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on the approaching coastal scenery. They had now entered the mouth of the great bay and moved close to the southern shore of the mountainous peninsula. The cold winds and choppy seas began to ease as they entered into these more sheltered waters. And when Ross’s course placed the southern tip of the bulbous island to their eastern flank, the weather became much calmer as the land protected them from the main brunt of the winds. There were few clouds in the sky which was a soft blue with the pale yellow
orb of the sun hanging high above casting no warmth at all. The scenery seemed painted in limpid pastel shades.
    ‘A short way ahead lies a large inlet,’ Ross announced. ‘That is where the abbey of the community of The Salmon of the Three Wells is. I’ll anchor in there, in the quiet waters.’
    Fidelma, in spite of her preoccupied thoughts, was not entirely oblivious to the serene beauty of the inlet which was circled by an oak forest which rose in ridges all around and was fringed with varied evergreens. Even while her mind was agitated by the worry of what had happened to Brother Eadulf, the tranquil aura of the area registered with her. It would be spectacular in summer with the multi-coloured flowers and all the trees bursting in varied shades of green. Behind the inlet, the mountains rose, their bald peaks dusted with snow and their slopes studded with granite boulders. A rushing stream emptied into the inlet at one point where, on a headland, a small circular fortress stood. Even looking at its sparkling crystal waters, Fidelma shuddered at how cold those waters must be.
    ‘That is the fortress of Adnár, the bó-aire of this district,’ Ross jerked his thumb towards the fortress.
    A bó-aire was, literally, a cow-chief, a chieftain without land whose wealth was judged by the number of cows he owned. In poor areas, the cow-chief acted as a local magistrate and owed his allegiance to greater chieftains. To this greater chieftain, the bó-aire paid tribute for his position and rank.
    Fidelma tried to force her mind back to the task which she had originally come to perform.
    ‘The fortress of Adnár?’ she repeated, phrasing it as a question to ensure that she had the name correct.
    ‘Yes. It is called Dún Boí — the fortress of the cow goddess.’
    ‘Where is the religious community?’ asked Fidelma. ‘The abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells?’
    Ross indicated another small headland on the other side of the rivulet, directly opposite Adnár’s fortress.

    ‘It stands among those trees on that ridge. You can just see the tower of the abbey buildings there. You can also see a small quay leading to a rocky platform on which you might be able to make out the abbey’s main well.’
    Fidelma followed his directions. She saw movement on the quay.
    ‘Captain!’ the helmsman called softly to Ross. ‘Captain, there are boats coming out — one from the fortress and one from the abbey.’
    Ross turned to confirm the fact for himself and called on his crew to start furling the sails of the Foracha before dropping the anchor. He turned to signal Odar, on the Gaulish vessel, to release his anchor also so that the ships would not collide. There was a cracking of the great sheets as they were hauled down, the splash as the anchors hit the still waters and the startled cry of seabirds surprised by the unexpected sharpness of the sound. Then — silence.
    For a moment or so Fidelma stood still, aware of that sudden silence in the sheltered inlet. Aware of the beauty of the place with the blues, greens, browns and greys of the mountains rising behind, and the sky creating a light blue on the waters around her, reflecting and shimmering in the early afternoon light, giving the impression of a mirror, so still and clear was its surface. Around the end of the inlet was a grey green belt of seaweed abandoned by the tides, the white and grey of rocks and the trees lining the banks, their varying greens and browns