“Lady!”
Ross’s urgent whisper made her turn her head.
They had been walking by a series of barges that were being filled with cargoes of iron ore. It was the end one by which Ross had paused. There was no one on board and he had halted and was staring at the bow.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Take a look at the bow, lady.”
Fidelma looked.
The wooden planking of the vessel seemed to have been recently tarred and for a moment she could not see what he was trying to indicate. Then she saw the slight indentations on the wood. Only by looking at them in a certain way, the way the sunlight glinted and formed shadows, could she make out the deep lines that had been seared into the wood.
She turned excitedly to Ross.
“I make out the head of a wolf.”
Ross nodded grimly.
“This was one of Olcán’s barges. They did their best to remove the outward signs and paint over the brand mark with tar. . but not quite.”
A sailor was passing nearby.
“Excuse me,” called Fidelma.
The sailor halted and took in her religieuse robes.
“You want me, Sister?”
“Can you tell me whose barge that is?”
“That one? The end one there? Surely I can.”
Fidelma smiled to hide her impatience.
“And to whom does it belong?”
“That is the barge of the merchant Ségán.”
“Ségán, eh? And where might I find this man?”
“Across in that tavern there, I’ll warrant. He’s just loaded a cargo and is probably having a last drink before going downriver.”
She thanked the man and turned for the tavern with Ross in her wake.
Inside, the room was packed mainly with boatmen. Several heads turned as she entered. The landlord, or such she presumed him to be, came across to her immediately.
“God be with you, Sister. We do not often have ladies of your cloth in this poor place. We mainly serve the river boatmen. There is a tavern not far away that I can recommend that is better suited. .”
“I am told that I might find a merchant named Ségán here,” she cut him short.
The landlord blinked and then he pointed to a corner where a fat-looking individual was seated before a plate on which the remains of what had obviously been a small joint reposed. He was sipping at a great pottery mug of a liquid, which he was obviously savoring.
With a curt nod to the landlord, Fidelma moved across and took a vacant seat opposite the merchant.
“Your name is Ségán, I believe?”
The fleshy-faced man paused, the mug halfway to his lips and stared at her.
“Why would a religieuse know my name?” he said, a little surprised.
“I am a dálaigh and I am here on official business.”
The man set down the mug with a bang, closed his eyes and groaned.
“I knew it. I knew it.” He shuddered.
Fidelma stared at him speculatively.
“Perhaps you will share your knowledge with me, then?” she asked, a little sarcastically.
“It’s my wife, isn’t it? She is seeking a divorce and. .”
Fidelma gave an impatient gesture of her hand.
“It’s not about your wife. It’s about your boat.”
At once a look of suspicion crossed the man’s features.
“My boat? You mean the barge? What of it?”
“When did you acquire it?”
Ségán was still frowning.
“I bought it legally. Two weeks ago.”
“From whom?”
“What is this? What are you implying?”
“From whom?” she insisted.
“A man at Conna’s Fortress.”
“Does he have a name?”
“No more questions until you tell me what this is about.”
Two burly boatmen had risen and made their way over to where Ségán was sitting.
“Something wrong, master?”
“Tell them nothing is wrong unless they are also to be charged as parties to theft,” Fidelma said calmly without taking her eyes from the merchant.
The fleshy-faced man’s eyes widened.
“Theft?”
“Your barge and its cargo and crew disappeared two weeks ago. It was then in the ownership of a merchant in Eochaill named Olcán.”
The merchant was shaking his head rapidly. He glanced at the boatmen and waved them away.
“How can you know this?”
“Did you examine the markings on the barge when you bought it?”
Ségán shook his head.
“I know that it had been repainted. There is new tar. What markings?”
“The image of a wolf’s head is branded into the woodwork at the prow. That is Olcán’s mark. Now where did you get this barge?”
“As I said, I bought it. I bought it from a boatman.”
Fidelma frowned.
“And what was his name?”
“Name?” He shook his head.
“There were some boatmen up at Conna’s Fortress upriver and they were trying to sell the barge. I offered them a good price.”
“You bought the barge from someone whose name you do not even know?”
“I know Conna,” replied the fat merchant. “He knew the boatmen. That was good enough for me.”
Fidelma sighed.
“Then we must have a word with Conna,” she said to Ross. Turning back she viewed the merchant with disfavor. “I would advise you not to travel far. The boat you now claim to own was stolen and doubtless its owner will seek restitution.”
The merchant paled a little.
“I bought it in good faith. .” he began to protest.
“From someone whose name you didn’t know,” interrupted Fidelma sharply. “You therefore share some of the culpability.”
She stood up and left the tavern, followed by Ross.
“Would it not be wise to keep an eye on the merchant?” the old sailor ventured.
“I do not think he will be hard to find in the future. I am sure that he was telling the truth although I suspect that he probably realized something was wrong with the transaction.”
“Where now?”
“As I said, to Conna’s fortress. How far is that from here?”
“About four or five kilometers.”
Conna’s fortress was perched on a rocky outcrop beside the river. There were several barges and boats moored beneath its walls and signs of boatmen unloading cargoes. As they climbed out of the curragh, with Ross securing it, several armed warriors approached. They were not friendly. Fidelma saw it from their faces and so she assumed her haughtiest manner.
“Take me to Conna at once.”
The leading warrior halted and blinked in surprise, unused to being addressed in such a fashion by someone in religieuse robes.
Fidelma followed the advantage.
“Don’t stand there gawking, man. It is Fidelma, sister of Colgú your king who demands this.”
Nervously the man glanced at his companions and then, without a word, turned and led the way. Ross, following a step behind Fidelma, was trying to hide his nervousness. Fidelma’s royal rank apart, Ross knew that Conna owned allegiance to the Prince of Maige Féine, who was an hereditary enemy of the Eóghanacht kings of Muman.
Their guide had instructed one of his men to run on and announce Fidelma’s coming to Conna.
The chieftain met them at the door of his hall, a thinly-built man with beady dark eyes, like those of a snake. He gave the impression of someone close to starvation, so gaunt and elongated of limbs was he.
“The fame of Fidelma of Cashel precedes her,” he greeted, almost sibilantly. “How may I serve you?”
Fidelma was not impressed with the man.
“You may best serve me by telling me the truth. I have spoken to the merchant Ségán.”
Did a nervous look appear in the man’s dark features?
“You recommended Ségán to a boatman who sold him a stolen barge.”