When the tonic was cool enough, he took it to Fidelma’s side and supported her head and shoulders while she sipped a sufficient quantity to satisfy him. Then he told her to rest.
While he had been doing this, Gobán had prepared a meal for them of cold meats, bread and cheese, washed down with some ale which, he boasted, he had brewed himself. They ate the meal seated in front of the fire. It was devoured mainly in silence except for once, when Gobán glanced at the recumbent form of Fidelma on the bed and asked Eadulf: ‘Will she be all right?’
‘I have every hope that she will,’ Eadulf replied fervently. ‘She has had quite a shock. She nearly suffocated with a gag stuffed into her mouth and confined in a sack. But I have found no external injuries apart from where the bonds cut into her wrists and ankles. So once we have her breathing normally, that will be good. She needs only to know that she is safe and without restriction. She should be well in a little while.’
Gobán arose after the meal and told them that he must close the forge while they could make themselves as comfortable as possible for the night. After he left, Eadulf said quietly, ‘Do you think we shall be safe here?’
‘Gobán did say that Fidelma had saved some relative of his and he wanted to be of service,’ Gormán reminded him.
‘I was not thinking of Gobán specifically. But someone will eventually see the broken lock on the storehouse and find the body of the ferryman’s son inside. If they are just people who noticed the storehouse is opened, they will raise the alarm. If they are the abductors, who might return to dispose of the bodies, then they will start looking for Fidelma. We should have found out who owns those barns. That leper we met will sell his soul for a handful of food. He could tell anyone we were interested in the barns.’
‘All is possible,’ admitted Gormán. ‘But I cannot think that we will find a better shelter than this for the time being.’
‘You are doubtless right,’ Eadulf replied. ‘I am a little nervous, but we have priorities to attend to. Fidelma’s recovery must come first.’
After a little while, they heard Gobán returning.
‘How is she?’ he asked, gazing at Fidelma.
‘You are very anxious about her,’ observed Eadulf.
‘I have already told you that I am in her debt, for she defended my sister when she was unjustly charged.’
‘When was that?’
‘It was many years ago.’
‘Tell me about it,’ invited Eadulf.
‘My sister was trained in the healing arts, like you have been, and was a member of the community in Cill Dara. Sister Fidelma was then a member of that community as well. There were some deaths from the administration of hemlock, and suspicion turned on my sister, Poitigéir, because she knew the properties of poisons. But Fidelma used her skill to identify the real culprit and thus exonerated my sister. For that I owe Fidelma much. That is why I helped you today and why I am anxious for her health.’
Eadulf felt embarrassed at questioning the sincerity of the man. ‘I apologise for questioning you, my friend. I should have taken your word in the first place. But there are many mysteries here and we are not sure in whom we can put our trust.’
‘I have said that I owe a debt to Fidelma and will be loyal to you so long as I am not asked to be disloyal to my own people.’
‘We trust that you will never be confronted by that choice. Tell us, do you know who owns the three barns on the far side of the river opposite the township quays?’ Gormán asked.
‘Of course,’ Gobán replied at once. ‘This is not so big a place that we do not know who owns what.’
‘So who do they belong to?’
‘Why, to the Lady Gelgéis.’
Eadulf glanced at Gormán, who seemed about to say something but then closed his mouth. However, Gobán saw the gesture and his eyes narrowed.
‘Why do you ask about those barns?’
Eadulf decided there was nothing to lose by being honest.
‘Because that is where we found the Lady Fidelma, tied up and gagged. Had we not found her and rescued her, she would surely have died.’ Ignoring the shocked look on the face of the smith, Eadulf went on: ‘There is still a dead body in the storehouse from which we released Fidelma. It is the body of Enán, the son of a ferryman, who was persuaded to act in place of one of the injured oarsmen in the abductor’s boat. I suspect he was killed simply to prevent him identifying the abductors.’
‘Perhaps a choice has come to confront you sooner than we thought,’ observed Gormán dryly.
‘The sheds have not been used during the last summer,’ Gobán said, ignoring the implication. ‘If the Lady Fidelma was abducted by these people, why was she left there for dead? Would that not be the opposite of what abduction is meant to achieve?’
‘There are many mysteries that must be resolved,’ Eadulf replied. ‘Have you ever heard of a young poet called Torna?’
‘The only Torna I know of was the famous Torna Eigeas who was bard to Niall of the Nine Hostages. He lived centuries ago.’
‘This young man said he was also a bard.’
Gobán shook his head. ‘I know of no other bard by that name.’
‘Our Torna was certainly alive yesterday. He might even have been the intended victim of the abduction all along; maybe the Lady Fidelma tried to interfere and was taken, along with the victim.’
‘I do not understand.’
Eadulf grinned sadly. ‘We have little understanding ourselves. Tell us: what does this Lady Gelgéis use the storehouses for?’
‘As I have said, they are mainly disused now. It is only when there is an excess of tribute coming in from the outlying clans who acknowledge her authority,’ replied the smith. ‘And when there has been a particularly good harvest.’
‘So someone might have known that these storehouses were unused?’
Gobán hesitated and Gormán interpreted the pause: ‘You are thinking that the storehouses are in full sight of the quays. If they were used in daylight it would have to be noticed and reported to the Lady Gelgéis.’
Gobán shrugged helplessly as he pondered the matter.
‘What do you know of a leper who begs along the quays?’ Eadulf suddenly asked, changing the subject.
‘An old man with scarcely the use of his legs?’ asked Gobán, and when Eadulf nodded confirmation he went on: ‘That is Leathlobhair, or so we call him.’
‘Half-leper?’ Eadulf translated the name literally.
‘Indeed. He has begged along the quayside ever since I can remember. I think he has a cabin in the rough glen just west of the township. Why do you ask about him?’
‘Because it was Leathlobhair who saw Fidelma being taken into the storehouse from the river and alerted us to the fact.’
‘In return for …?’ The smith smiled cynically.
‘For food.’
‘He would not be so altruistic as to provide information for nothing. However, neither would he lie. And so this was how you came to find the Lady Fidelma?’
‘It was.’
‘And did Leathlobhair see where the men who placed her there went after they had left?’
‘He said they got back into their boat and let the current take it southwards.’
The smith pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘That would take them away from the township and the fortress. So it is clear they were not of the people of Durlus nor acting for Gelgéis, otherwise they would have gone into the town or up to the fortress.’
‘At the moment, nothing is clear to me,’ Eadulf sighed. ‘We must wait for Fidelma to recover her senses and see if she can enlighten us.’
He rose and went across to the bed where Fidelma was lying. She was now breathing normally, and seemed in a deep, natural sleep.
‘That is good,’ he whispered in satisfaction. ‘Sleep can be a great healer.’
There was but one bed in the smith’s cabin, but he had sheepskin rugs to act as mattresses and these he spread on the floor before the fire and, with their woollen cloaks as blankets, the men stretched themselves out to get what rest they could. It was a long time before Eadulf could allow slumber to overtake him. He heard the rising snore of the smith and the deep breathing of Gormán long before he too fell asleep. Even then he dreamed of fast-flowing rivers, of Fidelma drowning, and shadowy figures descending on him with a knife. And then …