘It was lucky that you were here,’ Bressal agreed, not noticing this interplay. ‘I could not have beaten off the attack by myself.’
‘Well, it is time to break our fast and be on our way,’ Fidelmareplied, realising that the morning hour was growing late.
After breakfast, Archú announced that he and Scoth would part company with them. The way to Archú’s farmstead could be reached from this point without going towards the rath of Araglin. Archú and Scoth offered to spend an hour or two with Bressal helping him clean the hostel and repair the thatch while Fidelma and Eadulf continued on towards Araglin.
It was Bressal who suggested Fidelma and Eadulf might like to keep the weapons they had borrowed from him.
‘As you have seen, I am not proficient with weapons. From what you tell me, these bandits rode off in the direction of Araglin and you do not want to encounter them unarmed along the way.’
Eadulf was about to accept the weapons but Fidelma pressed them back on Bressal with a shake of her head.
‘We do not live by the sword. According to the blessed Matthew, the Christ told Peter that all who take the path of the sword shall perish by the sword. It is better to go into the world unarmed.’
Bressal grimaced wryly: ‘Better to go out into the world able to defend yourself against those who are prepared to live by the sword.’
It was not until they were well on the path to Araglin that Eadulf challenged Fidelma on her unspoken interruption when he was about to voice his suspicion as to the origin of the attackers.
‘Why did you not want me to point out what was only logical?’
‘That the so-called bandits were probably from Araglin itself?’
‘You suspect Muadnat, don’t you?’ he said, nodding agreement.
Fidelma repudiated the idea.
‘I have no reason to suspect him. To bring up the question might put fear into Archú and Scoth unnecessarily. There are many other possibilities. Bressal might not be telling the truth when he says he knows of no enemies. This may, indeed, be simply an attack by illogical bandits. Or the attack may well have something to do with the death of Eber.’
The other possibilities had not entered Eadulf’s mind but he was not convinced.
‘You mean that someone involved with Eber’s death could be trying to prevent your investigation?’ he asked sceptically.
‘I put it forward as an alternative to what you are suggesting, Eadulf. But I do not say that it provides the answer. We must be vigilant but assumptions without evidence can lead to a dangerous path.’
Chapter Four
The morning was warm and sunny as Fidelma and Eadulf made their way serenely through the tree crowded forest and emerged on a hillside track which gave a spectacular view across a valley about a mile in width, through which a sparkling silver river ran. While clumps of trees stood here and there, it was clear that the valley had long been cultivated for the woodlands which encircled the bald mountain tops had been cut back and a boundary of yellowing gorse stood between the cultivated fields and pastureland and the converging trees.
The ribbon of the river cut through the bright green of the valley pasture. The beauty of the place caught at Fidelma’s breath. In the distance she could see a group of reddish-brown dots and as she focussed she saw a majestic red deer, a stag by his antlers, guarding a group of hind, some with small calves at their feet, brown little objects with white spots. Here and there, throughout the valley, were small grazing herds of cattle, moving slowly on the open pastureland around the stone bordered fields. The valley looked lush and enticing. It was rich farming country and the river, judging just by the run of it, would be replete with salmon and brown trout.
Eadulf leant forward in his saddle and surveyed the landscape approvingly.
‘This Araglin appears to be a paradise,’ he murmured.
Fidelma pursed her lips wryly.
‘Yet there is a serpent in this particular paradise,’ she reminded him.
‘Perhaps the richness of this land could be a motive for murder?A chieftain who has this wealth must be vulnerable,’ Eadulf suggested.
Fidelma was disapproving.
‘You should know our system well by now. Once a chieftain dies, the derbfhine of the family have to meet to confirm the tanist, the heir-elect, as chieftain and appoint a new tanist to the chieftainship. Only an heir-elect would benefit and so they would be the first to be suspect. No; it is rarely possible for someone to be murdered for their office.’
‘The derbfhine?’ queried Eadulf. ‘I have forgotten what that consists of?’
‘Three generations of the chieftain’s family who elect one among them as the tanist and confirm the new chieftain in office.’
‘Isn’t it easier that the oldest male child inherit?’
‘I know the way you Saxons deal with inheritance. We prefer that the person best qualified become chieftain rather than an idiot, chosen simply because they are the eldest son of their father,’ declared Fidelma.
She looked across the valley and pointed.
‘That must be the rath of the chieftain.’
Eadulf knew that a rath was a fortification but the group of buildings in the distance, some almost hidden among several tall beeches with their new brilliant green leaves, and several still flowering yews, was not a fortress. Yet the buildings were quite extensive, like a large village. Eadulf had seen many powerful chieftains living in stone built fortresses, in his travels in the five kingdoms, but this rath had the appearance of just wooden farm buildings and cabins. Looking more closely, he could see a few stone buildings among them, one of which was obviously the chapel of Cill Uird. He could also see, close by the chapel, a large round stone construction which he presumed was the chieftain’s assembly hall.
His expression must have shown his surprise for Fidelma explained: ‘This is farming country. The people of Araglin havethe mountains as their protection. In turn they are a small community which threatens no one so there has probably never been a need to build a fortress to defend them against enemies. Nevertheless, in politeness we call a place where a chieftain dwells his rath.’
She nudged her horse forward and started down the mountain slope towards the valley bottom, towards the distant river and the rath of the chieftain of Araglin.
The track led across an open stretch of country running down the hillside. By the side of it stood a tall cross of carved granite. It stood nearly eighteen feet in height. Eadulf halted his horse and gazed up at the cross in admiration.
‘I have never seen anything like this before,’ he observed with a degree of awe which caused Fidelma to glance at him in amusement.
It was true that there were few such spectacular, high crosses in the kingdom. Its carved grey stone depicted scenes from the gospels, picked out in bright painted colours. Eadulf could identify the scene of the Fall from Grace, Moses smiting the Rock, the Last Judgment, the Crucifixion and other incidents. The summit of the cross was shaped as a shingle roofed church with gable finials. Carved at the base were the words ‘Oroit do Eoghan lasdernad inn Chros’ — a prayer for Eoghan by whom the cross was made.
‘A spectacular border mark for such a small community,’ Eadulf observed.
‘A small but rich community,’ Fidelma corrected dryly, nudging her horse to continue its passage along the road.