or illustrator.’
‘What makes you think that?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Last night, we saw that the assassin’s hands showed that he did not do physical work. The fingernails were well cared for. However, his right-hand thumb and forefinger were stained.’
‘And that indicated?’
‘They were stained by ink, which meant that he often had a quill in his right hand. Who works with a quill and ink if they are not scholars? He could have come from an ecclesiastical college or even from one of the secular schools, but I believe he was not a religieux.’
Gormán was staring at the clothing moodily as if he were trying to gather more evidence from them. Then he suddenly gave a soft exclamation and picked up the saddle-bag, turning the leather over to examine it more closely.
‘It’s just a plain leather saddle-bag, Gormán, my friend,’ Eadulf commented. ‘Good quality and well-stitched, but—’
He was interrupted by a grunt of satisfaction from the young warrior, who had turned over one of the flaps and pointed to something underneath.
‘The leather has been marked – seared by a hot needle. See.’ He held it out for inspection.
Fidelma took the bag from him and peered closely. ‘A serpent entwined around a sword. Why, that is the mark of …’
‘… the Uí Fidgente’s princes,’ Gormán finished with emphasis.
Fidelma turned to where Aibell was finishing her meal.
‘When did you leave Dún Eochair Mháigh?’
‘I told you, as soon as I reached the age of choice. Four years ago.’
‘So you are now eighteen? And where have you been since then?’
Once again, the girl showed reluctance in answering, but seeing the frown gathering on Fidelma’s brow, she changed her mind.
‘I was a long time in the country of the Luachra.’
‘What were you doing there?’
‘I served in the household of Fidaig.’
Fidelma was surprised. ‘Fidaig, the lord of the Luachra?’
‘Yes. I worked in the kitchens of his household.’
‘And why did you leave?’
‘If you must know, I ran away,’ the girl replied defiantly. ‘I was sold to him as a bondservant and I ran away.’
Fidelma’s brows rose in astonishment. ‘You said you were born and raised at the capital of the Uí Fidgente. Who was your father?’
‘He was a fisherman, an
iascaire
, on the River Mháigh.’
‘Of what class was he?’
‘He was a
saer-céile
, a free-tenant, who rented his cabin and stretch of the river from a prince of the Uí Fidgente.’
‘So what do you mean when you say that you were sold to the Luachra? Why would a free man of the Uí Fidgente allow his daughter to be sold to a neighbouring tribe?’
‘My father declared me to be a
daer-fudir
and sold me.’
Fidelma breathed out sharply.
Daer-fudirs
were the lowest members of society, mainly criminals who had refused to meet their fines and pay compensation, or captives taken in battle. In other words, they were slaves – often foreign – people who had fallen foul of the law and were unable to extricate themselves. However, the fate of these slaves was not hopeless, for the law favoured their emancipation – and with diligence and perseverance they could raise their status and even come to be a free person in the clan.
‘How would you become a
daer-fudir
?’
‘My father sold me, to pay his debts.’
‘But that is illegal!’ exclaimed Fidelma.
‘My father was a beast.’
‘And your father’s name was … ?’
‘Escmug.’
‘A name well-suited for a fisherman,’ muttered Gormán. The name meant ‘eel’.
‘He was a beast,’ repeated the girl. She looked directly at Fidelma and said: ‘At first I was not sorry to escape from my father. If you are as knowledgeable as you seem, then he was similar to Oengus Tuirbech in the stories told about him around the winter fireside.’
Eadulf noticed that this meant as much to Gormán as it did to himself, because the young warrior was also looking puzzled. However, Fidelma appeared shocked by what
‘What makes you think that?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Last night, we saw that the assassin’s hands showed that he did not do physical work. The fingernails were well cared for. However, his right-hand thumb and forefinger were stained.’
‘And that indicated?’
‘They were stained by ink, which meant that he often had a quill in his right hand. Who works with a quill and ink if they are not scholars? He could have come from an ecclesiastical college or even from one of the secular schools, but I believe he was not a religieux.’
Gormán was staring at the clothing moodily as if he were trying to gather more evidence from them. Then he suddenly gave a soft exclamation and picked up the saddle-bag, turning the leather over to examine it more closely.
‘It’s just a plain leather saddle-bag, Gormán, my friend,’ Eadulf commented. ‘Good quality and well-stitched, but—’
He was interrupted by a grunt of satisfaction from the young warrior, who had turned over one of the flaps and pointed to something underneath.
‘The leather has been marked – seared by a hot needle. See.’ He held it out for inspection.
Fidelma took the bag from him and peered closely. ‘A serpent entwined around a sword. Why, that is the mark of …’
‘… the Uí Fidgente’s princes,’ Gormán finished with emphasis.
Fidelma turned to where Aibell was finishing her meal.
‘When did you leave Dún Eochair Mháigh?’
‘I told you, as soon as I reached the age of choice. Four years ago.’
‘So you are now eighteen? And where have you been since then?’
Once again, the girl showed reluctance in answering, but seeing the frown gathering on Fidelma’s brow, she changed her mind.
‘I was a long time in the country of the Luachra.’
‘What were you doing there?’
‘I served in the household of Fidaig.’
Fidelma was surprised. ‘Fidaig, the lord of the Luachra?’
‘Yes. I worked in the kitchens of his household.’
‘And why did you leave?’
‘If you must know, I ran away,’ the girl replied defiantly. ‘I was sold to him as a bondservant and I ran away.’
Fidelma’s brows rose in astonishment. ‘You said you were born and raised at the capital of the Uí Fidgente. Who was your father?’
‘He was a fisherman, an
iascaire
, on the River Mháigh.’
‘Of what class was he?’
‘He was a
saer-céile
, a free-tenant, who rented his cabin and stretch of the river from a prince of the Uí Fidgente.’
‘So what do you mean when you say that you were sold to the Luachra? Why would a free man of the Uí Fidgente allow his daughter to be sold to a neighbouring tribe?’
‘My father declared me to be a
daer-fudir
and sold me.’
Fidelma breathed out sharply.
Daer-fudirs
were the lowest members of society, mainly criminals who had refused to meet their fines and pay compensation, or captives taken in battle. In other words, they were slaves – often foreign – people who had fallen foul of the law and were unable to extricate themselves. However, the fate of these slaves was not hopeless, for the law favoured their emancipation – and with diligence and perseverance they could raise their status and even come to be a free person in the clan.
‘How would you become a
daer-fudir
?’
‘My father sold me, to pay his debts.’
‘But that is illegal!’ exclaimed Fidelma.
‘My father was a beast.’
‘And your father’s name was … ?’
‘Escmug.’
‘A name well-suited for a fisherman,’ muttered Gormán. The name meant ‘eel’.
‘He was a beast,’ repeated the girl. She looked directly at Fidelma and said: ‘At first I was not sorry to escape from my father. If you are as knowledgeable as you seem, then he was similar to Oengus Tuirbech in the stories told about him around the winter fireside.’
Eadulf noticed that this meant as much to Gormán as it did to himself, because the young warrior was also looking puzzled. However, Fidelma appeared shocked by what
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