Fidelma continued to lead the way carefully. The deer herd had drifted off some way and Fidelma observed that they had left the main track. While steep, it was not impossible to move along at a reasonable pace. Only now and then did they have to pause to negotiate some sheer part of the path, where a drop of only two feet caused the elevation to seem more precipitous than it actually was. At one or two points, they had to twist and turn and double back on themselves several times within a space of a few yards. But eventually they came to the more gentle lower slopes of the hill where clumps of ash trees and briars formed a boundary marker through which they found a reasonable pathway.
As they emerged from the copse of ash and beech they found two horsemen waiting for them. They were both armed with bows, arrows drawn.
‘Sister Fidelma!’
The startled voice of Archú halted them. Fidelma supposed that the second man was one of the men Dubán had left behind. Archú immediately put down his bow and was apologetic.
‘We did not know who you were.’
‘We saw two figures coming over the shoulder of the hill. A strange route,’ muttered the warrior with him.
‘Strange and dangerous,’ sighed Eadulf, wiping the sweat from his brow.
‘We have been watching you for the past hour for my companion here spotted you soon after you appeared over the hill. Why were you taking that precipitous path? It is only sheep and deer that I have seen upon the mountain.’
‘It is a long story, Archú,’ Fidelma replied. ‘And if Scoth could provide us with some refreshment we shall tell it to you.’
‘Of course,’ Archú agreed eagerly. ‘Forgive me. Let us ride up to the farmhouse.’
The warrior was still looking suspiciously up at the mountain.
‘Were you being followed, sister?’ he asked.
Fidelma shook her head.
‘Not that I know of. Did you see anyone following us?’
‘No. But we must be careful. Have you heard that Muadnat has been killed?’
‘Yes. We came here some hours ago and saw Dubán on the road. He told us that he had left you and another man to guard young Archú in case Agdae decided to do something foolish.’
Archú turned to his companion.
‘Perhaps, you should stay here a while and check if anyone else comes over the hill. But I shall take Sister Fidelma and Brother Eadulf to my house.’
The warrior accepted the instruction without comment.
Fidelma and Eadulf followed Archú towards the distant farmstead.
‘This is a bad, bad business, sister. If Dubán had not left his men behind yesterday, so that they were witness to the fact that Ihad not stirred from the farmstead, then I have no doubt that I would be in grave trouble.’
Fidelma did not bother to answer. That much was obvious.
‘I knew Muadnat all my life and although he hated me, I cannot say his death leaves me unmoved. But he was my cousin. May he rest in peace.’
‘Amen to that,’ agreed Eadulf, having recovered his spirits a little.
‘And how do you stand with Agdae? Did you know he was Muadnat’s adopted son?’
Archú grimaced.
‘That I did. He is also my cousin. His parents were killed in some pestilence many years ago. Agdae survived and Muadnat brought him up in his own home. My mother told me that Muadnat wanted her to marry him but she rejected Agdae for my father. We did not like each other, I confess it freely. He was raised with Muadnat’s lack of tolerance and dislike of me.’
‘And you dislike him in turn?’
‘I cannot say that I could feel other than dislike. Agdae is not a likable person.’
‘Who do you think killed your cousin?’ Fidelma asked the question sharply.
Archú was silent for a time; for such a long period, in fact, that Eadulf thought he was refusing to answer the question. But then the young man gave a long sigh.
‘I do not know. Nothing makes sense any more. The deaths of Eber and Teafa were distant to me. Their deaths did not really concern me. But Muadnat’s death was closer to me, even though I disliked him. I do not understand it.’
Scoth greeted them at the farmhouse door.
The second warrior whom Dubán had left behind had come forward to take their horses.
Archú led the way inside.
‘There is cider to drink,’ Scoth said, going to fetch a jug and mugs.
Eadulf smiled appreciatively.
‘A blessing on you for that,’ he said. ‘My throat is shrivelled for want of a drink.’
Archú bade them be seated while Scoth poured the drinks and offered a bowl of fruit.
Eadulf finished most of his mug in a single draught with a deep gasping sigh while Fidelma sipped more gently and appreciatively at her drink.
‘I would have a care, Eadulf,’ she admonished as her companion allowed his mug to be refilled. ‘This is a potent distillation.’
Archú grimaced mirthlessly.
‘At least Muadnat had the goodness to leave a few barrels of this cider behind.’
Scoth was deprecating.
‘Well, it was my own hands that brewed it on his behalf. Better is it that I taste the fruits of my own labour than Muadnat had quaffed it all.’
Fidelma took another sip and turned her gaze to Archú.
‘Have you spent all your life in this valley?’
Archú was surprised by the question.
‘Yes. I was born in this very farmstead and raised here until my mother died. Then Muadnat took over and I was sent to sleep in the barns with the animals until I reached the age of choice and brought my claim to Lios Mhór. I knew nowhere else apart from this valley until I came to Lios Mhór. Why do you ask?’
‘How about the land on the other side of the hill?’
‘You mean the hill which we saw you riding over?’
‘I do.’
‘I know that the hill belongs to this farm.’
‘I thought the farm consisted of seven cumals of valley land?’
‘There are only four cumals in the valley itself. There are three divisions of land on the farm: the arable land which you see around the farm; the land of the three roots-’
Eadulf looked up from his drink fascinated.
‘The what?’ he asked. ‘I have never heard of that expression before.’
‘You’ll find it in our laws,’ Fidelma explained. ‘According to our ancient classification you will see that the richest soil of a farm is known by the presence of three weeds remarkable for their large roots; that is the thistle, ragwort and the wild carrot. If the land is rich enough for them to grow, then it is highly prized land and can produce many things.’
Eadulf shook his head in bewilderment.
Fidelma was turning back to Archú.
‘But that hill belongs to the farm, you say?’
‘It is the part of the farm called the axe-land. If anything is to grow on the hill apart from the furze and trees, it would require much labour to clear it for cultivation.’
‘But the hill does belong to this farm?’
‘Oh yes. Even Muadnat would not dispute the boundary of it.’
‘I see. Do you know the hill well?’
‘I know it.’
‘But have you explored it?’
Archú sat back clearly bewildered.
‘Why would I want to explore it?’
‘It rises on one side of your arable land and is part of your farmstead.’
‘I have only just been granted leave to run this farm, as you know, sister. When have I had time to explore the hills surrounding it?’
‘When you were a child?’
‘A child?’ He shook his head. ‘I did not wander over those hills as a child.’
‘What do you know of caves in this area?’
To Archú the question seemed an abrupt change of conversation. He shrugged.
‘I have heard of caves to the north of here. There is the Cave of the Grey Sheep which my mother used to tell me about. Shetold me that once a grey lamb came forth out of the cave and was reared by a local farmer. The lamb grew into a sheep and the sheep eventually produced her own lambs. But the day came when the farmer decided to slaughter one of her lambs for food and the sheep gathered her remaining lambs and vanished with them into the cave. They were never seen again.’