Fidelma smiled thinly but her expression was lost in the gloom.
‘I did not think it would be,’ she replied.
‘You should have waited. I am going back to the rath, anyway. We will go together.’
Fidelma would have preferred her own company rather than have to proceed in Dubán’s after what she had witnessed at the mine but there was no excuse. She must accept Dubán’s company or challenge him with her suspicions and her knowledge that he had killed Menma.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘But I can handle most two-legged predators.’
‘So I have heard,’ Dubán agreed with a laugh. ‘However, I was thinking of four-legged beasts. Archú tells me that there has been trouble from wolves in the last day or so through the Black Marsh.’
‘Wolves are the least of my trouble.’
They began to walk their horses leisurely together.
‘Ah, you are thinking of Agdae …’
‘More of Crítán,’ she spoke abruptly. ‘Remember, I had a fight with that young man and he may wish revenge.’
Was there a hesitation in Dubán’s tone when he finally spoke?
‘Of course. I had forgotten. You need have no fear of Crítán. I am told that he has left Araglin for Cashel. Do you really mean it when you say that you think matters might be resolved after tomorrow?’
‘I usually mean what I say,’ Fidelma replied waspishly.
‘Then that will be a relief to Crón.’
‘And doubtless you …’
What she was about to say was cut short by a plaintive lowing of nearby cattle. It was an odd, frenzied cry of fear.
Dubán reined in his horse abruptly and gazed across the hillside into the twilight. Fidelma halted her mount beside him.
She could see the shadows of the shaggy haired cattle moving restlessly in the semi-gloom and hear their curious protest.
‘What is it?’ she asked, finding herself whispering.
‘I do not know,’ confessed Dubán. ‘I think something is worrying them. An animal, perhaps. I’d better have a look.’
He slid from his horse and handed the reins to Fidelma.
She sat watching the warrior move cautiously off towards the cattle into the gloom.
It was chilly and she drew her cloak firmly around her shoulders. After a moment she became aware of Dubán’s horse snorting and tugging against its rein.
‘Whoa!’ she called irritably. ‘Hold still, beast.’
Then, without warning, her own mount reared back on its hind legs, causing her to lose her grip and go tumbling over its flank, hitting the ground with her shoulder. It was lucky that the turf was soft and springy for it cushioned her fall and she lay winded for a moment, feeling more indignant than hurt that she had taken the tumble. She raised herself to her knees and began to rub her right arm which had taken most of the impact. She felt embarrassment that she had allowed herself to fall like some novice who had never been astride a horse in their life.
‘Hey!’ she cried, as both mounts began to trot off into the descending darkness.
She took a hesitant step after them and a sudden coldness gripped her. Her ears detected the soft rustle of undergrowth nearby. Was that the sound of a low growl that she heard?
She stood perfectly still.
A long, low black shape emerged from the nearby underbrush and stopped. The eyes glinted in the gloom and its muzzle drew back showing sharp white canine teeth.
The wolf stared up at her and let forth a deep throaty growling.
Fidelma knew that if she made the slightest move the mighty animal would be on her, its great jaws seeking her throat, ripping and tearing. She tried to prevent herself from blinking; from even breathing. Fidelma had seen wolves before, had even been threatened but always when she was able to out-pace them on horseback or had some other means of protection. Wolves were the commonest predator in the five kingdoms but they usually kept to the mountain fastness or forest passes and attacked only when disturbed or found an unfortunate unarmed wayfarer on foot. There was easier prey in the country than humans such as the better tasting meat of farm animals or wild game like the deer herds.
But here she was alone on foot with no weapons and only yards separating her from a large animal in search of prey. Her rational mind, working alongside the fearful emotions which swept through her, recognised the animal as a bitch, a hungry mother needing food to bring to its whelps.
It seemed that an eternity passed as wolf and human stood gazing upon one another. Fidelma felt her body begin to shake and she knew that any sudden movement would be fatal.
Then she felt something fly past her. Something seemed to hit the wolf for it uttered a terrible cry, a wild yelp, a rough hand caught her and propelled her aside, and even as it did so she saw the wolf turning and disappearing into the undergrowth.
Then she swung round and was facing Dubán in the gloom.
‘Are you all right?’ the warrior demanded. His voice was anxious.
She gave a nervous laugh.
‘I am not sure that I shall ever be all right again,’ she confessed. She breathed deeply several times to recover her equilibrium. She rubbed her arm carefully where he had grasped her. ‘You have rough hands for a warrior.’
Dubán chuckled.
‘Leather gloves, sister. They save callouses. Now, we’d best find the horses. That wolf might bring the pack back in search of us.’
‘I am sorry.’ Fidelma was contrite.
‘For what?’ demanded the warrior.
‘For being such a fool as to lose the horses.’
Dubán shrugged indifferently.
‘Even the best horseman cannot provide for every contingency, sister. The wolf was unnerving the cattle. It must have been circling through the underbrush behind you and suddenly startled the horses. I heard the cry and came hurrying back. Thank God there were a few stones on the ground and I let fly with them. You did well not to move for any movement would have been fatal.’ He paused and added. ‘But you were not hurt in the fall?’
‘Only my dignity is hurt,’ smiled Fidelma in the gloom. And the sense of pride in my own logic, she added silently. Had Dubán been the sort of person she was suspecting him to be then she would be lying back there with her throat ripped out by the ravening wolf.
‘Thank God it was only that and nothing more,’ replied Dubán. They turned and began to walk across the springy turf.
‘Do you really think the wolf might come back?’ Fidelma asked.
‘From the size of it, it was a bitch.’ Dubán confirmed her own estimate of the wolf’s sex. ‘She’ll be back looking for food for her hungry cubs.’
‘Do they often come this close to the farmlands?’
‘More often in winter than in spring or summer. Sometimes they have been known to break into the rath itself and makeoff with chickens and even a piglet as I recall.’
He halted and pointed.
‘Look, there are our horses standing by those trees. They did not go far.’
Fidelma utter a silent prayer of thanks. She did not fancy a long trudge through the night.
The two horses actually seemed pleased to see their erstwhile riders and moved towards them. They allowed themselves to be caught and mounted without any fuss.
After a while, as they began to ride on Fidelma said: ‘You saved my life there, Dubán.’
The warrior shrugged. He seemed embarrassed.
‘I took my warrior’s oath before Maenach, when he was king of Cashel, and swore to protect those in need.’
Fidelma regarded him with interest. It meant that Dubán was a warrior of the ancient order of the Golden Collar. It was said that a thousand years before the birth of Christ, Cashel sent a High King to rule over the five kingdoms of Eireann. He was Muinheamhoin Mac Fiardea, the eighth king to rule after Eber the son of Mile. And it was this High King from Cashel who instituted the order of the Golden Collar among his warriors.