We hasten past An Caidreamh Suiri and beyond the place where the road forks in two. There is a long shady stretch there, on the bend just before the Siona. At once, Keu, Sean and me, we let our horses slow down. All of us, horses and men, sigh with pleasure at the coolness of the tree-roofed canopy. We are far enough from the MacRoth inn and close enough to the river to relax awhile.

But no! There comes a sudden drumming of hooves right behind us. I jerk my head around, cursing the crooked shoulder that blocks my view.

"They ride on," the sharp-eyed Keu reports, "A dozen or so riders, Connacht by their dress, and well armed. They went on, but -"

He breaks off and stares down the road behind us.

I take a poke at him with the thorn-stick I'd been using to prod my horse. "But WHAT?"

Keu growls and continues to stare. "A woman. A woman was riding with them and she cut away towards An Caidreamh Suiri. Long red hair flying out wild behind her, on a very fine horse."

"I seen her too, Da!" Sean's voice cracks, meaning he's excited. "Same hair as the inkeeper." He cranes his neck so hard that if he weren't so ugly, he'd look like a swan.

"Another MacRoth," Keu nods. "A good thing we were in the shadows, I doubt if the men or the other one saw us. What do you make of it, Nion? A war party, looking for somebody or something? Raiders?"

By the time I get properly turned about, there's nothing to be seen but dust settling on the road. "Hmph! We'd do best to keep on towards Tara and avoid whatever trouble is behind us. I was thinkin' we might pay another visit to that friendly bruidean in Cill Dara on the way. Keu, don't you have a debt still standing out from last summer? That giant oaf of a Pict should love to cross swords with Nuada Airgetlám himself, what d'ya say?"

Keu's face darkens while the thick cords of sinew, the muscles and flesh that the two healers repaired last year, flex and twitch, giving their own answer to my question. I have to forcefully drag my eyes away from that unnaturally powerful sword arm, so horribly fascinating it is. When I look at my son, I find him also gaping, slack-jawed. A poke with my jagger-stick throws him off it. He shivers slightly, gives his horse a kick, and the three of us proceed down the road in an unlikely silence.

We find Hadaig in a sheltered spot at riverside. The welcoming aroma of roasting mutton tells us that he's made good use of the local resources. We sit around the fire, fill our bellies and talk of what opportunities may be seized before we arrive at Tara for Lugh's fair.