‘When will that be?’ He was not mollified.
‘When I am formally released from my oath, or when I have reached the point at which I feel it would be more moral to break it than to maintain it. Perhaps that will be soon, Eadulf. But until then, the geis is sacred.’
If the truth were known, she could see no logical reason why she should not tell Eadulf right away, other than her acceptance of the geis. But it was a powerful restriction in her culture. It was her respect for the geis, as one of the ancient traditions of the Eóganacht, which prevented her from sharing its secrets, even with her husband. It was a taboo, a bond that stretched back into the mists of ancient times, when such prohibitions were not imposed lightly. Anyone transgressing the taboo would be, at worst, subject to rejection by society, placed outside the social order and the law, bringing shame and outlawry. There were many stories about the effects of the geis, stories passed down the generations, ancient stories that became legend, such as when Setanta was given the name Cúchulainn – Culann’s hound. Having killed the hound that guarded Culann’s house, Setanta offered to take on the role of guardian until a new hound was trained, and he was placed under a geis never to eat the flesh of a dog. Trapped by his enemies, he was eventually forced to eat dog flesh and for this infringement his own death was sealed.
Fidelma was momentarily tempted to break her geis as she gazed upon Eadulf’s concerned features but her culture was too powerful an inhibition. She could not do so until she felt she was absolved from the oath. Until then, she alone would know the concerns that brought her here.
She had continued to fret about the prohibition, as she had ever since Brother Conchobhar had handed her the message that had come, as Eadulf had rightly deduced, by carrier pigeon from Cenn Fáelad, son of Blathmac of the Sil nÁedo Sláine, High King of the Five Kingdoms. The message itself had been written in rúnscríobh, an ancient cypher, in the hand of Cenn Fáelad himself, so that no one else could read it. She had been surprised that Cenn Fáelad had remembered that she also had knowledge enough to read the cypher. Her old mentor, Brehon Morann, had taught her the art when she studied at his law school in Tara; she had revealed this to Cenn Fáelad while she was solving the mystery of the murder of his brother.
The geis had survived even in these days of the New Faith. No member of the royal houses would dare to defy it. Fidelma simply could not yet tell Eadulf about her mission, much as she wished to tell both her travelling companions the truth of what had brought them to the far south of the kingdom.
It is amazing how sleep catches you unawares, even when you think that it will never come, so many thoughts assail your mind and awkward memories come unbidden, interweaving in the darkness until you long, long for daylight so that you can begin the day and escape from them. She knew she had to get up and go to Abbot Nessán’s chamber. She found her brother, Colgú, was there and Eadulf. Eadulf was lying dead on the floor, a ligature at his throat, and Colgú was rebuking her for breaking the geis. Curiously, a part of her mind was trying to articulate what it was that Aristotle taught: that the images of dreams serve as the start of waking thought and may be prophetic? But, surely, she was not dreaming. This was reality and she had not slept at all. She leapt from the bed, her heart pounding. A few moments passed until she realised she had indeed been sleeping. Eadulf was stirring tetchily beside her.
The grey glimmerings of first light were just showing. She sat, wiped the sweat from her brow and breathed deeply several times, trying to recall the fading memory of the dream. It was Plato that now came to mind. In all people, even the most moral and good, there is a wild beast that peers out at the world when one sleeps. It creates passions and fears. The dream was already floating away into the dark mists, into oblivion, like all dreams. She sighed again, rose and went to splash water on her face. Only then did she notice how quickly the light was growing.
She turned to the bed. Eadulf was making those odd breath-like noises with his mouth and nose, as if reluctant to be dragged from his sleep.
‘Come, Eadulf, get up! Enda will be waiting for us.’
By the time they left the hut and walked to the stables Fidelma had forgotten all about the dream and the curious feelings of anxiety it had provoked. Dream memories can be annoyingly short.
Thankfully, the rain of the previous evening had passed and so had the wind from the north. The morning seemed fine; the clouds were again like woolly fleeces but today they were not bunching up but spreading lazily across the sky, with a breeze from the north-east bringing warmer air. Fidelma knew this was weather not to be relied upon – such instability often resulted in showers.
Enda was ready at the stables, waiting patiently with their horses.
‘Is all well, Enda?’
The young warrior had not forgotten her irascible temper of the previous evening, even if she had. He rubbed his cheek nervously.
‘It is, lady. The horses are fed and watered.’
‘Were you able to find a ferry across the river?’
He nodded immediately. ‘It is all arranged, lady. The brother of the echaire, the master of the stables here, is actually a ferryman. He is called Imchad, and his ferry is large enough to take both us and our horses across. He will meet us on the pier in front of the gates. I agreed a fee of half a screpall.’
‘That seems fair enough,’ Fidelma agreed as she took charge of her pony, Aonbharr, whom she had named after the steed of the old god of the ocean, Manannán mac Lir. Eadulf, who was not a skilful horseman, had his docile cob while Enda’s warhorse, a stallion, was a full head taller than either of the others. They walked their horses slowly down to the gates of the abbey, which stood open and where a few merchants were mingling with members of the community, conducting their business. The steward, Brother Ruissine, was there, apparently waiting for them.
He greeted Fidelma. ‘I am told you are leaving us already, lady.’ There seemed a suspicious tone to his voice. ‘I was also told that you needed these figures’ – he handed her a small square of papyrus – ‘and that this was what you wanted to see the abbot about. It seems a long journey for a matter of so little importance.’
‘Nevertheless, that was my business,’ Fidelma said. She took the paper from his hand and, without looking at it, put it in her marsupium. ‘We have other business to attend to, otherwise I would have stayed to help in the matter of Abbot Nessán’s murder. However, I am confident that Oengarb will quickly clear it up. It is a sadness that Nessán has met such a brutal end, but there is little I can do now for time is pressing.’
Brother Ruissine glanced at Eadulf and grimaced.
‘It seems the girl that you were asking questions about was the very one who killed him. Since she claimed to be a relative of the abbot – they were both Eóganacht Raithlind – we presume it must have been some family feud that prompted her to come here to kill him.’
Fidelma’s face did not alter. She nodded solemnly.
‘Oengarb told me to pass on to you that he has ordered some men to search the countryside, to see if they can track this girl, Cairenn. And I myself have so instructed a couple of the woodsmen that work at the abbey, who are excellent trackers. I am sure that they will soon overtake her.’
Eadulf, who had barely spoken that morning, his mind still on his wife’s explanation of the geis, raised his brows interrogatively. ‘Then you know the direction in which the girl is heading?’
The steward smiled sourly. ‘There is surely only one direction she can go in – that is westward, or south-westward. The girl was of the Cenél nÁeda section of the Eóganacht Raithlind. That was where Abbot Nessán came from, Ráth Rathlind itself.’
Eadulf almost remarked that he was disappointed that the girl was not heading south. He still believed that Fidelma was following the girl. But if she was going west, that was in the wrong direction.
He became aware that Brother Ruissine was still speaking.
‘It is obvious that the girl will try to seek sanctuary with her f
amily, among the iron workers of the Cenél nÁeda,’ the steward affirmed. ‘After such a crime, who else would take her in?’
‘That seems logical enough,’ Fidelma agreed seriously. ‘Well, I wish you and Oengarb success in these endeavours.’ Then she hesitated thoughtfully. ‘You mentioned that this girl, Cairenn, had arrived recently. The day before yesterday, in fact. I wonder, did she arrive with anyone else?’
Brother Ruissine shook his head at once. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘There was a religieux in the refectory last night, a tall man in black-dyed robes.’
The steward frowned and then nodded. ‘I do recall him. He was just a passing traveller seeking hospitality for a few nights.’
‘He arrived separately?’
‘I believe so. He came yesterday evening while she arrived in the morning.’
‘From which direction did the man come?’
‘I have no idea. He arrived at dusk on horseback. His accent was of the northern territories; I would guess he was from Ulaidh. What makes you ask about him?’
‘Do you think I might have a word with him before I leave?’ She did not respond to the steward’s question. ‘It means delaying our departure,’ she added in explanation to Eadulf, ‘but the man is so familiar that I believe I must have met him and I just want to be sure that I do not cause dishonour by ignoring him.’
Brother Ruissine smiled thinly and shook his head.
‘In that case, lady, I am afraid that you are too late.’
‘Too late?’ she asked sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He has already left the abbey.’
‘Left? At the same time that the girl left, in the middle of the night?’
‘He left before dawn this morning. He asked one of the stable lads if he knew any taverns on the road to the Hill of the Yew.’
‘That’s to the east, isn’t it, the township at the estuary of the Great River?’ interjected Eadulf. ‘Why would he ask a stable boy about that? Isn’t it some distance from here?’
‘This brother must have heard that the stable lad comes from Eochaill. As you say, it is a long ride, so well worth being prepared to break the journey.’
‘Did this brother have a name?’
The steward raised his shoulders and let them fall in a shrug of ignorance.
‘We have so many pilgrims passing through that we do not ask them all to give us their names.’
Fidelma gave a deep sigh and turned to her companions. But before she could speak, the steward asked: ‘Are you making your way south across the river? That is a difficult and marshy country.’
There was an implied question, but Fidelma treated it as an observation.
‘This area is not called the Great Marsh of Muman without reason,’ she agreed with a faint smile.
‘I’ll come with you as far as the ferry,’ the steward offered, frowning.
Outside the gates, at the wooden jetty on the river bank, was a large flat-bottom raft. It was, indeed, large enough to take horses and even a fair-sized wagon on its log platform. Enda had made a good choice. A few railings of wood were the ferry’s only feature, to afford protection to the passengers, and it was propelled by means of two thick ropes that straddled the broad river. The ferry captain, Imchad, was a large man with a barrel chest and prominent muscles on his stocky frame. He stood patiently, waiting for them to lead their horses onto his craft. He looked a typical ferryman, his weather-beaten skin almost black, and his bright, twinkling eyes seemed so bright that they had almost no colour but reflected the light of the sky.
Brother Ruissine walked with them as they led their horses onto the jetty and the ferrymen helped guide them onto the raft and secure them.
‘Well, we bid you good day, Brother.’ Fidelma turned to the steward. ‘Our thanks for the hospitality of the abbey. Doubtless when I report the news of Abbot Nessán’s death to my brother and to Abbot Cuan, who is now Chief Bishop of the kingdom, they will be in touch with you. They will be anxious to hear your decision on who will replace Nessán as your new abbot.’
The steward bowed his head quickly. ‘We will communicate any proposal and decision as soon as possible.’ The man hesitated and then indicated the far bank. ‘If you are going directly south, remember it is a very marshy land, a place of small islands separated by reed-filled waters. Have a care as you travel, for the route can be dangerous. You know that the borderland territory of Ciarraige Cuirche, Cenél nÁeda land, lies that way? It is full of unrest, cattle raiders and robbers.’
If the steward hoped to elicit information in this roundabout way, he was unsuccessful, because there was a shouted order from Imchad and the great raft began to move. The steward was left on the jetty, watching their progress across the flowing waters of the ancient waterway. That the river was fast flowing with deep currents was obvious from the grunts and sweating of the ferrymen as they hauled on the heavy ropes to pull the ferry across from one bank to another. Once, one of the men was forced to take up a large pole in order to push away some branches that were floating downriver and could have damaged the craft.
Imchad smiled broadly when Eadulf winced as the impact was narrowly avoided, though with such dexterity that it was clear that it had been expertly done.
‘You should have no fear, Brother,’ he observed in amusement. ‘Is it not claimed that all you religious are protected by divine powers? What need you fear from a lowly river goddess? Anyway, the old river is calm today. Do you see how she flows like a mill pond with scarcely a ripple or murmur? She’ll be like that until she comes through the islands and approaches the open seas beyond.’
Eadulf could not think of a suitable response but Enda, who was carefully examining the new countryside along the river banks, turned to ask: ‘Is it far to the sea then? The river seems so beautiful and tranquil here that you could believe there was no sea within miles.’
‘Ah!’ The ferryman gestured quickly to the south-east with a gnarled hand. ‘We are not far from the Great Southern Ocean but the islands form a barrier between the two branches of the great river, and beyond the barrier of the Great Island of Ard Nemed the river empties into what is almost an inland sea. The waters there connect with the large entrance into the mighty ocean but fear not, we are safe here, well protected from the sea.’
Eadulf was still not clear on the local geography and felt Enda was unsure as well. However, he merely asked: ‘Ard Nemed? What is that?’
‘There are many islands here, many islands to negotiate, but there are none as big as the Great Island. This river divides and one branch flows to the north of the island, the other to the south, towards the inland sea. You could then continue south to the entrance to the Great Southern Ocean, as I have said.’
‘Tell me this, my friend.’ Eadulf was still confused. ‘You call it the Height of Nemed. Who is this Nemed whose island is so great?’
The boatman looked astonished and Enda, who had been listening, explained hurriedly, ‘My friend is a stranger in this land.’
Imchad grimaced. ‘I thought your accent was that of a stranger,’ he said. ‘Nemed? The name goes back to the time beyond time.’
Eadulf groaned inwardly but accepted that he was about to hear yet another ancient tale. Why was this land so replete in them? Every question seemed to be answered by the prologue of an old story.
‘During the mists of primeval times,’ the ferryman was saying, ‘it is said, the land of the goddess Éire and her sisters, Banba and Fodhla, was invaded by ancient peoples. Nemed was the person who led the third invasion, setting sail from across some eastern sea with a fleet of forty-four ships. Only one ship made it to these shores, where he battled with the undersea dwellers that we call the Fomorii. They say he came with a beautiful wife called Macha, and to her is credited the naming of Ard Macha in the north, where some claim the New Faith was first taught by Patrick.’
‘Which we know to be an untruth,’ chimed in Enda cynically. ‘Here, in the south, we find many great teachers
of the New Faith, even before the time of Patrick the Briton.’
‘Just so, young warrior.’ Imchan paused for a moment to check the ropes and call on his men to adjust them as the ferry swung a little in midstream. Then he turned back to them. ‘Nemed? Oh yes,’ he went on, ‘he fought the dark lords of the sea but he and his followers finally succumbed and died of the plague. It was a magic plague that the evil gods and goddesses inflicted on them. Nemed had made the Great Island we speak of his fortress and so, when he died, he was buried there and that spot is called Ard Nemed, Nemed’s Height. Yes, stranger, it happened in the time beyond time, even before the children of the Gael arrived to claim this land.’
Eadulf hesitated for a moment and it was Enda who asked: ‘Does anyone dwell on Nemed’s island now?’
‘Few people dwell there, mostly farmers and cattle herders. They are of the Cenél nÁeda, a branch of the Eóganacht Raithlind. The island is much in contention,’ replied the ferry captain. ‘I am surprised you are unaware of it.’
‘What do you mean … much in contention?’ Eadulf had not realised that the Eóganacht Raithlind territory stretched so far east but he knew the family had many sub-divisions.
‘The Uí Liatháin often raid the island. They are almost within swimming distance of its eastern end.’
‘The Uí Líathain?’ queried Eadulf, echoing the name from surprise rather than ignorance.
‘A warlike people,’ commented the ferryman. ‘They claim kinship with the Uí Fidgenti, who are even more warlike.’
Eadulf exchanged a bleak look with Enda.
‘I thought their territory was much further north than here,’ Enda commented.
‘They claim a large territory. Anyway, it is known that Artgal, who is a chieftain of the Cenél nÁeda – that is the people who dwell in these southern marshlands – holds the old fortress at Ard Nemed, in order to dissuade the Uí Liatháin from making their raids on the island.’
‘What could be worth raiding on this island?’ asked Eadulf. ‘You say it is scarcely populated.’
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