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watcher at the ford,’ corrected Fidelma, with a smile at the young warrior’s nervous features. ‘The demented one was as human as you or I, Gormán.’
    The young warrior grimaced. ‘I fear no human, lady. That you know. But …’ He shrugged.
    ‘Well, I would like to know what all that meant – the cauldron, sword and spear,’ interrupted Eadulf. ‘I have never heard the like.’
    Fidelma turned to him with a soft smile. ‘It is the ancient tales, Eadulf. It was said that in the time before Time, the ancient gods and goddesses of Éireann, who were known as the Children of Danú, the Mother Goddess, came from four great mystic cities. They came to this island bringing with them their greatest treasures, one from each of their lost cities. From Falias they brought with them a sacred stone which was called the Lia Fáil, or the stone of destiny; from Gorias they brought with them a mighty sword called “Retaliator”; from Urias they brought with them the “Red Javelin” which, once cast, would seek out its enemies no matter where they hid; and from Murias, they brought a great cauldron – the Cauldron of Plenty – from which no one went away hungry. Those were the great treasures and symbols of the Old Faith.’
    She did not mention the old woman’s reference to the Wheel of Destiny, the Roth Fáil, for it was the only thing that worried her by the coincidence of the reference after what Brother Conchobhar had told her.
    Caol suddenly broke cover along the bank and came riding back, looking crestfallen.
    ‘I lost her,’ he confessed. ‘Either that old woman knows these woods really well, or … or she has the ability to vanish.’
    Fidelma chuckled. ‘She doubtless knows the secret paths, my friend, but I doubt if she has learned the art of vanishing. Well, a fascinating encounter, Caol, but we cannot delay. We are but a short distance from Tara.’
    Eadulf looked around anxiously. ‘Shouldn’t we take what the old one said more seriously? She did after all threaten us.’
    ‘A threat from someone clearly demented …’ began Fidelma.
    ‘Is still a threat,’ interrupted Eadulf.
    Caol was also looking gloomy. ‘Eadulf is right, lady. We should be on our guard.’
    ‘I would hope that is exactly what you are about, you and Gormán,’ Fidelma said airily. ‘As bodyguards and my brother’s elite warriors, you should always be attentive to danger. Come, let’s not delay further.’

CHAPTER FOUR

    W hen their presence at the gates of the royal enclosure was announced, it was Abbot Colmán, the spiritual adviser to the Airlechas or Great Assembly of the High King, who emerged to greet them. He was a thickset, ruddy-faced man in his late fifties. As Fidelma dismounted from her horse, he came forward with both hands outstretched, as if greeting an old friend, but behind his welcoming smile, his features wore an expression of anxiety.
    ‘Sister Fidelma! It is always good to see you here at Tara. But alas, it is sad that such tragedy brings you hither again.’
    He gripped her hands warmly and she returned the greeting with the same warmth. It had been some time since their last meeting, when Fidelma had won the respect of the abbot by her abilities, firstly in solving the riddle of the theft of the High King’s ceremonial sword, and next by discovering the truth that lay behind a haunted tomb in the graveyard of the High Kings. 3
    ‘You are looking well, Colmán, and I swear that the passing years have not changed you,’ she complimented him.
    Colmán assumed a solemn countenance. ‘Vanitas vanitatum, omnia vanitas ,’ he quoted piously. ‘I would like to think so, but alas, my reflection calls me vain if I do.’ Then he turned to greet Eadulf. ‘You are welcome here, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. We have heard much about you, Brother Saxon. The tales of your deeds with our dear Sister Fidelma are told by the storytellers around many a hearth during these dark winter months.’ Then Colmán