For some reason she found that she had abruptly started to think about Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham again and wondered why he had sprung into her thoughts. She wondered if Ross would find any clue to the origins of the abandoned ship. It was much to ask of him. There was a whole ocean and hundreds of miles of coastline in which to hide any clue to what had happened on that vessel.
Perhaps Eadulf had not been on board at all?
No, she shook her head, deciding against the theory. He would never have given that Missal to anyone - voluntarily, that was.
But what if it had been taken from him in death? Fidelma shivered slightly and set her mouth in a thin, determined line. Then whoever had perpetrated such a deed would be brought to justice. She would make it so.
She suddenly halted.
Ahead of her a chorus of protesting bird cries made a din that drowned out most of the forest sounds. They made an odd ‘caaarg-caaarg’ scolding. She saw a couple of birds flitting upwards to the high bare branches of an oak, recognising the white rump and pinkish-buff plumage of jays. In a nearby clump of alders, where they had been pecking at the brown, woody cones, several little birds with conical bills and streaked plumage joined in chirping in agitation.
Something was alarming them.
Fidelma took a pace forward hesitantly.
It saved her life.
She felt the breath of the arrow pass inches by her head and heard the thump as it embedded itself into the tree behind her.
She dropped to her knees automatically, her eyes searching for better cover.
While she crouched undecided as to what to do, there was a sharp cry and two large warriors, with full beards, and polished armour, came bursting through the undergrowth and seized her arms in vice-like grips before she had time to regain her wits. One of them held a sword, which he raised as if to strike. Fidelma flinched, waiting for the blow.
‘Stop!’ cried a voice. ‘Something is amiss!’
The warrior hesitantly lowered the weapon.
In the gloom of the woodland track, a figure mounted on horseback loomed up before them. A short bow was held loosely in one hand and the reins of his steed in the other. It seemed clear that he had been the perpetrator of her near clash with death.
Fidelma did not have time to respond to express her astonishment or protest because they then began to drag her towards the mounted figure. They halted before him. He bent forward in his saddle and examined her features carefully.
‘We are misled,’ he exclaimed with disgust in his voice.
Fidelma threw back her head to return his examination. The stranger was impressive. He had long red-gold hair on which a circlet of burnished copper was set with several precious stones glinting. His face was long and aquiline, with a broad forehead. The nose was more a beak, the bridge thin, the shape almost hooked. The hair grew scantily from his temples and gathered in thickness at the back of his head, flashing in red, coppery glints as it fell to his shoulders. The mouth was thin, red, rather cruel, so Fidelma felt. The eyes were wide and almost violet in hue and seemed to have little trace of a pupil, although Fidelma conceded that this must clearly be a trick of the light.
He was no more than thirty. A muscular warrior. His dress, even had he not been wearing the copper circlet of office on his head, spoke of rank. He was clad in silks and linen trimmed with fur. A sword hung from his belt whose handle she saw was also worked with semi-precious metals and stones. A quiver of arrows hung from his saddle bow and the bow, still in his hand, was of fine craftsmanship.
He continued to examine her with a frown.
‘Who is this?’ he demanded coldly to the men holding her.
One of the warriors chuckled dryly.
‘Your quarry, my lord.’
‘Must be another wench from that religious house nearby,’ chimed in the other. Then, with some strange emphasis which Fidelma could not understand, he added: ‘She must have disturbed the deer that we were after, my lord.’
Fidelma finally found breath.
‘There was no deer within a hundred yards of me!’ she cried in suppressed rage. ‘Tell your men to unhand me or, by the living God, you shall hear more about it.’
The mounted man raised his eyebrows in surprise.
Both men holding her arms merely increased the bruising pressure. One of them starting laughing lewdly.
‘She has spirit, this one, my lord.’ Then he turned, putting his evil-smelling face next to her: ‘Silence, wench! Do you know to whom you speak?’
‘No,’ Fidelma gritted her teeth, ‘for no one has had the manners to identify him. But let me tell you to whom you speak … I am Fidelma, dálaigh of the courts, and sister to Colgú, king of Cashel. Does that suffice for you to unhand me? You are already guilty of assault before the law!’
There was a silence and then the mounted man spoke sharply to the two warriors.
‘Let her go at once! Release her!’
They dropped their hold immediately, almost like well-trained dogs obeying their master. Fidelma felt the blood gushing into her lowers arms and hands again.
The sounds of a horse crashing through the winter forest caused them all to turn. A second rider, bow in hand, came trotting up. Fidelma saw the flushed young features of Olcán. He drew rein and stared down, his expression was one of bewilderment as he recognised Fidelma. Then he had slid off his horse and was moving forward, hands outstretched.
‘Sister Fidelma, are you hurt?’
‘Small thanks to these warriors, Olcán,’ she snapped, rubbing her bruised arms.
The first rider turned to his men with an angry gesture.
‘Precede me back to the fortress,’ he snapped, and, without a word, both men turned and moved off at a shambling trot. As they did so the tall man bowed stiffly in his saddle from the waist towards Fidelma.
‘I regret this incident.’
Olcán looked from Fidelma to the man, frowning. Then he realised his manners.
‘Fidelma, may I present my friend, Torcán. Torcán, this is Fidelma of Kildare.’
Fidelma’s eyes narrowed as she recognised the name.
‘Torcán, the son of Eoganán of the Ui Fidgenti?’
The tall man again bowed from the saddle, this time it was more of a sort of mock salute.
‘You know me?’
‘I know of you,’ Fidelma replied curtly. ‘And you are a long way from the lands of the Ui Fidgenti.’
The Ui Fidgenti occupied the lands to the north-west of the kingdom of Muman. She knew from her brother that they were one of the most restless of his peoples. Eoganán was an ambitious prince, ruthless in his desire to dominate the surrounding clans and expand his power base.
‘And you are surely a long way from Kildare, Sister Fidelma,’ riposted the other.
‘As an advocate of the courts, it is my lot to travel far and wide to maintain justice,’ replied Fidelma gravely. ‘And what is the reason for your journey to this corner of the kingdom?’
Olcán intervened hurriedly.
‘Torcán has been a guest of my father, Gulban of Beara and is currently enjoying, with me, the hospitality of Adnár.’
‘And why was it necessary to shoot at me?’
Olcán looked shocked.
‘Sister …’ he began but Torcán was smiling quizzically down at Fidelma.
‘Sister, it was not my intention to shoot at you,’ protested Torcán. ‘I was actually shooting at a deer, or so I thought. However, I concede that my men were lacking in manners, and in this regard I fear that injury to yourself lies, not in my badly aimed arrow, for which I do heartily wish to atone.’
Torcán was either short-sighted or an easy liar for Fidelma knew that there was no animal near her when the arrow was fired. Nor could any experienced hunter have mistaken her movements for that of a deer in the bare forest. Still, there was a time when confrontation did not achieve any result and therefore she would pretend that she accepted the explanation. She let her breath exhale softly.
‘Very well, Torcán. I will accept your apology and not press a case in law for injury to myself in that you have placed me in fear of death. I do so accepting that it was an accident. However, the behaviour of your warriors was no accident. From them, a fine of two séts each will be paid for their mishandling and bruising of me and further conveying the fear of death. In this you will find that I act in accordance with the fines outlined in the Bretha Déin Chécht.’
Torcán was regarding her with mixed emotions, though it appeared that a reluctant admiration of her cool attitude was uppermost.
‘Do you accept the fine on behalf of your warriors?’ she demanded.
Torcán chuckled hollowly.
‘I will pay their fine, but I will ensure that they pay me.’
‘Good. The fine shall be a contribution to the funds of the abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells to help them in their work.’
‘You have my word that it will be paid. I shall instruct one of my men to come to the abbey with the fine tomorrow morning.’
‘Your word is accepted. And now I shall be obliged if you will allow me to continue my way.’
‘In which direction is your objective, sister?’ asked Olcán.
‘My journey takes me to Adnár’s fortress.’
‘Then let me share my saddle with you,’ offered Torcán.
Fidelma declined the offer to ride behind the son of the prince of the Ui Fidgenti.
‘I prefer to continue on foot.’
Torcán’s mouth tightened and then he shrugged.
‘Very well, sister. Perhaps we will see you at the fortress in a while.’
He turned his horse, slapped its flank with the side of the bow which he still held and sent it cantering along the forest path. Olcán stood hesitating a moment, looking as if he wished to speak further with Fidelma. Then he remounted his horse and raised a hand in farewell before turning and riding swiftly after his guest. Fidelma stood still, staring after them for a while, her face frowning in concentration. She tried to fathom out what this encounter meant; indeed, if it meant anything at all. Yet it must have some meaning. She simply could not believe that Torcán was serious in suggesting that he had mistaken her for a deer in the forest, especially a winter forest with fair visibility among the mainly bare trees and sparse undergrowth. And if it was no more than an accident, why had he allowed his men to manhandle her? It seemed logical to conclude that he was not expecting her - for as soon as she gave her name and station, he had ordered her release. Then who was it that he had been expecting along that road? A woman? A religieuse? Surely that much was certain for none could mistake her gender or her calling by the distinctive robes she wore. Why would a visitor to this area, the son of the prince of the Ui Fidgenti, want to kill a religieuse?
She suddenly felt cold.
Someone had probably already killed a religieuse; decapitated her and hung her body down the well at the abbey. Fidelma was sure that the headless corpse was that of a sister of the Faith. Her instinct and what evidence she had seen told her so. She shivered. Had she come close to following the nameless corpse into Christ’s Otherworld?
She raised her head abruptly from her contemplation as her ears caught the sound of a horse cantering on the path ahead. Was Torcán returning? She stood still and peered along the path. A rider was coming rapidly towards her. Her body tensed. The rider soon emerged through the shadowy shrubbery of the forest. It was Adnár.
The handsome, black-haired chieftain swung easily down from his horse, almost before the beast had stopped. He greeted Fidelma with a worried glance.
‘Olcán told me that he and Torcán had met you on the forest road and that you were on your way to my fortress. Olcán told me that there had been an accident. Is it so?’ Adnár was examining her anxiously.
‘A near accident,’ Fidelma corrected pedantically.
‘Are you hurt?’
‘No. It is nothing. Nevertheless, I was on my way to see you. Your coming has saved me the trouble of completing the journey.’ She turned and pointed to a fallen tree trunk. ‘Let us sit for a while.’
Adnár hitched his horse’s reins to a twisted branch on the dead tree and joined Fidelma.
‘You have not been entirely honest with me, Adnár,’ Fidelma opened.
The chieftain’s head jerked slightly in surprise.
‘In what way?’ he demanded defensively.
‘You did not say that the Abbess Draigen was your sister by blood. Nor did Brother Febal explain that he was once married to Draigen.’
Fidelma was not prepared for the amused look which crossed the man’s pleasant features. It was as if he had been expecting some other accusation. His shoulders slumped a little in relaxation.
‘That!’ he said in a dismissive tone.
‘Is it not of importance to you?’
‘Little enough,’ admitted Adnár. ‘My relationship to Draigen is not something I wish to boast of. Luckily, she has my father’s red hair while I my mother’s black mane.’
‘Do you not think that mention of your relationship was of importance to me?’
‘Look, sister, it is my misfortune and perhaps Draigen’s misfortune, too, that we were born from the same womb. As for Febal, I will not answer for him.’
‘Then answer for yourself. Do you really hate your sister as much as you appear to?’
‘I am indifferent to her.’
‘Indifferent enough to claim that she has unnatural affairs with her acolytes.’
‘That much is true.’
Adnár spoke in earnest without anger. Fidelma had previously seen his irritable temper and was surprised how calm he now was, sitting there in the wood, hand clasped between his knees, gazing moodily at the ground.
‘Perhaps you should tell me the story?’
‘It is not relevant to your investigation.’
‘Yet you claim that Draigen’s sexual proclivities are relevant. How, then, am I to judge this if I am not possessed of the truth of these matters?’
Adnár made a slight movement of his shoulders as if to shrug but changed his mind.
‘Did she tell you that our father, whose name I take, was an óc-aire, a commoner who worked his own land but had not sufficient land or chattels to render him self-sufficient? He worked all his life on a small strip of inhospitable land on a rocky mountain slope. Our mother worked with him and at harvest time, it was she who gathered what small crop we had while my father went to hire himself to the local chieftain in order to make sufficient to keep our bodies and souls together.’
He paused for a moment and then went on: ‘Draigen was the youngest and I, I was two years her senior. We both had to help our parents on their small plot of land and there was no time or money to spare on educating us.’
There was a bitter tone to his voice but Fidelma made no comment.
‘As a boy, I did not want to follow in my father’s footsteps. I did not want to spend the rest of my life working unprofitable land simply in order to live. I had ambition. And so I would sneak along to the clan hostel every time I heard that a warrior was passing through the territory. I would try to persuade the warrior to tell me about soldiering, about the warrior’s code and how one trained to be a warrior. I made my own weapons of wood and would go into the forests and practise fighting bushes with a wooden sword. I made a bow and arrows and became an expert shot in my own way. I knew that this was my only path to escape the poverty of my life.
‘As soon as I was at the age of choice, on my seventeenth birthday when no law could stop my going, I left home and sought out our chieftain Gulban of the Beara. He was engaged in wars against the Corco Duibhne over the boundaries of his territory. As a bowman, I distinguished myself, and was soon placed in command of a band of one hundred men. At the age of nineteen Gulban appointed me a cenn-feadhna, a captain. It was the proudest day of my life.
‘The wars made me rich in cattle and when they ended, I returned here to be appointed bó-aire, a cattle chieftain.
Although the land was not mine, I had a sufficient cattle herd to be a person of influence and wealth. I am not ashamed of my escape from poverty.’
‘It is a laudable tale, Adnár. Any tale of a man or woman transcending difficulties is commendable. But it tells me nothing of the animosity between you and your sister nor why you should accuse her of unnatural relationships.’
Adnár grimaced expressively.
‘Draigen talks much of her loyalty to our parents. She claims that I deserted them. She was no more loyal to them than I was. She wanted to escape the poverty as much as I did. When she was approaching the age of choice, she would even try to conjure the old pagan spirits - the goddesses of ancient times — to help her.’
Fidelma regarded him closely. But Adnár seemed lost in his memories, not as if he were speaking for effect at all.
‘What did she do?’
‘There was an old woman who dwelt in the woods nearby who claimed to adhere to the old ways. Her name was Suanech, as I recall. All the children were frightened of her. She claimed that she worshipped Boí, the wife of Lugh, god of all arts and crafts. Bo was known as the cow goddess, or the old woman of Beara. You see, this land was once her domain in the dark, pagan days. My fortress was named after her, Dun Boí.’
‘There are many old ones who still cling to the ancient times and the old gods,’ Fidelma pointed out. The Faith had only come to the five kingdoms during the last two centuries and Fidelma realised that there were still isolated pockets where the beliefs of the Ever Living Ones, the old gods and goddesses, still held sway.
‘And you may find many territories where even the mountains are named after gods and goddesses,’ Adnár agreed.
‘So your sister was influenced by this old pagan woman?’ pressed Fidelma. ‘When did she come back to the True Faith and join the religieuses?’
Adnár grinned crookedly.
‘Who said that she had returned to the True Faith?’
Fidelma looked at him in surprise.
‘What are you saying?’
‘I say nothing. I merely point the way. Since she was a young girl, especially when she went to see the old woman, she has always acted strangely.’
The Subtle Serpent Page 13