Archú picked up a lamp, although he looked somewhat reluctant having heard where the site of the bath house was located.
‘I will carry the lamp,’ he offered.
Eadulf clapped him on the shoulder.
‘Come, little brother,’ he encouraged. ‘A cold wash never hurt anyone.’
It was over an hour later before they finally sat down to eat. The broth was of oatmeal and leeks enlivened by some herbs. And there was a dish of trout to follow; trout caught in the local stream, served with freshly baked bread and honey sweetened mead. Bressal was no novice when it came to cooking.
He kept up a lively conversation as he served them, recounting local pieces of information. But it was clear that he was isolated and he had certainly not yet heard of the murder of the chieftain of Araglin of which young Archú informed him, wishing to establish his new found position as a man of status in Araglin.
‘Are we the only travellers on this road tonight?’ Fidelma asked during a lull in the conversation.
Bressal pulled a face.
‘You are the only travellers to stop here during the last week. Not many traverse this particular road to Araglin.’
‘Then there are surely other roads?’
‘Indeed there is one other. A track which runs from the east of the valley along which one might reach the south, Lios Mhór, Ard Mór and Dún Garbhain. This road is merely the one which joins the great road that runs north to Cashel or south to Lios Mhór. Why do you ask, sister?’ There was a glint of curiosity in the hostel keeper’s eyes.
Archú was frowning.
‘I was told that this was the only road to Lios Mhór.’
‘By whom?’ demanded the hostel keeper.
‘Father Gormán of Araglin.’
‘Well, the eastern road is the quicker road to Lios Mhór,’ Bressal insisted. ‘He should know better.’
Fidelma decided to change the subject and indicated the collection of rocks on the side table. ‘You have a curious collection of ornaments there, my friend.’
Bressal was dismissive.
‘Not mine. I did not collect them. My brother, Morna, is a miner, working in the mines which lie to the west of here on the Plain of Minerals. He picked up these rocks during his work. I keep them for him.’
Fidelma appeared to be very interested in the rocks, picking them up and turning them over in her hands.
‘They are very intriguing.’
‘Morna has been collecting them for years. It was only a couple of days ago that he came here, full of excitement, saying that he had discovered something that would make him rich. He had a rock with him. How a rock would make him rich I do not know. He spent a night here and left the next day.’
‘Which was the rock he brought with him?’ Fidelma asked, intrigued as she ran her eye over the collection.
Bressal rubbed the back of his head.
‘I confess that I am not sure now.’ He picked one up. ‘This one I think.’
Fidelma took it and held it in her hands, turning it over. To her untrained eye it was just an ordinary piece of granite. She handed it back to the hostel keeper. He replaced the rock on the table.
‘Can I get you anything else before you retire for the night?’ he asked, turning to the company.
Archú and Scoth decided to retire while Eadulf asked for another cup of mead and announced he would sit by the fire awhile longer. Fidelma sat talking to Bressal for hostel keepers were always a good source of information. She turned the conversation to Eber. Bressal had only seen Eber half-a-dozen times passingfrom his territory on the road to Cashel. He had little knowledge to form an opinion of him, though he said that he had heard mixed opinions of the man. Some thought he was a bully while others praised him for his kindliness and generosity.
It was still early when Fidelma announced that she would retire to bed. Bressal had allocated Fidelma a corner of the main sleeping area which consisted of the entire top floor of the hostel. It was a curtained off space, for it was unusual in tiny hostels to find separate rooms for those spending the night. The bed was no more than a straw palliasse on the floor and a rough woollen blanket. It was clean, warm and comfortable and she would ask no more.
It appeared to her that her head had barely lain on the straw when she was startled awake. A warm hand was gripping her arm and squeezing gently. She blinked and began to struggle but a voice whispered: ‘Hush. It is I.’
It was Eadulf’s voice.
She lay still, blinking a moment.
‘There are some armed men outside the hostel,’ Eadulf continued, his voice pitched so low that she could barely hear it.
Fidelma was aware that the window was filled with a curious grey light and while, through its uncurtained aperture, she could still see one or two tiny bright points of stars reluctant to leave the sky, she realised that dawn was not far away.
‘What is it that worries you about these armed men?’ she demanded, following Eadulf’s example and keeping her voice low.
‘The sound of horses woke me fifteen minutes ago,’ Eadulf explained quietly. ‘I peered out and saw the shadows of half a dozen riders. They rode up silently but did not come to the hostel. They hid their horses in the woods beyond and took up positions among the trees before the hostel door.’
Fidelma sat up abruptly. She was wide awake now.
‘Outlaws?’
‘Perhaps. It seems to me that they mean no good to this hostel for they all carried bows with them.’
‘Have you alerted Bressal?’
‘I woke him first. He is downstairs securing the doors in case we are attacked.’
‘Has he been attacked before?’
‘Never. Sometimes the richer hostels along the main road between Lios Mhór and Cashel have been attacked and robbed by groups of outlaws. But why would anyone choose this isolated hostel to rob?’
‘Are the youngsters awake?’
‘The youngsters? Oh, you mean Archú and Scoth. Not yet. I came …’
There was a curious whooshing sound from outside and Fidelma momentarily caught the smell of fire. A second whoosh barely registered on her ears as an arrow sped through the window and embedded itself in the wall beyond. Straw, fastened around the arrow, had been set alight. Now there came the sounds of a man calling orders from outside.
Fidelma leapt from her bed.
‘Wake the others. We are being attacked.’ The last sentence was unnecessary as another flaming arrow flashed into the room and embedded itself into the floor. She ran forward and grasped it, without concern for the hungry flames. She turned and threw it through the window before reaching for the first arrow and sending it after the other through the window. Turning again, she grabbed her robe and dragged it over her head. Almost without pausing, she pulled down the curtained partitions in case an arrow ignited them. Archú, awakened by Eadulf, came running forward to help her.
‘Stay here,’ instructed Fidelma. ‘Keep down but if any lighted arrows land in the room make sure the flames are put out.’
Without waiting for a reply she turned away and hurried down the stairs into the main room.
Bressal, the hostel keeper, was busily stringing a bow. It was clear that he was unpractised for he was clumsy.
He glanced up, his usually cheerful face was creased with anger.
‘Outlaws!’ he muttered. ‘I have never known outlaws in these woods. I must defend the hostel.’
Eadulf now came racing down the stairs.
‘You said that you saw these men,’ Fidelma greeted him. ‘How many did you estimate there are?’
‘About half a dozen,’ replied Eadulf.
Fidelma compressed her lips so hard that they almost hurt. She was trying hard to think of a means of defending the hostel.
‘Do you have any other weapons, Bressal?’ Eadulf demanded. ‘We have nothing to defend ourselves with.’
The hostel keeper stared at him in surprise that a man of the Faith should be asking for weapons to defend himself with.