on the brown pony that was tethered nearby. He glanced quickly over the beast before he did so and said, ‘The horse is unmarked as well. Nothing to tell where it came from other than the breed is popular in these parts.’
Fidelma compressed her lips in annoyance at herself. She should have considered that the horse might have carried an
identifying brand. Gormán had diplomatically reminded her of the question that she should have asked.
‘Shall we continue on this road?’ asked Eadulf uneasily, distracting her. ‘If this was an attempt to prevent us reaching Lios Mór then it might be better to choose another route.’
She remounted her horse and turned to him. ‘It is the quickest route and, as I said, we want to be at the abbey before nightfall. The road swings to our left towards the Gallagh, the river that passes through the glen of stones. You may remember it. We shall follow it through the glen. At the head of the glen is the little chapel of Domnoc where we can rest the horses and refresh ourselves at the hostel before starting the climb through the mountains. We will follow the track up Cnoc Mhaol Domnaigh. It will not take us long to reach Lios Mór once we are through the mountains.’
Eadulf remounted and glanced at Gormán. ‘Can you manage leading that pony?’ he asked, indicating the dead man’s mount.
‘I can,’ the young warrior answered cheerfully. He knew well that Eadulf was not a good horseman and when it came to climbing through the mountains he felt he would be better able to handle their newly acquired pony.
‘Then let us start out again,’ Fidelma called, already moving off. ‘But this time let us proceed with caution.’
They rode on with senses alert but saw no one until they reached the little chapel of Domnoc, which stood by the roadside at the head of Glen Gallagh. A thickset man was working with a hoe in the field nearby and, at the sight of them, he stopped his work and approached them with a cheery greeting. He turned out to be the brother in charge of the chapel, Brother Corbach. His cheeks were red and he had bright sky-blue eyes. He recognised Fidelma immediately from previous trips she had made along this road, acknowledged Eadulf and noted Gormán’s gold torc. With some deference, he set about offering
what hospitality he could. ‘I can provide good beds for the night, lady,’ he added but Fidelma shook her head.
‘We mean to cross the mountain and be in Lios Mór before nightfall if the weather stays fair,’ she said.
Brother Corbach glanced up at the sky. ‘It will be a fine evening.’ He paused before asking: ‘Is it because of the news from Lios Mór that you are journeying there?’
‘The news?’ asked Fidelma, curious at the man’s question.
‘Why, the news of the murder of Brother Donnchad,’ replied the man. ‘Travellers passing on this road have told me of it.’
‘And have there been many travellers today?’ Fidelma asked, deflecting his question.
‘Not many today. Why do you ask, lady?’
It was Gormán who pointed to the horse that he had been leading, the bow and quiver hanging from its saddle.
‘Did two men pass here, one being an archer riding this horse with those weapons on him?’
Brother Corbach looked puzzled but examined the horse and weapons more closely. Then his eyes widened and he nodded slowly.
‘Two men passed early this morning and halted only for some water. What happened to the archer who rode that steed?’
‘I killed him,’ replied Gormán quietly.
The religieux looked shocked. ‘That is not a good jest, my friend.’
‘It is not meant as one,’ Fidelma intervened solemnly. ‘The man and his companion tried to ambush us. My companion here killed one assailant and chased the other away. Did you know either of them? Had you seen them before?’
The man shook his head slowly. ‘Both men were strangers to me. They came over the mountain from the south.’
‘And their speech? Could you tell where
Fidelma compressed her lips in annoyance at herself. She should have considered that the horse might have carried an
identifying brand. Gormán had diplomatically reminded her of the question that she should have asked.
‘Shall we continue on this road?’ asked Eadulf uneasily, distracting her. ‘If this was an attempt to prevent us reaching Lios Mór then it might be better to choose another route.’
She remounted her horse and turned to him. ‘It is the quickest route and, as I said, we want to be at the abbey before nightfall. The road swings to our left towards the Gallagh, the river that passes through the glen of stones. You may remember it. We shall follow it through the glen. At the head of the glen is the little chapel of Domnoc where we can rest the horses and refresh ourselves at the hostel before starting the climb through the mountains. We will follow the track up Cnoc Mhaol Domnaigh. It will not take us long to reach Lios Mór once we are through the mountains.’
Eadulf remounted and glanced at Gormán. ‘Can you manage leading that pony?’ he asked, indicating the dead man’s mount.
‘I can,’ the young warrior answered cheerfully. He knew well that Eadulf was not a good horseman and when it came to climbing through the mountains he felt he would be better able to handle their newly acquired pony.
‘Then let us start out again,’ Fidelma called, already moving off. ‘But this time let us proceed with caution.’
They rode on with senses alert but saw no one until they reached the little chapel of Domnoc, which stood by the roadside at the head of Glen Gallagh. A thickset man was working with a hoe in the field nearby and, at the sight of them, he stopped his work and approached them with a cheery greeting. He turned out to be the brother in charge of the chapel, Brother Corbach. His cheeks were red and he had bright sky-blue eyes. He recognised Fidelma immediately from previous trips she had made along this road, acknowledged Eadulf and noted Gormán’s gold torc. With some deference, he set about offering
what hospitality he could. ‘I can provide good beds for the night, lady,’ he added but Fidelma shook her head.
‘We mean to cross the mountain and be in Lios Mór before nightfall if the weather stays fair,’ she said.
Brother Corbach glanced up at the sky. ‘It will be a fine evening.’ He paused before asking: ‘Is it because of the news from Lios Mór that you are journeying there?’
‘The news?’ asked Fidelma, curious at the man’s question.
‘Why, the news of the murder of Brother Donnchad,’ replied the man. ‘Travellers passing on this road have told me of it.’
‘And have there been many travellers today?’ Fidelma asked, deflecting his question.
‘Not many today. Why do you ask, lady?’
It was Gormán who pointed to the horse that he had been leading, the bow and quiver hanging from its saddle.
‘Did two men pass here, one being an archer riding this horse with those weapons on him?’
Brother Corbach looked puzzled but examined the horse and weapons more closely. Then his eyes widened and he nodded slowly.
‘Two men passed early this morning and halted only for some water. What happened to the archer who rode that steed?’
‘I killed him,’ replied Gormán quietly.
The religieux looked shocked. ‘That is not a good jest, my friend.’
‘It is not meant as one,’ Fidelma intervened solemnly. ‘The man and his companion tried to ambush us. My companion here killed one assailant and chased the other away. Did you know either of them? Had you seen them before?’
The man shook his head slowly. ‘Both men were strangers to me. They came over the mountain from the south.’
‘And their speech? Could you tell where
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