‘Oh,’ Fidelma replied easily, ‘we do not intend to stay here, as much as we are impressed by the welcome and your hospitality.’
‘I am still waiting for an answer!’ the man almost shouted.
Eadulf eyed Fidelma nervously, hoping that she had not pushed the man’s patience to its limit.
‘After we have a meal and a night’s rest, we intend to ride on to the Hill of the Yew. I am told that from there we might find a boat to transport us to Lios Mór …’
‘I know where An Abhainn Mhór leads,’ interrupted the man sharply. ‘And I suppose that it is just by chance that your path to the Hill of the Yew will take you through Cluain?’
For the first time Fidelma hesitated, but only for a moment. ‘I have heard of Cluain,’ she said in a measured tone. She hoped that Eadulf and Enda would not remark on the fact that she had mentioned Cluain was important. ‘I am told it is just a ruined abbey, deserted for many years. Do you reckon that is the best path to the Great River? Is there a more direct route from here?’
‘What do you seek at Cluain?’ Tialláin demanded, ignoring her questions.
‘Seek?’ Fidelma was back in control. ‘Why, only the path to the Hill of the Yew.’
Enda was clearly puzzled by the exchange and sat frowning, while Eadulf was worried by the antagonism shown by Tialláin.
‘It is pointless to lie to me, lawyer. I know the truth as to why you seek Cluain.’
‘Then you know more than I do, Tialláin, so perhaps you will enlighten us?’
‘I know why you have landed here,’ he repeated.
Fidelma gave an exaggerated shrug. ‘Then you have no need to ask these questions and waste my time and yours.’
‘You are trying to catch up with the girl, Cairenn. I know the plot that you are both involved in.’
Eadulf felt Fidelma’s body suddenly tense next to him. Her shock was palpable. He, too, was surprised to hear the name of the girl who had been accused of murdering the old abbot at Finnbarr’s Abbey. He wished that Fidelma had been able to tell him what she knew instead of keeping this stupid sacred oath. If he knew what her mission was about, he would be able to act accordingly and not inadvertantly betray her.
‘Of course, you will claim that you do not know Cairenn.’ Tialláin was smiling sarcastically. ‘There is a hue and cry for her by the folk of Finnbarr’s Abbey. She is said to have murdered Abbot Nessán.’ Tialláin’s tiny eyes had narrowed so that they could hardly be seen.
Fidelma remained silent. Tialláin exploded in irritation. ‘You know that I speak of one of your own – the girl is a member of the Eóganacht Raithlind, a cousin to Artgal, who thinks he has a right to rule Ard Nemed, across the water there.’
‘Indeed?’ Fidelma tried to sound mildly perplexed. ‘I do not know her. Our family is large and widespread.’
‘She was the companion and confidante of Grella, wife to the High King, Cenn Fáelad. Grella of the Uí Liatháin.’
The look of genuine surprise on the faces of Eadulf and Enda seem to distract Tialláin for a moment, allowing Fidelma time to reassume her expression of bewildered innocence.
‘What was she doing in the abbey?’ she said, as if she had little understanding of what he was saying. ‘Truly, Tialláin, your knowledge and your behaviour are alarming and I have no comprehension of it. You say that I have some involvement with this girl. Why would that be? Do you think I am employed by the abbey to follow her? Why should she be passing in this direction anyway?’
Tialláin gave a grunt of exasperation. ‘I said nothing of the sort, lawyer. You are trying to play games with me.’
‘I am trying to understand what games you are playing.’ Fidelma was confident now that the man was puzzled.
‘No games. I know that Grella, wife to the High King, was at Cluain and heard that her bodyguard was killed.’
Now Fidelma was really shocked and there was little hiding it.
‘So how does this girl Cairenn fit into all this?’ Eadulf’s question was so obviously sincere that Tialláin hesitated a moment before responding.
‘Enough of your games! I know them too well. And until I am assured that you pose no danger to me, you and your companions will remain here as my guests.’
It was Enda who now spoke. ‘I think you should reconsider your suggestion, Tialláin. May I remind you that Fidelma is sister to King Colgú of Cashel, to whom the princes of the Uí Liatháin pay tribute; moreover, Fidelma is a lawyer. You may disregard and disrespect your own prince but be warned that the King of Cashel’s warriors are a not inconsiderable force. Does not the lady Fidelma’s rank impress you enough that she should be treated with courtesy?’
Tialláin ignored him. ‘Gadra, take charge of the woman,’ he instructed, coldly. ‘You will find the accommodation frugal, lady. I am afraid the place of confinement was not built with a female lawyer or a princess in mind.’
Gadra grabbed Fidelma’s comb bag and marsupium and handed them to one of the bowmen. He deftly patted her clothing, searching for any hidden weapon. Then he took Enda’s weapons and Eadulf’s knife and bag and gave them to the bowman, too.
‘What shall I do with these?’ the man asked Tialláin, indicating the confiscated items.
‘Take them and put them with the horses; they can go to the stable yard until I decide what to do with them.’ The man left on his errand.
‘What about my companions? What do you intend to do?’ demanded Fidelma as Gadra waved his sword at the door to show she should precede him.
Tialláin stroked his beard for a moment as if trying to make up his mind.
‘We could kill them,’ he said reflectively. ‘But I suppose it would be a waste of effort and of value. We will hold them until the Saxon raider puts into our harbour. He may give us a tidy sum for all of you … Don’t!’
The last was a shouted order as Enda lunged forward. The arrow struck him in the upper arm before he had even raised his hand.
‘Stop!’ It was Fidelma. ‘We submit, Tialláin. Call off your bowman. Do not harm my companions further.’
Tialláin called: ‘Keep them covered, Gadra. I will remove the lawyer myself. You, woman, come with me, and move slowly and without blocking the aim of my bowman – because if either of your companions moves, he will shoot whether you are in the way or not.’
‘Very well.’ Her voice was tight. ‘Enda, how is your wound?’
Enda was standing, one hand clasped to his bleeding upper arm, from which the arrow still protruded. The warrior grimaced sourly. ‘A scratch, lady. I have had worse in practice fights.’
‘Can Brother Eadulf attend to his wound?’ she demanded of Tialláin.
‘Enough of your orders, lawyer,’ snapped Tialláin. ‘Leave them and come with me.’
‘But Eadulf has studied the healing arts at Tuaim Brecain. He can attend to the wound,’ she said, unmoved by his threatening tone.
Tialláin hesitated and then snapped to his man, ‘Gadra, let the Saxon tend the wound but keep a careful eye upon him. I’ll send in a couple of the other men to help. Then make sure these two are placed where they can do no further harm. Now, lawyer, come with me and not a further word lest I lose my temper entirely.’
With an apologetic glance at her companions, Fidelma followed Tialláin to the door. He moved aside, drawing a short sword, and allowed her to exit first. As she hesitated before going through the doorway, he seemed to smile behind his beard.
‘I have heard that you were known to excel at the troidsciagaid, the unarmed combat that is taught to the religious before they go on missions to strange lands. Do not try anything … I will not hesitate to use this weapon.’
Fidelma said nothing but left the inn.
Outside, she saw more of what were obviously Tialláin’s men, one of them leading their horses away. Two armed men joined the chieftain, who ordered another two to go to Gadra inside the inn.
‘I hope you know what you are doing,’ she remarked to Tialláin, as he indicated that she should go bef
ore him along a path around the hillside.
‘I know well enough,’ he replied curtly. ‘Go towards that stone building beyond those trees.’
She saw, beyond a circle of yew and hawthorns, a grey building. It was distinguished from all the wooden structures she had seen by being built of limestone blocks. She moved slowly towards it.
‘Do I have your word that my companions will not be harmed?’
Trialláin made a derisive sound. ‘I have said they will not be harmed by me. That is enough. Now get a move on.’
As Fidelma looked around the little copse that surrounded the stone building, she caught a glimpse of a figure standing watching at some little distance. It was then things became clearer: the figure was none other than Fécho.
‘So Fécho is involved in whatever you are up to?’ she asked brightly.
‘You may be too clever for your own good, lawyer,’ was the unhelpful reply.
‘I was wondering how you came to know who I and my companions were,’ she said. ‘I hope the boatman was more honest with you than he was with me.’
This caused Tialláin to halt uncertainly.
‘What do you mean?’
Fidelma paused and smiled. ‘Just that a person who can lie to one can also lie to another. Fécho works for profit not for causes, isn’t that right?’
‘What do you know about causes?’ sneered the man.
‘Only that some people sacrifice themselves for a belief while others do so merely for profit. Fécho, I judge, is one of the latter, and as such, his truth can be changeable, depending how large the profit.’
Tialláin smiled in turn. ‘He might have told you that I, too, work for profit. Fécho has been trading among these harbours for many years. I have known him a long time.’
Fidelma grimaced sourly. ‘Then you know what I mean.’
She saw the troubled look in Tialláin’s dark eyes and knew her remark had struck home.
The chieftain shook his head. ‘He would not lie to me. He knows my vengeance has a long hand and that it is merciless.’
‘More so than your own new prince, Tomaltaid, who seems to be asserting the power that you would now deny? I’d have a care about Fécho’s loyalty. And Tomaltaid might come to question your allegiance soon.’
‘I owe no more allegiance to him than to Glaisne!’
‘Then perhaps it will be my brother, King of Muman, who will come with his army.’ Fidelma smiled grimly. ‘Have a care, Tialláin.’
The man hesitated and then shook himself like an angry dog. ‘Enough of this! Move on, sharply now.’
His two men closed in threateningly. Fidelma turned and walked on towards the limestone building. It was a large rectangle with no windows, at least none that she could see from the angle they approached it. There were large double doors of what she thought were oak, studded with iron nails. She noticed that wide tracks led up to these doors, as if the building were used as a stable or storage barn. As they came closer, Fidelma saw that it rose to a double storey with a small square tower in one corner. It seemed indeed to be a large store house; in fact, as she now observed, the wide track led from the double oak doors all the way down to the harbour below. There were traces of wagons being frequently used along this path.
One of Tialláin’s men went forward and produced a great key to unlock the doors, and held them open. It was dark inside and they paused while the man struck a flint and tinder to ignite a small oil lamp. Fidelma confirmed there were no windows in the building and that it was mostly given over to storage. She noticed an open door, which must lead to the tower that she had seen from outside. At the far end of the building, she saw, a part was partitioned off by a stone wall in which there were set more heavy oak doors. This interior wall rose only to a single storey and the enclosure was roofed by a sloping series of heavy timber boards.
Tialláin halted and indicated one of the doors.
‘Here you will stay, lawyer, until you tell me what you know or until I decide that you have nothing that I need.’
‘What about my companions?’
‘I have already told you what I shall do. I am acquainted with the captain of a Saxon ship that has business along this coast. He is due here within a day or two. An Eóganacht princess will make a fine hostage for him to take to his home port, and a warrior of the Golden Collar will make a fine slave. And no one in this kingdom will lament the departure of your Saxon husband. They might even be grateful for it.’
‘That’s where you are wrong, Tialláin,’ she replied coldly. ‘And I think you will suffer for your mistake.’
‘But I will not suffer as much as you,’ the chieftain replied, nodding to his men.
Fidelma found herself being roughly manhandled through one of the doors and into the darkened room behind.
She blinked in the darkness. ‘Can you at least provide me with a candle?’ she demanded.
‘Giving orders to the last?’ sneered Tialláin. Then he suddenly laughed. ‘Why not? Give her a light,’ he said to one of his men. ‘Give her a light so that she may see there is no means of escape.’
One of the men gave her the small, flickering oil lamp with a cynical smile. ‘It won’t last you long but long enough for you to see there is no escape from your imprisonment,’ he said, echoing his chieftain’s words.
With that, she was pushed inside and the door swung shut with a bang. She heard the key rasp in the lock. She turned with a sigh. The place was dank and smelled of wet hay. Piles of straw were everywhere, some rotting. There was no other furniture, and no light apart from the small lamp she had been given. She held it high and peered around carefully.
It was during this examination that she saw what appeared to be a pile of clothes under the straw in one corner. She moved forward. There came a groan, and she realised that the clothes covered a body. She bent and removed the straw. The body lay face down but Fidelma noticed the rise and fall of the shoulders and heard the gasping breaths. She put the lamp down and knelt beside the body, using all her strength to turn it over. It was a young girl. She had auburn hair and, even with the bruises and cuts on her cheeks, Fidelma could tell she was remarkably attractive. Fidelma had last seen her in the Abbey of Finnbarr a few days ago.
‘Cairenn!’ she exclaimed.
CHAPTER NINE
Eadulf was examining the wound in Enda’s arm.
‘I’ll have to pull the arrow out,’ he announced.
‘That’s all right, friend Eadulf,’ muttered Enda. ‘I don’t think it has gone in far.’
Eadulf turned to the man called Gadra. ‘I need my les,’ he said. It was the medicine bag carried by all physicians. Since Eadulf had studied the healing arts, even though he had not qualified and was unable to carry an echlais, the symbolic whip which was the emblem of a qualified doctor, he had developed the habit of carrying his medical bag. In fact, it had been useful on more than one occasion, especially in some of the investigations he had undertaken with Fidelma.
Gadra stared at him, confused.
‘My medical bag, man! It’s on my horse. Do you want this man to bleed to death?’
Gadra hesitated a moment more, then shrugged and turned to one of the men who had just joined him. ‘Get the bag,’ he instructed.
‘Sit in that chair, Enda,’ Eadulf told him. When the warrior had sat down, Eadulf bent to look at the arrow. He glanced towards the bowman who had remained behind to cover them. ‘Let me see your arrows,’ he snapped.
The bowman looked uncertain and turned questioningly to Gadra.
Gadra shrugged and motioned to the bowman to give him an arrow. ‘The Saxon is hardly likely to overwhelm us with one arrow and no bow,’ he grinned.
Eadulf saw that it was a crude arrow without a flint or metal head, just a long willow stick that had been whittled into a point at one end.
‘It means it went in cleanly in one piece and can come out that way,’ Eadulf murmured. ‘Bring me a mug of corma.’
Once more Gadra stared at him
in bemusement.
‘Corma,’ Eadulf repeated impatiently. ‘I need the alcohol to cleanse the wound!’
Gadra called for the innkeeper and gave the order. The corma appeared at the same time the man returned with Eadulf’s medical bag. Eadulf poured some of the alcohol around the point where the arrow tip had penetrated. Then he handed the rest to Enda. ‘Drink,’ he instructed. Enda took a large swallow. He was just setting down the mug when Eadulf grasped the shaft of the arrow and pulled.
The invective that came from Enda’s lips was not surprising.
Eadulf was peering at the arm. ‘Good,’ he smiled. ‘It looks like a clean wound anyway. Is there some of that corma left?’
‘I needed it,’ muttered Enda, looking at the empty mug.
‘I wasn’t thinking of you but of the wound,’ Eadulf replied and turned to the brugh-fer. ‘Get this refilled.’ The man glanced at Gadra, who shrugged again. When the corma appeared, Eadulf once more poured some of it over the wound and gave the rest to Enda, who drank it back in one swallow.
Eadulf was peering into his les. ‘Now, a salve to prevent infection and ease the tenderness. Then I’ll bind it up with linen strips.’
There was silence while they watched Eadulf at work. The puncture mark the arrow had left was not large, with more of a bruise around it than an open wound. Eadulf spent some time applying his treatment and binding up the arm.
‘Nice and tight and no infection,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘It should heal soon, especially after the bruising becomes less tender.’ He packed the things back in his medical bag and then looked questioningly at the man called Gadra.
‘So what do you intend to do with us?’
Gadra seemed perplexed by the way Eadulf had assumed authority. He did not answer for a moment, then remembered Tialláin’s orders.
‘You will remain here until a decision is reached.’
Eadulf smiled and sat down.
‘In that case the brugh-fer can bring us drinks and the good meal that we were about to order when you interrupted us.’
‘On your feet, Saxon,’ Gadra shouted, apparently realising he should try to regain authority.
Bloodmoon Page 15