Master of Souls

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Look at this.’ Fidelma pointed to one of the corpses.

  Holding a hand over his mouth to avoid the stench, Conrí, with Eadulf at his shoulder, did so.

  ‘This man did not drown. He has a broken sword blade snapped off between his ribs.’

  Eadulf was aghast.

  ‘You mean these men made it ashore and were cut down?’

  ‘The man who killed this sailor thrust his sword in but it must have been ill tempered, for when he tried to withdraw the blade it broke,’ Fidelma explained. ‘Thus the tip of the blade remains in the rotting flesh as a mute testimony to the crime.’

  Eadulf pointed to another corpse which lay on its back.

  ‘The skull of this one seems smashed. It might have been done in the wreck or against the rocks …’

  ‘Then how did the man manage to crawl up here so far above the waterline?’ queried Fidelma. She slowly shook her head. ‘We are seeing nothing but plain and gruesome murder. Either that ship was deliberately wrecked or people stood on this shore waiting for the survivors and killed them.’

  The usually silent warrior, Socht, had been looking at the channel between the tip of the island and the southern shore.

  ‘It would take a bad seaman and bad luck to run ashore here even in darkness, lady,’ he muttered.

  ‘Could it be that the Abbess Faife and her companions were passing here when this deed occurred? They saw this crime and had to be silenced?’ Conri speculated.

  ‘If so, then there are matters that puzzle me,’ said Eadulf.

  They turned to him with expressions of curiosity.

  ‘Well, if it was the intention to keep this matter a secret, why leave Abbess Faife so close to the scene, along the roadside where Mugrón found her a short time later? Why have these bodies been left strewn on this island and floating in the waters around it? Why leave the booty in the fortress with gates and doors wide open so that anyone could – even as we died—enter and discover it?’

  ‘The questions are pertinent,’ agreed Fidelma.

  ‘But are there answers to them?’ demanded Conrí.

  ‘It shows that whoever did this thing is supremely confident,’ Eadulf concluded. ‘That they fear no one in this area.’

  No one commented and so Eadulf continued.

  ‘There was only one person who had such power and overweening belief in himself …’ Eadulf paused and then shrugged. ‘But I saw him die. Now there is only one undisputed chief of this land.’

  ‘Slébéne!’ muttered Conrí.

  ‘Is there any other?’ Eadulf challenged.

  ‘Well,’ agreed Conrí, ‘only the wronged dead are allowed to come back from the Otherworld on the night of the feast of Samhain to wreak vengeance on the living of this world. As Uaman was not wronged when he perished here, though he wronged many himself, he does not qualify to return on the feast of Samhain. So I agree with Eadulf, we must beware of Slébéne.’

  Fidelma peered around the deserted island and a cold wind caught at her, causing her to shiver slightly.

  ‘There seems much wrong in this land of the Corco Duibhne. Yet before we can accuse Slébéne we must gather proof against him.’

  Eadulf was unhappy that Fidelma did not support his view that it was more than apparent that Slébéne was to blame.

  ‘There can be no other explanation,’ he said determinedly.

  ‘Perhaps not, but I am only interested in what can be argued before the Brehons.’ Conrí was about to speak when Fidelma held up her hand. ‘We will speak of this no more until we can argue fact and not speculation.’

  Another gust of cold air hit them and Eadulf glanced at the darkening, grey sea with its choppy waves. The hour was growing late.

  ‘The tide is on the turn,’ he said. ‘I think we should go back across the sands to the mainland before we are cut off for the night.’

  ‘What of the goods in the storeroom? What of the gold?’ demanded Conrí.

  ‘We must leave it. Our first consideration is to find the missing women,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘We can deal with that matter later.’

  The journey back was an easier one as they had their own footsteps in the sand to guide them safely over the sand dunes to the firm shore. The sky was darkening when they left the island and they could hear the sibilant whispering of the sea as the oncoming tide gathered for its onslaught across the sand.

  ‘We have a short time before darkness. Let me see where the body of the abbess was found.’

  They collected their horses and Conrí led them a short distance along the road and then up through some trees towards the dark shape of a conical stone hut.

  ‘Mugrón found her outside the coirceogach and then dragged the body behind it, packing it with snow to preserve it until he reached Ard Fhearta to alert us.’

  Fidelma dismounted and looked about. She realised there would be little to find. Too long had passed and too many people had been here. Also, there had been several falls of snow since the incident, obscuring everything. But the hope of discovering some significant clue was not the reason for her coming. She merely needed to see and feel the atmosphere of the place where the deed was done as it helped her to recreate it in her mind. She looked around. They were out of sight of the island, being round a bend in the road, and the road itself was a short distance away below them.

  Fidelma bent down and entered the stone hut. There were traces of a travellers’ fire, some discarded pottery items and a few pieces of rag … no, not rags, but clothing. She looked carefully at one of them. It turned out to be a leather jerkin, a seaman’s jerkin, of the style she had seen on the decomposing corpses on the island. Nearby was the boot – a coisbert.

  She emerged from the coirceogach and held out the items to Conrí.

  ‘I presume that this is the boot and clothing that Mugrón showed you?’

  Conrí gave an affirmative gesture.

  ‘They may mean nothing,’ she said, replacing them in the hut. ‘There are many ways that the clothing could have come here. There is also a chance someone took it from one of the corpses and brought it here. Perhaps one of the people who killed Faife could have been carrying it or even wearing it. There are lots of possibilities.’

  Conrí was looking at the sky with impatience.

  ‘I do not think that we should spend any more time here. We need to find a place to pass the night,’ he said. ‘It is going to be a cold one and I do not fancy the idea of sleeping out under the trees.’

  ‘I told you that there was a village up the mountainside just here. We should have no trouble in finding a sheltered place. It was people from it who destroyed Uaman’s fortress once they learnt they were free from his thrall.’

  ‘Let us hope that they are more hospitable these days,’ the warlord muttered.

  ‘People’s actions in normal circumstances cannot be judged by their actions in extreme conditions,’ replied Eadulf. ‘I am sure we will find hospitality there.’

  ‘Then lead on, Eadulf,’ Fidelma instructed. ‘It has been a tiring day.’

  They remounted and Eadulf led the way up the track in the direction he knew the village lay. It was not far up the hillside, on the easy slopes just before the trees stopped and the great bald, rocky hills began to climb into the towering Sliabh Mis mountains. Eadulf swung round a bend on the track and came abruptly into what was the centre of the village. There was a blacksmith’s workshop in its usual position at the end of the settlement and a series of buildings, both stone and wooden structures, spread either side of the track. It was not quite dark yet and Eadulf was surprised by the utter stillness of the place. It seemed deserted.

  ‘Are you sure this is the place, Eadulf?’ Fidelma found herself whispering as they halted.

  ‘I am sure.’

  He leant forward in his saddle and gave forth a loud shout.

  ‘Hóigh! Hóigh!’

  There was a sudden fluttering of alarmed birds rising into the air but when their angry squawks died away no one had a
ppeared or answered the call.

  As an automatic reaction, Conrí’s two warriors had their swords unsheathed and ready as they examined their surroundings.

  ‘Your villagers seem to have deserted this place,’ commented Conrí unnecessarily.

  Eadulf rode forward between the houses, peering in at half-open doorways. It was true. It seemed that the entire village had been deserted, and certainly fairly recently judging by the condition of the buildings and what he could see of their interiors.

  Fidelma was resigned.

  ‘Well, if we cannot find hospitality we can, at least, have a roof over our heads this night,’ she said philosophically.

  Eadulf pointed to a building.

  ‘That looks suitable for accommodation. There is even a well beside it.’

  They dismounted and Socht and his companion took charge of the horses and went to find them a suitable shelter. Conrí himself managed to get a fire going in the hearth of the building while Eadulf explored its two rooms. There was a wooden bed frame in one of the rooms, and cupboards which the previous occupants had been rather hurried in clearing out, for a few items had been left inside them.

  ‘From the dust, this place cannot have been deserted for more than a week or two,’ Fidelma commented. ‘I wonder why the people decided to leave?’

  A moment later the second warrior returned. He wore a grin on his face. He said nothing but had his bow in one hand and held up two rabbits in the other.

  Conrí smiled appreciatively.

  ‘Well, we won’t starve tonight. And we have water at hand and there is still corma in my saddle bag to keep out the winter’s chill.’

  At a nod from Conrí, the warrior went outside to skin and gut the animals ready for cooking while the warlord constructed a spit that could be turned over the fire he had made.

  It was while they were seated in the main room of the deserted building in front of the fire, watching the sizzling carcasses of the rabbits being turned over it, that they all heard a slight, muffled sound.

  It was a soft thump. The noise seemed to come from under the very floor on which they sat. Yet the floor appeared to be a hardened earth surface.

  Conrí glanced at the others and placed a finger to his lips. His brows were drawn together. He began to examine the floor without moving from his seat. Then he silently pointed. There was a spot where dried rushes had been strewn and they saw a metal ring almost buried in the straw.

  Quietly, quickly, Conrí rose and moved to it. His two warrior companions had drawn their swords ready. The warlord bent down, gripped the metal ring quietly, paused only a moment and then pulled it abruptly upwards. A small trapdoor came away and Conrí peered down.

  ‘Come out of that!’ he shouted in a thunderous bellow.

  A moment later a small head and shoulders emerged.

  A frightened fair-haired boy, freckle-faced, terror in the blue eyes that peered round at the company. His hair was matted and his face smudged with dirt.

  ‘It’s a boy!’ cried Conrí in surprise, then he bent with one hand and hauled the child bodily up into the room. The lad could have been no more than twelve years old. He stood looking from one to another of them in a fearful fashion. Conrí, meanwhile, took a flaming piece of wood from the fire and peered into the hole from which the boy had emerged. He turned back with a shake of his head. ‘Nothing there. It is only an uaimh talún, an underground chamber for storing food.’

  It was clear that the boy was still very frightened.

  Fidelma smiled encouragingly at him.

  ‘Come here, child,’ she instructed. ‘Come, tell me your name.’

  The boy shuffled forward a step.

  ‘I am Iobcar, son of Starn the blacksmith,’ he said hesitantly yet with a curious dignity.

  ‘Well,’ Fidelma’s smile widened at the child’s tone, ‘well, Iobcar son of Starn the blacksmith, I am Fidelma of Cashel. Tell me what you were doing in that souterrain?’

  ‘Hiding,’ the boy said simply.

  ‘From whom?’

  ‘From you,’ the boy replied without guile, causing some merriment from the two warriors.

  ‘Tell us, Iobcar son of Starn the blacksmith,’ invited Fidelma, ‘why would you be hiding from us?’

  ‘I thought you were the bad people.’

  ‘The bad people?’

  ‘The people of Uaman the Leper.’

  Eadulf frowned in irritation.

  ‘Uaman the Leper is long dead, boy,’ he snapped and received a look of rebuke from Fidelma for his manner.

  ‘My father said that he was so bad that the Otherworld would not have him and he had to return to this one.’

  Fidelma tried to hide her chuckle of amusement.

  ‘So your father Starn is a philosopher?’ observed Eadulf sarcastically. The boy shook his head, taking the question seriously.

  ‘He is a blacksmith,’ he protested. ‘I have told you as much.’

  ‘Very well, Iobcar,’ intervened Fidelma. ‘But tell us where the people of this village have gone and why.’

  The boy examined her thoughtfully.

  ‘I cannot tell you where they have gone, for that is a secret,’ he said after some hesitation. ‘But the reason why is because they were fearful that Uaman would punish them now that he has returned from the Otherworld.’

  Eadulf was about to interrupt to correct the boy again but Fidelma gave him a warning glance. He held his peace.

  ‘So when was this? When did they leave?’

  ‘Last week.’

  ‘And why were you left here?’

  ‘I was not. I returned here to find something that I had left behind.’ He glanced nervously over his shoulder at the underground storage space. Seeing the movement, Conrí bent down again and with a grunt of triumph he came up with a small bow, not large but fit enough for use by the boy. The boy’s face was immediately troubled but Fidelma again smiled encouragement.

  ‘We do not want your bow, Iobcar,’ she said, motioning Conrí to give it to the boy. ‘Nor do we want you to betray the secret of where your people have gone. We would like to know more details about why they felt forced to evacuate this place.’

  The boy took his bow and stood for a moment staring at Fidelma as if trying to read her mind.

  ‘My father used to say that Uaman was the great curse of our people when he dwelt below on the island. His men would often raid our village for sheep and goats and … well, other things. Then perhaps two moons ago it was reported that he was dead and the villagers went down to the island and burnt his fortress and took back what was theirs.’

  They waited patiently while the boy paused again, as if to gather his thoughts.

  ‘Not long ago Uaman’s men appeared in our village again. They demanded tribute on behalf of the master. The village elders gave them what they could. One day soon afterwards my father went to the island and came back and said these men had wrecked a ship there. The elders met and decided the village must move beyond the mountains. We all left about seven days ago to find a new village. Yesterday I found I had forgotten my bow and so today I came in search of it. I had just found it when I heard you calling and thinking you to be Uaman’s people I hid myself in the uaimh talún. But you found me.’

  ‘I see,’ Fidelma said. ‘Well, we mean you no harm, nor harm to your people. We are not Uaman’s men. Anyway, it is late now, so eat with us and stay so that you are refreshed to return to your people in the morning.’

  The boy was hesitant.

  ‘They will be worried.’

  ‘But more worried if you set out to traverse these mountains in the blackness of the night, Iobcar son of Starn the blacksmith,’ she replied solemnly.

  Iobcar considered the matter and then, sniffing at the odour of roasted rabbit, nodded slowly.

  Conrí began to slice the meat from the carcasses that he had been cooking on his skewer. Eadulf had not finished questioning the boy but he waited until the lad was settled and munching on the roasted meat.<
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  ‘Tell me, Iobcar,’ he asked, ‘do you know anything about those you call Uaman’s people?’

  ‘Only that my father says they are bad people,’ the boy said between mouthfuls of meat.

  ‘Have you heard of any religious being killed near here by them?’

  Again the boy shook his head.

  ‘But when my father came back from the island, he said that he saw some warriors taking some women prisoners along the road.’

  Eadulf exchanged a quick glance with Fidelma.

  ‘Women prisoners? And that was when he reported to the village that a ship had been wrecked there?’

  ‘The same time,’ agreed the boy.

  Eadulf glanced triumphantly at Fidelma.

  ‘And in which direction were Uaman’s men taking these prisoners? Towards the east to the Abbey of Colman or west to Daingean, the fortress of the chieftain of the Corco Duibhne?’

  The boy paused, frowning for a moment.

  ‘Neither. My father said they were going north.’

  ‘North into the mountains?’ Conrí frowned in surprise. He and Eadulf had expected that the raiders would be returning to Slébéne’s fortress.

  ‘Along the track that leads up the mountain valley, where the River Imligh flows,’ agreed the boy. ‘They were heading north.’

  Eadulf turned to Fidelma.

  ‘I know part of that way, for that is the path we travelled in search of little Alchú.’ There was a tense quality in his voice as he spoke which only Fidelma picked up, realising he was remembering his frantic search for their abducted son.

  ‘Then that is the road we must take tomorrow,’ Fidelma decided with a firmness that admitted no dissension. She waited until she and Eadulf were alone and then she reached out and laid her hand on Eadulf’s arm. ‘Memories are hard, I know,’ she said softly. ‘But our baby is now safe in Cashel. Muirgen and Nessan are protecting him as fiercely as if he were their own child. Once this matter is over, we will soon be back with him.’

  Eadulf sighed sadly and patted her hand.

  ‘Yet the memories come, especially in this place. It is such a short time that has passed since last I was here. The memories of what happened here are sharp and I am still anxious.’