Fergus looked shocked. ‘You know that?’
‘She told me. Go on. What was your response?’
‘The response of any man who loves a woman,’ he replied vehemently. ‘I said that it was of no consequence to me. I loved her still and wanted her to be my wife.’
‘In spite of what she had been made to suffer?’
‘In spite of it and because of it. It was not her fault. She told me that she was on her way to Laigin. She had wanted to escape from Ultán for a long time. She had come on this trip with Ultán only as a means of finding the right opportunity. She was afraid that even with Ultán dead, Brother Drón, who was Ultán’s friend and the heir apparent to the abbacy, would force her to go back to Cill Ria.’
Fidelma had not realised that Drón would be the successor to Ultán, but she supposed it made sense. The heads of the abbeys and religious houses of Éireann were elected in the same way as the clan chiefs, nobles and kings: by the derbhfine. In the case of the abbeys and monastic houses, the derbhfine consisted of the familia or the religious.
‘So why did you prevent her going to Laigin? Why bring her back? It seems illogical behaviour if you were concerned for her welfare.’
Fergus Fanat was silent for a moment. ‘Not so illogical. I understood why she wanted to escape from Brother Drón and Cill Ria and she had seized the first opportunity. But I realised that it would do her no good in the long run.’
Fidelma put her head on one side thoughtfully. ‘Why not?’
The young warrior smiled without humour. ‘I do not need to tell you that.’
‘I think you do. Whatever I know or can guess, I need you to tell me what thoughts are in your mind.’
‘As I say, it is obvious. Ultán is murdered. Marga hated him and had every reason to hate him. She takes Ultán’s own horse and flees from Cashel. It takes no great leap of the imagination to guess what people would think. They would believe that she was the killer and she would soon be overtaken and tried for his murder.’
‘Two questions then,’ Fidelma rejoined. ‘First, how did you know it was Ultán’s horse she was riding?’
Fergus Fanat smiled briefly. ‘Simple enough. She told me.’
‘Second, why would you think that once it was known that Marga had fled from Cashel a hue and cry would be raised and she would be soon overtaken and the murder of Ultán laid at her feet?’
‘Because. .’ began Fergus Fanat confidently, and then he paused, staring at her.
‘Exactly,’ murmured Fidelma. ‘So far as you would have known at the time you met her in the forest, Muirchertach was still alive and Muirchertach was the person charged with the murder of Ultán. Even though you knew I was defending him, there was no reason to think that Marga was under any suspicion.’
Fergus met her penetrating blue-green eyes with his black defiant ones.
‘You were trying to be protective?’ she suggested, when he failed to reply.
‘Of course I was.’
‘But only because you believed that she had killed Abbot Ultán. You believed that Marga had killed Ultán and that she was probably justified. But you feared that if she continued her flight to Laigin, then I — who did not believe Muirchertach Nár was guilty — would immediately be suspicious about her; that I would raise that hue and cry. That is why you persuaded her to come back to Cashel.’
Fergus thrust out his jaw pugnaciously.
‘She had every right to kill that swine,’ he said stubbornly. ‘She is a poor frightened girl, trying desperately to survive. That beast has made her change from a beautiful, intelligent young woman into someone who can only act out of instinct and who thinks the entire world is against her.’
‘Does she know that you believe she killed Ultán? When I spoke to her before she disappeared this time, she thought that you supported her.’
‘I would have done so,’ Fergus said, suddenly avoiding her eyes.
‘Even though you believe she killed Ultán? What makes you so certain that she killed him?’
Fergus Fanat raised a hand slowly to his bandaged skull. ‘Because on the night that Ultán was killed, I was passing along the corridor and saw Marga entering his chamber. .’
‘When was this?’ pressed Fidelma quickly.
‘Close to midnight, I suppose.’
‘Think carefully, man,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘Describe the scene. Where were you?’
‘I didn’t see her face,’ he admitted. ‘I was coming up the corridor which faces Ultán’s door. In fact, Brother Drón had just come out of his chamber a little way in front of me just as Marga came out of Ultán’s chamber. .’
‘How did you know it was Ultán’s chamber?’
‘It was pointed out to me earlier. All the representatives of Ulaidh were placed in apartments close together.’
‘Go on. Did Brother Drón say anything to you?’
‘He did not see me. He was too busy looking at Marga and then he went back into his room. Marga did not glance in our direction but went directly along the other corridor. I went on to my own chamber which was close by that of Brother Drón.’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘So you saw her leaving Ultán’s chamber. I still do not understand what makes you so sure it was Marga who killed him.’
Fergus Fanat stared at her for a few moments and then shrugged with a sad expression.
‘I am sure because. . Marga tried to kill me,’ he said simply.
The rain was cold and blustery but very fine as the group of horsemen approached the Lake of Pigs on their way to cross the river Siúr. It was a small lake standing just south of the Ford of the Ass which Eadulf knew well. Gormán, however, insisted that due south from this little lake was a shallow crossing which could be negotiated over the broad river and that would be a shorter route into the great glen which was their destination.
All four men had heavy woollen cloaks to protect them against the fine but penetrating rain. The route lay over the plains where there were numerous little homesteads and prosperous farming lands.
Gormán was leading the way confidently and setting a good pace. Eadulf came next and behind him the two Saxon brothers, Pecanum and Naovan.
‘We should be at Ardane just after nightfall,’ called Gormán. He pointed one hand to the sky. ‘The clouds are breaking up in the west. The rain will cease soon. We can let the horses water at the lake.’
By the time they reached the Lake of Pigs, as Gormán had foretold, the rain had stopped and a pale winter sun had even appeared between the drifting, dark clouds. But it was not warm enough to remove their heavy cloaks, and Gormán suggested they have a swallow of corma to keep out the chills.
The lake lay surrounded by oaks and yews that seemed to vie with one another for predominance.
They had let the horses water themselves, though not too much, and having taken their drink of fiery spirit were about to mount up when Eadulf saw a movement among the trees at the far end of the lake.
‘Another traveller,’ he observed to Gormán, nodding in the direction of the movement, as he mounted his horse.
Gormán, already seated in the saddle, squinted in the direction Eadulf had indicated. There was a glimpse of a rider moving swiftly through the trees.
‘A religious,’ Gormán observed. ‘In a hurry. . a female at that.’
The thought struck Eadulf immediately. Could it be Sister Marga? She had disappeared from Cashel before midnight. But she had been on foot, not on horseback — and had she had a horse she would have surely been able to travel farther than this? Nevertheless, some instinct pricked his curiosity.
‘Can we catch up with her? It may be the missing woman from Cill Ria.’
‘Keep straight on this path with the others, for this is the path she will join further along,’ replied Gormán, pointing. ‘I think I may be able to halt her long enough for you to catch up with her.’ The young warrior turned, nudged his horse forward into the shallows of the lake and swam it across.