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they came from by their tones of speech?’

    Brother Corbach reflected a moment or two. ‘I would say that the one who rode this horse might have been of the Uí Liatháin. The other man, who had strange, white hair, could have been a foreigner.’
    Gormán frowned. ‘Uí Liatháin? They are always causing trouble,’ he muttered softly.
    The clans of the Uí Liatháin dwelt to the south, beyond the river An Tuairigh. They claimed to be Eóghanacht but not of the line of Corc who had founded the royal dynasty at Cashel. Instead, they claimed that an ancestor called Bressal had been King of Muman. It was a claim that the genealogists of Eóghanacht of Cashel did not recognise. They were also boastful that the daughter of their chieftain, Tasach, had been wife to Laoghaire, who had been High King when Pádraig had arrived. It was said that she had converted to the new Faith and ensured her son, Lugaidh, was raised as the first Christian High King.
    ‘What made you think the other was a foreigner?’ asked Fidelma.
    ‘He never spoke but his appearance was strange.’
    ‘And did they say anything to you when they stopped for water?’ pressed Fidelma.
    ‘Simply to ask if there had been any travellers on the road, but that is a question everyone asks, just as you have.’
    Fidelma noticed the religieux hesitate. ‘You have remembered something else?’
    ‘It is just that I recall that they were specific. They wanted to know if there were any travellers going south from Cashel.’
    ‘South to Lios Mór?’ Gormán pressed, with a meaningful glance at Fidelma.
    ‘If you go south from here, then any traveller would come to Lios Mór,’ Brother Corbach pointed out pedantically.
    ‘That is true, Brother,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘And now we shall
avail ourselves of your hospitality, although we must be brief for we must continue our journey soon. Can you fodder our horses as well?’
    ‘That I can, lady. Perhaps I may have some help … ?’ He glanced from Gormán to Eadulf.
    ‘I will help you with the horses,’ Gormán offered.
    A short time later they were all seated round the table in Brother Corbach’s little bruden , or hostel for travellers, eating cold meats, cheeses and bread, washed down with local ale.
    ‘So,’ Fidelma said, after a while, ‘what have the travellers been saying about the death of Brother Donnchad? You mentioned that you have heard news of his murder from them.’
    Brother Corbach’s features assumed a worried expression. ‘Most were shocked by the news. Brother Donnchad was a venerated scholar who had recently travelled to the Holy Land in the east.’
    ‘And did anyone have an opinion about his death?’ asked Eadulf.
    ‘They say that Brother Donnchad was found stabbed to death in his cell, but the door was locked from the inside. They speak of some supernatural vengeance.’
    Fidelma could not refrain from a cynical sniff.
    ‘What sort of supernatural vengeance?’ Eadulf queried quickly.
    Brother Corbach shrugged. ‘I merely relate what the travellers say. They ask how the blessed man could be slain in this fashion. How could he be killed while the perpetrator could pass through stone walls as though they did not exist?’
    ‘Usually one finds that the perpetrator in fact passed through the door or the window,’ Fidelma replied firmly. ‘I have never come across a murder committed by a wraith or any other spirit.’

    The hostel keeper frowned glumly. ‘Of course, lady. I merely echo what travellers say.’
    The conversation turned to other local gossip, mainly on the current condition of the roadway over the mountain, for each section of road, by law, had to be maintained in good order by the local chief or noble responsible for the land through which it passed.
    A short time later, the three were testing the conditions themselves. The roadway was now no more than a well-kept track, over the broad shoulder of Cnoc Mhaol Domhnaigh. The track led through a small gap in the