‘Could we trust the smith?’ asked Eadulf.
‘Only one way to find out.’
Gormán led the way along the short track and halted before the forge. The fire seemed to be dying and the anvil stood silent and unused. But at their call a thin, wiry man with a shock of fair hair emerged from the gloom of the building beyond. He wore the leather apron over his shirtless torso which denoted his profession. His pale eyes glanced over their horses, doubtless assessing the quality of them, before focusing on Gormán. They rested for a moment on his golden torque and warrior’s apparel.
‘How may I serve you, lord?’ he asked, straightening himself in a respectful attitude.
‘We seek a place to fodder and stable our horses for a while,’ replied Gormán. ‘Would this be such a place?’
The smith grinned and nodded.
‘It would — and it would be an honour to care for such fine beasts as those that you ride. Especially that one,’ he gestured at Aonbharr. ‘I have never seen a finer animal. Yet it has no rider. I trust there has been no accident?’
‘Who are you?’ asked Gormán, not responding to the question.
‘My name is Gobán and this is my smithy. I presume from your torque and the direction you have come from, that you hail from Cashel?’
Gormán swung down and faced the man. ‘You have a sharp eye, my friend.’
‘Your manner proclaims you to be a warrior of Cashel, even if your golden collar did not betray that fact.’
‘Then I will admit that is what I am. We come to you to look after our horses because we do not want our arrival or our identity made common knowledge in the township.’
Gobán’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘Know that I am a true clansman of the Éile, loyal to my people. I will not be involved in any secret plots that bring harm on them or the Lady Gelgéis.’
Eadulf had dismounted and laid a hand on the man’s arm.
‘Will you take my word, as a member of the Faith, that we are not here to harm anyone but to rescue someone from harm?’
The smith’s expression did not change; he remained mistrustful. ‘You are a Saxon. I have no cause to accept your word or take notice of you.’
‘You will take notice, Gobán, smith of the Éile,’ Gormán said quietly and confidently. ‘Because the Éile claim loyalty to the King of Cashel, and Brother Eadulf and I-’
He did not have to finish.
‘You are Eadulf?’ the smith exclaimed. ‘Then you are husband to …?’ He paused, then said quietly, ‘Fidelma of Cashel once saved the honour of my sister by her wise counsel and fair judgement.’
‘Then know that we have come to this place in search of Fidelma, who has been abducted,’ Eadulf responded. ‘That is why we do not wish our identities to be made generally known.’
Gobán searched his features closely as if trying to ascertain whether he was telling the truth. Then he replied softly: ‘Then God has guided your footsteps to my smithy, my friends, for I am in your service to repay the debt that my family owes to Fidelma of Cashel. I will ask you only one question — how may I help Fidelma?’
‘We need to go down to the quays and make enquiries, being as inconspicuous as we can. That is why we need to shelter our horses here.’
‘That is easily done.’ As he spoke, the smithy took the reins and led the horses into the darkness of the barn behind the forge. ‘Once I have removed their accoutrements, I can release them into the field at the back. These saddles and bridles can be hidden until you need them.’
‘This is much appreciated, my friend,’ Gormán said approvingly.
The smith smiled at the warrior. ‘I have to tell you that your attempt to be inconspicuous will not last two minutes, unless you remove your golden collar and perhaps cover your finery with a rough cloak.’ He glanced at Eadulf. ‘I suppose one more religieux, more or less, will pass unnoticed in this township even if you do wear the tonsure of Rome and not that of the Blessed John. However, one of the élite bodyguards of the King would certainly be noticed.’
‘You are right, my friend,’ Gormán agreed ruefully. After a moment’s thought he removed the golden torque from his neck and placed it in his saddle-bag. Then he unstrapped a cloak and swung it around his broad shoulders, tying it at the neck.
Eadulf looked on with approval before returning his gaze to the smith.
‘We were remarking as we crossed the river that there seemed little traffic upon it today and we were puzzled. Someone told us that there is some festival in the town.’
‘Indeed, though not in the town,’ replied the smith. ‘As you say, it is the end of harvest. The Lady Gelgéis has invited farmers, merchants and townsfolk to a great feasting in her fortress to give thanks for a good harvest. That is why the township is so quiet. Most people have gone to the feast.’
‘Why have you not gone?’
‘I have tasks to be done.’
‘Perhaps the absence of townsfolk will work to our advantage?’ muttered Gormán.
‘Although it might prove to be the opposite when we are looking for people who saw the arrival of the boat and can identify it.’
Having thanked their new host, the two men left the forge to walk through the almost deserted township. There were a few dogs running here and there, and some loose chickens pecking at the dirt track — and somewhere near at hand a cow was bellowing mournfully. The street led almost directly into a central square; while one road turned up the hill towards the gates of the fortress, another ran down the gentle slope towards the river. There were a few people about, mainly elderly, who greeted them courteously enough. A young girl was seated at one corner of the square with a basket by her side in which were some loaves and cheese; she sat alone with tear-stained cheeks. It was clear from the sounds of music drifting down the hillside, accompanined by shouts of laughter, that the majority of people were still at the feasting.
‘What’s the matter, little girl?’ Eadulf asked kindly.
‘I need to sell my mother’s produce before I can go to the feast to see the gleemen,’ complained the girl. ‘My mother says I must do so or she will not allow me to go. There is good cheese and do you want bread?’
Eadulf shook his head sadly. ‘Alas, we are not looking for food at the moment.’
Leaving the dismal child, they made their way towards several large buildings that were obviously constructed as storehouses and barns. They walked between the buildings towards the river, along which were several wooden-built quays where boats could load and unload. This area still seemed entirely deserted, apart from the empty boats. They walked out on one of the jetties and stared about them in dismay.
There were numerous boats of all manner and sizes, and many that could have fitted the description of the type they were searching for.
‘So much for our hope of finding someone who might have spotted our quarry!’ Gormán said forlornly. ‘So where do we start now?’
‘Let us try some logic.’ Eadulf considered for a moment. ‘We need to find a boat that came here this morning. Perhaps if we started to examine all the boats that fit the description, ones that need four men to row it, and work our way along, we might find something which could give us a clue of some sort.’
‘That is a long shot and I am better with a sword than with a bow.’
‘It’s better than doing nothing.’
‘Very well, my friend. Let’s start here and work our way along.’
They walked along the quays and began to scrutinise the boats, but found nothing in them to provide any information. It was as they were making towards the next jetty that a cackle of laughter from nearby caused them to halt.
A bundle of rags lying on the ground moved, and a wizened little man sat up and stared at them with a gap-toothed grin.
‘You won’t find many good pickings here, friends,’ he wheezed. ‘The merchants are a tight-fisted bunch. They made sure their produce was taken and locked in their storehouses before they went up to the fortress. They haven’t left even a stalk of wheat lying about. Don’t I know it?’