Aescwine threw back his head and laughed. It seemed a habit of his, a full belly laugh but one that was for show, with little genuine warmth in it.
‘Don’t take me for a fool, lady,’ he replied shortly before turning away.
Eadulf, Enda and Cairenn had witnessed what had happened on the jetty with horror. They had seen the brief argument and they had seen the Saxon warriors let loose a fusillade of bolts from their crossbows. Tialláin had been the first to go down while Fécho and his crew had dived behind the bales on the jetty. They saw Gadra with a wound in his leg and several others lying prone, either dead or injured. The rest of Tialláin’s men seemed to be running hither and thither in confusion, looking for shelter. The few women of the settlement set up a great cry of lamentation and fear. But Eadulf’s greatest concern was that Fidelma had been pushed onto the Saxon ship, and now it was pulling out of the inlet and heading for the open sea.
Enda was thinking rapidly. He turned quickly to Cairenn. ‘I presume you can ride? Do you know this country?’
The girl frowned: ‘I can ride – and I know a little of the country, for I used to come to this coast with Grella as her companion before she married.’
‘Tialláin’s men are preoccupied. Our horses are tethered behind the inn. Do you know where it is?’ She nodded and he went on: ‘They are still saddled. Take the cob, he is docile but strong. If you can, lead the others and leave here quickly. No arguments,’ he said urgently, as the girl seemed about to protest. Then he paused, and realised that Eadulf was still automatically carrying his les. He pointed to it. ‘Here, place that in one of the saddlebags.’
She took it, still looking bewildered.
‘You say that you know this country?’ Enda demanded of the girl. ‘Do you know some place along the route where you could leave the horses or that we could meet once we free Fidelma?’
‘Grella once showed me a fishing village on the coast, due south from here. It is called Baile an Stratha, the Settlement of the Strand. I can go there and wait for you with the horses.’
‘Good,’ Enda replied. ‘We will meet you there.’
‘But,’ the girl interrupted, ‘I have my own duty to fulfil. If you are not there in three days, then I shall continue on to Cluain, where I was to meet Grella.’
‘Agreed,’ Enda said impatiently. ‘Baile an Stratha. We shall find the village. But now – go; go quickly.’
He glanced back down to the inlet. The Saxon ship was slowly moving away from the jetty. ‘We must hurry if we are to free Fidelma,’ he told Eadulf.
‘Free Fidelma?’ Eadulf was looking bewildered – but Enda was already bounding down the hill like a mountain goat, darting here and there for if he lost pace he would surely fall over but his speed kept him upright.
‘Are you mad?’ shouted Eadulf. But there was nothing to do but follow. ‘What are you going to do? Swim after her?’
There was no answer as their momentum took them, threading their way through the trees and bushes, down the steep incline towards the small harbour. Only when they reached a level patch and paused for breath could Enda gasp: ‘We must follow the Saxon ship.’
‘Follow the ship?’ Eadulf gasped back. ‘In what? There’s only the Tonn Cliodhna and Fécho is not likely to help us.’
‘Fécho has not heard the offer I intend to make him.’ Enda smiled grimly, finally slowing his pace as they came to the harbour. ‘That is, if he is still alive after the Saxon demonstrated his gratitude to Tiallián.’
‘This is madness, Enda.’
‘When there is no alternative but to be mad, then one must be mad,’ replied the young warrior.
They had reached some outhouses alongside the landing stage and the groans and cries of the wounded were plentiful. Without hesitation Enda led the way onto the jetty. A body lay in their path. It was one of Tialláin’s men. A bolt had pierced his forehead. He lay on his back, one arm flung back and his sword thrown a short distance away.
‘Grab that!’ Enda cried, indicating the sword.
Eadulf needed no encouragement. He picked up the sword, then saw the hunting knife at the man’s belt and secured that also.
‘Enda!’ he called.
Enda turned and Eadulf tossed the sword to him hilt first. Enda caught it deftly and turned back along the jetty. He spotted his objective.
Fécho was crawling out from behind the bales and before he knew what was happening, Enda was on him, the sword at his throat.
‘Stay still!’ he hissed.
Fécho blinked rapidly, still dazed by the Saxons’ attack but suddenly appreciative of his current situation. He looked at Eadulf and began to plead with him.
‘Brother, do not let him harm me. You are a man of the New Faith. You cannot allow –’
Eadulf cut him short. ‘You will have heard that Christians are supposed to obey a commandment not to kill,’ he said evenly. ‘Know that I did not convert to this New Faith until long into my maturity. Until then I worshipped Woden and the gods of blood and honour. I have difficulty in remembering the prohibition about killing at times of stress. This is certainly such a time, so you will obey Enda. Quickly!’
Fécho continued to plead. ‘It wasn’t anything to do with me. I did not betray you; it was Tialláin who was in touch with the Saxon. I didn’t sell the lady Fidelma to them. I didn’t—’
‘Shut up!’ Enda snapped. He pressed the edge of the sword close to Fécho’s throat. ‘Where are your crew?’
‘My crew?’ The man was bewildered.
The blade pressed closer.
‘You have one chance to live,’ hissed Enda. ‘You are going to set sail on the Tonn Cliodhna in pursuit of that Saxon ship.’
‘I am what?’ His last word was an exclamation.
‘Where is your crew?’
As the blade pressed closer, Fécho began to call some names. One by one, first Iffernán and then more of the embarrassed sailors emerged from their shelters and shuffled forward. Eadulf realised just how vulnerable he and Enda were, but the young warrior brandished his sword at Fécho.
‘Your men will obey now – no tricks, understand?’
‘You will obey him,’ Fécho called, echoing Enda’s words.
‘Tell your crew to board your vessel and get it ready to sail,’ ordered Enda.
Fécho repeated the instruction. Puzzled and unwilling, they did as they were told. Around them, Tialláin’s men seemed at a loss what to do now their leader was dead, and there were several wounded to attend to. A woman was bending over Gadra’s wounded leg and he was too busy to notice what was happening. No one made any effort to impede Fécho’s crew.
On board, with the crew preparing to set sail and Eadulf keeping a watch on them, Enda could turn his full attention to Fécho and Iffernán.
‘You will both take the tiller,’ he instructed.
‘Then what?’ Fécho demanded, a little more truculently now he felt himself out of immediate danger.
Enda met his gaze with malice in his expression.
‘Once out of the inlet, you will steer south to the open sea, after the Saxon ship.’
Fécho raised his eyebrows.
‘This is not a ler-longa, a seagoing vessel,’ he protested. ‘It is certainly not a fighting vessel.’
‘It is a large coastal ship,’ acknowledged Enda. ‘You told us so several times. The Saxon, once out of the passage and around the southern headland, must head eastwards along the coast if they want to reach the land of the Gewisse. I intend that they will not get as far as the seas between Éireann and Britain.’
Fécho frowned, still bewildered. ‘How are you going to prevent it?’ he asked.
‘You have already demonstrated your sailing ability against a warship. Remember?’ the young warrior pointed out.
‘But the warship captured us.’
‘That was when the warship was chasing us, not when you were chasing a warship,’ replied Eadulf. ‘Do you know the Uí Liatháin coastline, as far as Eochaill and the
mouth of the Great River that leads up to Lios Mór?’
‘I have traded as far as Eochaill,’ Fécho admitted reluctantly.
‘Then you know the waters beyond the headland?’
The man did not reply for a minute. ‘You are mad, Saxon. Your anger has made you mad.’
‘I told you before, I am an Angle,’ replied Eadulf evenly. ‘And as for anger, you have not seen anger in me yet. You would not want to.’
‘And so you have a plan to prevent that Saxon ship, twice the size of this one, whose crew is who knows how many times the size of mine,’ replied Fécho, gaining something of his old cynicism. ‘And you have one professional warrior with you and he is wounded in the upper arm. Can you remember how many deadly crossbow men Aescwine had on board?’
‘Aescwine?’ Eadulf started at the name. ‘Is that the name of the Saxon leader?’
‘I overheard him when he introduced himself to the lady Fidelma,’ explained Fécho.
‘The ship bears the pennants of Cenwealh of the Gewisse,’ Eadulf said thoughtfully.
‘It is the name by which Tailáin addressed him and … I heard Tialláin say he had been expecting him as he had goods to trade.’
Eadulf smiled without humour. ‘Tell me, Fécho: do you want to live?’
The boatman saw the dangerous malevolence in Eadulf’s eyes.
‘I do,’ he said simply.
‘And would you hope not to be dragged as a prisoner before the Chief Brehon and face retribution for what you have allowed happen this day to the sister of your King?’
Fécho swallowed and shook his head violently.
‘I did nothing. I swear I did not know that Tialláin was going to capture and trade the lady Fidelma to a Saxon slaver. It was nothing to do with me. It was Tialláin alone.’
‘Even so, someone was responsible for bringing us into the territory of Tialláin. They could have landed us anywhere on this coast, from where we could have reached Cluain.’
‘What do you want of me?’ Fécho said through gritted teeth.
‘Surely it is what you want for yourself,’ smiled Eadulf ruthlessly. ‘Perhaps there is a way that you might continue to live; perhaps there is even a way you might escape punishment …’
‘But you and your warrior friend are asking me to attack a Saxon warship twice my size and with what?’ Fécho’s voice was almost a wail.
‘At the moment, all I am asking is for you to follow the ship. I think this Aescwine will be too busy heading away from this land to turn and attack us.’
Fécho was not convinced. ‘You are presenting a case between death and death!’
Eadulf shook his head. ‘What I am presenting to you is a choice between certain death and the possibility of death.’ His voice was flat. ‘Which do you want?’
Fécho hesitated for a moment, aware that they were floundering at the mouth of the inlet. Then he shouted to his crew.
‘Wear ship. We are turning south!’
The carved head of the goddess, Cliodhna, at the prow of the ship, began to swing southwards, turning with the wind filling the sail towards the open seas.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Fidelma gently tested the strength of the bonds that secured her wrists. The ropes were tight and had obviously been tied by an expert. She sighed and relaxed back, realising that she was being observed by the other prisoner confined in the covered stern of the Saxon ship. He was a short man with a look of life having been led in the open air. He was of swarthy appearance, with black hair and beard and dark eyes. His clothes indicated that he pursued some kind of rural work. There was something about him that reminded her of a young tethered colt, waiting to be released into action, although he was well beyond middle age. As she raised her eyes to his and met his gaze, his features broke into a lopsided smile.
‘The man who secured these bonds was no newcomer to the art,’ the man ventured.
Fidelma found herself giving an answering smile. ‘That is true,’ she replied. ‘I suppose that you have checked your bonds, too?’
‘I have,’ replied the man. ‘Yet even if the bonds were loose, we would stand little chance against those Pictish crossbows.’
‘Pictish? What makes you say Pictish?’
‘These Saxons carry crossbows that bear the design used by the Pictii of Alba. Most Saxons use the designs that the Romans used.’
Fidelma was thoughtful for a moment and then asked: ‘So you know about such things?’
‘I am a saer, lady, a carpenter and maker of bows – from the long bow to the crossbow. I was once bow-maker to Cathal Cú-cen-máthair, who was King when your brother became his heir apparent.’
‘So you know me?’ Fidelma asked.
The man contrived to shrug even with his bonds. ‘Oh yes. I recognise you, lady. I worked at Cashel for a time.’
‘And what is your name?’
‘Áed Caille, lady.’
Fidelma grinned. ‘That is an appropriate name for one of your profession.’ The name meant ‘fire of the woods’.
‘My father was also a saer.’
‘How did these Saxons capture you?’
‘I was out cutting wood by the Hill of the Yew when they landed. I had no time to hide.’
‘They landed and attacked Eochaill?’ Fidelma was surprised.
‘The place was undefended, so it was hardly an attack.’
‘Undefended? Is there not a fortress there, the fortress of an Uí Liatháin chieftain?’
‘The chieftain and his warriors had just left. The Saxon leader took me for interrogation.’
‘Interrogation about what?’
‘Their leader behaved curiously. It was as if he were expecting someone to meet him on the quayside at Eochaill. This ship tied up and the warriors made a protective cordon around it. But they did not attack, nor did anyone attack them. After a while, I was taken a prisoner and the leader asked me where Glaisne was.’
‘Glaisne?’ Fidelma frowned.
‘The chieftain of the southern Uí Liatháin; that is his fortress at Eochaill. I told him that Glaisne and his warriors had left – I knew that for I had seen them. They left the fortress as soon as the Saxon ship came into the estuary.’
‘That sounds as though they fled from the Saxons,’ Fidelma commented disapprovingly.
The bow-maker shrugged. ‘Perhaps they had no choice. They were protecting the lady Grella.’
Fidelma took a moment to control her surprise. ‘The lady Grella?’ she demanded. ‘Was she at the fortress?’
‘I recognised her from my time as bow-maker, when she visited Cashel on her way to her wedding in Tara,’ the man replied easily. ‘You know she was a princess of the Uí Liatháin before she married an Uí Néill. So the lord Glaisne is related to her.’
Áed Caille did not seem to notice Fidelma’s controlled astonishment.
‘Then I presume that Grella was Glaisne’s guest? How did you come to see them leaving the fort?’
‘It is as I have said. I was on my way to cut willow when Glaisne, with the lady Grella and some of his warriors, came riding from the fortress, passed me on the road at a canter and made off. Just after that I saw the Saxon ship tying up at the quay and soon after that they took me prisoner.’
‘When did all this happen?’
‘Three days ago.’
‘I don’t suppose it was known where they were heading?’
Áed Caille shook his head. ‘I think they were heading west, maybe towards Cluain. Cluain is where Glaisne’s cousin Antrí is supposed to be re-establishing the old abbey. Maybe they went there to seek sanctuary from the Saxon raid? I would not think Glaisne would seek refuge with his brother.’
‘His brother?’
‘He has a twin called Éladach, but they are as alike as the bear and the deer. They do not have a good relationship. Éladach an Gréicis he is called.’
‘Éladach the Greek?’ asked Fidelma in bewilderment.
‘It is because he is fanatical for the Eastern Fait
h. He has a band of followers, a small community called Doirín somewhere in the forests near Cluain.’
‘You said the Eastern Faith. What do you mean?’
‘Éladach recognises the Bishop of Constantinople as Father of the Church, not the Bishop of Rome. So the Faith is already splitting, as people follow different rites, doctrines, even the language – Greek in the East and Latin in the West. There was a council at Chalcedon twenty years ago that proclaimed the Bishop of Constantinople equal to the Bishop of Rome.’
Fidelma frowned. ‘Well, Greek was the first language of the Faith, wasn’t it? We still use it in the rituals of our churches here.’
‘There is a schism coming in the Faith, even though we call it the New Faith. In any organisation men set up, there are always divisions.’
‘You say that this Éladach adheres to Greek rites; how so?’
‘It is said that he spent time among the people of Greece before returning here, and he is very pious. That’s why Glaisne would not seek refuge with his brother, even in the face of a Saxon raid. Glaisne is not a prince one admires, and his cousin Antrí is even worse.’
‘If this was not a raid, what was the purpose?’ Fidelma asked, changing the subject. ‘You said it was if the Saxons were waiting for someone.’ She suddenly remembered the tall man in the dark religious robes who had seemed to give instructions. ‘When did the tall religious come on board? The man who wears a cowl and is dressed in black.’
The bow-maker shrugged but it was obvious from his expression that Fidelma had started a chain of thought in his mind.
‘I did not notice him when I was captured. We stayed at the jetty, guarded by the Saxon warriors, until early the next morning, when we set sail. That was when I noticed that man had joined us.’
‘Who is he? Do you know?’
‘Only that he is no Saxon. When he speaks, he does so with the accent of the north. But what matter? Our fate is now bound to this ship wherever it goes … literally,’ he said with a feeble laugh, trying to indicate his bonds.
Fidelma was not in the mood for humour. ‘I am not prepared to accept that fate,’ she said sharply, then another thought struck her. ‘You say that the Saxon asked about Glaisne. Was the name of the lady Grella also mentioned?’
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