‘Why so, lady?’ demanded Aidan. ‘Does not the Prince of Osraige pay tribute to Cashel?’

  ‘We might receive more cooperation when we ask questions,’ explained Fidelma, conscious of the need for diplomacy.

  Aidan and Enda reluctantly removed their golden torcs, the symbols of the Nasc Niadh, the élite Bodyguard to the King of Muman.

  ‘Our presence ought to be greeted with respect,’ Enda muttered, irritably.

  ‘So it should,’ Fidelma consoled him, removing her own emblem. ‘However, reality is sometimes not what it should be. Our purpose is to obtain information and we must consider the best way to succeed in getting it. There is no need to remind you that there has been much hostility in Osraige towards Cashel.’

  ‘At least we should not conceal that we are warriors, surely?’ asked Aidan.

  She was amused at his words. ‘There is no way of concealing that with you two,’ she replied mischievously. ‘The only thing I ask is that we should not be too overt about our roles and rank. Often people without rank respond better when they are not confronted by authority. We should be discreet.’

  So they had hidden their emblems in their saddlebags and continued down the gently sloping hill into the township.

  ‘So where do we start, lady?’ Enda wanted to know.

  ‘We’ll start by finding food and shelter for the night as it will be dusk soon,’ she answered.

  Along the banks of the broad river, An Fheoir, there were a number of wooden quays where boats loaded and unloaded goods. Alongside these stood a line of wagons, ready to deliver goods or transport them to various destinations. Of the two vessels presently at the quays, one surprised Fidelma, for it was a large ler-longa, a seagoing ship which could only navigate the river as far as this point. Most seagoing vessels anchored at the southern exit of the river, where it joined the rivers Siur and Barú in the deeper waters around Port Láirge. Such ships usually unloaded there so the goods could be transferred to smaller vessels. It seemed the captain of this ship had chanced the journey up to Cill Cainnech. The other vessel was one of the serrcinu, a barge which was taking on cargo, while a smaller river vessel sailed by. Fidelma knew something about the vessels, having studied the Muir-Brethe, the ‘sea laws’, for all matters pertaining to water travel were dealt with by the law.

  What had astonished her, as she rode towards the river, was the sight of a newly built ferry landing linking the east and west banks of the river. She examined it for a moment and then made a decision. There was daylight enough to ask a few questions.

  ‘Aidan, you go along the quays and look for a suitable place where we can stay and eat. I’ll take Enda and make enquiries at the ferry quay in case the girl’s wagon used the ferry to cross from the highway on the far side.’

  With this agreed, Fidelma and Enda rode down to the quayside. It was not busy at that moment. There were a few people, obviously locals, standing around. One man was leaning on the wooden rails. He looked like a warrior, bearing sword and shield, and seemed to be gazing across the river, where Fidelma could see a squat river boat. He straightened up as Fidelma and Enda drew rein, and when Fidelma dismounted and walked over to speak with him, it seemed from his stance that he did not need any emblems to know that she was of the nobility.

  ‘Give you a good day, lady,’ the man greeted her respectfully. He was a fellow of average build with fair hair and inquisitive blue eyes. ‘If it’s the ferry you want, the last trip of the day has left and it won’t be back this side tonight. You will have to wait until morning.’

  She returned his greeting with a quick smile. ‘I am hopeful that you can help me with some information.’

  ‘It depends what the information is that you seek,’ the man said guardedly.

  ‘I wish to know about a foreign-looking wagon that might have crossed on this ferry about a week or so ago.’ She gave him a quick description.

  The warrior examined her suspiciously, and looked up at Enda, still sitting on his horse.

  ‘Why would you be interested in that?’ he countered.

  Fidelma could have answered by revealing her rank as a dálaigh, but she felt it wiser to reason with the man.

  ‘I presume it is the only ferry that crosses the river to join the highway?’

  ‘It is, lady. The ferry has been set up through the good grace of Abbot Saran and the Prince of Osraige.’

  ‘As I said, I need to find out whether this wagon arrived here within the last week or two. If there is normally someone, such as you, in attendance here then I thought you might have noticed it. It was drawn by oxen – a distinctive, foreign-looking wagon with a curved roof.’

  The warrior looked uneasy: it was clear that he recognised her description. ‘You did not tell me why you want to know about that wagon.’

  She took a chance. ‘The wagon was expected in Cashel some time ago and has not turned up yet.’

  ‘Why were you expecting this wagon in Cashel?’ the man asked.

  Enda had sat patiently and silent during the exchange and now he became irritated at the man’s intractable attitude.

  ‘Surely that is a matter for us?’ he called from his horse. ‘We only wish to know if the wagon has crossed here or arrived here.’

  Before either Fidelma or Enda had realised what the man was doing, he had a horn in his hand and had blown three shrill blasts.

  Almost immediately, two archers appeared from behind a nearby building, their bows tightly drawn and the arrows pointing their way.

  ‘What does this mean?’ Fidelma demanded, surprised by the rapid change in the situation.

  ‘It means that you are in Osraige, lady,’ replied the man they had been questioning. ‘We do not allow suspicious strangers to wander freely here.’

  Another warrior came hurrying up. He was tall, an athletically built young man with dark brown hair, handsome features and glinting hazel eyes. Fidelma judged him to be in his twenties. He was clearly someone of birth and rank, for the guard raised his hand in salute.

  ‘Strangers,’ he explained briskly. ‘They claim to be from Cashel looking for the foreign wagon.’

  ‘This is a public highway,’ Enda protested, a wary eye on the bowmen. They appeared professional enough and the arrows were perfectly aligned. ‘We have a right to ask questions.’

  ‘The highway is public,’ replied the newcomer coolly. ‘Questions are not.’

  ‘We were merely asking whether a particular wagon had crossed the river or arrived here recently, as we were concerned about it. It was on its way to Cashel,’ Fidelma explained, attempting reason.

  ‘The particular wagon was the foreign-looking one, drawn by a team of oxen and driven by the man and girl,’ the guard added.

  ‘Is that so? And you were expecting it in Cashel, were you?’ The man, who was clearly the commander of the warriors, scrutinised Fidelma carefully.

  ‘I don’t know why this should be of interest to you,’ Fidelma said.

  ‘For the time being, that is for us to know and for you to answer my questions,’ the man replied. ‘Who are you? And why are you enquiring about this wagon?’ He suddenly whirled round towards Enda. ‘I would remove your hand from your sword hilt, warrior. My bowmen are of a nervous disposition and any threats might cause them to lose their hold on their arrows.’

  Enda had sense enough to know when he was not being bluffed. He removed his hand from his weapon.

  ‘Now dismount, and make no attempt to drop your hands near your weapons just in case my men misunderstand your intention.’

  With a sigh, Enda did as he was told. ‘To whom am I making my surrender?’ he demanded, as one of the warriors came forward to take his weapons.

  The young man smiled thinly. ‘For the moment, I am the cenn-feadh of the guard of this town in the service of the Abbot, who also speaks for the Prince of Osraige.’

  The rank indicated that he was the commander of one hundred warriors.

  ‘Now,’ he turned back to Fidelma, ‘you were about to tell me who you are and why were you expecting that wagon in Cashel?’

  Fidelma shrugged. ‘It is a long story. In the meantime, let me inform you that I am Fidelma of Cashel, sister to Colgú, King of Muman. You should also know that I am a dálaigh and I have a right to ask questions. My companion is of the King’s Bodyguard.’

  A flicker of surprise showed momentarily in the eyes of the commander of the warriors. ‘In Osraige, lady, we tend to do things according to our own lights. Here, we do not accept what people tell us just because they wear fine clothes and speak in a haughty manner. And if your companion is of the Nasc Niadh, then I would expect him to be trained to a better standard than he has shown, allowing you to be surrounded by hostile warriors.’

  Enda made an inarticulate sound which did not express happiness.

  Fidelma eyed the young man coldly. ‘In Osraige, where the Prince Tuaim Snámh has sworn fealty to my brother, the King of Cashel, we did not expect to find hostile warriors,’ she replied distantly.

  ‘Well said, lady,’ replied the man, grinning. ‘These are strange times and there is much danger lurking in the most unlikely places. So we must be vigilant and not accept a person’s word without proof. Oh, and I presume that it is another of your bodyguards who was wandering the quayside taverns also looking for information concerning this foreign wagon you have asked about?’

  Fidelma caught her breath and Enda swore.

  Once more their captor chuckled. ‘He claims his name is Aidan and he purports to be temporary commander of the King of Muman’s Bodyguard. I am wondering how temporary his command will be? Warriors should have brains, as well as brawn.’

  ‘He has not been harmed?’ Fidelma demanded anxiously.

  ‘Why would we harm a man wandering along the quayside and asking questions?’

  ‘Why would you object to such questions being asked, anyway?’ Fidelma replied.

  ‘As I say, for the moment, it is our business. However, now you must come with me. I will provide some accommodation for you and your companions and, I trust, it will only be temporary until I have made further arrangements.’

  The warriors hemmed them in and one of them took charge of their horses and their weapons. Led by their commander, they walked through the township, along streets where people paused in their business to regard them with curiosity. In the centre of the town was a strong wooden building which Fidelma quickly recognised as the Laochtech or warrior’s barracks. Once inside, a warrior came forward and ran his hands over their limbs in a quick professional search for any weapon they might have hidden.

  Without a further word, they were taken directly to another solid wooden door to one side of the building. The tiny aperture in the centre seemed to serve as ventilation rather than light. The door itself was securely fastened, both with a lock and a wooden bar. One of the warriors removed the bar and turned the key in the lock.

  ‘Inside!’ instructed their captor.

  Reluctantly, they allowed themselves to be pushed into the darkness. The door was slammed shut and bolted behind them.

  A figure emerged from the gloom of a corner. ‘I am sorry, lady,’ came Aidan’s miserable tones. ‘I was captured before I knew it. I had no warning.’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself,’ Fidelma replied resignedly. ‘We were taken in the same manner. But the question now is – why? Why this hostility as soon as we mentioned the girl’s wagon?’

  * * *

  The banging on the farmhouse door thundered again.

  ‘How many are there?’ whispered Eadulf, as he drew on his clothes.

  ‘I heard horses and looked out of the window. I saw only two riders entering the yard,’ replied the girl in the same hushed tone.

  ‘Did they see you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Wake up, Rechtabra!’ cried the harsh voice from outside. ‘We have work to do.’

  Eadulf thought for a moment. His only course was to respond. He murmured: ‘Give me a moment to get behind the door and then open it, stand to one side and be ready.’

  ‘Ready for what?’ Ríonach’s tone was puzzled.

  ‘Anything,’ Eadulf muttered, moving swiftly and gathering Rechtabra’s knife with one hand and a heavy blackthorn stick that he had found the previous night. He positioned himself behind the door in the darkness.

  ‘What’s keeping you?’ shouted the impatient voice from outside.

  ‘Open it!’ breathed Eadulf.

  The girl bent towards the bolts at the same time, rattling them open and calling out sleepily: ‘Patience! I haven’t lit the lamp as yet.’ She then pulled the door open, yawning and standing to one side as if to invite the man in.

  ‘Where’s your husband?’ demanded the man who had been knocking, but without entering.

  Ríonach jerked her head to the adjoining room. ‘Dead to the world. He likes his corma too much.’ Even in this position Eadulf felt amused that the girl could lie so convincingly. ‘Perhaps you would do better than I can in rousing him?’

  ‘Damnation to the man,’ muttered the fellow and stepped inside. Eadulf came forward, the movement of his body closing the door a little and thus obscuring the scene from the man’s companion who was apparently still sitting on his horse awaiting his comrade. Eadulf’s left hand moved the sharp pointed knife into the man’s back.

  ‘Not a word!’ he hissed.

  The stranger stood still; the only sound he made was a long exhalation of breath. Eadulf quietly told him to move to one side, away from the door. ‘Now call to your companion to come inside and help you rouse Rechtabra. No tricks, or you are a dead man.’

  There was no hesitation. ‘Duach!’ called the man. ‘Come here and help me rouse this drunken sot!’

  Eadulf waited, hearing the voice of another man grumbling and the creak of leather as he dismounted from his horse. Then he swung his right hand back and brought the wooden cudgel down hard on the first man’s head. The fellow sank to the floor without a sound. Again Eadulf stepped back behind the door as the second man entered.

  ‘It’s dark in here. Where is—?’ the man began, but before he had finished, the blackthorn stick had rendered him as unconscious as his companion.

  Immediately, Eadulf sprang into action. ‘Check to see if they were alone,’ he said tersely to the girl. Then: ‘Have you some rope?’

  ‘I’ll need to light the lantern first. It’s in one of the cupboards.’

  ‘I’ll do it. Make sure there is no one else about, and secure the horses.’

  Eadulf knew the oil lamp had been left on the table. In the remains of the fire he found what he was looking for – a half-burned stick – lifted it carefully from the ashes and blew on the end. To his relief the grey turned into a red glow. He took it to the lamp and pressed the stick against the wick, blowing gently upon it. In a moment the lamp had ignited. He glanced at the two unconscious men then went to the cupboards. There were several lengths of fine hemp rope in the bottom of one of them.

  By this time the girl had returned.

  ‘There is no one else about,’ she reported. ‘There were three horses but no other rider. I have hitched the horses to the rail.’

  Eadulf looked worried, but the girl told him, ‘I think they brought the extra horse for Rechtabra as we do not possess one. There were no saddlebags or equipment on it and I did not see a third rider arriving anyway.’

  Reassured, Eadulf said: ‘Then bring the lamp while I secure these two.’

  He quickly removed the first man’s leather belt and the weapons he carried – a dagger and short sword. He then rolled the man on his front and secured his hands behind him, making sure the wrists were tightly bound. He noticed that each man wore the familiar plaited bracelet around their left wrists. He removed them and put them on the table, joking to the girl: ‘It seems I am making a collection of these emblems of the Fellowship of the Raven.’

  Only when the wrists of both men were bound did he secure their feet. That task accomplished, he examined their weapons and deposited them on the table before returning and making a thorough search of each man.

  Ríonach gazed fearfully at the unconscious men. ‘What are we going to do with them?’

  ‘You are going to light another lamp, so that I can see them when I talk to them. Is that bucket filled with water from the well?’

  When she nodded and bent to the task of lighting the other lamp to provide more illumination, Eadulf picked up the bucket and tossed it over the upturned faces of the two men. They began to groan and splutter, and finally came to consciousness. Their first actions were to struggle against their bonds and curse. They seemed to have a good knowledge of curses and Eadulf finally intervened.

  ‘You will find it as useless to blaspheme as it is for you to struggle,’ he assured them jauntily. ‘I was taught to tie knots by experts.’

  They stopped, suddenly realising they were not alone in the room. The first man, a dark swarthy fellow, stared at him with narrowed eyes.

  ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

  ‘I think etiquette would dictate that you identify yourselves first,’ he replied easily.

  ‘Go to the devil!’ growled the man.

  Eadulf turned to Ríonach. ‘Do you recognise either of them?’

  The girl was hesitant. ‘I have seen him talking with Rechtabra,’ she said, pointing to the first man. ‘I am not sure about the other.’

  ‘They’re not local men?’ pressed Eadulf.

  ‘I am not sure,’ she repeated.

  ‘So, Duach…’ The man Eadulf addressed by name started, not realising that Eadulf had simply picked up the name from when his companion had called out to him. ‘Tell me how you know Rechtabra.’

  ‘Say nothing!’ instructed the first man.

  ‘But he knows our names, Cellaig. How—?’

  ‘Shut up, you fool!’

  Eadulf chuckled. ‘Now, now, those of the Fellowship of the Raven should not fall out.’

  The man called Cellaig could not hide his astonishment while his companion simply groaned.

  ‘It seems there is a code of silence among the Fellowship of the Raven,’ Eadulf went on, trying to encourage them to speak. ‘However, it is not worth maintaining silence if Rechtabra has already confessed.’