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behind the other the two horses plodded through the narrow defile amidst sedate oaks and tall yews. A further hour passed. Twilight descended rapidly.
    ‘Are you sure that we are on the right path?’ demanded Eadulf, not for the first time. ‘I see no sign of a tavern.’
    Patiently, the youth, Archú, pointed forward.
    ‘You will see it once we reach the next bend in the track,’ he guaranteed the Saxon monk.
    It was beyond dusk now; in fact, it was almost dark and they could barely see the turning along the tree lined path. Although there were no clouds in the sky, the trees also hid a clear view of the night sky. Only a few bright stars could be clearly seen through the canopy of branches. Among them Fidelma noticed the bright twinkling of the evening star dominating the heavens. They had been climbing along this mountain path for a full hour, wending their precarious way through the darkening trees which oppressed them on every side. They had encountered no one else on the road since they left the main thoroughfare. Even Fidelma was beginning to wonder whether it was unwise to press further. Perhaps it would be better to halt, prepare a fire and make the best of it for the night.
    She was about to make this suggestion when they came to the bend in the path. It abruptly opened out into a broader track.
    They saw the light as soon as they reached the bend.

    ‘There it is,’ announced Archú with satisfaction. ‘Just as I said it would be.’
    A short distance ahead of them, by the side of the track, a lantern flickered from the top of a tall post on a short stretch of faitche, or lawn, which stretched to a stone building. Fidelma knew that, according to law, all taverns or public hostels, bruden as they were called, had to announce themselves by displaying a lighted lantern all through the night.
    They halted their horses by the post. Fidelma saw, incised in the Latin script on the wooden name-board below the lantern, the name ‘Bruden na Réaltaí’ – the hostel of the stars. Fidelma glanced up to the sky, for the canopy of branches no longer obscured it, and saw the myriad of twinkling silver lights spread across the heavens. The hostel was aptly named.
    They had barely halted when an elderly man threw open the door of the hostel and came hurrying forward to greet them.
    ‘Welcome, travellers,’ he cried in a rather high pitched voice. ‘Go inside and I will attend to your horses. Get you in, for the night is chill.’
    Inside, the hostel seemed deserted. A great log fire was crackling in the hearth at one end of the room. In a large cauldron, an aromatic broth simmered above the flames, its perfume permeating the place. It was warm and comforting. The lanterns were lit and flickering against the polished oak and red deal panels of the room.
    Fidelma’s eye was caught by a table on one side of the room on which, at first glance, seemed to be a scattered assortment of common rocks. She frowned and stooped to examine them closely, picking up one and feeling its heavy metallic weight. The rocks were polished and appeared to be placed as someone might arrange ornaments to give atmosphere to the room.
    Shaking her head slightly in perplexity, Fidelma led the way to a large table near the fire but did not sit down. Hours in the saddle made her appreciate the comfort of standing a while.
    It was Archú who approached her nervously.

    ‘I am sorry, sister. I should have mentioned this before but neither Scoth nor I have any means to pay the hosteller. We will withdraw and camp the night in the woods outside. That was what we were going to do. It is a dry night and none too cold in spite of what our hosteller says,’ he added.
    Fidelma shook her head.
    ‘And you an ocáire?’ she gently chided. ‘You have wealth enough now that you have won your plea to the courts. It would be churlish of me not to advance you the price of food and lodging for the night.’
    ‘But …’ protested Archú.
    ‘No more of