shelter now.’ Caol looked at the smoking buildings. ‘And whoever did this might well return. I’d rather be in the open country than surrounded by woods.’
‘I remember that there is an inn further along the road,’ Fidelma said tiredly. ‘About half an hour’s ride from here. If it still stands, we can seek shelter there.’
Eadulf gestured at the two bodies. ‘Should we not bury them?’
‘It would be dark before we could do so, my friend,’ Caol replied practically. ‘It is my duty to protect my King’s sister and you, her husband. We must ride together now.’
As if joining in at an appropriate moment to remind them of the dangers, a wolf began to howl in the gathering dusk.
Caol frowned. ‘We will inform the innkeeper and ask him to request his chieftain to send men back here when it is daylight.’
‘There might not be much left to bury if we leave these poor souls exposed overnight,’ Eadulf commented.
‘The least we can do is remove the bodies to a more sheltered spot,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘There was an uaimha, as I recall, near that building
where they stored food.’ She indicated the smouldering ruins that had once been the guesthouse.
‘A cave?’ asked Eadulf, trying to translate the word uaimha.
‘An artificially made underground chamber,’ explained Fidelma.
Caol walked across and peered among the debris. It took a few moments to locate the entrance into the souterrain, which was a common method of storing food and provisions in a cooler temperature. Eadulf and Gormán lent a hand to carrying the bodies of the slain religieux to the chamber and depositing them inside, securing it against the attentions of preying animals.
Fidelma drew a sigh and glanced apprehensively at the approaching dark. ‘At least they will be safe awhile,’ she said. ‘May God have mercy on their souls. Now, we must try to reach the inn before nightfall.’
They remounted and resumed their journey along the road. Fidelma led them in a canter, for the sooner they reached the warmth and safety of the inn the better. Across the plain, the howling of wolves echoed distantly in the gathering dusk.
By the time they saw the light of the inn, after rounding a bend as the road wound over the shoulder of a hill, night had already fallen. At least the light was welcoming. All inns and hostels had a lantern raised at night on a tall pole set on the faithche, the area just outside the entrance to the inn, to guide travellers to it from a distance. It was with some relief that they trotted into the yard, the sound of their arrival disturbing a sleepy cockerel that set up an indignant cry which seemed to agitate the brooding hens. The door opened and a thickset man emerged and surveyed the visitors with an appraising glance before turning and calling to someone inside the inn. Then he took a step forward.
‘Welcome, strangers. You are late abroad. Do you seek shelter for the night?’
Fidelma dismounted as two young men appeared at his side. ‘We do, indeed,’ she replied. ‘But first water to bathe after our travel and food to eat.’
‘Then enter and be comfortable.’
The others also slid wearily from their mounts and took their saddlebags, allowing the two young men to lead their horses to the stables.
‘Welcome, lady, welcome, my friends,’ the man said again. ‘I am the brugh-fer.’
‘Ah, so this is a brugaid ? A public hostel?’ asked Fidelma.
The man nodded. Hospitality was a virtue highly esteemed in the five kingdoms, and each clan made provision for lodging and entertaining
travellers and officials. The public hostels ran side by side with private inns, and strict laws applied to both establishments. The keepers of each were restricted in what they could and could not provide for their guests, and as guests were constantly arriving and departing, the furniture and other property in the hostels and inns was carefully protected by law from wanton or malicious damage and, as Fidelma knew,