The only hope was her knowledge of ancient unarmed combat, the battle through defence, troid sciathagid. It was taught to the missionaries sent abroad to pagan lands so that they could defend themselves without recourse to arms, and thus preserve the New Faith’s teaching that violence was an evil to be avoided. It was also part of the training of young warriors and had been used in the time before the New Faith. Fidelma, observing their guards, was sure that none of them had warrior training. Therefore, it was the best option open to her.
She suddenly pivoted on one foot, raising the other so that as she swung it caught the man on her left with force in the area below his solar plexus. He screamed in agony. At the same time, Fidelma shouted to Cairenn: ‘Run!’ Then she turned on the surprised man on her right and as he hesitated, she caught at his right arm and seemed to throw herself backwards, pulling him forward in such a way that he tumbled directly over her. Then she sprang back onto her feet and twirled round in a fighting crouch.
Taking advantage of the bewilderment of the two men behind, Cairenn had obeyed Fidelma’s shout and was racing beyond them, bounding away like a doe, this way and that, running for the woods beyond.
One man was still cursing and groaning on the ground. Fidelma seized the sword of the second, aiming a kick at his jaw which sent him sprawling backwards, apparently knocking him out. But the other two had recovered their wits and came at her, spacing themselves out and approaching from separate sides. Eyes narrowed – she was admittedly no sword fighter – Fidelma cast the weapon at one of the two, forcing him to raise his own sword to deflect the flying blade. The impact caused him to stagger back a pace or two, giving her time to leap forward under the parry of the second man and grasp his beard in a painful tug, setting her shoulder against his midriff and using the man’s own momentum to pull him over onto the ground.
She was about to take to flight after the now-vanished Cairenn when an arrow struck the ground in front of her.
‘The next one is in your back!’ shouted a voice.
She turned to see Gadra smiling at her, with raised bow and a second arrow already strung. He was shaking his head in admiration.
‘Get up, you scum,’ he said, addressing the guards, who were trying to struggle up from where they had fallen. ‘By the ancient gods, here is a pretty sight. Four men defeated by a mere woman. Who are you, lady? Scáthach, the teacher of heroes?’
According to the old tales, Scáthach was a legendary female warrior who had taught the ancient heroes like Cúchullain, Connla and Fionn. No one could defeat her.
Fidelma actually laughed and motioned towards the angry men.
‘You compare these to real warriors? It does not need a Shade from the Otherworld to teach them the art of fighting. A kitchen attendant taking out the rubbish could defeat them just as well.’
‘Stop!’
Gadra’s cry halted his angry men in their reaction to her insult. At his command, they stood glowering at her, shamed by their defeat.
‘You may be right, lady,’ replied Gadra dourly, ‘but you are still a prisoner. Now, you will march down the hill to the jetty … unless you prefer to remain here with an arrow in you.’
Fidelma knew the man was not saying it for effect. There was a cruel look in his eyes and his thin red lips parted slightly, as if in anticipation of her refusing his order.
‘What of the other wench, Gadra?’ muttered one of his men.
‘We can find her later. Let’s ensure this one is taken to Tialláin.’ Gadra’s eyes did not leave Fidelma as he stood almost willing her to make a wrong move. She shrugged and started down the path, wondering if Cairenn had managed to find a hiding place.
Eadulf heard a stumbling through the undergrowth and sprang up, ready to fight at first, then changing position to catch the young girl as she burst out of the bushes and straight into his arms. She opened her mouth but before she could utter the scream he grabbed her, his hand closing over her mouth to stifle the sound.
Enda rose and grabbed the girl’s wildly beating fists.
‘It’s the girl, Cairenn!’ gasped Eadulf, recognising her. ‘The girl who fled from the abbey.’ Then, sharply, to the girl he snapped, ‘Be silent or you’ll have Tialláin’s men here. We mean you no harm.’
They waited, the girl unable to move, constrained in Enda’s arms, her breast heaving. They stood listening for a while but, curiously, there seemed no sound of pursuit.
Then Eadulf said: ‘Are you escaping from Tialláin? So are we. If we release you, you will not scream?’
The girl nodded. He removed his hand from her mouth, and she coughed to clear her throat and breathe more deeply.
‘I saw you in the abbey. You are the lady Fidelma’s companions,’ Cairenn acknowledged. ‘She said that you were prisoners.’
‘We escaped …’ began Eadulf. Then, in surprise: ‘You have seen her? Where is she?’
‘We were locked up together. Then, just now, we were being taken down to the harbour. The lady Fidelma attacked the guards and told me to run. I did so. They must have killed or taken her.’
‘Killed?’ Eadulf was aghast. It was Enda who urgently suggested they had better get further into cover before they were seen. They resumed their position looking over the inlet. Eadulf forgot his Christian conversion and let out some curses in the name of the old god Woden. His anger was born of the shock of hearing that Fidelma could be dead.
‘We were being taken to the jetty,’ Cairenn repeated. ‘They said we would be sold to a Saxon slaver.’
Enda inclined his head towards the harbour. ‘There is a Saxon ship just arrived down there,’ he confirmed. Then he strained forward, as something had caught his eye. ‘There, friend Eadulf; look! Some men are walking down the path to the harbour … and the lady Fidelma is with them. She was not killed.’
Eadulf gave a groan, halfway between relief and fear: relief that she was not dead; fear of what it meant to be delivered to a Saxon slaver …
Cairenn strained forward as well. ‘They must be taking her to that ship,’ she said, declaring the obvious.
‘Would Tialláin really sell the daughter of his King to a Saxon slaver?’ Enda was shocked.
The girl sniffed cynically. ‘It seems that he would do anything to obtain riches.’
‘Do you know him?’ Eadulf asked, puzzled. ‘What are you doing here anyway? I saw you at the abbey. Who are you?’
‘Fidelma did not tell you?’ Cairenn reflected his bewilderment.
‘Tell me what?’
‘I am Cairenn, personal attendant to Grella, wife of the High King, Cenn Fáelad.’
Eadulf and Enda both stared at her in astonishment.
‘And so what are you doing here? Why were you at Finnbarr’s Abbey? Fidelma did not believe that you murdered Abbott Nessán.’
‘In that she was right.’
‘Then what is happening? We do not understand.’
‘If you have no understanding, then I cannot help you. If you needed to know, Fidelma would have told you,’ the girl replied firmly.
Eadulf gave an angry hiss. His fear of what might be happening to Fidelma was overcoming his restraint. ‘If you won’t tell us then … I have had enough of this business of a geis!’
Enda placed a hand on Eadulf’s shoulder and shook his head. ‘The main thing we need to know is how we can rescue the lady Fidelma, friend Eadulf. Everything else can be explained later.’ He turned to the girl. ‘Only one question do we need answered by you. Whatever this matter is, and it is true that we do not know, are you with Fidelma or against her?’
‘I am of the Eóganacht Raithlind.’ There was some pride in the girl’s voice. ‘Since the lady Fidelma is the sister of the King at Cashel and a dálaigh, pursuing truth and justice, I am with her.’
Enda turned to Eadulf. ‘Then there is only one way that we might rescue the lady Fidelma.’
When Gadra marched Fidelma down onto the jetty to confront Tialláin and explain the situation, he was met with a stor
m of abuse. His four men were despatched immediately to find Cairenn and to ensure that the other prisoners were still safe in the talam, the cellar of the inn. Fidelma found herself confronted not only by the belligerent coarse features of Tialláin but also by the amused, appraising look of a tall, handsome, blond-haired, clean-shaven man, whose dress showed him to be someone of importance. He seemed to be the captain of the Saxon longship that had tied up alongside Fécho’s boat. She saw Fécho standing some distance away, his helpless body language making a stark contrast to his usual self-confidence.
‘Well, well, didn’t I tell you that she was a wily one.’ Tialláin was smiling at the Saxon as Gadra finished the sorry tale of how he had been delayed. ‘But she is attractive, and should command a good price among your people. After all, her brother is King of Muman.’
The Saxon started at this reference. He moved closer to examine Fidelma’s features. His cold sea-grey eyes bore into her. Another man joined them. He was short, with dark hair and beard, and tanned by weeks at sea.
‘Is it worth burdening ourselves with another prisoner, lord?’ the man muttered in his own language.
The Saxon captain shook his head. ‘This one is a king’s sister. That might help us, Beorhtric. And since my woman’s companion has been got rid of, she will need a good servant – who better than one of her own people?’
Fidelma found she could understand much of the Saxon’s speech from what she had learnt from Eadulf, for the exchange was in his native tongue, but she couldn’t really grasp the meaning of the exchange. The Saxon captain was appraising her closely.
‘You are a long way from home, Saxon,’ she told him haughtily, summoning her scant knowledge of the language. ‘And at the moment you are still in the kingdom of my brother.’
The Saxon stared at her in surprise for a moment, and then threw back his head and gave a loud guffaw.
‘By Beldaeg, son of Woden, father of the Gewisse! She speaks our language. Better yet, better yet. Well, lady, since we meet on the soil of your brother’s kingdom, allow me to present myself as Aescwine, Prince of the Gewisse, and once the old sot who rules us, Cenwealh, is taken off to the Hall of Heroes, I shall be their King. You will enjoy a special place in my fortress.’
‘If you should live so long, Aescwine,’ Fidelma replied coldly. ‘It is a long voyage that you have ahead of you.’
‘And you are just the hostage we need to ensure a safe passage from whatever warships your brother may send to prevent us arriving safely at our home port. Anyway, soon your brother will have his hands full, when the successor of Cenn Fáelad invades his territory.’
Fidelma’s eyes widened. ‘The successor of the High King?’ she whispered. ‘What do you know of Cenn Fáelad’s successor?’
The man called Aescwine chuckled loudly before replying: ‘Let us say that I am intimate with him.’
Fidelma compressed her lips. Maybe she should not have been so quick to reveal her identity, but no sooner had she had this thought than she realised that Fécho would have been able reveal everything about her. She saw him still trying to make himself inconspicuous further along the jetty.
‘We have a negotiation to begin,’ broke in Tialláin impatiently. ‘I want an exceptional slave price for her.’
‘And don’t forget my fee,’ Gadra added anxiously to his chieftain.
‘You said there were others captured with her,’ Aescwine said. ‘Did you not tell me there was a Saxon religieux and a warrior? And I was relying on you to hold or eliminate that girl called Cairenn.’
‘Once my men have found the girl –’ Tialláin began to reply.
‘Once?’ sneered Aescwine. ‘I expected her dead long before this.’
‘My men will have her shortly,’ replied Tialláin. ‘She can’t have gone far.’
‘You fool! She should be dead already. Why isn’t she dead?’
‘But you promised a good price for the prisoners,’ whined the chieftain. Tialláin was no exception to the rule that most bullies, once challenged, become whinging sycophants. Just as he spoke, one of his men came hurrying back. He looked anxious and whispered nervously to Gadra.
‘There is no sign of the girl.’ Gadra passed on the message to Tialláin. ‘And the talam at the inn is empty. The woman’s companions are gone!’
Fidelma felt a surge of relief at this news, while Tialláin exploded into a tirade of profanities.
Aescwine’s handsome features still bore an amused smile. He appeared to have understood the exchange, which had been in the local language. It was then that Fidelma became aware of a tall man, clad in religious robes, who had suddenly emerged onto the deck of the Saxon ship. He had a cowl that covered his head, but he was clean shaven, and from the little of his features that she could see, he did not look at all Saxon. He looked very familiar, but she could not recall, in that highly charged moment, where she had seen him before. He managed to keep his face turned away from those on the jetty. He waved to Beorhtric, who went to him immediately and stood submissively while the man whispered to him urgently. Beorhtric nodded, and then returned to whisper to Aescwine. The Saxon captain surveyed Tialláin coolly.
‘Well, the prisoners are your problem, not mine,’ he announced lightly. ‘I’ll settle for this one.’ He pointed at Fidelma.
‘But you’ll get a good price for the others.’ Tialláin was almost pleading. ‘You can kill the girl if you want, but you’ll be mad if you do. She will fetch a good price – why waste it? Wait and we will soon recapture all of them. They cannot have gone far.’
Saying this, Tialláin turned and started to issue orders to Gadra. But Aescwine was shaking his head.
‘Do you know what signal fires are, Tialláin?’ he asked conversationally, as if asking about the weather. ‘I intend to sail immediately. I have already taken on board the supplies you were kind enough to give me. Now I’ll take this hostage.’
Tialláin was confused. ‘What do you mean, signal fires?’
The Saxon turned and pointed to the north-west, across the water.
‘You know this coast. What lies in that direction?’
Tialláin frowned. ‘Why, the Great Island.’
‘I understand there is a fortress on it?’
‘Ard Nemed is the fortress of Artgal of the Cenél nÁeda. Yes, I see smoke rising from the fort … a signal fire.’
‘And if I told you that that smoke started to rise after my ship entered this inland sea, what would you make of it?’
‘But Artgal has only one warship. He is in no position to launch an attack here.’
‘Probably not.’ Aescwine smiled thinly. ‘But the longer I stay here, the greater the chance that any warship may catch up with me. I cannot waste time doing battle. It will delay me, and that might give time for other ships along the coast to be alerted. So, I will take what I have and be gone.’
Fécho came forward, having overheard this discussion. He interrupted the exchange in a tone close to panic. ‘If a warship is on the way here, let me set sail first. I don’t want my ship destroyed.’
Aescwine did not bother to reply. Tialláin also ignored Fécho and raised his arms in a helpless gesture. ‘Then give me what you owe me for the stores and the woman,’ he said to the Saxon. ‘I’ll need a good price.’
‘There will be no bargaining.’ Aescwine turned and raised his arm. There was a sharp command from Beorhtric to those on board the Saxon ship. The warriors lining the sides of the vessel had dropped their shields. Those on the jetty were now staring at a row of Saxons holding short but deadly crossbows.
Aescwine spoke to Fidelma in his own language. ‘Get on board, lady,’ he instructed. ‘It will not be long before we reach the land of the Gewisse.
Fidelma cast a hopeful look around, but there was no sign of Eadulf or Enda, or even of Cairenn. No sign of any impending rescue.
‘Taking a last look at your brother’s kingdom, lady?’ Aescwine asked sardonically.
‘You’ll find that I am not th
at sentimental, so-called Prince of the Gewisse,’ she replied. ‘Your voyage may turn out to be a very short one.’
Aescwine indicated that she should precede him across to the Saxon vessel. As they boarded, a member of the crew came forward and roughly pushed her to a covered place at the stern, just below a high deck, not quite a cabin. There was another prisoner there, a man bound to a bench. Fidelma was pushed to the bench opposite and expertly tied to her seat with her back against the side of the ship.
She could hear Tialláin calling down curses on the Saxon captain and still demanding a good price.
Then Aescwine shouted something to the man called Beorhtric. From her position, Fidelma could see the Gewisse warriors at the rail of the ship aiming their crossbows at those on the jetty. Beorhtric shouted an order. There was a hiss of crossbows being discharged, then came screams and cries as a mass of bolts were released towards the shore. Fidelma wondered how many had been hit.
Aescwine was still smiling as he began to issue orders for ropes to be untied and the oars to be unshipped to guide the boat out of the inlet. Then she heard Beorhtric shout again and the release of the crossbow. She could hear the sounds of more bolts impacting. Only when there was space to manoeuvre was the order to release the sail given, and members of the crew went scrambling up the mast. Then, with an angry cracking sound, the great sails came down and were quickly secured in place by strong ropes. The prow of the vessel was veering round to point to the open sea.
She was aware that Aescwine had walked over to look down on his prisoners. She glanced up defiantly at him. He was wearing the same mocking smile on his handsome face.
‘And so we set sail, lady, and with fair weather it shall not be long before we pick up our important guests. Then it is a short journey to the land of the Gewisse. So rest well and pray for a swift wind in our sails.’
‘If I am to rest well, Saxon,’ Fidelma retorted defiantly, ‘then perhaps you would remove the bonds that hold me for we will never rest trussed up like chickens for the market.’
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