‘So you went on board to row?’ The hope that rose in Eadulf was quickly dashed.
‘As we were speaking,’ went on Echna, ‘my son, Enán, who had been disturbed, came behind me and heard the last part of the conversation. He said to me: “Your place is with my mother. I will row their craft. Cabragh is only a short distance.”’
‘Then why is your wife so fearful?’ Gormán demanded. ‘Has he not returned?’
‘The man said that we must tell no one about the boat, neither of its passing nor its passengers. If we did as he bade us, then all would be well. The implication if we did not was that we would suffer.’
‘He threatened you?’
‘I took it as a threat.’
‘But your son went with them?’
‘There was no option. They were armed, from what I saw. And that is why my wife fears telling you about it.’
Eadulf looked kindly at the boatman. ‘We will not reveal that we have heard anything of this matter from you. However, these people have abducted the sister of the King. That is why we pursue them.’
A shocked expression came over the features of the ferryman.
‘Then G-God grant you success,’ he stammered. ‘You should have told me at once. If Fidelma of Cashel was a prisoner in that boat, and I allowed my son to aid the abductors, then there is great shame on me.’
‘You did not know and, if so, what could you have done?’ replied Eadulf. ‘Can you tell us any more about the man to whom you spoke? Was there anything about him that might distinguish him? Was he round or tall? What manner of man was he?’
Echna reflected for a moment. ‘He stood with his back to the lantern which, as I have said, was showing only a poor light as the oil was low. He was in the shadows, so I could scarcely tell what his manner of dress was.’
‘Then what manner of speech did he use?’ Gormán interposed. ‘Was it local or could you place where he came from?’
The question would never have occurred to Eadulf for, as a stranger, he could barely make out differences between the accents of the Five Kingdoms. He gave an appreciative nod at Gormán.
‘He was definitely a man from the south-east,’ the ferryman replied immediately. ‘I would say he spoke like a man of Osraige.’
Eadulf exchanged a meaningful glance with Gormán.
‘This river is navigable into Osraige, isn’t it?’
‘The Osraige claim their land starts on the east bank of the Suir, where it runs through Durlus Éile. But the Éile claim they dwell on both banks at that point. The border agreed by the Brehons years ago was that both banks were the land of the Éile. Nonetheless, the territory of Osraige is very close to the river.’
Eadulf suddenly found himself thinking of their original quarry, Biasta. Perhaps the matter of abduction was a coincidence — but what if it was not?
‘From Durlus Éile, would you have to travel far on horseback to the north-west through the mountains to Biorra or Tír Dhá Ghlás?’ he asked.
‘That would be a long, tough journey,’ replied the ferryman. ‘Are you saying that these people might abandon the boat at Durlus and proceed in that direction?’
‘It would be very difficult, especially if one had unwilling companions to transport,’ Gormán pointed out to Eadulf.
‘But it might be accomplished?’ he pressed.
‘Anything might be accomplished with determination,’ said the ferryman.
Eadulf sighed softly. It really did not help him form any idea of their quarry’s intentions. That the river they were following went north to the capital of the Éile was the only real information they had. They would just have to carry on.
Eadulf stood up and addressed the ferryman. ‘The information you have given us is of great help, Echna. Be circumspect with what you tell others, but if a warrior from Cashel named Enda comes by, then be sure to tell him what you have told us.’
‘I understand, Brother Eadulf. You can rely on me. And, if you are able, take care of my son, Enán. I will offer a prayer for your safety and for the safe return of the Lady Fidelma.’
It was only a short distance north of the ferry that the course of the river turned almost as a right-angle and headed eastward.
‘Do you believe that the abductors would have told the truth about going to this place called Cabragh?’ Eadulf asked Gormán, breaking the silence that had fallen between them since they left Echna and his ferry. They were now heading east along the riverbank and passed an islet in the middle of the water. Other than wildlife, there was no sign of movement there and nowhere that anyone with a boat could hide themselves.
‘If they were confident that they would not be pursued, they might have told the truth. But I doubt they would be so open about their intentions. I am fearful for the young man they took as the replacement rower. When he has outrun his usefulness …’ Gormán raised a shoulder and let it fall. ‘Once in the boat they could coerce him to row as long as they wanted. A weapon pointed at one’s throat is a strong inducement.’
Further on, they had to ford a smaller river that fed the Suir from the south, and to do so they had to move south for some distance before finding a suitable place to cross it. To the east the ground started to rise slightly and they could see some distant hills. They turned north again to find the bank of the Suir and once more follow its course.
Gormán raised his hand and indicated a stretch of low flat country before them. ‘This is called Cabragh, the Poor Land.’
Eadulf halted and carefully examined it. It was the same on both sides of the river; low-lying and stretching flat in both directions. There was a bleakness about it that caused him to realise that it was descriptively named. A poor land, indeed. It was thick with gorse and bracken and, from what he could see, the earth was very soft, almost bog-like, land. He presumed it would be liable to flood and that must be why he could see no habitation anywhere.
‘It’s a desolate place,’ he said. ‘I thought that the highway we were originally following must have crossed this place, yet I see no sign of it.’
‘Remember we decided to follow the river when we left the highway,’ Gormán reminded him. ‘The road swings more to the north-east and it joins another highway leading over a bridge that will take us into Durlus Éile itself. But that is some way further along this valley ahead.’
Eadulf glanced round. The land here was uninviting and gloomy. There would be no place to hide a man, let alone a boat. It appeared the abductors had lied to the ferryman that their destination was Cabragh. They could only have been heading for Durlus Éile, after all.
The sun was now high in the sky. It was a warm day for the time of year. The broad River Suir was reflecting the blue of the sky except where little white ripples and eddies indicated the current gushing around stony parts of its bank and across the riverbed.
‘We’ll have to stop and let the horses drink soon,’ Gormán said. ‘And it would be no harm to have some refreshment ourselves.’
Eadulf nodded half-heartedly. He would have preferred to press on. However, they chose a little inlet along the riverbank, which was sheltered by gorse bushes, and dismounted. Gormán led all three horses to the edge of the bank and allowed them to drink. Then he secured them by their reins to the roots of the nearby bushes. Eadulf had taken some dried bread and cheese from his saddle-bag and divided it between the warrior and himself. A small earthenware pot served to scoop up some of the brackish water from the river.
As they ate their frugal meal, Gormán remarked, ‘Aonbharr is still nervous.’ Aonbharr, Fidelma’s favourite horse, which they had been leading, had been skittish all morning. ‘He knows something is wrong with his mistress.’
Eadulf was certainly no horseman and did not have any knowledge of equine behaviour. He glanced at the animal. It was true that the ears seemed laid back and the eyes were rolling a little as it moved its head this way and that, nostrils flaring as if trying to pick up some scent.