White-faced, Fidelma stood and stared at the once idyllic farmstead which Aíbnat and Molua had given over to the purposes of an orphanage.
Tears gathered in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.
‘Twenty children, three women religieuses, including Sister Aíbnat, and Brother Molua,’ reported Cass. ‘All dead. This is senseless!’
‘Evil,’ agreed Fidelma vehemently. ‘But we will find some twisted sense behind it.’
‘We should get back to Ros Ailithir, Fidelma.’ Cass was clearly worried. ‘We dare not tarry in case that barbaric horde returns.’
Fidelma knew that he was right but she could not resist carrying the body of little Tressach over to the side of the chapel so that he could be with the two little girls from Rae na Scríne. There she said a prayer over them and then she turned and said a prayer for all who had met their deaths at Molua’s farm.
At the gate she paused and gazed down at Molua’s body.
‘Was there a just cause in the minds of the people who perpetrated this infamy?’ she whispered. ‘Poor Molua. We will never discuss philosophy now. Were you just animals to be driven out from the land under some terrible plough-share working for some mysterious greater good?’
‘Fidelma!’ Cass’s voice was fearful but his fear was for her safety alone. ‘We should leave now!’
She clambered back on her horse while he mounted his and they cantered away from that place of death.
‘I cannot believe that there are such barbarous people in this land,’ Cass said as they paused on the top of the hill and gazed back to the burning settlement.
‘Barbarous!’ Fidelma’s voice was a whiplash. ‘I tell you, Cass, that this is evil. There is a terrible evil at work here and I swear by those tiny, mangled remains down there that I shall not rest until I have rooted it out.’
Cass shivered at the vehemence in her voice.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Where to now, sister?’ Cass demanded as Fidelma, instead of turning her horse along the track that led to the abbey of Ros Ailithir, continued westward.
‘Back to Salbach’s fortress,’ Fidelma replied, tight-mouthed. ‘We shall confront him with this atrocity.’
Cass looked troubled.
‘This might be a dangerous course, sister. You say that Intat is Salbach’s man. If so, then Salbach himself has ordered this crime.’
‘Salbach is still chieftain of the Corco Loígde. He would not dare harm a dálaigh of the courts and sister of his king!’
Cass did not respond. He did not point out to the angry young woman that if Salbach had sanctioned Intat’s violence then that same violence proved that he had forgotten his honour and oath of chieftainship. If he was involved, and could condone the slaughter of innocent children and religious, he would not hesitate to harm anyone else who threatened him. Only after they had continued for a while along the path to Cuan Dóir did Cass venture to suggest: ‘Wouldn’t it be better to wait until your brother, Colgú, arrives with his bodyguard and then question Salbach from a position of strength?’
Fidelma did not bother to grace the question with an answer. At that moment, her mind was too filled with anger and a determination to track down Intat. If Salbach stood behind Intat, then he, too, must fall. She allowed anger to blind her to logic and in her anger she was not prepared to pause and reflect.
Cuan Dóir seemed as peaceful as ever as they rode directly up to the entrance of Salbach’s fortress. It seemed impossible that a short ride away an entire farmstead and over twenty people, adults and children, had just been massacred.
The same disinterested warrior, still standing nonchalantly leaning against the gatepost, was keeping guard. Once more he denied that Salbach was in the fortress but this time he gave a knowing wink at Fidelma.
‘He is probably out hunting in the woods again, sister.’
Fidelma restrained her bubbling anger.
‘Know me, warrior, for a dálaigh of the courts,’ she said tightly. ‘Know me also for the sister of Colgú, king of Cashel.’
The warrior stirred uneasily and shifted his stance into one of respectful attention.
‘That information does not change my answer, sister,’ he replied defensively. ‘You may dismount and explore the halls of Cuan Dóir yourself but you will not find Salbach. He was here for a while earlier but rode back towards the forest of Dór again.’
‘When was this?’ demanded Cass.
‘No more than a few minutes ago. I presume he had an assignation in the woodsman’s hut. But that is all I know.’
Fidelma dug her heels into the sides of her horse, signalling Cass to follow.
‘Back to the woodsman’s cabin?’ called Cass as they cantered along the track.
‘We will start there first,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Salbach obviously went back to find Grella.’
They cantered swiftly along the path, northwards to the woods, crossing the river at the ford and turning along the bank towards the small cabin in the forest clearing. It did not take them long. Fidelma, this time, made no pretence of hiding herself. She rode straight towards. the cabin and halted in front of it.
‘Salbach of the Corco Loígde! Are you in there?’ she cried, without dismounting. She did not think that there would be an answer for there was no sign of Salbach’s horse.
A silence greeted them.
Cass swung off his horse and taking out his sword moved cautiously to the cabin. He pushed open the door and disappeared inside.
After a moment he returned, sword in hand.
‘There is no sign of anyone,’ Cass reported in annoyance. ‘What now?’
‘Let us looked around the cabin,’ Fidelma replied. ‘There might be something which may suggest where else we can look for Salbach.’
Fidelma dismounted. They hitched their horses to the rail and went into the cabin.
It was deserted as Cass had said. It was left exactly as it had been when they had taken Grella from it.
‘I doubt that Salbach will be far away,’ muttered Fidelma. ‘If he has reasoned out that we have taken Grella, and he cares that much about her, he may have gone to the abbey to demand her release.’
Cass was about to reply when they heard the clatter of horses’ hooves resounding outside the cabin. Cass started for the door but before he could reach it it had burst open.
A large, red-faced individual, clad in a steel helmet and woollen cloak edged in fur, wearing a gold chain of office and with his sword drawn, stood in the doorway; behind him were half a dozen warriors. His tiny eyes blazed triumphantly as they fell on Cass and Fidelma.
His image had long been burnt into Fidelma’s memory. It was Intat.
‘Well now,’ he chuckled delightedly, ‘if we do not have the mischief-makers. And where is Salbach?’
‘Not here, as you can see,’ replied Cass evenly.
‘Not here?’ Intat looked round as if to confirm his statement. ‘I told him …’ he began and then clamped his jaw shut, standing glowering at them from the threshold of the cabin.
‘So there is no one here but the two of you?’
Fidelma stood quietly, regarding the man with narrowed eyes.
‘As you can see, Intat. Put up your sword. I am a dálaigh of the courts and sister to Colgú, your king. Put up your weapons and come with us to Ros Ailithir.’
The red-faced man’s eyes widened as if in astonishment. He half turned his head to the men standing behind him outside the cabin.
‘Hear this woman?’ He laughed sourly. ‘She tells us to lay down our arms. Have a care, men, for this slip of a girl is a mighty dálaigh of the law as well as a woman of the Faith. Her words will wound and destroy us unless we have a heed.’
His men guffawed at the crude wit of their leader.
Intat turned back to Fidelma and gave a humorous grimace which made his face ugly.
‘You have disarmed us, lady. We are your prisoners.’
He made no effort to lower his sword.
�
�Do you think that you are not accountable for your deeds, Intat?’ she asked quietly.
‘I am only accountable to my chieftain,’ sneered Intat.
‘There is a greater authority than your chieftain,’ snapped Cass.
‘None that I recognise,’ returned Intat, turning to him. ‘Put down your own weapon, warrior, and you shall not be harmed. That I promise.’
‘I have seen how you treat those who are defenceless,’ replied Cass with a sneer. ‘The people of Rae na Scríne and the little children at Molua’s farmstead had no weapons. I have no illusions about the value of your promises.’
Intat gave another loud chuckle, as if amused by the warrior’s defiance.
‘Then it seems that you have written your own destiny, whelp of Cashel. You had best consult with the good sister and reflect on your fate. Be killed now or surrender and live a while longer. I will let you discuss the matter for a moment or two.’
The red-faced man drew back to his grinning cronies crowding in the doorway.
Cass also moved back a few paces, further into the cabin, still in the ready position, sword held before him.
‘Move back behind me, sister,’ he instructed quietly, speaking almost out of the side of his mouth in a tone so low that she could hardly hear him. He kept his eyes, gimlet-like, on Intat and his warriors.
‘There is no way out,’ she whispered in reply. ‘Do we surrender?’
‘You saw what this man is capable of. Better to die defending ourselves than be slaughtered like sheep.’
‘But there are several warriors. I should have listened to you, Cass. We have no means of escaping.’
‘One has but not two,’ Cass quietly replied. ‘Behind me and to the left there is a stair to a loft. There is a window up there. I noticed it a moment or so ago. While I engage them, run for the stairs and get out of the window. Once outside, seize a horse and attempt to reach the sanctuary of the abbey. Intat cannot attack there.’
‘I can’t leave you, Cass,’ Fidelma protested.
‘Someone has to try to make it to Ros Ailithir,’ Cass replied calmly. ‘The High King is already there and you can bring his troops. If you do not do so, then we shall have both perished in vain. I can hold them off for a while. This is our only chance.’
‘Hey!’
Intat took a pace forward, his red face grinning with a smile that caused Fidelma to shiver.
‘You have spoken enough. Now do you surrender?’
‘No, we do not,’ replied Cass. Then he suddenly yelled: ‘Go!’
The latter word was meant for Fidelma. She turned and leapt for the stairs. Most days she spent time practising the troid-sciathagid, the ancient form of unarmed combat, and this physical discipline had made her body supple and well-muscled beneath the seemingly soft exterior. She reached the top of the stairs with easy strides and launched herself, without pausing, for the window, grasping its ledge and hauling itself upwards in a frenzied motion.
Below her, in the cabin, she could hear metal clashing against metal and the terrible animal cry of men intent on killing each other.
Something struck the wall nearby. She realised it was an arrow. Another shaft grazed her forearm as she hauled herself over the bottom ledge of the window.
She paused a second, fighting an impulse to peer back. Then she hung her full length from the window ledge and dropped onto the soft, muddy ground behind the cabin. She landed almost as agilely as a cat, crouching on all fours. She was up and running in a split second; around the cabin to the front of it where the horses had been left. As well as the horses belonging to her and Cass, there were three other horses belonging to Intat and his men who were crowding in through the door of the cabin from where she could hear the sounds of combat.
She increased her pace for the nearest horse.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of Intat’s men disengage himself from the mêlée at the door of the cabin and turn in her direction. He saw her and gave a cry of rage. Another man turned as well. Instead of a sword, like his companion, he was armed with a bow and already he was trying to fix an arrow to it. The first man came on towards her with hesitation, his sword raised.
Fidelma realised that she could not reach the horse before her attacker, so she halted, spun around to face his charge, quickly positioning her feet into a firm position.
The last time Fidelma had practised the troid-sciathagid in earnest had been against a giant of a woman in a Roman brothel. She hoped that she had not lost her skill. She let the man run in upon her, ducking and grabbing at his belt, using his forward momentum to pull the surprised ruffian over her shoulder.
With a cry of astonishment, the man went flailing head first and crashed into a nearby wooden barrel, splitting it with the impact of his head so that the water gushed into a spurt.
Fidelma rose quickly to her feet, ducking as she heard the twang of a bow string and felt the breath of an arrow in its flight past her cheek. Then she was hauling herself up into the saddle and thumping her heels against the horse’s belly. With a startled whinny, the beast sprang forward across the clearing and into the woods.
She was aware of renewed cries behind her and she knew that at least one of Intat’s men had mounted up and was in pursuit of her. Whether others had joined in, she did not know. She had only identified Intat and three men at the cabin. She did not think that the one she had thrown into the barrel would have been in condition to give chase for a while. And surely Cass was dealing with Intat in person. She had to keep in advance of her pursuer. It would not take her long to reach the abbey.
She took the road for Ros Ailithir through the woodland, praying that the High King would not delay giving the order to his men to accompany her back to the rescue of Cass. She also hoped that her escape would draw Intat away from Cass and give Cass an opportunity to make his own escape as Cass had given her that opportunity.
Now she began to bitterly regret her impetuosity born of rage. She should have taken notice of Cass’s advice.
Head low along the neck of her horse, she found herself uttering sharp cries which would have brought a blush to her superior, the Abbess of Kildare, had that pious woman heard her young charge conjuring a rich variety of curses to urge her steed to further efforts.
She glanced back across her shoulder.
There were a couple of riders strung out behind her. She could see the leading pursuer was none other than Intat himself. Her heart went cold. She tried not to think what that signified. There was no question that Intat rode a stronger horse than Fidelma for he was gaining on her with ease.
In desperation, Fidelma turned her horse from the main track, hoping that it might make up across country what it was obviously loosing to its pursuers on the straight track. It was a mistake for, not knowing the crisscross forest paths, she found she was unable to keep up even the speed that she had maintained on the straight track. Intat was gaining. She could hear the pounding hooves of his horse and the deep rasping of its breath.
Suddenly a river barred her progress. It was the same river that ran by the cabin which had twisted round in its course. She had no choice but to plunge straight into it, hoping it was as shallow as it had been by the cabin; hoping that it was shallow enough to ford. It wasn’t. She was halfway across when her horse stumbled, lost the bottom and plunged in panic underneath the water. Fidelma tried to cling on but found herself swept off while the animal went careering forward, found the bottom again and stumbled out of the water.
Desperately, Fidelma struck out but Intat was already urging his horse into the water.
He gave a loud shout of triumph.
She turned, saw him coming and struck out again in reckless desperation to reach the far bank. In her heart she realised it was impossible to escape. She splashed through the shallows, stumbled and slipped on the mud bank.
Intat’s mount was pawing the air almost above her. The thick-set warrior leapt from the saddle and stood in the shallows above her, both hands claspin
g the hilt of his sword.
‘So, dálaigh, you have created enough trouble for me. This is where it ends.’
He raised the sword.
Fidelma flinched, put her arm up in an automatic defensive response and closed her eyes.
She heard Intat grunt sharply and when nothing happened she opened her eyes.
Intat was staring, his eyes unfocused. He was still standing swaying above her. Then slowly he began to sink down. It was then she saw two arrow shafts sticking from his chest. The sword slipped from his hands and he pitched forward on his face into the river before her.
With a cry, more to release her pent-up emotion than as a call for help, she scrambled swiftly up the muddy bank.
She became aware of horses milling around her and swung to face the new threat.
‘Fidelma!’ cried a familiar voice.
She stared in disbelief as her brother swung down from his mount and came running towards her, arms outstretched.
‘Colgú!’
He hugged her violently and then held her at arms’ length, concern in his eyes and, observing that she was not harmed, he grinned wryly.
‘Where is the sister who said she could take care of herself?’
She blinked back the tears of relief. Across the river some of Colgú’s bodyguard had rounded up Intat’s other henchman.
‘You have arrived not a moment too soon,’ she breathed jerkily. ‘How was this done?’
Colgú grimaced and gestured towards a nearby band of about thirty mounted men, riding under his banner.
‘We are on our way to Ros Ailithir to the assembly called by the High King. My scouts saw you being pursued and we came to intercept you. But where is Cass?’ He frowned in annoyance. ‘I gave him the charge of protecting you.’
Fidelma was anguished.
‘Cass is back at the cabin in the forest there. He tried to keep our attackers at bay while I escaped to get help from Ros Ailithir. We must get back there immediately. He was fighting with Intat.’ She indicated the man’s body, now floating in the shallows of the river. ‘We must be quick, for he may be injured.’
Suffer Little Children Page 26