Atonement of Blood (6 page)

‘I have noticed it is prized for making beds and couches as well as decoration in the houses of nobles,’ replied Eadulf.

‘The ancient law has a special provision for protection of items that are made of yew,’ Fidelma put in. ‘The law lists fines for damage caused to such articles by visitors to places where they are displayed. So if you visit a person’s home and damage furniture made of yew, then you are in trouble.’

Gormán led them down a short path through the trees. A few moments later, they came to a small clearing in which stood a hut hardly big enough for an average man to stand up in or to lie down in, full length. In fact, a man could stand in the centre and stretch his hands out to touch each wall. They could not easily discern what wood it was constructed of because it was almost obliterated by thickly growing ivy.

Eadulf was moving towards the door when a rustling sound from within caused him to halt, head to one side, not sure whether it was merely the wind among the ivy leaves.

A hand fell on his shoulder. Gormán, behind him, had raised a finger to his lips. So he had heard it too. The young warrior drew his sword and motioned Eadulf and Fidelma to stay back. He paused for a moment and then raised his right foot and kicked out, sending the door flying inwards. The crash of the shattering wood was accompanied by a frightened cry. Sword at the ready, Gormán moved quickly inside and a moment later dragged a small figure out, screaming and struggling, and threw it on the leaf-strewn floor of the glade before them.

Straddling the figure with his sword pointing downwards in readiness, Gormán commanded, ‘Identify yourself, boy!’

The figure rolled over and scowled up at him.

Fidelma turned to Gormán in amusement. ‘You have your sexes mixed, Gormán. This is clearly a girl.’

G
ormán stood staring down in astonishment at the young woman.

Her tousled blue-black hair was cut short, not in the usual fashion, and it was quite dirty, scattered with dead leaves and wisps of straw. There were patches of dried mud on her face but, nonetheless, the features were quite attractive, symmetrical with a splash of freckles on the cheeks, dark flashing eyes and full lips that needed no berry-juice to enhance them. At the moment, those lips were drawn back in a snarl showing very white and even teeth. Her clothes were of poor quality, soiled and torn, and there were no shoes on her feet.

‘What are you gawping at, you big bully!’ she growled at the young warrior.

Gormán started at being addressed in such a fashion. Then he slowly replaced his sword in its sheath before reaching out a hand to assist the girl to rise.

She ignored him, rolling quickly over and scrambling to her feet. They could see now that she was no more than twenty.

‘And who are you?’ Fidelma asked mildly.

The girl turned on her with an unfriendly expression.

‘What business is it of yours?’ she replied pugnaciously.

‘The lady is Fidelma of Cashel and a
dálaigh
,’ Gormán said in a shocked tone. ‘When an attorney of the courts of the Brehons asks, it is your duty to give your name.’

The girl raised her hands to her hips and stared truculently at him.

‘My name is mine to keep.’

‘Watch your manners, girl!’ Gormán replied, anger in his voice. ‘You are speaking to the King’s sister.’

There was a slight narrowing of the girl’s eyes, which was the only reaction to this information. She remained as belligerent as before.

‘And that makes a difference as to whether I care to give my name or not?’ she sneered.

‘Not that I am a King’s sister,’ replied Fidelma. Her voice was dangerously cold and even. ‘But that I am a member of the courts of the Brehons and that I am qualified to the level of … ah, but I doubt whether that would mean much to you. Sufficient to say that my office gives me the right to question you and places you under the obligation of answering.’

‘You use long words,’ sniffed the girl.

‘It means that you are required to answer,’ snapped Gormán, clearly outraged by the girl’s behaviour. ‘And you should do so with deference.’

‘Words I have no use for,’ the girl went on.

‘Do you have a use for the word “punishment”?’ asked Gormán, taking a menacing step forward.

The girl wheeled around towards him, almost in a crouch. In her hand there had appeared a small glinting dagger.

‘Try to attack me, bully, and you are a dead man!’

Gormán took a step back, surprise clearly showing on his features.

Eadulf, who had been standing in silence during this time, leaped forward, grasped the girl’s wrist and twisted it slightly, so that the knife dropped from her hand onto the forest floor, then kicked it out of her reach. She spun round, her eyes flashing and her teeth bared. For a moment or so it seemed she was about to launch herself on Eadulf, her hands clenching and unclenching like claws.

‘The hellcat!’ breathed Gormán, recovering his poise. He made to move towards the girl but Fidelma held up her hand to stay him.

‘Why are you so frightened, girl?’ she asked gently.

The young woman relaxed and straightened herself, but her jaw remained thrust forward combatively.

‘Who says that I am frightened?’ she demanded.

‘You do,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Otherwise you would not be behaving in this manner.’

‘Clever, aren’t you?’ was the insolent response.

‘It does not require cleverness. However, I cannot sympathise with you about the troubles that afflict you unless you tell me what they are and allow me to do so.’

The girl still stood silently defiant. Fidelma sighed. Authority was of little use unless it was freely recognised.

‘Gormán,’ she said to the young warrior. ‘Search the hut.’ Then: ‘Eadulf, pick up this woman’s knife and return it to her.’

Eadulf made to protest then went to find the knife he had removed from the girl’s grasp. He handed it to her hilt first, but warily. She snatched it from him without thanks and replaced it in the worn leather sheath that hung from the rope belt at her waist. She remained regarding Fidelma with suspicion.

There was a cry of triumph from within the hut. A moment later, Gormán emerged with a saddle-bag in one hand and a saddle and bridle in the other. He was grinning.

‘A bag of clothes.’ He held it up. ‘It seems we were right. This is the place where the assassin changed.’

Eadulf, watching the girl, saw an expression of bewilderment spread across her face.

‘Let’s examine the clothing. It might tell us something,’ Fidelma instructed. Then she paused and looked at the girl. ‘Did you know these things were in there?’

Once more the pugnacious look returned.

‘Why should I?’ she countered.

‘You were asked
if
you knew that they were there,’ Gormán demanded. ‘Not
why
you should know.’

The girl blinked at the intensity of his tone and replied sullenly, ‘No, I did not know they were there.’

‘How long have you been in the hut?’ Fidelma asked.

‘I came here just after dawn. I wanted to sleep.’

‘You were not here last night?’

‘I said as much, didn’t I?’

‘So you did. And if you came here just after dawn, where did you spend the night?’

‘I was walking, most of it,’ conceded the girl.

‘Walking through the night? Alone?’

‘Have you found anyone else with me?’ she sneered.

‘That does not prove you were walking alone during the night,’ Gormán said irritably. ‘Do you know who left this bag here?’

‘I did not even know it was in the hut. How many times must I tell you?’

‘Whether you knew or not, we have yet to discover. But you are in serious trouble.’

For the first time the girl looked uncertain. ‘What do you mean?’

‘There was an attempt on the life of the King last night. This is where the assassin sheltered. Now we find you here, and with his belongings,’ replied Gormán.

Fidelma was watching the girl’s expression closely. There was a subtle change, a hint of fear as the girl seemed to realise the seriousness of her position.

‘That is nothing to do with me. I arrived here during the morning. There was no one here.’ The words were truculent but some of her confidence had gone.

‘And your name is … ?’ Fidelma asked sternly.

The girl hesitated and gave in. ‘If you must know, my name is Aibell.’

‘And where are you from?’

‘From the west.’

Fidelma smiled sceptically. ‘That is a large area.’

‘I came from An Mháigh, the River of the Plain.’

‘And that is a long river,’ murmured Eadulf.

The girl glanced at him in annoyance. ‘I was born and raised by Dún Eochair Mháigh.’

Gormán’s eyebrows rose a little. ‘That is the fortress on the ridge of the Mháigh. It is the principal fortress of the princes of the Uí Fidgente.’

‘So, what of it?’

It seemed to Fidelma, watching her closely, that this Aibell was in constant battle with the world around her.

‘But the Uí Fidgente … Mungairit is not far,’ the young warrior protested.

Fidelma’s glance was expressive enough to silence him. She turned back to the girl.

‘The attempted assassination of the King is a very grave matter, Aibell. It will go better with you if you tell us the complete truth.’

‘It is the truth.’

‘So you travelled through the night – all the way from the fortress of the Uí Fidgente?’

Aibell saw Fidelma’s disbelieving look and bit her lip. ‘Not exactly.’

‘Then how …
exactly
?’

‘I left my father’s house there as soon as I reached the age of choice.’

‘When I asked you where you are from, I did not mean where were you born, or even where were you raised, but from whence you travelled last night.’ Fidelma spoke firmly.

‘Last night I met a merchant who was travelling here. He offered me a seat on his wagon. I accepted it.’

‘A merchant who was travelling at night?’ Gormán snorted. ‘That is unusual.’

‘He said he wanted to be at his destination by dawn.’ It was the first time Aibell had bothered to explain her short answers.

‘And where did you meet this merchant?’ Fidelma enquired.

‘I had reached the banks of a great river just west of here and had resigned myself to trying to sleep near a ford there when I saw this wagon crossing.’

‘Did you know the name of the ford?’ demanded Gormán.

‘I am a stranger here,’ she replied. ‘How would I know it?’

‘Tell us about this merchant, then. Did you find out
his
name?’

‘As a matter of fact, I did. It was a stupid name for a merchant – something about dignity and honour.’

Fidelma wrinkled her brow in perplexity but Gormán’s eyes widened.

‘Ordan, lady,’ he said. ‘Ordan often trades in the west. “Dignity” indeed is the meaning of his name.’

Aibell nodded confidently. ‘That was his name. Ordan. A fat, ugly man as far as I could see in the light of his lantern.’

‘He has that land just east of here, lady,’ the young warrior reminded Fidelma.

‘I know it. He calls it Rathordan.’ Fidelma turned back to the girl. ‘So you were picked up by Ordan the merchant?’

‘He offered me a seat on his cart,’ affirmed the girl. ‘He would have offered me much more had I agreed to it. He was a pig of a man!’

‘When was this? When did he pick you up?’

‘About midnight.’

‘And why did he put you off here, on the western edge of the town at dawn?’

‘Because I made him do so.’

‘Why did you not want to go into the centre of town?’

‘Because I refused to share his bed, which was his intention. As soon as I saw the outskirts of the town, I demanded that he let me off his wagon. In fact, I had to jump from it.’

Gormán was thinking carefully. ‘The road from the Ford of the Ass, which I presume must have been the ford Ordan crossed over the River Suir, runs by the far side of that field.’ He pointed to the north side of his mother’s paddock. ‘There is no other ford nearby, only the road across the bridge further to the north.’ He turned to the girl. ‘Are you trying to tell us that you came across the paddock and into this wood and found this hut purely by chance? Or did someone guide you here?’

Aibell glowered at him. ‘I did not say that I had found my way here by chance.’

‘That is true,’ said Fidelma slowly. ‘Therefore we would be interested in knowing exactly how you came here.’

‘Simple enough. I was told the hut was here.’

‘By whom?’

‘By a man going early to the fields.’

Fidelma tutted in exasperation. ‘A man who just happened to be passing in the darkness of early morning? Do you expect us to believe this?’

‘I do not expect anything. It is the truth.’

‘Why are you here, Aibell?’

The girl laughed for the first time.

‘Why should I not be here?’ she countered.

‘What are you doing in Cashel?’ Fidelma insisted.

‘Because this is where I have stopped to rest. Had I been left in peace, I would have been elsewhere when the sun reached its zenith.’

‘Brother Lennán!’ It was Eadulf who suddenly rapped out the name. ‘What is he to you?’