Atonement of Blood (31 page)

The miller uttered a cynical laugh as he said, ‘I am an Uí Fidgente, lady. The warrior was an Eóganacht, one of your kind. Do you seriously expect me to believe that the victor will punish his own?’

‘That is the law, and if it is not applied then there is no justice.’

‘I have seen enough Eóganacht justice,’ the miller grunted.

‘You
will
see it,’ emphasised Fidelma. ‘That is my promise.’

‘And you will swear that on all that is sacred to you?’

‘On all that is sacred to me, I swear it,’ she replied solemnly.

There was a silence and then Eadulf said: ‘And what of her daughter, Aibell? You have not said why you believe her to be dead.’

This time the man hesitated a moment. ‘I went to Fidaig, as Escmug said he had sold her to him as a bondservant, but Fidaig denied all knowledge of the transaction. So I realised that either Fidaig was lying, or that Escmug must have killed the girl, as people suspected. My brother was a vile, vengeful man. Anyway, to all intents my niece was beyond rescue and therefore as good as dead.’ The miller bowed his head, sighed, then rose suddenly, saying, ‘I must attend to my workers. I presume you are anxious to continue your journey?’

‘We are anxious,’ replied Fidelma, ‘but the giving and taking of hospitality is a sacred thing in itself. We will take food with you, Marban, before we continue our journey.’

After Marban had left, Eadulf commented, ‘Vengeance seems the motive for the attack on your brother.’

‘Vengeance? Indeed. The assassin chose to strike him down because he was the King whose warrior had done this. Yes, vengeance – but from whom? The would-be assassin was certainly not Liamuin’s brother, or father or anyone else who was related to her … unless he was somehow connected with Aibell. But what did Aibell know of her mother’s death and who killed her? Also, the assassin shouted, “Remember Liamuin” as if that name would mean something to Colgú. Yet Colgú swore – even as he might have been dying from his wound – that the name meant absolutely nothing to him. No, Eadulf, there is still a mystery here.’

‘You think the miller knows more than he is saying?’

‘No, I don’t think so. He did not have to give us such details – even down to admitting that he killed his own brother. I think he has been completely honest and told us all he could.’

‘Then what do we do now?’

‘There is only one path for us, and that is to see if we can find the survivors of Menma’s house. Above all, we must try to identify the warrior who killed Liamuin.’

Just then, the door of the millhouse swung open and Gormán came in. ‘The horses are safe, lady,’ he said, ‘So I thought I would come and see what is happening. The miller and his men are securing the kilns as the rain seems to have ended their day’s work.’

Fidelma turned to him with a frown.

‘Did you fight at Cnoc Áíne, Gormán?’

‘Alas, lady, I did not. I was still trying to convince my master that I had the skill to be a warrior. I was studying at the school of the Múscraige Breogain then.’

‘I don’t suppose you know which of the warriors of the Golden Collar went into the land of the Uí Fidgente at that time?’

‘Capa was the commander at that period. It was not until after that time that I was allowed to serve in the bodyguard at Cashel. Indeed, it was when Capa was replaced by Caol that I was admitted into the Golden Collar. As you know, Capa had tried to convince the King that I was responsible for the abduction of your child …’

‘I remember well enough, Gormán,’ Fidelma replied tightly. ‘I presume Caol was at Cnoc Áine?’

‘A lot of the Nasc Niadh were, lady. It was a great battle. Enda, Aidan, Dego, all of them were there.’

‘Did they ever speak of the months afterwards, when my brother sent them and some of their companies to ensure that peace prevailed in the territory of the Uí Fidgente?’

Gormán thought for a moment and then said: ‘I don’t recollect anything specific. I think everyone wanted to boast about their deeds in the main battle rather than focus on the more mundane action of making sure the peace was kept after the Uí Fidgente were defeated.’

‘But most of the warriors of the Golden Collar, who were the élite commanders, had territories to oversee.’

‘So I understood. But that did not last for long, only until the new Prince of the Uí Fidgente struck his accord with your brother. Prince Donennach accepted that if there was any infringement to the peace, he was answerable to Cashel and therefore it was in his interest to ensure there was no such unrest.’

‘Would it be hard to discover which of the warriors of the Golden Collar were sent to this area?’

‘I am not sure, lady. But we are near Dún Eochair Mháigh, which is the chief fortress of the Uí Fidgente. Would it not be logical that Colgú himself would have come here to oversee the peace?’

There was a brief silence and a troubled look crossed Fidelma’s features.

‘We are told he did not. The King would not spend months in some remote spot in the foothills south of here,’ Eadulf said quickly, knowing what was passing through her mind. ‘Those foothills lead into the mountains of the Luachra. We are looking for a warrior of the Golden Collar who was based there.’

Suddenly, voices were raised outside – then the door burst open. Gormán swung round, hand on the hilt of his sword, and Fidelma and Eadulf rose to their feet.

Marban stood on the threshold, his face grim.

‘We have word that some of Fidaig’s warriors are coming this way. I suggest that you go up to the top of the mill building and make yourselves inconspicuous.’

‘Fidaig? Of the Luachra?’ breathed Fidelma. ‘But this is not his territory.’

‘There is no time to debate borders, lady. His warriors are not given to intellectual discussion. They come by right of their swords.’

‘Why would you think that we should hide?’ asked Gormán.

‘Because you are who you are,’ the miller replied simply. ‘Fidaig’s men are hard to control once they sense sport, and their idea of sport is not one that you would appreciate. Hide.’

‘But why are you doing this?’ Fidelma asked. ‘You are an Uí Fidgente.’

‘I am willing to see if you are right about Eóghanacht justice. Above all, I want justice for Liamuin.’

‘I have sworn justice will be done,’ Fidelma assured him.

‘Then go above the stairs and wait until they have gone.’

With that he left them, shutting the door behind him. They did not delay but climbed the stairs through the millhouse until they reached the small top-floor area. There were two windows, one overlooking the stream and sluice gates from the spring which, when the gates were opened, started the water-wheel moving by the passage of the water into the millpond. The other overlooked the grounds outside with the kiln and stables.

Eadulf glanced quickly round. ‘Well, if we are about to be betrayed, they have to come up those stairs. Only one man at a time. We can easily defend this place.’

Gormán grinned. ‘True, friend Eadulf. Except that I do not think they would bother if they were intent on catching us. They would merely wait at the bottom of the mill until we came down.’

‘Starve us out?’

‘Probably set light to the mill and we would have the choice of perishing in the flames or perishing by their swords.’

‘You are a cheerful soul, young Gormán,’ Eadulf replied without enthusiasm.

Fidelma told them to be quiet and moved carefully to the window overlooking the working area before the mill.

‘Keep down,’ she hissed. ‘A dozen horsemen are arriving. Marban is going forward to greet them.’

They could hear brief snatches of conversation. The leader of the horsemen asked a series of sharp questions to which the burly miller seemed to reply in obsequious manner, bowing and pointing to the north-west. To their relief the exchange did not last long. The horses cantered off. Moments later, they heard the miller climbing the stairs until finally his head appeared in the aperture in the floor.

‘You can come down,’ he said. ‘They’ve all gone.’

Fidelma had a strange expression on her face. ‘I recognised the young warrior leading them by his tone of voice. Who was he, Marban?’

‘That was one of the sons of Fidaig. His name is Gláed.’

‘Gláed?’ Fidelma drew in a breath. ‘I would have said his name was Adamrae.’

T
hey had left Marban’s mill and followed the narrow course of the Mháigh as it snaked its way towards the point where it rose in the south-western hills. On Fidelma’s instruction, Gormán had removed his golden collar emblem of the Nasc Niadh. She too had removed her own collar, and they had placed them in their saddle-bags. Obviously, as they proceeded into the territory of the most truculent of the Uí Fidgente septs and their neighbours, the Luachra, it was wise to be cautious. Most of the area was thick with forest, although now and then they came across large plains of intersecting waterways; small streams and water-filled gullies that rose from springs in the distant bank of hills. At times it was almost hard to follow the main course of the Mháigh, as it was so interspersed with other watercourses. But it was from all of these waters eventually merging together that the great River Mháigh was created.

The long line of low hills to the south of them began to grow higher as they approached them. Gormán pointed out a number of rath-like buildings, fortified enclosures that could be seen along the hilltops.

‘One of those must be the one we are looking for,’ he said.

Fidelma glanced at the hills in front of them. ‘We should be looking for a burned-out ruin.’

They began to guide their horses up the side of the hills. Across the gentle slopes were bands of hill sheep, black and brown with wiry wool and crooked horns. Fidelma felt it was surely time that they were brought into more protected pasture for the winter months. The animals gazed indifferently at the three riders as they moved slowly along the path. Now and then they passed patches of ferns of various varieties and gorse that would, in the early spring months, burst forth in a glorious fiery yellow.

Fidelma decided to stop at the first hill farm they came to and make enquiries. It could just about be called a rath because it was surrounded by an earthen bank and wooden fencing. A middle-aged woman was seated outside the main building plucking a chicken. She had not observed their approach and was disconcerted for a moment, rising to her feet and discarding the half-plucked bird on the wooden bench beside her. She watched them halt at the gate; her dark eyes scanned their clothes before their features to decide what sort of people they were.

She answered Fidelma’s greeting with a lack of enthusiasm.

‘What do you seek here?’ she demanded gruffly.

‘We are looking for what used to be the rath of Menma,’ called Fidelma without dismounting, unperturbed by the woman’s hostility.

‘The rath of Menma, is it?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘He is long dead and his rath is no more than a pile of firewood.’

‘So I have been told. And in which direction do we go from here?’

The woman gestured along the path to the west. ‘Keep on this track and you will come to it. But there is nothing there now. As I said, Menma is dead. They were all killed years ago.’

‘Were there no survivors?’ asked Fidelma.

Again she was met with a suspicious frown. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘If there were survivors of that tragic event, I would like to speak with them. I am a
dálaigh
.’

The woman blinked. ‘A lawyer? We do not have many lawyers coming along this track.’ She suddenly gave a grunt; it took them a while to realise it was a sardonic laugh. ‘In fact, you are the first strangers I have seen since the harvest.’

‘Have you lived here long?’

‘I was born on that far hill. My husband, Cadan, runs this farm. He’s away with the sheep right now.’

‘So you lived here at the time when Menma’s place was burned down?’

‘Why the questions, lady?’

‘I want to know what happened.’

‘That I can’t tell you in detail. One day we saw smoke rising above Menma’s homestead. I called my man. He and my son ran to help – but by the time they reached it, all that was left were slain bodies and smoking ruins.’

‘You knew Menma, of course?’

‘Of course.’

‘And what of his household?’

‘He had a large household. There was Menma, his wife and two sons who worked the farm. He had cornfields on the plain below. He also had two servants … oh, and there was a woman. She was a guest. I think that she might have been a relative. I forget her name now.’

‘Was anyone else at the farmstead that day?’

She shook her head. ‘Not on that day.’

Fidelma caught the inflection. ‘So, on other days there were people staying or visiting.’

‘There was one warrior. I was told that he was one of the Eóghanacht troops sent to keep us in order. It was in those days following the great defeat and there were several Eóghanacht soldiers encamped around here. He was their commander. I only saw him from a distance, riding across the hills with his men. Thankfully, he had no cause to come to our farmstead.’

‘You do not know who he was – his name, or what he looked like?’