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heads covered in cowls so that we could not tell age or even sex. There were no children with them; any babies, that is.’
    Fidelma examined him with a frown.
    ‘What makes you qualify your statement?’
    The man hesitated and shrugged.
    ‘I thought one of them might have been a child, a short, almost misshapen poor soul.’
    Fidelma raised an eyebrow. ‘A misshapen child?’ Her voice was sharp.
    The warrior shrugged as he considered how best to describe what he had seen.
    The pilgrim was not what I would call a child. The figure was quite stocky. And about so high…’ He was a tall man and raised a hand to the level of his waistband.
    Capa was looking on with disapproval. ‘You did not check the identities of these travellers, I gather? You surely know that we are looking for the misshapen child who brought the message to Cashel? You should have stopped this pilgrim.’
    The man looked unhappy. ‘I was not told about a misshapen child, Capa, only about the baby, Alchú. That is all. Anyway, when we went closer to the pilgrims to question them, this small figure produced a bell - a leper’s bell - and rang it. I noticed the other pilgrims tended to keep their distance. Therefore we did not venture nearer but let them pass on to Imleach.’
    Fidelma exhaled slowly. It was her only sign of exasperation. The warrior turned to her with an expression that was almost woeful.
    ‘Truly, lady,’ he said, speaking directly to her, ‘we were not told to search for a misshapen child - only for a baby.’
    Capa looked irritable. ‘Who gave you your orders, warrior?’
    ‘Why, my lord Finguine did so.’
    ‘Well, now you know, although I fear it is too late,’ Capa replied. ‘A misshapen child brought the message to Cashel that lured Sárait to her death. Keep a careful watch from now on.’
    The warrior nodded glumly.
    Low down behind the distant western mountains came a rumble of thunder. Fidelma stirred reluctantly.
    ‘We should press on to the Well of Ara before the storm breaks.’ Capa turned and led the way across the bridge with Fidelma and Eadulf following and their escort of Caol and Gorman bringing up the rear.
    The warrior on the bridge watched their going with a glum face. Then he seemed to relax and pulled himself up with a disdainful gesture of his shoulders. Capa was mad if he expected the men to start searching passing lepers too closely.
    The rain was just starting to fall in heavy droplets and the rumble of thunder was growing more prevalent as, some kilometres further on, the party came to a small rise beyond which the road dipped towards another substantial river. On both banks of this river, and connected by a series of easily fordable shallows, lay the settlement of Ara’s Well. In fact, the waters barely came up to the fetlocks of the horses as they splashed through the crossing and halted before a tavern situated exactly by the ford.
    A youth, scarcely out of his boyhood, certainly no more than fourteen, opened the door of the inn and came forward to greet them.
    ‘Welcome, travellers. You are welcome to…’
    His eyes suddenly fell on Fidelma and then on Eadulf and a broad urchin grin lit up his features.
    ‘Greetings to you, Adag.’ Fidelma smiled as she swung down from her horse. ‘Are you well?’
    ‘Well, indeed, lady. Welcome. Brother Eadulf, welcome. You are both most welcome.’
    Eadulf smiled and ruffled the boy’s already tousled hair.
    ‘Good to see you again, Adag. You have grown since I last laid eyes on you.’
    The boy drew himself up. He looked different from the small eleven-year-old whom Eadulf had first seen sitting by the river bank, casting his line into the waters and trying to lift the wild brown trout for the pot.
    ‘How is your grandfather, Adag?’ asked Fidelma, as the boy took her horse’s reins. The boy paused before he turned to gather the reins of the other mounts.
    ‘He is inside, lady. He will be happy to see you. I will take your horses to the stable