there was a dark red stain there. Blood! The mound was too small to be that of a human. She turned and led Aonbharr towards the barn, where she noticed there was a stretch of fencing and a rail. She secured the reins to the fence and turned back to the mound.
Bending down, she scraped some of the snow away. It soon became clear that it was the short, leggy body of a dog. It had a dense, wiry coat and wore a collar with a leash attached. When she tugged at it, Fidelma found the leash was also attached to a metal ring by the door. The dog was a terrier. Such a breed was commonly used to hunt small game in this area but they were also alert and courageous guard dogs. What was immediately obvious were the facts that someone had smashed the skull of the animal with a blunt instrument and that it had happened not very long ago, as the blood was not yet congealing.
Fidelma’s mouth compressed in a grim line and she rose to her feet, glancing around with eyes narrowed. There was no movement anywhere. Aonbharr stood patiently tethered. The cow was still plaintively lowing, the chickens clucking. As she turned towards the dark door of the bóthan she heard, once more, the nearby cry of a wolf.
Unconsciously, she squared her shoulders ready to face the unexpected, and moved towards the door. She raised her fist and hammered on it twice and paused. As she expected, there was no sound of movement, no answer. She lowered her hand to the door-catch and raised it. To her surprise – for she fully expected to find it locked or bolted – the door swung inwards into the blackness.
“Is anyone there?” she called, feeling a little foolish at the question.
She hesitated on the threshold a moment or so and took a pace inside. Within the curious twilight from the reflected snow outside, a gloomy half-light that permeated from the door and a single small window, there was little discernible. The chill was almost as bad inside as it was outside. She hesitated a moment before stepping towards the outline of a table where she could just make out an oil lamp.
From her shoulder she removed the strap from which hung her sursaing-bholg, her girdle bag, which she always carried on journeys. In it reposed various items, including her cior-bholg or comb-bag that contained toiletries which all women carried. But, more importantly, it was also where she kept her tenlach-teined, the means of producing “hand-fire”; a flint, steel and a tinder-box. As part of their training, warriors had to practise the art of swiftly lighting fires and Fidelma, growing up among those whose task was to guard her family – for was she not the daughter of Failbe Flann, King of Muman – she would often pass happy days being taught this art by kindly warriors until she was as adept at it as they were. Indeed, it did not take her long to ignite the tinder and light the oil lamp; it was a rough earthenware pot with a snout to support the wick.
Now she had a better light she took it in her hand and peered round the inside of the cabin. Its walls were of dry stone and its roof was of timber. It was poorly furnished. The stout wooden table, on which the oil lamp had sat, also had two earthenware bowls and wooden spoons nearby, as if in preparation for a meal. Two chairs were at the table. A cot stood with blankets near the far corner of the fireplace, which contained grey ash, but there was faint warmth coming from it. There was plenty of kindling and logs piled near the fireplace. A large lantern hung unlit over the fireplace, a sturdy type of lamp, whose wick was protected so that it could be used outside, even in a high wind. Also by the fire, to one side of the pile of logs, stood a hunter’s bow and a sheaf of arrows. Even as quickly as she made the examination, Fidelma knew that they were not of good quality workmanship, but of the sort a hill-farmer might make himself and use for hunting. Apart from an old wooden chest and some cupboards, there was nothing else in the cabin. Nor was there any indication of why or when the occupants had left, except that it was less than a day or