‘That is not to say one does not exist.’
The bell ceased suddenly. But Enda pointed. ‘In that direction, lady. Let us see what lies there.’
The warrior did not wait for her agreement but set off, picking his way along the narrow path. Fidelma realised that the sound of the bell had certainly come at an opportune time. At least it had given them a decision when they were about to argue over which way to go.
They moved northwards from the stream into wooded hills, soft undulating hummocks with only a few exceeding ninety metres or so. Enda, pausing now and then with his head to one side, led them through narrow passes, not really valleys, more like dingles or vales. But there was no further sound.
‘The source should not be far away,’ he called.
Indeed, as they skirted the base of the next hill they came to a secluded area, apparently accessible only by the small pass through which they had come, that was surrounded on all sides not only by hills but by numerous broad pedunculated oaks. Their massive crooked branches were bare of growth now but Fidelma could imagine their verdant spreading crowns, replete with green leaves and an abundance of acorns from which, she knew, one could make good bread. It seemed these oaks had taken over most of this little valley.
However, there was a clearing along one side containing a group of wooden bothán, or cabins. They could see that it was the oaks that had provided the builders of the cabins with their materials. Instead of being surrounded by a wooden stockade, the cabins were surrounded by another wood, not an unusual practice in these woodland communities. Elders grew thick and firm and had been carefully husbanded, their branches bent to intertwine into more of a hedge than individual trees. The mildness of the midwinter temperatures was shown by the fact many of them were coming into leaf. A distant childhood memory caused Eadulf to shiver: elders were often built round buildings as a rampart against the evil things of the world. Provided one treated the elders well, you were protected, but if you offended the ‘Elder Mother’, she would appear and take vengeance.
Within this rampart of elders were more than four cabins and between them a stream came cascading down the hillside almost like a waterfall in parts to provide water to whatever community lived there. There was no sign of movement among the huts. But as they halted and stared at the place, a single male voice began to sing. It was a clear tenor and the words were not immediately recognisable – then Fidelma realised they were being sung in Byzantine form, the words in Greek.
‘christos Anesti …
Christ is risen,
From death he has risen
Victorious over death.
By his own death,
He has given life
To those who are in the grave.’
She exchanged a glance of surprise with Eadulf and then she motioned that they should ride forward to the entrance to the group of cabins. The entrance was not gated but simply a large opening in the elder hedge. Well, this was clearly some sort of religious community. She glanced up at the pale sun, which hung weakly in the sky, now and then obscured by white fluffy clouds.
‘A curious time to hold a service,’ she muttered. ‘I fear we must intrude on it.’
She looked at the now-silent hanging bell and pointed to it, glancing at Enda. The warrior took out his sword and smote the bronze object. It moved only slightly, so heavy was it, but the sound it gave was deep and resonant and it had the immediate effect of stopping the singer in mid-sentence. For a long while there was total silence. Then the door of one of the wooden cabins opened and the tall, thickset figure of a man stepped forward. He halted and regarded them quizzically.
He was a curious religious, if religious he was, for he wore the garb of a warrior, and one of some wealth and position. His leather accoutrements were tanned almost black and a polished silver cross hung on a silver chain around his neck. His hands were clasped together in front of him, one over the other. He was tall, but carried himself with a stoop, bending slightly forward from the left shoulder. He wore a large but well-trimmed black beard, which, with his bushy black eyebrows, obscured most of his facial features. His eyes were black and fathomless. He could have been scowling or smiling.
He stood silently examining Fidelma and her companions as they dismounted. Fidelma moved forward to approach him. The dark man raised a hand, palm outwards, in the sign of peace.
‘Welcome in the name of the true God. Come in peace and go in peace and remain at peace while you rest here,’ he intoned in a his tenor voice.
Enda took her horse as she went to the tall man, raising her hand, too, in the greeting.
‘We thank you in the name of the peace, in which we come. I am Fidelma of Cashel. What place is this, for we are travellers in a strange territory and the way is unknown to us?’
The man examined her curiously.
‘Then welcome, Fidelma of Cashel, to my little sanctuary of Doirín. I am Éladach.’
Fidelma stared hard at the man. ‘You are the brother of Glaisne?’
The man’s mouth twisted a little. ‘Ah, so you have heard of my dear brother? But, first, who are your companions?’
Fidelma inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement and indicated her companions in turn. ‘This is Brother Eadulf, who is my husband, and that is Enda, a champion of the Golden Collar.’
‘You say, lady, that you travel in strange territory and yet you know my brother’s name and my relationship to him. How is that? Why do you travel through the land of the grey people, the Uí Liatháin?’ Suddenly his eyes narrowed. ‘Tell your warrior to be careful, for his hand seems uncomfortably near his sword hilt,’ the tall man advised without a change of expression, but he raised one hand slightly. As if in answer, the door behind him opened and two young men appeared holding crossbows, cocked and aimed. They were certainly not dressed in the robes of the religious but of fighting men. One was hardly more than a youth. He had little facial hair and his head was covered in lanky corn-coloured curly hair. He looked nervous, his pale blue eyes darting to each of the newcomers. The second man was older, with a shock of red hair and wispy facial hair of similar colour. He seemed more of a fighting man than his companion. His eyes seemed to glint as if with fire – there was no way to be sure about their colour.
‘In case you are wondering, warrior of the Golden Collar, glance outside. There are other bowmen beyond – you would not reach the gates of this little sanctuary.’ Éladach smiled and indicated his own two companions.
‘These are my right-hand men – Petrán,’ he pointed to the elder first, ‘and Pilib.’
‘Your men bear strange names,’ Fidelma commented.
‘I have long been in the lands of the east and so, when I returned to my own people, I named them from the lands I had lived in. Petrán is “little rock … little Petrus”, while Pilib’s name befits him as a lover of horses. So, with introductions over and your acceptance that it would be unwise to attempt anything foolish while you are my guests, let Pilib take care of your animals and your weapons. Then I shall invite you to accept my hospitality.’ He stood aside and motioned to the interior of the hut.
‘You are most kind, Éladach,’ Fidelma replied with irony.
They followed him into a large room heated by a central fire. Just inside the door was a flat stone slab and Fidelma was taken aback as Éladach suddenly went down on his knees and took up a jug filled with water. He looked up at her expectantly, saying ‘’ in Greek. When she looked bewildered, he repeated in Latin: ‘Pax tecum.’ Her mind had been distracted by the events of recent times and it took a moment or two for her to recognise the ritual. As she answered, ‘Et tibi pax in domum tuam’ – ‘and to you and your house, peace’ – she kicked off her riding boots and pushed them to one side, stepping barefoot onto the stone while Éladach poured cold water from the jug over her feet. Then she held out her hands and the water was splashed over them and she was handed a square of linen to dry them. The ritual was repeated for Eadulf and Enda.
Éladach indicated seats before the fire, wooden seats on which animal furs had been draped to provide comfort.
‘I am afraid we have no strong drinks,’ he explained. ‘But we have cold goat’s milk, cooled in the mountain stream that runs close by, or cold water itself. Here we live frugally and close to nature, which provides for all our wants.’
They were served cold goat’s milk by the young man, Pilib, who had abandoned his crossbow and taken up the role of attendant.
‘Pilib is my steward,’ said Éladach by way of explanation. ‘Petrán is in charge of my bodyguard.’
‘I thought you were a prince of the Uí Liatháin,’ said Fidelma. ‘Yet you seem to be a member of the religious and of the Faith of the East, while at the same time you bear arms.’
Éladach chuckled. ‘You are correct in all accounts. When I returned to my people, having been converted to the rituals of the Eastern Churches, we decided to maintain our own little hermitage.’ He chuckled again. ‘Now, with all due respect, we wish we had picked a quieter spot.’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘This spot could hardly be more secluded,’ she observed.
‘I think you are well aware of the conflict here, Fidelma of Cashel. I came here to contemplate life in peace, to observe nature and sing of our faith.’
‘I understood that was supposed to be the role of your cousin Antrí?’
‘Antrí?’ Éladach grimaced sourly. ‘It was the work of God to strike him down, and those who followed him.’
‘Were you responsible for the deaths at Cluain?’ demanded Enda suddenly.
‘I am afraid violence is disturbing the peace of my beautiful countryside,’ he reflected. ‘But you already knew that. You are the Eóganacht dálaigh sent to investigate rumours and stories of a plot to overthrow the High King.’
‘You know a lot, Éladach,’ Fidelma remarked.
The man smiled. ‘Violence seems to be a part of the storm of nature itself,’ he replied.
‘A short distance from here, in a cave by the stream on the other side of that hill, lies the body of someone called Áed, a bow-maker, and downstream beyond is the body of another man named Loingsech. Are you responsible for their deaths?’
Éladach seemed astonished and saddened in quick succession.
‘Did they kill each other?’ he asked.
‘From the circumstances, we think not,’ Fidelma replied.
‘Áed was one of my men, but who was Loingsech?’
‘He was a member of the Fianna, guarding the lady Grella, who arrived to stay with her cousin Antrí, who called himself Abbot of Cluain.’
Éladach grimaced as if she had spoken a dirty word. ‘So that is what happened to him. Antrí is dead?’
Fidelma’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did you kill him?’
Éladach grimaced again. ‘He was my cousin and my shame. Anyway, it might be that his death could be ascribed to my brother. Glaisne was the spawn of the devil and Antrí was little better, perhaps worse. Antrí mocked God when he and some of his thugs claimed to be re-establishing a religious community at Cluain; their aim was to abduct Grella as part of a plot to overthrow the High King, Cenn Fáelad.’
‘Are you responsible for the destruction at Cluain?’ Fidelma was shocked.
‘As I have said,’ Éladach replied almost in an offhand manner, ‘the world is a better place without cousin Antrí. However, I should think it would be my twin brother, Glaisne, who found our cousin had decided to play his own ambitious game. Indeed, my brother was ambitious and not overly fond of his cousins, rather a ruthless person. However, in getting rid of Antrí he did the work of God.’
‘As a dálaigh, I would take a different view.’
‘I am sure that you would. But I deal in realities, not in law texts, no matter how many years ago they were written. Sometimes justice must take precedence over the law.’
‘I have observed that your men arm themselves with crossbows?’ Enda interjected.
Éladach smiled. ‘A good and efficient weapon. My brother, Glaisne, adopted it after acquiring a number from a seafaring acquaintance.’
‘Was the seafarer named Aescwine?’ Eadulf suddenly asked.
‘How perceptive,’ agreed Éladach. ‘I presume you have had some contact with that Saxon raider? I had seen that deadly weapon in use. It is unusual in these parts, but when I travelled in the east, the warriors there used them much. Are you saying that Áed and the warrior were killed by crossbow bolts?’
Fidelma leant forward. ‘Your tone tells me that you are neither surprised nor concerned. I think you should be. I was a prisoner on board Aescwine’s ship.’
‘You have escaped, so I am concerned about Áed.’ Éladach’s voice tightened for a moment. ‘He was a good man. Tell me how you found him, somewhere near here? I presume he also escaped after being captured by the Saxon at Eochaill.’
‘You say he was your man,’ Eadulf replied. ‘You must know, then, that we escaped together.’
‘I didn’t know. That is why I am asking you,’ replied Éladach sharply, as he turned to examine Eadulf with a keen eye. ‘You seem familiar with events in this small corner of the world, Saxon.’ He hesitated before the word ‘Saxon’.
Fidelma decided to intervene. ‘It seems we are playing word games with one another, Éladach,’ she said, with a curtness equivalent to his. ‘I was captured by this Saxon raider, Aescwine. Eadulf and Enda rescued me from the ship and rescued Áed at the same time. We found shelter at Baile an Stratha, but Áed left us overnight on an ass and rode in this direction. We followed and found him dead, just as we found the warrior from Tara.’
She paused for a moment or two.
‘Now I will take a chance and be honest with you. You know who I am. I was charged by Cenn Fáelad to go to the Abbey of Finnbarr as Abbot Nessán was supposed to have discovered a plot by members of my family, the Eóganacht, to assassinate him. Further, I was told that Grella, his wife, had been lured away from Tara by the same information, and told to stay with her relative, who was supposedly Abbot of Cluain, while her companion went to consult with Nessán, who had sent the message. One thing … Nessán managed to tell this companion, a girl called Cairenn, that he had sent no such message.’
Éladach was listening intently. Then he said: ‘One thing puzzles me. Why would Cenn Fáelad ask you to undertake this matter when you are sister to Colgú of Cashel, and therefore an Eóganacht?’
‘You said that you had heard of me, and of Eadulf here. Then you will know that we solved the mystery of the murder of Cenn Fáelad’s brother, the High King Sechnussach. My reputation is founded on the law and truth – whatever that truth is.’
Éladach seemed amused. ‘You must be aware of the saying veritas odium parit … truth breeds hatred.’
‘As aware as I am of the saying vincit omnia veritas … truth conquers all things. Now, I know that Grella is a cousin to Antrí, and therefore a cousin to Glaisne, your brother, and yourself.’
‘Is there anyone in the Five Kingdoms who does not know she was of the Uí Liatháin?’ he asked.
‘Do we presume, from what you say, that Antrí entered a plot to abduct his own cousin? That your brother, Glaisne, killed Antrí and his followers, took Grella and involved himself in the plot for his own benefit?’
Eadulf was animated as he followed her questions.
‘Glaisne’s fortress is at Eochaill,’ he said excitedly. ‘That’s why she was seen by Áed escaping with Glaisne when Aescwine’s ship arrived at Eochaill. Of course!’
There was a silence, and then Fidelma shook her head slowly.
‘That doesn’t make sense.’ She gazed thoughtfully at Éladach. ‘You have said that Glaisne was in contact with Aescwine and his Saxons before this event. He was the leader in this matter, for I have heard that Antrí was his man and there to carry out his orders.’
Éladach sat silently smiling at her, watching her trying to piece things together.
‘So this is it – Antrí tried to deceive Glaisn
e, who took his revenge on him.’
‘Even a worm such as Antrí can turn,’ Éladach said softly. ‘Unfortunately for him, he was not as skilled as my brother.’
‘So Glaisne took Grella to his fortress in Eochaill, having arranged for Aescwine to come there. He would hand her over to him and the deal would be complete.’
‘So why did he ride away with her when Asecwine arrived?’ asked Eadulf. ‘It just doesn’t make sense. Don’t forget, Áed saw Glaisne riding towards Cluain with Grella … Ah, so he saw Grella riding away with you?’
‘Of course!’ Fidelma exclaimed. ‘I presume Grella is a prisoner here?’ she asked.
Éladach heaved a sigh. ‘You have followed the path, Fidelma of Cashel. But, sadly, it does not end here.’
Enda was totally bewildered and struggling to follow the logic of the exchange. Fidelma took pity on him and said: ‘Áed made one mistake. He thought it was Glaisne taking Grella to safety. It was Éladach. Don’t forget, Éladach is Glaisne’s twin brother. What happened?’
‘Simple enough,’ Éladach assured her. ‘As soon as the news reached me about what happened at Cluain, I realised that it would not be long before Aescwine would arrive to conclude his part of the deal. I took my little band here and we went to Eochaill, entered by subterfuge and took Grella into my protection.’
‘You pretended to be your twin brother? Did he not raise the alarm?’
‘Alas, Glaisne was left in no condition to raise any alarm.’
There was a silence as they realised what Éladach meant.
‘So you brought Grella back here? May we see her? The sooner she can answer a few questions, the sooner this matter can be resolved and I can report to Cenn Fáelad.’
Éladach smiled and shook his head.
‘She is gone already.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Fidelma in surprise.
‘Cenn Fáelad sent a special courier to search for her and bring her back safely to Tara. He arrived here last evening, having followed her from Eochaill. He insisted on taking her to where they might get river transport for the return journey.’
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