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the forest began to stretch south of the township, and beyond that was a large area of grassland, the Plain of Femen. It was an area abounding in ancient legends, so Eadulf had learned, and much associated with the stories of the ancient gods and heroes, goddesses and heroines of Fidelma’s people. However, the forest was large enough to supply the townsfolk of Cashel with many kinds of wood. Eadulf knew that the ancient Irish laws were very specific about the illegal felling of trees, with fines according to each class of trees. He noticed that this area was composed of birch and elm, which were fairly common, but it also had several tall yew trees which were highly valued.
    Gormán saw his wandering gaze and smiled.
    ‘This wood used to abound in yew when I was a boy. It’s why the old woodsman’s hut is there. It’s a difficult wood to work and they say it requires much skill, for it is used for so many things.’
    ‘I have noticed it is prized for making beds and couches as well as decoration in the houses of nobles,’ replied Eadulf.
    ‘The ancient law has a special provision for protection of items that are made of yew,’ Fidelma put in. ‘The law lists fines for damage caused to such articles by visitors to places where they are displayed. So if you visit a person’s home and damage furniture made of yew, then you are in trouble.’
    Gormán led them down a short path through the trees. A few moments later, they came to a small clearing in which stood a hut hardly big enough for an average man to stand up in or to lie down in, full length. In fact, a man could stand in the centre and stretch his hands out to touch each wall. They could not easily discern what wood it was constructed of because it was almost obliterated by thickly growing ivy.
    Eadulf was moving towards the door when a rustling sound from within caused him to halt, head to one side, not sure whether it was merely the wind among the ivy leaves.
    A hand fell on his shoulder. Gormán, behind him, had raised a finger to his lips. So he had heard it too. The young warrior drew his sword and motioned Eadulf and Fidelma to stay back. He paused for a moment and then raised his right foot and kicked out, sending the door flying inwards. The crash of the shattering wood was accompanied by a frightened cry. Sword at the ready, Gormán moved quickly inside and a moment later dragged a small figure out, screaming and struggling, and threw it on the leaf-strewn floor of the glade before them.
    Straddling the figure with his sword pointing downwards in readiness, Gormán commanded, ‘Identify yourself, boy!’
    The figure rolled over and scowled up at him.
    Fidelma turned to Gormán in amusement. ‘You have your sexes mixed, Gormán. This is clearly a girl.’

CHAPTER THREE

    G ormán stood staring down in astonishment at the young woman.
    Her tousled blue-black hair was cut short, not in the usual fashion, and it was quite dirty, scattered with dead leaves and wisps of straw. There were patches of dried mud on her face but, nonetheless, the features were quite attractive, symmetrical with a splash of freckles on the cheeks, dark flashing eyes and full lips that needed no berry-juice to enhance them. At the moment, those lips were drawn back in a snarl showing very white and even teeth. Her clothes were of poor quality, soiled and torn, and there were no shoes on her feet.
    ‘What are you gawping at, you big bully!’ she growled at the young warrior.
    Gormán started at being addressed in such a fashion. Then he slowly replaced his sword in its sheath before reaching out a hand to assist the girl to rise.
    She ignored him, rolling quickly over and scrambling to her feet. They could see now that she was no more than twenty.
    ‘And who are you?’ Fidelma asked mildly.
    The girl turned on her with an unfriendly expression.
    ‘What business is it of yours?’ she replied pugnaciously.
    ‘The lady is Fidelma of Cashel and a
dálaigh
,’ Gormán said in