Master of Souls sf-16

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘A laech-lestar? What is that?’ demanded Eadulf.

  ‘It’s a warship,’ Fidelma said shortly.

  ‘She has the wind full behind her, whoever she is, and will be on us shortly.’

  Fidelma was concerned.

  ‘Ui Neill?’ she asked. There had been several wars with the expansionist northern Ui Neill of Ulaidh.

  Mugron shook his head in disagreement.

  ‘We are too far south. The Ui Neill don’t raid these waters in midwinter.’

  ‘She’s really straining under full sail,’ observed Conri. ‘Her captain means to cross our bow or…’

  He fell silent.

  ‘What is it?’ demanded Fidelma.

  ‘Can you see her meirge — her war banner?’

  Fidelma glanced to the topmast from which a long banner was streaming. It looked like white satin, blown forward of the mast because the wind was behind the ship. It snapped and fluttered.

  ‘I can’t quite see the design,’ she called. ‘It looks like a tree

  …’

  Her gaze had fallen to the deck of the ship. She could see men lined along the rails behind round shields. She could see the glint of polished metal.

  ‘It is a tree,’ confirmed Conri. There was a strange catch to his voice. ‘It’s an oak tree being defended by a champion.’

  ‘Do you recognise it, then?’ asked Eadulf.

  Conri laughed harshly.

  ‘I do. It’s the battle flag of Eoganan of the Ui Fidgente.’

  Fidelma was staring at the banner in disbelief.

  It was now apparent that the warship was racing down to intercept them. It was also apparent that her crew did not have any good intentions. The distance between the vessels was being closed at an alarming rate. The aim of the captain of the warship was suddenly clear. To the south they were crossing the mouth of a moderately sized bay.

  ‘Should we not run for cover and put in there?’ called Fidelma.

  No one answered her because a couple of ranging arrows soared from the bow of the oncoming vessel and came curving through the sky, only to fall well short of Mugron’s ship, slapping harmlessly on the sea.

  ‘It won’t be long before they have our range,’ muttered Conri. He turned and called to his two warriors. ‘Break out your bows and show them we will not be taken without a fight.’

  Mugron was disapproving.

  ‘You and two warriors mean to hold back the thirty or forty men that must be in that ship? Do you want us all killed because you will not be taken without a fight?’

  ‘Rather be killed fighting than killed after we surrender,’ snapped Conri.

  ‘Surrender to whom?’ demanded a bewildered Eadulf. ‘I thought Eoganan was dead?’

  ‘So he is,’ replied Conri, his voice angry. ‘And that means those flying his flag are rebels, outlaws, men without honour who have rejected the peace between the Ui Fidgente and Cashel. They will not spare our lives.’

  Mugron was looking undecided.

  ‘This has never happened before,’ he began. ‘There have been no raids along this coast since-’

  Suddenly there was a soft thud. An arrow embedded itself in the bow rail of the boat.

  ‘They’ve found our range,’ exclaimed Conri unnecessarily.

  He had barely let out the words, when three or four arrows were shot from the nearing vessel. This time they carried a thin trail of smoke behind them.

  ‘Fire arrows!’ Mugron shouted.

  The arrows fell near but extinguished themselves in the sea.

  ‘What about running for shelter in that bay?’ demanded Fidelma again, pointing to the bay to the south.

  ‘A trap,’ snapped Mugron. ‘Once in that bay there is no room to come out. We would be caught like rats in a trap.’

  ‘But we must do something,’ Conri. said.

  Half a dozen more fire arrows were loosed from the warship. Two hit on the foredeck and two of Mugron’s crew ran forward to tear them loose and throw them overboard. The ships were very close now. They could hear the warriors banging their swords against their shields in exultation. The streaming silk banner was clearly visible now. Conri was right. It depicted an oak tree and before it a warrior with sword and shield. Eadulf

  Mugron was yelling to his crew to take cover behind the bales of trade goods.

  ‘There is an island coming up ahead,’ warned Fidelma but Mugron had seen it and seemed to be steering straight for it. She stood calmly by the merchant as he bent over the tiller. ‘Mugron, the island!’ she snapped again.

  ‘I know it,’ he muttered.

  There came another hissing flight of arrows.

  ‘Take cover, Fidelma!’ Eadulf groaned, crouching by the side of the vessel, not feeling his sea legs strong enough to stand upright to protect her.

  ‘He’s right, lady,’ cried Conri. ‘Best get down into the well of the ship.’ There was a sudden squeal of pain as one of Mugron’s crew was hit by an arrow. Someone rushed to help him.

  Reluctantly Fidelma crouched to sit by Eadulf.

  They could all see the island approaching dead ahead and Mugron was swinging the tiller so that it seemed he intended to pass along its northern coast. It was a tiny island, no more than a grassy knoll with rocks along its northern side. Even Fidelma could see that if Mugron took that course, the warship would be upon them and intercept them in no time.

  The captain of the warship realised this as did his men because they heard a wild cheer go up from them.

  ‘Do your warriors have the means to make fire arrows?’ snapped Murgron to Conri, eyes on the strange vessel.

  ‘What do you mean to do?’ demanded the warlord as he confirmed they had. ‘Ram her? We are no match for such a vessel.’

  ‘Get them to do so now and wait until I give the word.’

  Conri ran forward to where his two warriors had already used some of their arrows in a futile attempt to hit the steersman on the warship.

  Mugron was now yelling at his crew to prepare to take in sail.

  Eadulf exchanged a bewildered glance with Fidelma.

  The warship was now turning to bring it in broadside to the point where it would intercept Mugron’s vessel at the north side of the islet. The islet was approaching rapidly. On this course, Fidelma could only presume, as Conri had, that Mugron was going to ram into the side of the warship and then try to fight his way out.

  It would be a futile gesture.

  Then, with a sudden harsh cry, Mugron pushed his tiller sharply over so that the vessel almost went over on its side. It sheered away from its course and shot suddenly along the sandy south side of the islet.

  Mugron’s cry had sent his men pulling on the ropes and taking the wind out of the sails.

  Abruptly, they were in slack water.

  Eadulf could scarcely believe what had happened.

  They were now on the southern side of the islet, alongside a sandy stretch of shore, while the warship had raced down on the northern side thinking to catch the merchant ship hemmed in against that rocky shore.

  For the moment the barrier of the islet protected them.

  Mugron’s crew were well trained for they had oars out and pushing back so that the vessel did not continue its forward momentum, allowing it to remain in the shelter of the southern shore.

  Conri and his two warriors had prepared their arrows.

  Mugron was already untying the small hide-covered dinghy, a currach, which trailed behind the vessel.

  ‘The archers will come with me!’ he cried, motioning them aft.

  Conri’s two warriors, with their blazing fire pot, did not question him but went aft and clambered into the smaller vessel. It seemed only a moment or two later that they landed on the sandy stretch. Mugron led them in crouching fashion up to the point where they apparently had a view of the war vessel on the other side of the islet.

  From the ship Fidelma and the others watched as the two warriors, under Mugron’s direction, loosed off three fire-tipped arro
ws apiece. No one could see what they were shooting at. Then the three men turned and came scuttling back to the currach, launching it swiftly towards the merchant vessel.

  They had hardly reached the side when a long thin column of smoke was seen rising from the far side of the islet.

  Mugron climbed aboard with a broad grin.

  ‘Your men can shoot well, Conri.’

  The warlord was looking bewildered.

  ‘You set fire to the warship?’

  Mugron shook his head.

  ‘We merely singed their sails a little. They’ll have difficulty following us now.’

  ‘What’s to prevent them clambering on the islet on their side and shooting at us?’ demanded Eadulf.

  The merchant was still grinning.

  ‘It’s rocky that side. You can’t land. However, I do not intend to wait while they attempt such an experiment.’

  He turned and gave rapid orders to his crew who hoisted their own sails. In a moment or two they were moving south-south-west away from the islet.

  As they cleared it, they could see that the flames had caught the sails of the warship, which would soon burn away to nothing. The members of the crew were still scurrying here and there hauling leather buckets of seawater up the sides on ropes as they attempted to douse the flames. Even if the vessel carried spare sail, it would take them some time before they could get under way again.

  The wind was behind them now and with Mugron back at the tiller the vessel was already putting distance between it and the strange warship.

  With things calmer, Eadulf went forward to attend to the crewman who had been wounded by the arrow. Since his training at Tuam Brecain, the great medical school of Breifne, Eadulf always carried a small supply of medicines with him. He found that the crewman had, luckily, sustained no more than a flesh wound through the upper arm. The arrow had torn the flesh but not touched a muscle. He would be sore for some days but would recover. Eadulf treated the cut with some dried woundwort which he mixed with some water into a poultice and applied to the wound. It would help in the healing process.

  There was an uneasy quiet when he returned to the stern, where Mugron was still standing rock-like at the tiller. Conri was staring moodily back towards the vanishing warship, now apparently becalmed against the islet, while Fidelma was sitting in a silent meditative pose.

  There was another islet approaching and this time Mugron was steering to pass it on the north side. Eadulf saw that it was more of a reef for he could see the rocks just under the water as the ship sped by at a reasonable distance from the hidden menace. Then they finally appeared to be free of the islands and into open sea, with a great broad bay extending south of them. It was large and sand-edged, with mountains rising behind the shoreline.

  ‘Breanainn’s bay,’ Mugron announced, breaking the silence. He pointed to the far western side of the great expanse. ‘That’s Breanainn’s mount,

  Fidelma shook her head. ‘Do you mean to say that you intend to go back the way we have come?’

  Mugron was equally serious. ‘I am a trader, lady. So long as the weather holds, what other way is there than to transport my goods back to An Bhearbha?’

  Conri was worried, knowing what Fidelma meant.

  ‘That warship still presents a menace, Mugron. We must find out who it is threatening this coast. You cannot chance the journey back before it is dealt with.’

  The merchant shrugged.

  ‘True enough. But whose jurisdiction is it to tackle it? It flies Eoganan’s battle flag. That’s defiance to Donennach, chief of the Ui Fidgente. You are warlord under Donennach, Conri. What do you intend to do?’

  Conri looked embarrassed.

  ‘I can do little enough with only two warriors at the moment. We encountered the warship in the waters of the Corco Duibhne. Perhaps the responsibility should lie with Slebene the chief?’

  Fidelma interrupted irritably.

  ‘Whether or not it is the immediate responsibility of whatever territorial chieftain it concerns Cashel and the peace of the kingdom. We will have to find someone who is prepared to send warships to meet this vessel and secure the peace in these waters.’

  ‘There is something else, of course.’

  It was Eadulf who interposed. They all looked expectantly at him. ‘The warship attacked us sailing from the place you called Seanach’s Island. Is that not so?’ he asked.

  Mugron gave an affirmative of his head.

  ‘You told us that the only people inhabiting Seanach’s Island were a group of religious hermits who have had their hermitage there for a century or more?’

  ‘I did. I fail to see-’

  ‘If the warship is using their island, what has happened to the religious? Someone should go there to ensure that they are safe from this marauder.’

  ‘Eadulf is right,’ Fidelma said thoughtfully. ‘It may be that whoever

  Conri was in agreement.

  ‘Those islands would not be ideal for a base. Mugron has already mentioned the lack of a natural water supply. There must be something else that makes them attack from there. Whatever it is, it must be dealt with.’

  ‘If the hermits can live there,’ Eadulf contradicted, ‘then a warship can use it as a port.’

  ‘I think our Saxon friend is right,’ Mugron agreed. ‘Someone needs to go with warriors to Seanach’s Island, make sure the hermits are safe and find out what is happening.’

  ‘But that someone needs to be wary,’ Fidelma added. ‘If these bandits are prepared to kill unsuspecting merchants, then it is no use sailing to the island in the hours of daylight and simply demanding to see whether the religious community are well. One needs to go with stealth and at night when they cannot be seen.’

  Mugron sniffed deprecatingly.

  ‘I understand your caution, lady, but you do not know these waters. It needs someone who knows them well enough to sail in daytime, but at night…? At night the currents run strong and there are reefs and rocks to consider.’

  ‘So whoever goes must be someone who knows the waters intimately,’ interrupted Fidelma. ‘It must surely not be beyond the realms of possibility to use a currach to reach the island, land at night and check whether the community still dwell there in safety or if indeed they have been overtaken by these outlaws.’

  ‘True enough, lady,’ agreed Mugron. ‘We must speak of this to Duinn when we get ashore.’

  ‘Is this Duinn a trader?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘Not a trader although he runs the trading post where we will land. He is also the petty chieftain of the area. He controls the area in which Breanainn’s mountain rises and then his territory stretches west of this great bay and almost south to An Daingean. He is subordinate to Slebene, chief of all the Corco Duibhne.’

  ‘Whoever he is, I hope he understands the seriousness of this matter,’ Eadulf said, ‘and realises the need to take immediate action.’

  ‘If there is a warship interrupting his trade,’ Mugron observed with a grim smile, ‘then I am sure that he will take the matter extremely seriously.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  B y late afternoon that day they had reached Daingean Ui Cuis, the fortress of the descendants of Cuis, the capital of the Corco Duibhne from which Slebene ruled the entire peninsula. The great fortress overlooked an excellent harbour on the south side of the peninsula. The harbour had a narrow entrance to the sea. Mugron’s coastal vessel could easily have navigated around the end of the peninsula to it but it was faster to land at the northern harbour of Duinn’s settlement and come through the mountain valleys by horse, a distance of some twenty kilometres.

  Mugron had reported the matter of the strange warship to Duinn, who was a rough, almost uncommunicative man, more fitted to be a warrior than a minor chieftain. He did not seem perturbed by their report and felt that the responsibility of sending men to Seanach’s Island was not his immediate concern. Even when Fidelma rebuked his lack of enterprise, he was stubborn.

  ‘It is up to Sleben
e, Sister,’ he said. ‘He will make the decision. My task is to make sure that goods are landed safely here, not to go chasing after raiders unless they come into the waters of my territory.’

  Finally, Fidelma gave up trying to persuade him. Mugron had purchased some horses and it was arranged that they could be used by Fidelma and her party, who would eventually ride them back to Ard Fhearta by the land route. Their own mounts were, of course, still stabled at Ard Fhearta. While Conri was sorting out the details with Mugron, a monk arrived who identified himself as Brother Maidiu, the keeper of the oratory on Breanainn’s mount. He had come to the harbour to trade with Mugron and was able to confirm that there was still no sign of the missing members of Abbess Faife’s party. Fidelma had expected no less.

  They finally left Mugron and his ship at Duinn’s harbour settlement

  The party spoke little as they rode along. But soon enough they reached the end of the long valley, passing by a series of lochs, and then climbing through a short mountain pass before descending almost immediately into the plain that led to Daingean. While Slebene’s fortress of grey stones was eye-catching, what was more striking was the settlement that spread around the harbour before it. Even Eadulf was impressed by the populace and by the vessels clustered in the sheltered harbour. There were even two churches within the settlement, set apart from the other buildings by their small wooden bell towers.

  There was no difficulty in finding their way through the streets of the settlement to the great wooden gates of Slebene’s fortress from which the settlement took its name — An Daingean.

  Heavily armed warriors barred their way at the gates, demanding to know their business. Fidelma requested to see their chieftain. On being asked who it was who wished to see Slebene, Fidelma felt the need to impress by announcing herself as Fidelma of Cashel, sister to Colgu, king of Muman. That certainly had the desired effect and they were quickly admitted to the fortress. One of the warriors hurried off to announce their presence to Slebene. They had barely time to dismount before the warrior came hurrying back to announce that Slebene would see them immediately. Conri told his men to stay with the horses and arrange for their feeding. Then the three of them followed the warrior to the great hall of the fortress where Slebene waited to receive them.