As they entered the kitchen, Ferloga caught sight of them and sprang to his feet, setting down his mug on a nearby table. Out of the familiar surroundings of his inn, Ferloga looked awkward and slightly nervous. This was unusual, for during his years as a host, he had had dealings with kings and chieftains, religious of all descriptions and ranks, rich merchants, travelling players passing on their way to market, and even beggars desperate for shelter. He had taken them all in his stride. But here in this royal kitchen, he felt out of place.

  ‘Good day, lady. Good day, Brother Eadulf.’

  Fidelma returned his greeting. ‘Be at ease, Ferloga,’ she ordered. ‘I am told you have come to report to my brother about the arrangements for the Great Fair.’

  Ferloga nodded jerkily. ‘I trust nothing is amiss, lady? I had to leave Lassar in charge of the inn and came as soon as I received the King’s summons. He said he needed to discuss the preparations which he usually did with his steward.’

  ‘It is late and already the light has faded.’ Fidelma nodded towards the window. ‘It was unthinking of my brother to ask you to come here at this time of the day.’

  ‘That’s all right, lady. Whenever I am here, Rumann offers me a bed so that I don’t have to journey back in the dark. Rumann is a kinsman of mine,’ he added, but the look of anxiety did not leave his face.

  ‘Well, there is nothing wrong, Ferloga,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘I know that my brother is a little anxious about the arrangements of the Great Fair but I know that matters are safe in your hands.’

  Ferloga seemed to relax. ‘Well, he has no cause for concern. I have been involved in the running of the Great Fair for many years, and have lost count of the times that I have had to help the King’s stewards with making the arrangements, especially Beccan. He was always so worried about getting the details right that he often overlooked the wider picture.’

  Fidelma remembered how punctilious the late steward of Cashel had been. Punctilious, but weak – and that weakness had allowed him to be drawn into the plot that eventually led to his own murder.

  ‘That is good to hear, Ferloga,’ she said kindly. ‘It was about the Great Fair that I wanted to talk to you.’

  Ferloga’s expression was serious. ‘Is it about Baodain and his performers?’ he said immediately. ‘Rumann told me the story when I arrived, or such as he knew it. I saw Baodain and his troupe encamped on the far side of the town square – and under guard.’

  Fidelma inclined her head. ‘I wanted to ask you what you knew about Baodain, as he has been a performer at previous fairs.’

  Ferloga considered for a moment. ‘I know precious little, I am afraid. It is true that he and his performers frequent most of the great fairs. Baodain is rather arrogant but not as arrogant as his wife Escrach. In spite of that, he somehow attracts good performers into his troupe.’

  ‘Do you know where Baodain comes from?’

  This was met by a quick shake of the head. ‘He has the accents of Midhe, the Middle Kingdom. So does she, but whether he has ever called Midhe his home or not, that I cannot say. Oh, he and Escrach play their instruments well enough and have a good repertoire of songs and stories but, begging your pardon lady, they are of a lower class of songs and stories than you would be used to. It is entertainment fit for the likes of farmers and cowherds when drink has been taken. He is certainly not the main attraction at any fair that he attends.’

  ‘But he does get work at the Great Fairs?’

  ‘Oh, that he does surely. I am told he has performed at Tailltenn, Tlachtga, Uisneach, Carman in Laigin, even at Aenach Macha, the ancient fair at Emain in the north country.’

  ‘Then if he and his wife are not good performers, how is he able to entertain at all these fairs?’ pressed Eadulf. ‘He must have some reputation.’

  ‘Baodain has one great ability,’ conceded Ferloga. ‘He is able to spot talented performers and recruit them to his troupe. Because he has connections with all the organisers of the Great Fairs, he can assure these performers of work. It is curious … because of the talents of his performers, he gets the work and all the glory for the achievement. He is esteemed because of those whose talents he exploits.’

  Eadulf chuckled. ‘A symbiotic relationship.’ When Ferloga looked puzzled he added: ‘There is an old conundrum, which comes first – the chicken or the egg?’

  Ferloga smiled appreciatively. ‘It is true that he provides some pleasing eggs among his performers.’

  ‘Are you saying that he does not always have the same group of players with him?’ Fidelma suddenly asked.

  ‘I think it is fair to say that he hardly appears more than two or three times with the same performers. But then we only see him once a year or every other year. I would say,’ Ferloga learned forward with a confidential attitude, ‘I would say that once his performers have done the rounds of the fairs with him, and made their own contacts for work, they are off on their own if they are any good. I myself would dislike it intensely if I had to be beholden to Baodain for any length of time.’

  ‘He has no regular members of his troupe?’

  Ferloga rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘There is the Strong Man in his troupe … what was his name? Barrán. He is getting on in years for a Strong Man these days. One can’t go on lifting great weights all one’s life without damaging oneself. But he and his wife Dub Lemna have half a dozen kids to feed, as I recall.’

  ‘Five, I was told,’ Fidelma corrected him pedantically. ‘So Barrán is one of the performers that he has brought with him this time. Can you remember anyone else?’

  Ferloga mentioned some names which did not fit in with the ones they had been given for the current troupe, apart from those of the tumbler and jugglers.

  ‘So Corbach and her tumblers were also here last year,’ Fidelma noted.

  ‘Yes – and Corbach too is past her prime. Her entire family take part in the act. They are about six adults and three children, as I remember. Probably some of the children are of the age to perform this year.’

  ‘I see.’ Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘But I was told that only a few of Baodain’s performers were new – namely, Maolán and Mealla, the contortionists. But as far as you know, most of them are new.’

  Ferloga was watching her with a question on his face. ‘Is there some significance in this, lady?’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I am just thinking aloud. How are the performers usually chosen for these fairs? Are they engaged from year to year, or do they just turn up, and if there is space, they are given it to entertain the crowds?’

  ‘You have it exactly right, lady,’ agreed Ferloga. ‘It is impossible to know the situation from one year to the next. Impossible to know who is available. Indeed, one cannot know the health of the performers and the strength of their acts to be certain they will arrive and be of sufficient standard to perform. Then there is the weather, which can cancel the entire fair. So the players turn up and, as you say, if there is room, they are allotted the land, for which they will pay a tax from the profits that they make. That tax goes to the King to divide among those he has appointed to organise and oversee the fair.’

  After a few more moments of polite conversation, Fidelma bade farewell to the innkeeper and left, followed by Eadulf. They still had to advise Aidan and Enda about the next day.

  The couple made their way in silence across the courtyard to the Laochtech, the Hall of Heroes, which were the quarters of the King’s Bodyguard.

  ‘What is on your mind?’ asked Eadulf, observing his wife’s thoughtful expression.

  She smiled at him. ‘I was thinking that Baodain’s performers have a good reputation, according to Ferloga, in spite of Baodain’s own, less than excellent contributions. And yet they were turned down by the Fair Master at Uisneach, weeks before the fair was even due to start. So on what grounds were they refused a performance? That is what is bothering me.’

  ‘Baodain says the fair had too many acts.’

  ‘Yet no fair is that crowded so far in advance that the organisers would turn down a troupe which has a decent reputation,’ she repeated. ‘We can also discount the weather, for no seer could predict the conditions of the ground so far in advance; let alone the health of the performers or the strength of their acts…’

  Eadulf shrugged. ‘Maybe the new acts did not measure up to the troupe’s reputation? They had just performed before the Prince of Tethbae. Perhaps he did not like them and said so.’

  ‘You could be right,’ Fidelma said slowly. ‘We know from Ferloga that Baodain was lying to us about the length of time his performers have been with him. Why would he do that? As Ferloga said: is there some significance in this?’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The day had dawned bright and sunny although there was still a chill in the air. Isolated patches of white cloud hung high and motionless and, even though the marshes spread flat on either side of the great highway of Slíge Dála, the countryside seem verdant, interspersed by patches of bright yellow flowers. They had left Cashel at first light with Fidelma leading the way on her favourite horse, Aonbharr, ‘the Supreme One’, named after the magical horse of the ancient God of the Oceans, Manannán mac Lir. Aidan rode at her side and behind them came Eadulf on his placid cob with Enda alongside him.

  It was not long before Aidan was pointing along the road before them.

  ‘That is where Baodain’s wagons halted, where they were fighting the fire. Isn’t it so, friend Eadulf?’

  ‘Not much has passed along this way since then,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘You can still see the tracks and marks where they halted.’

  Fidelma paused but remained seated on her horse, surveying the area closely. Looking across the dark, brooding patches of bogland, Eadulf could not rid himself of visions of the ése, the water spirits of his own pagan culture, who could shape-shift and appear and disappear at will. It was in just such areas as this that the impossible could happen.

  He glanced around the low marshlands with their stagnant pools and low-flying cuili condae, the ‘fierce fliers’ as they were called, the biting insects and midges that spread disease if one was not careful. As a former student of the healing arts, Eadulf always carried his lés, a small leather bag containing some medical equipment, and to which he frequently had recourse. The bag contained surgical instruments and soithech or containers for ointments or salves; on crossing marshland, he always ensured that some honey and a container of apple-cider were among them. He had found that some solace from the biting midges could be obtained by their application.

  He realised that Fidelma was looking round at him curiously.

  ‘There are a lot of midges around here,’ he said feebly, to explain his woebegone expression.

  ‘You are right, there are. Come, there is nothing to be learned here. We should not tarry.’

  They rode on until Aidan interrupted the silence by pointing towards the part of the highway where the ground started to rise into the hills.

  ‘It was from those hilltops that Eadulf and I first noticed the wagons of Baodain,’ he announced.

  ‘Therefore it will not be far before the road from Durlus Éile joins this one from the north,’ Fidelma replied. She used the word ramut, which indicated a smaller road than the great slíge or highway, of which there were only five connecting the capitals of the Five Kingdoms with Tara, the seat of the High Kings.

  They passed the main highway that led off to the fortress and township of Gelgéis, the Princess of the Éile. Some distance beyond, at the righthand side of the road, they heard the gurgling of a stream, splashing down the hills over moss-covered roads and into a large pool that eventually seeped away, dispersing into the low-lying bogland through which they had ridden. There were signs in the surrounding mud of wagons, and of horses and other animals using it as a watering-hole.

  ‘This must be where the girl met up with Baodain’s troupe. We’ll take the opportunity to rest briefly and water our horses here,’ Fidelma instructed.

  Before long Fidelma ordered them to resume their journey. Only moments later, Aidan spotted a track leading through the treeline to their left, between high bushes into the marshlands. The warrior took the lead now. They had been riding along it for some time when Eadulf began to have doubts: could a wagon, such as the one driven by the girl, have comfortably traversed this route? The path had become narrow and muddy and the horses were getting fretful at the increased attention of the midges and the sudden appearance and disappearance of small mammals among the swampy sedges.

  He decided to voice his concerns. ‘This doesn’t look like the sort of route that the girl would take with a wagon of that size,’ he said mildly.

  Aidan was immediately defensive. ‘Well, Baodain said that she came from a track from the north, and that it was before the spring and pool, and certainly before the main roadway to Durlus. Where else could it have been?’

  ‘Perhaps there is another path?’ Eadulf suggested. ‘There is no sign of wheel-tracks here.’

  Before he could receive an answer, Aidan gave vent to a loud curse. His horse seemed to move backwards for a few paces and then its hind legs started to sink into the adjacent mud. The animal’s eyes rolled in terror as it tried to extract itself from the cloying tentacles of the marsh. It reared and lashed out with its forelegs, but this only resulted in its hindquarters sinking deeper.

  Aidan was enough of a horseman not to cling on; instead he launched himself over the beast’s shoulder and hit the path with a rolling motion which brought him out of reach of the thrashing forelegs.

  Meanwhile, Fidelma had dismounted. Throwing her reins to Enda, she went towards Aidan’s mount, all the while talking to it in a soft, calm tone. She did not seem to be concerned that the front hooves of the animal might catch her. Taking hold of the reins, still talking, she stared soothingly into the eyes of the beast. Amazingly, the animal began to settle and then she reached forward, gently rubbing its nose. Once it was truly calm, Fidelma began to move backwards, pulling it gently by the head. Using the strength of its forelegs and its back legs as a means of propelling its great body, the animal came little by little out of the clutches of the marsh, emerging with a squelching sound as if the mud was reluctant to let go.

  Aidan moved sheepishly towards the animal, knowing enough to stay calm and also murmuring to it and stroking its muzzle. The horse stood, trembling slightly, and allowed Fidelma to hand the reins back to him.

  She returned to her own stallion, Aonbharr, and took the reins from Enda, before swinging herself back up on to the animal’s broad back. She stared around with a frustrated expression.

  ‘Eadulf was right. We can be sure that no ox-hauled wagon ever came along this path,’ she said. ‘You can see that this path ends a short distance further on, after which we would all be floundering in the marsh.’

  ‘It has probably been long disused,’ offered Enda. ‘Perhaps it did lead somewhere once, but marshland can change and can often swallow a whole area of firm land in its maw. It is easy to make a mistake.’

  Fidelma did not even smile at Enda’s feeble attempt to offer support to his comrade. In fact, she was chastising herself for not observing the path that Aidan had led them on more carefully. She had been concentrating so hard on running over the facts as she knew them, that for a while she had been blind to her surroundings. Now she was angry with herself and this caused her to be angry at those she had counted on to play their part.

  ‘Marshland does not swallow a track in a couple of days! No one has been down this path in years, let alone a few days ago. We simply chose the wrong path and that is all there is to it. So now we must turn round and as carefully as we can go back to the main highway and search out the right path!’

  She swung Aonbharr around, almost on the stallion’s hind legs, and began to trot angrily back the way they had come. Eadulf followed after seeing Aidan remount and exchanging a slightly sour grimace with Enda.

  The sun was well beyond its zenith when they returned to the Slíge Dála and to the very pool from which they had set out.

  Aidan was still clearly upset about what had happened. ‘The trouble with those roads across the marshes, they all look alike. You never know where they will lead,’ he muttered to Eadulf.

  ‘We’ll try further along the road,’ Fidelma instructed. ‘There must be another small track from which she came and joined Baodain’s group.’

  Enda coughed nervously. ‘We ought to rest and water the horses again before proceeding, lady.’

  They had been on the road since first light and were now fairly exhausted. Fidelma wanted to move on as quickly as possible and was about to argue about the lost time. However, as an experienced horsewoman, she knew that the animals in her care should be treated with all due attention. While the mounts were being watered and fed by Aidan and Enda, she sat down on a rock by the pool and stared into it moodily.

  Eadulf sat down beside her. ‘It’s not Aidan’s fault that we wasted time following the wrong way,’ he said gently.

  Fidelma sniffed. ‘Did I say that I blamed him?’

  ‘Not exactly, but you made it clear that you did not appreciate his mistake.’

  ‘He was so certain that the path was the right one. Apart from the fact that it became too narrow to take a wagon, he should have observed whether there were any tracks in the mud.’

  ‘I should have spoken up earlier. It was as much my fault,’ Eadulf said. He glanced over to where Aidan was washing his horse down with the clean waters from the pool. ‘I’d say that he was contrite enough.’

  Fidelma’s irritation merely increased because she was still inwardly blaming herself for a lack of attention. ‘We have lost the greater part of the day when we can ill afford it,’ she muttered. ‘And who knows where the next track will lead, if anywhere? It might prove to be another dead end.’