Fidelma grimaced and Eadulf realised that her eyes were unnaturally bright.
‘Forgive me,’ he suddenly said in a soft tone.
She passed a hand over her eyes quickly, as if to disguise the act of wiping them, and frowned questioningly.
‘I am being too selfish about my feelings,’ Eadulf raised a shoulder and let it fall expressively. ‘It is a great fault.’ He took her hands in his and squeezed them.
Fidelma forced a smile.
‘Brehon Morann used to say, they are truly good who are faultless. I am very aware of my own faults. But I share your anxieties. It is a heavy duty, being sister of the king as well as a dálaigh. It often leaves no room for the woman nor for the mother. Yet the woman and the mother are here in this same body. You, above all people, should know that.’
Eadulf bowed his head for a moment. Then he cleared his throat.
‘We’d best get some rest for we must start early in the morning,’ he said shortly.
Fidelma was the first to wake the next morning. Iobcar son of Starn the blacksmith was gone, along with his bow. She went outside to the well, drew some water, and washed quickly. When she had done, Eadulf and the others were stirring. They decided not to waste time in hunting more game to break their fast, for there was no other food to hand, no fruits nor berries. The midwinter days limited their diet. They decided to press on immediately and pause at lunchtime for food. Eadulf assured them that by that time they would have reached a hamlet where he knew hospitality would be accorded them. So, slaking their thirst with fresh water from the well, they saddled their horses and set off along the track across the shoulder of the mountain which Eadulf indicated was to be their path.
The patient horses climbed for a while, bringing them to a spectacular view of the inlet below them when they emerged above the treeline.
‘Look!’ It was Conrí who brought them to a halt. He was pointing down to the island below.
A large vessel had sailed up the narrow waters and was riding at anchor a short distance off the island. Some of the crew were taking down its sails while others launched a skiff from the side of the ship. The vessel looked vaguely familiar to Fidelma and Eadulf, but it was only when the breeze caught at the banner snaking from the mainmast that they realised why. Fidelma turned to Conri in surprise.
‘That is the warship that attacked us off the Machaire Islands.’
Conrí had already realised that fact.
‘It must have put on new sail and then passed round the end of the peninsula and sailed up the inlet. Why would they be following us?’
‘They cannot be following us,’ replied Fidelma with a shake of her head. ‘They would not know that we were crossing the peninsula and passing this spot.’
‘Then what are they doing?’ demanded Conrí.
‘Well, the best thing is to dismount lest they see that they are being observed,’ Eadulf advised. ‘Then we may be able to see what they are doing on the island.’
Socht took their horses further along the track to a spot behind a group of rocks where they were hidden from prying eyes.
They perched themselves in a clump of boulders from where they could look down into the inlet without being seen. It was not very long before they discovered what the crew of the strange ship was about.
‘Why,’ Conrí observed in wonder, ‘they are loading up with the stores from the shipwreck.’
‘Do you think they had any part in wrecking the ship?’ Eadulf asked.
‘Perhaps they are the wreckers, and hoarded the goods so that they could return for them later,’ Fidelma hazarded.
‘Then they must be the same men who killed Faife and abducted her companions. They moved north and picked up their vessel on the north side of the peninsula,’ Conrí said. ‘The prisoners must be on board the ship.’
Eadulf shook his head. ‘Why march north if they merely meant to sail back here again? And the wreck and capture of the women was nearly three weeks ago now.’
‘That island would be ideal as a spot to lure unsuspecting ships on to its rocks,’ mused Socht.
‘How so?’ demanded Eadulf.
‘The passage to the south of the island is narrow, but you can see from the colour of the waters that it is deep water,’ Socht observed. ‘Ships from as far as Gaul run up here to the safe anchorage at the abbey of Colman to the east. Once past this island, the ships are protected from the rough ocean waters and find safe harbour there. Can you imagine what would befall a ship running to the north of the island straight on to the sands or, indeed, running into the rocks around that southern extremity?’
‘It is more apparent from this vantage point,’ Eadulf agreed. ‘How do you know such things, Socht?’
Conrí replied for him. ‘Socht is one of our best seafaring warriors and knows the coastline around our waters.’
‘Terrible crimes have been committed here,’ Fidelma commented. ‘I think we have seen enough. It is obvious that the ship knew that the stores were there and went straight to them. I think we can assume that the crew are the wreckers. They are responsible for killing the hapless sailors as they came ashore. And we know that this ship lurks around these waters and bears the war banner of Eoganan of the Uí Fidgente.’
‘If they are Uí Fidgente, then they are rebels and traitors. We are at peace,’ asserted Conrí, feeling the need to defend his people once again.
‘I accept that,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Certainly a flag does not always guarantee the identity of the person who flies it. But our main task is to press on after the abductors. I’d like to reach this little hamlet that Eadulf told us about before we die of hunger.’
‘You don’t think we will find Abbess Faife’s missing companions on that vessel down there?’ Conrí was disappointed.
‘We can’t be sure that the wreckers and abductors are one and the same,’ Fidelma replied firmly. She made no further comment as they remounted and rode on.
Although it was still fairly cold, it was pleasant riding through the mountains. The sky was pale blue and the sun, though weak, reflected on the snow and the crystal waters of mountain springs, giving an impression of intense brightness. Eadulf remembered the path and so they rode confidently through the rocky terraces that inclined steeply to a large rushing river as it tumbled down from the far peaks. They passed several old grey standing stones from a bygone age. As the path dipped below the treeline once more Eadulf realised that they must have started their descent to the ford where the hamlet stood. He was about to say as much when there was a curious whistling sound and a thud.
The arrow embedded itself in a tree about an arm’s distance from Conri’s right shoulder. His horse shied nervously, causing the mounts of his companions to move skittishly, heads tugging sharply at their reins, whites of their eyes showing in terror.
As Conrí and his men reached automatically for their weapons a harsh voice called out: ‘Don’t move. That was a warning shot. If we had wanted to hit you, we would have done so. Get down off your horses.’
Conrí was hesitant.
They heard the hum of another arrow. This time it seemed to come from another direction and hit a tree behind them.
‘In case you think there is only one archer, let me tell you that you are surrounded. That is enough of warnings. You will get down off your horses and lay your arms on the path before you.’
Conrí glanced at Fidelma and gestured helplessly.
‘There is no choice,’ she said in resignation as she made to obey.
‘Wait!’ called the voice. ‘You will dismount one at a time. Each walk forward five paces and lay down your arms, leaving your horse where it is.’
Even Eadulf had to admire the technique of the ambush. There would now be no chance of their dismounting and taking cover behind their horses.
‘The warriors will dismount first – one by one.’
Conrí, his face red with mortification, went forward first and laid down his weapons. His two men followed individually.
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Then Eadulf went forward, dismounting awkwardly, and striding forward to the pile of weapons. He stood feet apart and spread out his arms.
‘I carry no weapons,’ he called to the invisible bowmen. ‘I am a Brother in Christ.’
‘You are a man and men often have weapons no matter what clothes they wear,’ came back the uncompromising tone. ‘Stand aside but keep your arms out, hands well away from your body.’
Fidelma was called forward next.
‘I have no weapons either,’ she called.
There was no answer and then half a dozen men, all with drawn bows, each aimed at Fidelma and her companions, emerged from behind trees and rocks. The leading man, who had the look of a burly smith about him, suddenly whistled. Three or four young boys, emerging from hiding places among the trees and undergrowth, came forward. Without being asked, some took hold of the horses’ reins while others gathered the discarded weapons.
‘Who are you?’ snapped Conrí.
The burly man, who was obviously the leader, smiled beneath his beard showing blackened teeth.
‘You will know soon enough. Now, all of you will turn and march before us down this path. Try no tricks and no one will come to harm. And no talking … you’ll be given an opportunity to sing your hearts out soon enough.’
Eadulf had time to give their captors a quick scrutiny. He had an idea that he had seen the burly man before but could not place him. The others appeared an ill-assorted group; he would not really equate them with well-muscled warriors like Conrí and his men. They seemed ill fed and more like field hands than military men.
They all moved on in silence, swinging along the path that ran along the hillside through the valley until it came round into an open area with the river flowing along it. Eadulf suddenly knew where he was. There was the standing stone with the ancient writing on it, the ford across the rushing river and the buildings making up the small hamlet. This was the little settlement where he, with Basil Nestorios and the warrior Gormán, had come after the destruction of the fortress of Uaman the Leper.
For a moment his heart leapt and then it plummeted as he realised the buildings were blackened, their stones knocked askew and some pulled down. Many of the wooden buildings no longer existed except for the remains of burnt timbers. It looked as if the place had been overwhelmed by some catastrophe. Were these men responsible? Were they responsible for the death of Abbess Faife?
They were being marched through the buildings from which people were emerging, quiet but angry, some staring at them with hatred. Yet no one made any sound but stared tight-mouthed as they went by.
They were halted before a half-burnt barn, which it was apparent someone had been trying to repair by putting a new roof on it.
Out of the building came an elderly man with parchment-coloured skin and a shock of white hair. His bright eyes were of indeterminate colour as he surveyed the group.
Eadulf recognised him immediately.
‘Ganicca!’ he called.
The old man frowned. ‘Who speaks my name?’
Eadulf moved a step forward. ‘It is I. Don’t you recognise me?’
The old man stared and then his thin features broke into a slow smile of recognition.
‘Why, it is the Saxon Brother. How come you here again?’
‘A story that is long in the telling, Ganicca. But this is Fidelma.’
Ganicca’s eyes widened and he asked quickly. ‘Fidelma of Cashel?’
Fidelma was looking puzzled.
‘Ganicca was the man who helped us when we fled from Uaman’s fortress,’ explained Eadulf. ‘It was he who pointed us to the home of Nessan and Muirgen and so was responsible for the eventual recovery of our child.’
Fidelma moved forward with both hands outstretched to the old man in greeting. ‘Then this is a blessed meeting, Ganicca. You have my unending gratitude
The old man waved his hand in deprecation.
‘You are welcome here, lady, but I wish I could greet you in happier circumstances.’
‘What has happened here?’ she demanded, encompassing the ruined village with a wave of her arm.
‘And who are these men who threaten us with their arrows?’ added Eadulf.
Ganicca held up a hand, palm outward, to stay further questions and then turned to the burly man.
‘No harm will come from these travellers. I know them. Release them.’ Their captors seemed a little reluctant but they put down their weapons and slowly dispersed. Ganicca pointed at the barn behind him.
‘It is a harsh winter, so come in. I fear the best we can offer is some corma and a rude shelter from the mountain winds. Enter and I will tell you what has befallen my people and why you have been treated with such scant hospitality.’
The young boys handed Conrí and his men back their weapons. Others led their horses to a paddock out of the wind. Their erstwhile captors reluctantly dispersed.
‘Seat yourselves.’ The old man pointed to sacking on the floor. ‘I regret that we have been left with no luxuries.’
One of the young boys had followed them inside and now poured corma for everyone as Ganicca was introduced to each member of the party.
‘Now first,’ began Ganicca, ‘I heard that Nessan and Muirgen had decided to stay in Cashel after you left here, Brother Saxon. Are they well? And what news of your child, Fidelma of Cashel, does he prosper?’
Fidelma smiled and nodded.
‘He does, thanks be to God. Muirgen continues as nurse to him. Nessán tends the flocks of sheep on the hills south of Cashel. They are both well and happy.’
‘And how is the stranger from the East called Basil Nestorios? Do the Fates deal well with him?’
‘When we last saw him he was well and continuing in his travels, collecting knowledge of this land, Ganicca,’ Eadulf replied solemnly.
‘And the young warrior, what was his name?’
‘Gormán.’
‘Gormán, indeed. How fares it with him?’
‘He is now deputy commander of my brother’s bodyguard,’ Fidelma replied.
‘And your brother, the noble Colgú, is all well with him?’
‘My brother is, as ever, concerned for the peoples of his kingdom and worries when ill befalls them.’ Fidelma paused and then added: ‘He will be concerned at the ill that has befallen you in this place.’
‘What has happened since I was here?’ Eadulf joined in. ‘Why were we ambushed and brought here in such a fashion?’
Ganicca sighed deeply.
‘It happened some weeks ago. Until then, we had long dwelt here in an open community without fear. Even in the bad days, so long as we paid tribute to the Lord of the Passes, Uaman, we were never harmed.’
He paused, as if gathering his thoughts.
‘It was one afternoon when a band of warriors came along the track just as you have done. They were on horseback. Between them, marching on foot and at swordpoint, was a band of religious … they were prisoners.’
Conrí leant forward excitedly.
‘Six young females?’ he demanded.
‘And a foreign Brother of the Faith.’
Fidelma frowned. ‘I had no information about a foreign brother.’
‘He was a rough-looking young man,’ continued Ganicca. ‘He appeared more suited to a life spent outdoors than among the pale creatures that are cloistered in the dim recesses of a monastery … saving your presence, Brother Saxon.’
‘But he was a prisoner and a religieux as well?’ queried Eadulf.
‘He was.’
‘What happened when these warriors and their prisoners came to your village?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘We offered hospitality, as is the custom. The warriors took corma and demanded food. They dismayed us by ill treating their prisoners, allowing them only water and some bread.’
‘Did anyone question the religious as to why they were prisoners or what manner of warriors their captors were?’ asked Fidelma.
Ganicca made a nega
tive gesture.
‘The warriors discouraged contact with the prisoners and when our smith, the man who captured you, asked what was happening, he received a slap across the face. The lesson was reinforced by the tip of a sword to deter him from pressing further.’
‘And then?’
Ganicca raised his arms as if encompassing the whole settlement.
‘Then, my friends, two more warriors came riding up with a third person. That person ordered the warriors to burn the village … they burnt and looted it. We had no weapons to hand. They attacked our blacksmith’s forge and then started to fire our houses. Most of us managed to escape up the mountains to the shelter of the caves there. Seven of our people were slain, too young or too old to escape the onslaught. Many more were wounded. It is as you see … we are a destroyed community.’
Fidelma frowned. ‘Have you reported this matter to your chief, to Slébéne?’
The old man shrugged. ‘We sent him word. But he has never protected us in the past so why would he protect us now?’
‘Slébéne’s duty is to protect his people. He is also answerable to my brother, the king.’
‘Slébéne is his own man and is answerable only to himself. We selected one of our number to go to Daingean and speak to him. He has not returned.’
Eadulf bent close to Fidelma and whispered, ‘See, we were right about Slébéne!’
Fidelma was grim-faced. ‘Then I swear, Ganicca, that he shall answer for any transgression. A chief has responsibilities as well as rights.’
Ganicca regarded her calmly. ‘You are truly a descendant of Eoghan Mór, lady. However, I knew that Slébéne would not come to our aid.’
‘Why so?’
‘Because I know that evil figure who ordered his warriors to turn on our village and destroy it.’
‘Slébéne himself?’ asked Eadulf eagerly. He found the old man’s eyes looking sorrowfully at him. ‘Well, out with it,’ he demanded. ‘Who was it?’
‘Saxon brother, you told us two months ago that you saw Uaman the Leper die before your eyes. You were wrong. The person who gave the order for this destruction,’ he raised his hand to embrace the scene, ‘was Uaman. Uaman the Leper. The Lord of the Passes.’
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