We sat long over supper, discussing plans for the morrow. Nevvyn, Igraine and I would ride as early as possible in the morning. Flora allowed she would go with her cousin, wherever that might be. I called for a final round of ale before bed. I also called the Innkeeper to settle our account and ask that they prepare food for several days. Nevvyn interrupted me to say that we would only be needing a little something for our mid-day meal. Though I looked at him quizzically, he refused to explain.

We had just about tied up all the loose ends that we could, when a young lad of the village came rushing in with a scrap of parchment clutched in his hand. He handed it to me as if it were some kind of poisonous insect, and darted out the door before I could give him so much as a copper. I unfolded the thing and looked at the cryptic symbols inscribed thereon. After turning it this way and that, and finding no pattern I could recognize, I handed it off to Nevvyn.

"What do you make of this, Old Man?" I asked. "It's all Greek to me!"

He studied it for a few moments and announced, "No... Not Greek at all. It's the written form of Latium, that horrible-sounding language they speak in the Roman lands."

We all gathered around Nevvyn as he laboriously pieced together the message. He would sound out each word and then cudgel his brain to find the same word in our own language. Though it took nearly a candlemark, we finally concluded it was from Aine and that she would be coming with us, and so would Flora. I cornered the Innkeeper's son and had him carry a message to the Chieftain of Cashel. "Have him tell the Brighid's Lady that we would be leaving soon after breakfast."