Master of Souls

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘They will have probably missed the island altogether in the darkness … if they didn’t sink first,’ the other responded.

  ‘When Olcán comes aboard at first light we’ll go and have a look. He doesn’t want to fall into disfavour with the Master.’

  ‘Who would?’ said the other one and the words were uttered with a note of fear in them.

  In the darkness, Gáeth was indicating towards the headland around which they had come. He and Gaimredán laid into their oars, quietly sculling the boat back around the rocky outcrop and finding a stretch of quiet water. Then they shipped their oars.

  ‘Did you hear that, lady?’ Gáeth called in a low voice.

  Fidelma leaned forward. ‘I did.’

  ‘It seems as if someone called Olcán is in charge,’ Eadulf observed, feeling he should contribute something.

  ‘The point is, lady,’ the smith continued, ignoring him, ‘that the religious are prisoners here and well guarded. From what was said, when the old man tried to escape, these people had no scruples but simply shot him. That was the old hermit you found dying, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘It sounded as if someone else has escaped from these people and fled to one of the other islands,’ Eadulf pointed out.

  ‘Well, no use worrying about them.’ From behind them, Conrí entered the council. ‘They said their boat was leaking. They would not last long on these seas.’

  Gáeth was rubbing his chin.

  ‘From what they said, they were heading to the large island to the north-west. I know it. But that’s uninhabited. If they made it, then our friends in the warship will doubtless recapture them tomorrow.’

  Fidelma looked at him with interest.

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  The smith was reflective for a moment or two.

  ‘That it is pointless landing on this island. It is well guarded and we know now that the religious are prisoners there. It needs more men than we have to effect any rescue. We might also put ourselves in danger of capture and then we would be unable to summon help.’ He paused.

  ‘Go on,’ Fidelma urged. ‘Your arguments are logical so far.’

  ‘If the two who escaped have made it to the other island, we might be able to rescue them and find out from them what is happening and who is behind it.’

  Conrí was sceptical.

  ‘You heard what the two men said. The boat probably sank and they are drowned.’

  ‘On the other hand, the boat might just have made it to the island,’ replied Gáeth. ‘The choice is yours, lady.’

  Fidelma hesitated, then asked: ‘Do you think you can navigate to this other island?’

  ‘It is a place where Gaimredán and I have often lifted crayfish. I know it well.’

  ‘Then the sooner that we start out, the sooner we shall arrive.’ Without a further word, Gáeth and his company pushed out and manoeuvred the craft back to the open seas. At once the winds rose and the waters became choppy.

  Eadulf’s fears came back again as he clung to the side of the pitching boat and once more all four oars were used to propel it across the black sea. Eadulf hoped there were no hidden rocks in the black waters. To his eyes, the seas appeared petulant and heavy, although a seasoned sailor would have observed that the waters were fairly calm.

  He eventually became aware of a dark shape looming, just discernible against the western horizon where the sky touched the sea. He was surprised by the height of the cliffs that rose up before them, but then realised it was simply an optical illusion. From sea level the rocks appeared enormous even though they were only four or five metres high. He wanted to ask Gáeth whether it was feasible that they could ever land in such a place but it was impossible to ask questions. He merely hung on and hoped for the best.

  Gáeth and his companion began to manoeuvre the boat towards the north end of the island. Sheltered from the south-westerly winds, the water grew calmer but was black and fearsome. Eadulf could see the white edges of rocks here and there. Suddenly he saw that they were heading for a black hole in the cliffs, and as it grew closer realised that they were heading for a small cave entrance. He thought a landing impossible. But there were large boulders forming a storm beach at the cave and Gáeth manoeuvred the boat up into a small natural harbour. He was out first, taking the bow rope and holding it while gesturing for the others to climb carefully for’ard and out of the vessel. Once everyone was out, the smith and his companion heaved the boat upwards and on to the smooth boulders above the sea so that it would not be harmed by any rebellious waves.

  The air was more peaceful now. While the whispering of the sea continued, a soft breath of a night breeze filled the air. Eadulf realised that he could hear a curious croaking sound. Gáeth, when asked, told him it was merely the male natterjack toads that made the island their home. Now and then came the angry sound of a disturbed tern or gull. He followed the example of the others by stamping his feet to restore the circulation, having been so long in the boat in one position and chilled by the cold of the winter night.

  It was then that Eadulf realised just how resourceful Gáeth was, for the smith had removed a leather bag from the boat. From this he took an object which a few moments later revealed itself to be a storm lantern, which the smith lit with the expert deployment of flint and tinder.

  He held it up and the others gathered by its light.

  ‘It looks a large island,’ Fidelma commented, peering into the darkness around them.

  ‘Not very large. There are only two places where a landing could be effected,’ Gáeth replied. ‘You have seen one. The other is midway down the eastern side where there is another cave. There is no sign of a boat here so if they have managed to make it ashore, the only place they will be is in the other cave.’

  ‘Do you have another lantern?’ asked Fidelma. ‘It would save time if we split into two parties. One group to search here and the second to look at this cave you mention.’

  Gáeth had, indeed, foreseen the need for a second storm lantern. They were of a type Eadulf knew was called lespaire, made from bronze, and probably the smith had fashioned them himself. They were filled with oil but what type Eadulf could only guess.

  ‘I will go with one party and Gáimredan will lead the other,’ Gáeth announced. ‘We both know the island and it will be best if both groups have a guide.’

  Fidelma and Eadulf chose to go with Gáeth to the second cave while Conrí. and his men went with Gáimredan to make sure of the cave at the spot where they had landed.

  Eadulf was still a little dizzy from the trip and found he had difficulty keeping his balance on the rocky earth. But the others did not notice in the darkness.

  They moved south, passing the rising hill that marked the centre of the island. Eadulf noticed that there seemed to be some shadows on it, just visible against the night sky. They looked like buildings and he remarked upon this.

  ‘Ancient stones put up when our gods and goddesses were young,’ Gáeth replied shortly.

  It was not long before they came to the second cave.

  ‘If they made it, then that would be the landing place, down there on those stones. Then they would shelter in the cave.’

  ‘Can we get down there?’ asked Fidelma dubiously.

  ‘There is a path here, cut by the ancients who built that.’ He jerked his thumb towards the solitary dark hill. ‘Follow me carefully and step where I do. It’s only a three-metre drop but the stones below are sharp.’

  He began to descend to sea level by a series of ledges, to where a shelf of stones separated the cliff from the sea and led along to the cave entrance.

  They had all reached this level in safety when Gáeth suddenly surprised them by letting out a soft oath and raised his lantern higher.

  ‘What is it?’ Fidelma whispered, trying to see what he was looking at. The smith pointed ahead.

  ‘Just there, see it?’

  They moved forward. Eadulf could see the broken piece
s of wood and torn strips of hide lying in the surf.

  ‘Do you think it is their canoe?’ Fidelma asked. ‘Could they have made it ashore?’

  ‘We will soon find out,’ said Gáeth, turning for the cave.

  He led the way in, holding the lantern up before him. The cave was not large and it did not take long to discover that it was empty.

  Gáeth sighed deeply.

  ‘Well, unless Gaimredán had better luck, there is nowhere else on this island that they could be.’

  Fidelma pulled a face in the gloom.

  ‘So if that was the remains of the naomhóg they did not make it ashore.’

  ‘If,’ pointed out Eadulf logically. ‘We don’t know that for certain.’

  ‘Let’s go back,’ Gáeth said abruptly. ‘There is nothing here.’

  They scrambled up to the top of the short cliff and began to move back across the island. They were skirting round the base of the small hill when Eadulf stared up towards the black shadows of the rocks on top. Something caught his eye and he came to a halt.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Fidelma as she nearly collided with him. Gáeth turned and paused.

  ‘Are there any animals on this island?’ asked Eadulf in a low voice.

  ‘None that I know of,’ Gáeth replied.

  Suddenly, Eadulf was running up the slope in the darkness. It was only a short one, an incline rising three metres above where they had been standing. On top were several stone slabs. As he reached the top something launched itself at him. Hands grabbed him round the waist and he was knocked to the ground, falling so hard that his breath left him. A muscular body was on him, grasping at him, trying to pin him down. He was hard pressed to prevent himself being injured by the strong arms that searched for a hold round his neck.

  He managed to cry out and the next thing he heard was Gáeth struggling with his assailant. Then Fidelma’s voice cried out.

  Eadulf felt himself drifting into unconsciousness but then, mercifully, the pressure on his neck was released. He was coughing, gasping for breath, and the nausea came back with a vengeance. The weight of the person who had attacked him was gone. He sat up cautiously.

  Gáeth was holding the lantern up and Fidelma was by his side.

  Before them stood a tough-looking man, clad in the torn remnants of a religious robe, fists balled in a defensive attitude.

  ‘We mean you no harm, Brother,’ Fidelma was saying. She had been repeating it several times.

  Eadulf retched again and Gáeth helped him to his feet.

  ‘Are you all right, Eadulf?’ Fidelma demanded, glancing at him.

  He massaged his throat ruefully.

  ‘If surviving death by a fraction is being all right, then I am,’ he muttered as he turned to examine his attacker. The man stood arms and legs akimbo as if waiting for someone to attack him.

  ‘I presume that you are one of those who have escaped from Seanach’s Island?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘You’ll not take me back there alive,’ returned the man in a curious accent.

  ‘We do not mean to,’ replied Fidelma. ‘We are here to rescue you.’

  The man stepped back in surprise. ‘You do not mean to kill me?’

  Fidelma’s voice was pacifying. ‘We heard of your escape and came in search of you. We are no more friends of those who held you as prisoner than you are. What happened to your companion? Are you the only survivor?’

  From behind another of the stones a dark shadow slowly emerged. It was that of a woman.

  ‘I am Sister Easdan,’ she said slowly. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I am Fidelma of Cashel. I came here in search of the killers of the Abbess Faife and to trace her companions.’

  ‘Fidelma of Cashel?’ The woman spoke slowly. ‘I have heard the name. Aren’t you a dálaigh?’

  Fidelma nodded in the lamplight.

  ‘These are my companions, Brother Eadulf and Gáeth the smith. We have other friends further down by the shore.’

  ‘How did you trace us here?’ demanded Sister Easdan.

  Fidelma made a dismissive gesture with her hand.

  ‘It is a long story, Sister Easdan. I presume that you are one of Abbess Faife’s companions from Ard Fhearta?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘And this is Brother … ?’

  The burly man was hesitant.

  ‘You can trust me,’ Fidelma said encouragingly.

  ‘My name is Esumaro,’ the man replied hesitantly. ‘I am … I was skipper of the Sumerli, a merchantman out of An Naoned.’

  ‘An Naoned?’ Eadulf frowned. ‘That is in Gaul.’

  ‘Was your ship wrecked near where you were taken prisoner?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘It was - and that, too. is a long story.’ replied the Gaulish sailor grimly.

  ‘The men who held me prisoner destroyed my ship and killed my men. It was only by the quick thinking of Sister Easdan and her colleagues, who disguised me as one of them, that my life has been saved so far.’

  ‘We found him some way from the shore.’ Sister Easdan joined in. ‘And then the raiders rode down on us, killed Abbess Faife, and took us away as prisoners.’

  ‘We heard that you had seized a canoe and escaped,’ said Fidelma. ‘You were seen making for this island. It was thought your boat was leaking and that you might not make it here. But your captors plan to come at first light to make certain.’

  Esumaro made an angry hissing sound between his teeth.

  ‘We nearly didn’t make it because the boat was damaged. It was thanks to Sister Easdan here that we managed.’

  ‘There was nothing else to do,’ the girl said simply. ‘Water was coming into the stern through a hole. I was wearing a leather apron and I used a knife to puncture the leather then tied it to the hide with little strips cut into thongs. My father was a fisherman and I have seen it done before on a naomhóg. It was simple and kept us afloat for long enough to reach here.’

  ‘It was impressive,’ the Gaulish sailor corrected with vehemence. ‘The leak would have sunk us within a short time. Sister Easdan worked with frozen fingers and waves cascading over her, struggling to tie a piece of leather over the hole. It was bravely done.’

  Gáeth nodded appreciatively at their story.

  ‘How did you know where to land? Have you have sailed these waters before?’

  ‘I have sailed through these waters,’ affirmed Esumaro. ‘I have traded with the abbey of Ard Fhearta and know this coastline.’

  ‘So you knew where best to land on this island?’

  Esumaro gave a bark of laughter.

  ‘Had I done so, my friend, I would not have lost the canoe that was our only hope of reaching the mainland. In trying to land on the island, I misjudged in the dark and the canoe broke up in the surf.’

  ‘You were lucky to come ashore then,’ observed Gáeth.

  ‘It was not without difficulty,’ agreed Sister Easdan with quiet humour.

  There was a shout in the distance and a flicker of light. Esumaro started nervously.

  ‘What’s that?’

  Fidelma calmed him. ‘That is the rest of our party, anxious for us. They probably heard the sounds of our struggle. I think it is best to get back to the mainland before light and you can tell us the main part of your story. Then we must form a plan to rescue the others.’

  They rejoined Conrí, Gaimredán and the others. Some corma was drunk to put warmth into them and they ate some wheaten cakes, which Gáeth had kept dry in his leather bag. Then they clambered into the naomhóg and the oarsmen began to pull away from the island, heading out into the darkness back towards the mainland.

  Eadulf tried to concentrate on analysing what this adventure meant. It was one way of trying to prevent the seasickness returning although he did not hold out much hope of it. He only prayed that he would not make an idiot of himself and vomit in front of everyone. Concentrate!

  After Ganicca had described what had happened at his village, he suspected that Fidelma and Conrí. we
re now presuming that Uaman the Leper was still alive. That could not be. Eadulf was sure. He tried to recall the memory of how the leper had been sinking into the quicksand when the great wave had come sweeping in and Uaman was there no more. He would stake his life that Uaman had perished in spite of what everyone now thought.

  Who was Olcán? Why would a group of men on a warship abduct a group of religious and imprison them on an island of hermits? Why would they kill them when they tried to escape? Why kill the Abbess Faife? Why would they also wreck a merchant ship from Gaul? They were questions that he realised could not be answered with the knowledge he had. He knew what Fidelma would say. Never try to make a deduction until you have sufficient knowledge. And how did this matter connect with the murder of the Venerable Cináed? Indeed, did it have any connection at all? Was it simply a coincidence?

  On reflection, he believed that the young girl - what was her name? Sister Sinnchéne - had killed Cinaed. It was a classic tale of jealousy and rejection. Then he considered further. There was the Venerable Mac Faosma to consider. He hated Cinaed. That much was obvious. But would a scholar resort to killing a fellow scholar? Then there was the physician Sister Uallann and … Uallann? He had heard that name recently from someone. Who?

  He realised with abruptness that his mind was racing. There were too many possibilities. Fidelma was right. You could not make any deductions without sufficient knowledge. He was merely guessing.

  The increasing noise of seabirds make him glance up. To his left he saw a headland and his heart leapt. Had they already reached the mainland ? The plaintive call of gulls was growing stronger, mingling with the crash of the surf, and he could see, by the pale light spreading in the eastern sky, a long low belt of sandy shore stretching away in a curve to the south.

  They were back in Bréanainn’s bay.

  He had heard much about the Blessed Bréanainn and his fabulous seven-year voyage out on the high seas. Well, the saintly man was welcome to such wanderings. Eadulf vowed he would never step on board ship again - not if he could help it. He had done enough sea travelling in his life. It was reassuring to see the mainland again. His spirits lifted and he sat back more comfortably.