Eadulf was about to say something when the eerie call of the wolf came again. He waited until the cry died away.
‘I have heard a wolf called many things but “son of the country” - why that?’ He shivered slightly.
‘I can think of four names for the animal as well as the collective name. To call it mac-tíre, “son of the country”, is just an allusion to the fact that it haunts the wild woods and fastnesses.’
She suddenly halted and gestured for him to also stand still.
‘Up ahead,’ she said quietly. ‘There is the tilled field which I think Samradán’s driver alluded to. The well must be nearby.’
The twilight, coupled with the ground mist, had not yet obscured the field. In fact, the mist had not risen more than a few feet. It swirled around their lower legs as if they were wading through white, shallow water. Eadulf followed the direction of her outstretched arm and saw in the gloom a rectangular enclosure which was clearly outlined by surrounding trees.
‘That must be it,’ he agreed, pointing to a corner where he could just make out a large, curving bough. It was obviously man-hewn, and rose from the misty ground to a height of nine feet or more. At the end of this they could see a rope from which a wooden bucket was suspended.
Fidelma led the way again, climbing on the low stone wall into the field and proceeding across the damp, ploughed soil towards the well.
‘No one seems to be here yet,’ grunted Eadulf as he looked about him in the semi-gloom.
Almost as he spoke there was a movement on the other side of the small stone wall which surrounded the well head; it was a wall made of piled boulders of varying sizes placed there without mortar.
‘Who’s there?’ demanded Fidelma.
There was a wheezy cough and the voice of Samradán’s driver greeted them.
They moved around the well head and found the man seated with his back to the low wall. His legs were placed straight out in front of him and his arms were loose at his side. They could not discern his features in the shadows.
‘I … I was hoping that you would come soon,’ the man said, raising his head to them.
Fidelma gazed down at him with a frown. ‘Is there something the matter?’ she asked, wondering why he did not rise.
‘I have not long,’ the man broke in impatiently. ‘Do not speak but listen to what I say.’
Fidelma and Eadulf exchanged a glance expressing their perplexity.
Nearby came the plaintive wail of a wolf once more. This time it was joined by several others so that the sounds seemed to rise all around them.
‘Speak, then,’ Fidelma invited, seating herself on top of the small wall. ‘What do you want with us?’
Eadulf continued to stand, his hands on his staff, gazing anxiously into the growing dusk. ‘A fine place to set for a meeting,’ he muttered. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to leave here and seek some more protective spot?’
The man still had not risen and he ignored Eadulf. ‘Sister Fidelma
… I am of Cashel. Let that suffice, for my name will mean nothing to you. Cred did not tell you the whole truth.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Fidelma greeted the statement in even tones. ‘We all shape truth to fit our perception of it.’
‘She lied in what she admitted to you,’ the driver insisted. ‘I saw the man she calls the archer meet with other people at the tavern. She knew it and lied.’
‘Why would she do that?’ ‘Listen to me first. The archer met with a Brother of the faith. I saw this Brother enter the inn. He did so when Cred was in the inn. She did not think that I observed him for I was taking a nap by the fire after my meal. The archer’s entry had disturbed me and I was about to bestir myself when I saw the religieux enter. He was nervous so I decided to pretend that I was still asleep and watched from under lowered lids.’
‘Who was he? Did you recognise the man?’
‘No. But I felt it strange for a religieux to have entered a tavern the like of which Cred ran, if you know what I mean.’
‘So you saw a religieux enter. Was he a rotund, moon-faced Brother?’ asked Fidlelma.
The driver nodded.
‘With greying, curly hair which had once been cut into the tonsure of Rome?’ added Eadulf. ‘A tonsure like mine?’
‘No,’ the man shook his head. ‘He wore the tonsure of an Irish brother. What you call the tonsure of St John. But he was, as you say, a rotund, moon-faced brother.’
‘When was this?’
‘Less than a week ago. I cannot be precise.’
‘Did you see the monk leave the inn?’
‘Some time later. I had gone to the blacksmith’s by then. One of the wagons had a broken axle and the smith was mending it. While I was there I saw the very same Brother hurrying by towards the abbey.’
‘Brother Mochta?’ queried Eadulf, more to Fidelma than to the driver.
‘The name means nothing to me,’ the man insisted.
‘How do you know that he met with the archer? He could have been visiting someone else in the tavern.’
‘Apart from myself and the other two drivers, only the archer was staying at the tavern. When the Brother came in, he said something to Cred who replied, “He is waiting for you above the stair”. Who else could be waiting for him but the archer?’
‘Very well,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘I cannot flaw your logic. So the Brother from the abbey met with the archer.’
‘There is another thing which confirms that this religieux came in search of the archer.’
‘What?’
‘Several days later he came again to the inn, this time in broad daylight and with another member of his community. The Brother asked Cred where the archer was. He was not there, so this religieux and his companion left.’
‘Did you see this religieux or his companion again?’
‘No. But there is something else and something more important. I saw the archer meet another man later on the same night that the religieux paid his first visit to the inn. I was disturbed in my sleep and I heard voices below my window in the courtyard of the tavern. Curious, I peered out. There were two men there, one of them holding a horse. They were engaged in conversation. They were standing underneath the tavern light.’
One of the duties, enforced by law on all tavern keepers, was that a light had to be kept burning during the night to guide travellers to the hostel, whether it was situated in the countryside or in the town.
The driver suddenly coughed, a racking cough. Then he recovered himself. ‘One of the men was, of course, the archer.’
‘The other?’ pressed Eadulf eagerly. ‘Did you recognise the other man?’
‘No. He had a cloak and hood over him. I can tell you this. He was a man of rich apparel. His cloak was of wool, edged with fur. There was little else that I could see but it was the horse with its saddle and bridle which really showed a richness few people could afford. Anyway, I tried to listen to their conversation. I could tell but little. The archer was very respectful of the man in the cloak. Then …’
The driver hesitated and started coughing again. Fidelma and Eadulf waited patiently until he had regained his composure.
‘Then the fine lord said, well … I think it was an old proverb. Ríoghacht gan duadh, ní dual go bhfagthar.’
‘No kingdom is to be obtained without trouble,’ repeated Fidelma softly. ‘It is, indeed, an old proverb meaning that without pain you do not gain anything.’
The driver was coughing again.
‘It is a bad cough for you to be seated on the damp ground with,’ chided Eadulf.
The driver went on as if he had not heard him. ‘The archer responded. He said, “I will not be found wanting, rígdomna.” His exact words.’
Fidelma started forward, her body suddenly tense. ‘Rígdomna? Are you sure that he used that form of address?’
‘He did so, Sister,’ replied the driver.
Eadulf looked at Fidelma in the deep gloom which had now descended over the field. �
�That word is a title for a prince, isn’t it?’
The term meant literally ‘king material’ and was an official term of an address to the son of a king.
The driver was coughing again.
‘What is the matter with you?’ demanded Fidelma, beginning to wonder at the man’s condition.
The driver gasped for breath. ‘I think that I will have to ask you to help me back to the town, for I fear I cannot make it by myself.’
He started to move and then began to cough again. Abruptly he gave a curious whining cry and fell forward onto his side.
Eadulf dropped his staff and knelt down in the darkness, for dusk and mist had combined so swiftly as to obscure all details from their sight. He reached for the man’s head and felt along the neck for a pulse. He found it fluttering and then it stopped.
‘What is it?’ asked Fidelma impatiently.
Eadulf stared up, unable to see her features. ‘He is dead.’
Fidelma gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘Dead? How can that be?’
Eadulf felt a still-warm and wet substance at the corner of the man’s mouth.
‘He has been coughing blood,’ he said in surprise. ‘We would have noticed it had it been light.’
‘But the man did not look ill earlier. He did not appear to be the sort to cough blood.’
Eadulf bent forward and tried to bring the body back into an upright seated position. His left hand was trying to act as a brace for the back of the man when he felt the same warm, sticky substance over the man’s back. There was a tear in the man’s shirt and Eadulf’s fingers touched the ragged, torn flesh.
‘Oh, dabit deus his quoque finem!’ he muttered in the dark.
‘What is it?’ Fidelma was frustrated as it was too gloomy now to see exactly what Eadulf was doing.
‘The man has been stabbed in the back. He lay here talking with us all the while he was mortally wounded. God knows how he survived. He has been stabbed in the back …’ Eadulf paused. ‘The very movement he made to get up must have ruptured his wound further and caused his death. Maybe he would have lived had he not moved. I don’t know.’
Fidelma remained silent for a moment.
‘He should have spoken up before,’ she said eventually, articulating a brutal realism. ‘We cannot help him now.’
Eadulf reached for the well bucket which was full of the water and cleaned the blood from his hands.
‘Shall I carry his body back to the inn?’ he asked. ‘We should tell Samradan.’
Fidelma shook her head in the gloom before realising that it was too dark for Eadulf to see the negative gesture.
‘No. If we announce our involvement with this man we might be prevented from following up the information he has given us.’
‘How so? The man was stabbed in the back. Murdered. He was on his way to meet with us. When he arranged the meeting this afternoon he feared to be seen talking with us. Whom did he fear? Whoever it was must have killed him to prevent him passing on information.’
‘We do not know that for certain. But I am inclined to agree. If he was killed to prevent him telling us what he knew then it would be wiser to let whoever killed him believe that he was unable to speak with us. We must keep quiet about this. He will be found tomorrow when someone comes to the well. We will work on the assumption that he was killed to keep him silent, and we should pretend he kept that silence.’
‘I do not like it,’ confessed Eadulf. ‘It seems an unChristian thing to do, simply to go away and leave him thus.’
‘He will not mind and, as we are in pursuit of justice, neither will God. It might be an advantage in tracking his killers for if they are connected with our assassin friends then we have learnt something important which gives us a small advantage.’
She knelt down beside the body and uttered a short blessing before standing up.
‘Sic itur ad astra,’ muttered Eadulf sarcastically. Thus one goes to the stars.
Eadulf was suddenly aware of the continued howling of the wolves which seemed to have grown closer while they had been talking at the well. He picked up his staff, which he had let fall when he had examined the body, and turned to Fidelma.
‘We’d best start back.’
Fidelma was in agreement. She, too, had noticed the growing nearness of the sound of the wolves.
They went back across the field and climbed over the short stone wall which bordered the field and onto the track. The moon was up now, a bright mid-September moon. It seemed no longer dark. There were a few clouds in the sky but they did not obscure the pale white brightness. The gloom and mist had only hung in the field around the well, encouraged by the dampness. Here on the track the darkness had been dissipated and the pallid light cast shadows across the lane as they hurried towards the distant lights of the township.
The rising cry of the wolves caused an involuntary shudder, not for the first time, to tingle its way down Eadulf back.
He cast a nervous glance around. ‘They sound as if they are pretty near,’ he muttered.
‘We will be all right,’ Fidelma replied confidently. ‘Wolves don’t attack adult humans unless they are starving.’
‘Who’s to say that these beasts aren’t starving?’ Eadulf grunted.
If the truth were known, Fidelma was thinking the same thought. Eadulf was not sure that he had seen it, so quickly did the shape flit across his gaze. It appeared to be a large dark shadow which moved swiftly across the path about twenty yards ahead. Some instinct caused him to halt.
‘What is it?’ whispered Fidelma, seeing his shoulders suddenly tense. She stood still by his side, peering forward.
‘I am not sure …’ began Eadulf.
The soft growling caused their limbs to feel as if they had suddenly been frozen.
The shadow moved again, a long low, muscular shape and suddenly the pale moonlight reflected on two round pinpoints which seemed to twinkle like points of fire. The growling sound increased.
‘Get behind me, Fidelma,’ hissed Eadulf, raising his staff protectively before him.
The beast took a step nearer, all the while continuing its deep growling sound.
‘I can’t see if it is a wolf or just a watch-dog from a farm,’ Fidelma whispered, squinting into the darkness.
‘Either way, it is a threat,’ replied Eadulf.
Abruptly, with no warning at all, the great animal launched itself forward. Had Eadulf not been possessed of quick reflexes it would have been at his throat. Even as the animal was springing from the ground, Eadulf swung his staff and met the creature halfway with a blow, more out of luck than a sound aim, that contacted with its muzzle. He had put what force he could muster into the stroke. With a yelp of pain the animal was knocked to the ground and, whining, it trotted back a few yards. Then it halted, its whimper turning into a snarl of defiance.
When Fidelma spoke, Eadulf heard fear in her voice for the first time since he had known her.
‘It’s no dog, Eadulf. It’s a wolf.’
Eadulf had not taken his eyes from the beast which began to move slowly back and forth before them, continuing to growl, as if watching them for some weak spot. It started to make short little runs up and down but did not approach them. The red, luminescent eyes were constantly fixed on Eadulf as he turned, keeping the staff held before him at all times.
‘We cannot keep this up all night,’ he muttered.
‘There is nowhere to go,’ replied Fidelma.
‘There is a tree a few yards down there … if I keep the animal at bay, perhaps you could make it … scramble up into the branches … ?’
‘And what would you do?’ she protested. ‘You would not be able to reach the tree before the beast reached you.’
‘What alternative do we have?’ replied Eadulf, fear giving him an irascible tone. ‘Shall we both be caught here and savaged by the animal? I will try to turn the beast out of the path so that you can slip by it. That will give you a clear field to run. When I call to you … run! Don’
t look back and make sure you climb as high as you can.’
There was such determination in his voice that Fidelma realised it was pointless to protest. In any case, logically, Eadulf was correct. They had no other choice.
Eadulf made a few lunges at the growling wolf which caused it to start back in surprise at his audacity. Then it seemed that its fiery eyes narrowed and it showed its great slobbering fangs again. It had turned a little. Eadulf lunged again.
There came a single eerie wail from nearby. The howl sent shivers through them both. It echoed from the direction of the field that they had just left.
The attacking wolf stood and lifted its head to the moonlight, which fell with its soft white rays on the upturned muzzle of the animal. From some point deep down in the throat there rose a sound, faint at first, then welling in strength and volume until the jaws parted and the most unearthly shrill howl rent the air. Never had Eadulf heard anything like it. Once, twice and a third time the cry shattered the evening stillness around them. As the cry subsided, the wolf seemed to pause and listen.
Sure enough, from the field, came an answering cry, an awesome wailing sound.
Without further ado, not even so much as a glance in Eadulf s direction, the attacking wolf turned and loped over the stone boundary wall and away towards the field behind them.
Eadulf found himself still transfixed and the sweat was pouring from his brow. His staff was slippery in the palms of his hands.
It was Fidelma who moved first.
‘Come on, lest there be others of those creatures nearby. Let’s get to the safety of the township.’
When Eadulf did not move, she reached forward and tugged him by the sleeve.
He tried to collect his wits, turned and hurried after her in a rapid trot, now and then casting nervous glances across his shoulders.
‘But they are heading for the field where we left the …’
‘Of course!’ snapped Fidelma. ‘Why do you think the wolf abandoned its attack against us? Its mate — ’ her voice trembled slightly — ‘had found the carcass; found more easy prey than us. That was the meaning of those terrible cries between them. In death that poor man has saved us. Deo gratias!’
The Monk Who Vanished Page 14