They were sitting down waiting impatiently for the meat to roast when a sound came to their ears, from the cave behind them. It was a strange groan, like someone in pain. They froze. Fidelma quietly rebuked herself. Before doing anything else she should have explored the area carefully, especially the cave, which she had assumed was deserted.
‘Enda,’ she whispered, ‘can you move slowly away from the light of the fire and reach your bow? Eadulf, you stay in front of the fire but be ready to move when I say so.’
Eadulf said nothing and the warrior replied by rising slowly and moving to one side. They heard nothing until he whispered from the shadows close by: ‘Ready, lady.’
Fidelma came to her feet languidly, reached forward to where she had placed the innlis and lit one. Then she turned and moved leisurely to one side – the opposite side to where she knew Enda was. She balanced the candle on a low branch. Eadulf realised she was using it as a distraction because she then moved into the cover of the trees, leaving the candle burning there. He knew she was heading for the cave entrance from the left side while he was sure Enda was moving up to the right side. Eadulf knew his task was to stay seated in the light of the fire in case whoever – or whatever – was in the cave was watching.
A moment later he heard Fidelma give a shout to surprise the inhabitant of the cave and the sounds of Enda and Fidelma springing into the entrance to overcome their quarry. Eadulf swiftly moved to one side out of the light of the fire and stared up. There followed a short silence, then Eadulf heard a pitiful groan.
Fidelma’s voice called down. ‘Eadulf, bring the innlis!’
He need no second bidding but grabbed the candle from where she had left it burning on the branch and hurried towards the shallow cave entrance.
Its light revealed his companions bending over what appeared to be the body of a man. Then he realised the man was alive and groaning in pain.
‘Bring the candle nearer,’ instructed Fidelma.
Eadulf moved forward. He was surprised to see the man was young and wore a golden circlet around his neck. His clothing, such as Eadulf could see, was of good quality, though it was ripped and dirty. Blood stained his shirt, which could be clearly seen because the leather jerkin that had covered it was almost in ribbons, as if it had been slashed with a blade. The face, handsome and clean shaven, was deathly pale and, even in the flickering candle light, Eadulf saw it was covered in an unhealthy sweat. The lips were flecked with blood and the eyes were closed. A groan now and then escaped the throat, like an inarticulate exhalation of breath.
‘Who is he?’ asked Enda, having put aside his bow and quiver. ‘Is he the person who killed Áed?’
‘There’s no sign of a crossbow,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘And it seems unlikely that, in this condition, he could have shot Áed from a height in the other inlet and then, abandoning his crossbow, climbed down, made his way here and climbed up to this cave. No, I do not think this is the killer of the bow-maker.’
‘Maybe he is someone from the abbey, who escaped the slaughter?’ Eadulf suggested. ‘He could have crawled here to hide. He was probably unconscious and we would not have known of him until he groaned aloud in pain.’
‘You had better examine him, Eadulf. But I think it may be too late,’ Fidelma said sadly. ‘He looks like a young noble.’
Enda moved aside so that Eadulf could take his place by the wounded man.
‘I’ll bring some water,’ he said as he left the cave.
The candle was placed on a rocky shelf nearby and the next thing Eadulf noticed by its light was dark bloodstains around the man’s shoulder. He tried to ease the man over on his side to examine the source of the wound. Then he saw the telltale part of a broken wooden bolt embedded under the left shoulder blade. It did not take him long to examine the man so far as his knowledge allowed. He glanced up at Fidelma and shook his head.
‘Another victim of a crossbow bolt,’ he told her reluctantly. ‘The bolt did not kill him so he was also struck by swords. He has lost too much blood and the wounds are infected. I don’t think there is much I can do.’
Enda returned bearing an uter, a leather water bag, which he had freshly filled from the stream.
‘Shall I fetch your les, friend Eadulf?’ he asked, referring to the little medical bag that Eadulf always carried with him.
Eadulf took the water bag and shook his head. ‘It will not be necessary,’ he said flatly. They both understood his meaning.
After Enda had left, Fidelma glanced at Eadulf, who was busy bathing the man’s face and lips with the cold water.
‘How long?’ she asked.
Eadulf hunched one shoulder and let it fall. ‘Not long.’
‘Can you extract that bolt from his shoulder?’
‘If I did, we would not have to wait at all.’ He paused. ‘At the moment it is acting like a plug to the flow of blood. Even so, not long.’
The cold water seemed to be having some effect on the man for suddenly he opened his eyes wide and groaned. The dark eyes were wide and staring. Fidelma and Eadulf were not sure if the man was seeing anything. He convulsed for a moment and tried to twist away from them.
‘Keep calm, keep calm,’ Fidelma urged softly. ‘You are among friends. No one is going to hurt you.’
The man fell back and Eadulf trickled water over his dry lips and he lapped almost eagerly at the drops. The eyes closed again.
‘Can you speak?’ Fidelma asked. ‘Can you tell us who you are?’
The mouth began to work and Eadulf let a few more drops of water onto the lips and dry tongue.
‘Escaped,’ came the groaning word. ‘Tried to kill … killed others.’
‘What is your name?’
There was a long pause. Then the young man seemed to gather his strength.
‘Loingsech of the Fianna. I was … was bodyguard to the lady Grella …’
Fidelma let out a gasp of surprise and moved closer to him. ‘Can you tell us what happened?’ she demanded, perhaps a little too curtly.
‘Plan for refuge … refuge at Cluain. Plan betrayed.’ He paused and tried to swallow. Eadulf reached forward and moistened his lips again. The young man went on. ‘Lady’s cousin not there … strange men tried to kill me … think they killed others and took Lady Grella … I escaped into woods. Hid for several days. They found me but escaped … wounded me badly … but I killed them.’
‘Who were they? Glaisne’s men?’
‘No … Glaisne … Fínsnechta’s man. Antrí his man.’
Fidelma leant even more closely forward. ‘Fínsnechta?’
The young man was trying to summon his last strength.
‘They supposed to be safe in … in … Cause war with Eóganacht. Cenn Fáelad would lose … Fínsnechta’s plan.’
‘What plan?’ she urged, trying to race against time with death.
‘Grella’s lover … whole thing betrayed … too late …’
The dying warrior was fading in and out of consciousness now.
‘Did Glaisne abduct her?’ pressed Fidelma. ‘Who betrayed Grella?’
The eyes opened for a moment but they were unfocused. There was a long exhalation of breath, a harsh rattling sound. Eadulf had heard that sound before. He knew what it portended.
Fidelma was staring at the man, trying to make sense of what she had heard. She shook him roughly, as if trying to bring him back to consciousness. Eadulf reached forward and placed his hand on her wrist. ‘He’s dead, Fidelma,’ he said softly.
They left the young man in the cave and, taking the candle, went back to join Enda, by the fire. They no longer seemed to have an appetite. They sat before the fire silently.
It was a long while before Eadulf finally broke the silence.
‘I am not sure I understand anything now. Who is Fínsnechta?’
Fidelma was looking moodily into the flames. ‘I think he is the key. Fínsnechta, son of Dúnchad,’ she replied in a heavy tone. ‘He is first cousin to Cenn Fáelad. If my guess
is correct, he is the tall religious who was at Finnbarr’s Abbey and the person I saw on Aescwine’s boat.’
‘So he was involved in the kidnapping of his cousin’s wife?’ Eadulf asked in astonishment.
Fidelma shook her head. ‘I can’t say for sure. There are little clues floating through the mists, each cloud bearing information. But like a mist, each one seems substantial at first but when you try to make it fit, it dissolves.’
Eadulf leant forward ‘If Fínsnechta was involved in the plot to overthrow his cousin, then perhaps he would have also arranged to get his wife, Grella, kidnapped. Maybe he paid Aescwine to abduct her?’
‘A possibility,’ conceded Fidelma. ‘But I am not convinced.’
Eadulf thought for a moment and then said: ‘Fínsnechta would have had the opportunity to meet Aescwine to arrange the matter at Tara. But there seems no logic in it.’
‘Perhaps it is a prelude to an invasion of the Five Kingdoms by the Saxons?’ Enda suddenly suggested.
Eadulf sat back and stared at Enda in surprise.
‘But that would make no sense, unless we are dealing with two different stories. What benefits accrue to the Saxons if the High King here is overthrown? I can’t see any,’ he confessed with an apologetic look at Enda. ‘It was a good theory,’ he added to the now irritated warrior, ‘but I can’t see why the Saxons would raid or try to conquer any part of Ireland.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because the Five Kingdoms have long been a sanctuary to Britons fleeing the conquests of the Saxons – and even Angles and Saxons fleeing from their ambitious relatives. Remember that the person who is a refugee today is a king in their own country tomorrow.’
‘But Enda does make a good point in reminding us again of Aescwine’s presence in this particular territory. Perhaps we should consider why it would not have been easier to abduct Grella at Tara or along the eastern coast rather than here,’ Fidelma said.
‘What if the overthrow of the High King might provide the Saxons with an opportunity to invade?’ Enda persisted. ‘What if Aescwine was merely scouting to gather information?’
‘Information about what?’ demanded Eadulf.
‘About our weaknesses,’ Enda suggested. ‘Information necessary to take over the country.’
Eadulf chuckled cynically. ‘You know well that there is a strong cohesion among your people. There may be five kingdoms, but they have a High King to whom the provincial kings make acknowledgment and pay tribute. The High King has his Fianna, his army, and each provincial king has his own army. There is a single law system which governs all five kingdoms, and the language, while it has its dialects, still has an almost universal form so that no part of the land is totally separate. This country is unified compared to the eleven separate kingdoms of the Angles and the Saxons. Each of these kingdoms makes alliances against others, each one tries to claim the magical title of the Bretwalda: the ruler of the Britons. Of course, this is rejected by the Britons who are strong enough to still defend those kingdoms that remain to them. It is still not clear whether the Britons could rise up and drive the Angles and Saxons back into the sea whence they came – remember it was only two centuries ago that they arrived in Britain.’
Fidelma was smiling. ‘You might have made my point for me, Eadulf. You say this island of the Five Kingdoms is strong enough to face any invasion from the Saxons?’
‘I believe it is.’
‘Then think of your own history. When the Romans left Britain and the native British princes rose again and a central prince was given the title Vortigern, the Overlord, who would have thought that his mistake was inviting your ancestors to help him fight off the raids of the Pictii?’ mused Fidelma. ‘That mistake resulted in Angles, Saxons and Jutes arriving in Britain and, within these last two centuries, taking control of nearly half of the island.’
‘That’s a good point, lady,’ murmured Enda.
Eadulf shook his head. ‘But that’s different,’ he began, then found himself struggling to explain why it was so. ‘I don’t think there is such cohesion among the Angles and Saxons that they would ever want to invade the Five Kingdoms. Why, many of our people, nobles and commoners, have come to this land for the sake of religious studies or to live a more ascetic life in the New Faith. Your people have welcomed them without fear of bad intentions. Conversely, you have sent missionaries to my people, teaching them not only religion but other learning and literacy. Even I was converted and taught by the Irish teachers of the East Angles – teachers like Fursa and his brothers. Look at the marriages among your people and mine … just like our own marriage, Fidelma. Isn’t there a son of Oswiu and the Uí Néill princess Fín living among the Northern Uí Néill, content just to write poems and sagas?’
‘Flann Fín, the poet?’ Fidelma nodded in confirmation. ‘Yes, I have heard of him.’
‘His given name is Alfrith and he is Oswiu’s son,’ added Eadulf. ‘And who knows? Under the laws of our people, he may one day go back to become King of Northumbria.’
‘You make a very passionate argument that we should not fear the Angles and Saxons,’ remarked Enda wryly. ‘I note, with respect, that you do not make it entirely on the basis that your people do not wish to invade our island as they did the island of Britain. You make it on the basis that they do not feel strongly enough.’
‘Maybe it is the same thing,’ Eadulf grunted in annoyance.
Fidelma decided to intervene. ‘Tell us more about this man Aescwine, Eadulf. Tell me of his people.’
‘The Gewisse? Well, they are a strong frontier people. They recently rose to dominate the tribes who were the West Saxons and incorporate them into a strong single territory. For most of the last century or so, they have driven the Britons westward. For a while the Britons held a strong kingdom that they called Dumnonia. As I told you, it is now almost vanished under Gewisse rule.’
‘You are describing the very people we should be wary of, friend Eadulf,’ Enda remarked.
‘Well, they are a proud people,’ Eadulf conceded. ‘They make much of the claim that they have a kingship lineage from Baldaeg, son of Woden. The story is that their first king was Cerdic, who came to our country with his son Cynric in five great warships and defeated the Britons in the eastern part of their kingdom of Dumnonia.’
‘And so Aescwine is their prince?’ asked Enda.
‘Aescwine is one of many princes who will want to take advantage of the scramble for leadership when Cenwealh dies,’ Eadulf replied.
‘He would get great prestige and status if he returned with the wife of our High King as a hostage, or even wife, for it would show the High King as weak. That would make a people like the Gewisse turn thoughtful eyes on this land of ours,’ Enda remarked.
‘This is true,’ Fidelma admitted. ‘But I still can’t see how it fits in the conspiracy to overthrow Cenn Fáelad and the story that my family are involved.’
Eadulf glanced up at the sky, catching a glimpse of the moon behind the low racing clouds.
‘Well, tomorrow will be the full of the moon and time is pressing on. We must find Grella and return her to the High King.’
Fidelma rose, glanced at the small fire and shrugged. ‘There is little more we can extract from the information we have. I think we should make ourselves as warm and as comfortable as we can and try to refresh ourselves with some sleep. Tomorrow, I see no alternative but to carry on eastward towards Eochaill and continue our search.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Fidelma and her companions were relieved to break camp early the next morning and leave the pathetic remains of the dead warrior in the cave. There was no alternative, as with the body of Áed, for they had neither tools nor time to bury the bodies. Fidelma hoped that they would eventually encounter some isolated community with perhaps a local Brehon or religious to whom they could report the bodies. She tried not to think about the alternative: that even in the cold winter, or maybe especially in such conditions, the bodies might not last
long, for there would be wolves or ravens or other scavengers who might discover the remains and take back into nature what had come forth from nature. She shivered at the thought and hoped the others had not observed this expression of her feelings.
Once more they rejoined the stream and pushed eastwards. The forests gave way to another valley with brown hills and patches of bare gaunt trees. There were no fresh tracks or signs that those who had left Cluain had left the stream at any point. But there were plenty of stony places along the way and several well-used tracks leading from the stream, and Enda examined them carefully. Finally, he turned with a bitter expression to Fidelma.
‘As much as I am loath to admit it, lady,’ he said, ‘I think we have already lost the trail long since. And the stream is going to become impassable a little way ahead.’
Fidelma saw what he meant – the bed of the stream became a series of beaver dams which would be impossible for horses to cross.
They came to a halt. Enda and Eadulf were looking at her with expectation.
‘There must be a route to follow,’ she said defensively. ‘The question is … do we go north or south now that the path east has vanished?’
‘South would lead us towards the great sea,’ pointed out Enda.
Fidelma pulled a face. ‘And within reach of Aescwine.’
The tolling of a bell close by caused them all to start. It was so unexpected and it was very close. Their reactions caused their usually docile mounts to shy a little. The bell continued, a slow, monotonous bass sound. It was not musical at all but harsh and ominous – warning and challenging at the same time.
‘There must be an abbey nearby.’ Eadulf frowned.
‘I have not heard of anything near here worthy of being called an abbey, other than Cluain,’ muttered Fidelma, trying to work out where the sound was coming from.
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