The young man then returned to his cooking. He bent over his fish again and began to put the cooked fish on to wooden platters that he had produced.
‘I found the jug and platters here and cleaned them up as best as I could,’ he explained as he set the dishes. ‘The water is fresh and clean, for there is a little spring on the rise behind those trees. Probably that was the reason why this tavern was built here. It is such a beautiful spot. A pity it has been destroyed.’
With the fish and the mixture of herbs and fungi, he put pieces of dry bread, taken from his bag that lay nearby, on the platters. These platters he distributed, and then he also passed round an earthenware jug full of water, apologising for the fact that it did not contain ale.
‘We are grateful for your hospitality, Torna,’ Fidelma acknowledged on behalf of her companions, as they spread their cloaks around the fire. There was a contented silence as they fell to eating, hardly noticing the change from twilight to darkness.
‘Why do you seek these people?’ Torna suddenly asked, re-opening the conversation. ‘I mean this man and woman?’
‘To ask them some questions,’ replied Fidelma shortly.
Torna was interested. ‘To question them?’ he asked, inflecting the word. ‘That sounds ominous. About what?’
‘That is not your business,’ Gormán said firmly, and added with a note of pride: ‘Fidelma of Cashel is a dálaigh, an advocate of the law.’
Torna’s eyes widened. ‘Fidelma of Cashel — of course! I should have known the name. Fidelma, sister to King Colgú. I have heard you spoken of as a great lawyer, lady. When Sechnussach, the High King, was murdered in his bed, were you not asked to solve the riddle of his death?’
‘I was,’ Fidelma admitted. ‘And Eadulf and Gormán were with me.’ The last thing she wanted to talk about was her own experiences and so she decided to deflect the conversation, since it seemed clear that the young man had no information of consequence to give them. ‘But what stories have you collected on your journeys? What songs? Sing us a good song and I will commend you to my brother, so that you may earn your keep.’
‘That would be truly welcome, lady. But what songs would you like? Songs of adventure, of love, of visions, of inescapable fate or of battles? I have a whole repertoire that I can sing.’
‘Let us have something new. Let’s hear one of your own songs.’ She turned to Gormán. ‘Stoke up the fire and we will hear our young poet.’
The warrior gathered a number of branches that lay near and built up the fire as they stretched themselves around its warmth. Torna, it seemed, had chosen the spot well for his encampment, for the wind was blowing from the north-north-east, and they could see little wisps of froth on the southward-flowing river where the wind was causing tiny wavelets. But they were sheltered by the woods to the north and the buildings behind them.
As soon as they were settled, Torna cleared his throat and began his song in soft, sad cadences.
‘What greater fortune on the sea of life,
To find the girl you crave to take for wife?
This love has lit a tempestuous fire No clan rebuke can quench your hot desire.
A girl to share one’s dreams and all one’s hopes
Against a despot’s harsh, constraining ropes,
That forced you both to leave your homes behind
And cast your fortunes on the wild west wind.
The fates are blind, it seems, alas, alack
For what the sea brings in,
The ebbing tide takes back.’
There seemed a slight catch in the young man’s voice as he ended and Fidelma gazed at him thoughtfully. ‘A song of experience?’ she asked.
‘A song of bitter experience,’ he confirmed with a shrug. ‘You want something merry, not melancholy. I am sorry, lady. I was not thinking.’
‘I believe you were thinking, Torna,’ Fidelma corrected. ‘Or rather, I think that you were remembering.’
‘I did not mean to sing that song. When asked to perform there should be no place for personal recollection. It just came unbidden to my tongue.’
‘On the contrary, my friend. Where else can you express feeling than from the well of personal experience? Did she die, this girl that you loved?’
Torna hesitated for a moment. ‘She did, lady.’
Fidelma glanced to where Eadulf already lay asleep huddled on his cloak and beyond him Gormán seemed to be dozing.
‘Can you tell me about it?’ she invited.
Torna seemed to think about it for a moment or two before responding. ‘It was not so long ago. Two full moons have passed and still my grief is strong. My clan …’ He paused. ‘I will keep that to myself. My life was not privileged. I met a girl. I fell in love. It is as simple as that.’
‘But her family did not agree with you marrying her?’ interposed Fidelma. ‘You indicated as much in your song.’
‘That is right enough, lady. You see, I was of the class of the daer-fuidir.’
Fidelma raised an eyebrow in surprise. The daer-fuidir was the lowest of the social classes in all the Five Kingdoms. They were usually criminals, unable to pay fine or compensation, or sometimes they were even captives taken in battle from other lands.
Fidelma knew that a daer-fuidir, if he showed remorse and industry, had the ability to progress to the level of saer-fuidir. That meant he could be allocated land from the common wealth of the clan and be allowed to work it in order to pay off his debt to society. Some daer-fuidir could accumulate sufficient wealth and status to move forward to become a clansman, a céile, with full rights.
‘How did this come about?’
‘How did I become a daer-fuidir? I was taken captive during warfare when my clan was accused of cattle-stealing. It was a lie; an unjust accusation. The powerful chief of our territory hated my family because once we had been as powerful as his family. So he saw this as an excuse to crush us. We fought to defend our honour and I was taken captive. We were slaves in his fortress.’
‘So there was no chance of you progressing from this class?’
Torna shook his head. ‘None at all, lady. I was set to work labouring, building the fortifications for this evil despot. That was where I met … met the girl. I approached a fellow captive who had once been a Brehon. I thought I could trust him because of his oath to pursue truth and justice. I asked his advice and he told the girl’s father in return from more privileges.’ He made a helpless gesture.
‘So what did you do?’ prompted Fidelma.
‘Well, I had been working on constructing the vaults of the fortress, and I knew a way out through an underground tunnel. So we eloped in the dead of night. For a while, we were chased, yet managed to elude our pursuers.’
‘But they caught up with you?’
‘They were overtaking us when we found our route was blocked by a big river in flood. There was a storm that night.’ He swallowed, went on in a lower voice. ‘What happened was my fault. I insisted that we should attempt to cross it. I was sure that our pursuers would not find us, once we had made it to the other side. She trusted me, my soul-friend. She put her life in my hands and I failed her.’
‘What happened?’
‘I am a good swimmer. I told her to hang on to me. We were not far from the other bank when she lost her grip. I heard her cry out — then she was swept away in the swirling waters.’ His voice cracked. A moment passed before he recovered himself. ‘I made a desperate effort to find her but was nearly pulled under myself. I made it to the bank and the people there hauled me out more dead than alive. They nursed me back to health. Her body was washed up sometime later.’