Dancing With Demons by Peter Tremayne

the laws went into detail about the compensation to be paid, and for any injuries sustained.
    ‘Are you travelling to Tara?’ the man asked, showing them into the main room where a fire was spreading a comfortable heat. A fire in a public hostel had to be kept constantly alight, according to law.
    ‘We are,’ affirmed Fidelma.
    ‘Ah, then you must travel on a sad business. I heard of the High King’s death. And you are from the south, if your accent is not false.’
    ‘This is Fidelma of Cashel,’ Caol interrupted, indicating Fidelma’s social rank with some pride.
    The hostel-keeper’s eyes widened as he regarded her. ‘I have heard stories of Fidelma of Cashel – a famous dálaigh.’
    ‘I am Fidelma,’ she said simply. ‘And a dálaigh.’
    ‘You and your companions are most honoured guests, lady,’ the man said. ‘I will call my wife and there shall be drink and food upon the table shortly. Water will also be heated soon.’
    He made to leave but Fidelma stayed him. ‘We came across Magh Nuada,’ she said.
    ‘Oh yes? Of course, that is the main road from the south-west,’ said the hostel-keeper, puzzled by the solemn way she spoke. ‘Was something amiss?’
    ‘Some miles back we came upon a church and its buildings destroyed by fire, and the two Brothers of Christ who tend it were dead upon the ground and all their animals driven off.’
    ‘Dead?’ echoed the man in bewilderment. ‘I know those Brothers of the Faith!’
    ‘They were slain,’ explained Caol.
    The man’s eyes widened and then he shivered. ‘These are troubled times. I have heard that there are dibergach who are active in the west. The High King’s death has come at a difficult time.’
    ‘Dibergach ?’ queried Eadulf.
    ‘Brigands, marauders – tribeless and desperate men, Brother Saxon, who plunder and rob at will.’ The man had either identified Eadulf by association with Fidelma or had recognised his accent.

    ‘Are you telling us that there are robbers who would attack a church and kill clerics?’ Eadulf was horrified.
    ‘I have heard stories from the west,’ the innkeeper repeated. ‘There are groups of them who cling to the old religions, so attacking Christians does not worry them. But they have never come this far east before.’
    ‘You say that you have not been troubled by them before?’ asked Caol.
    ‘This is a brugaid under the protection of my chief, the noble lord Tóla. They would not dare rouse my chief’s enmity by destroying any one of his public hostels. He has but to stretch out his hand … his reach is long and vengeance swift.’
    ‘Who is your chief?’ asked Fidelma.
    ‘This is the land of the Cairpre,’ replied the innkeeper.
    ‘But I thought …’ Eadulf was about to point out that it had been the chief of the Cinél Cairpre who had killed the High King, but a look from Fidelma stopped him.
    ‘It is just that the church is so close to here and we had no time to bury the poor religious who were slain there,’ Fidelma said quickly. ‘We placed their bodies in the underground food store so that scavengers would not disturb them. But they should be buried properly.’
    The hostel-keeper was in agreement.
    ‘In the morning, I shall send my sons to acquaint my chieftain with this news and see that men are sent to give burial to those unfortunates.’
    ‘That is good.’ Fidelma smiled briefly in thanks.
    ‘You mentioned that you have heard of similar raids in the west,’ Eadulf pressed. ‘What is known about these robbers – these dibergach, as you call them? Who are they and who is their leader?’
    The man shrugged. ‘I only hear stories from passing travellers like yourselves. No one knows who they are – perhaps they are escaped hostages, daer-fuidir — the unfree ones who have committed great offence to their clans and should rightly be working to restore their rights and freedoms. Perhaps they have banded together to live a life without the law. That is all we know.