The Second Death (Sister Fidelma Mysteries)

by Peter Tremayne

  Before he could receive an answer, Aidan gave vent to a loud curse. His horse seemed to move backwards for a few paces and then its hind legs started to sink into the adjacent mud. The animal’s eyes rolled in terror as it tried to extract itself from the cloying tentacles of the marsh. It reared and lashed out with its forelegs, but this only resulted in its hindquarters sinking deeper.

  Aidan was enough of a horseman not to cling on; instead he launched himself over the beast’s shoulder and hit the path with a rolling motion which brought him out of reach of the thrashing forelegs.

  Meanwhile, Fidelma had dismounted. Throwing her reins to Enda, she went towards Aidan’s mount, all the while talking to it in a soft, calm tone. She did not seem to be concerned that the front hooves of the animal might catch her. Taking hold of the reins, still talking, she stared soothingly into the eyes of the beast. Amazingly, the animal began to settle and then she reached forward, gently rubbing its nose. Once it was truly calm, Fidelma began to move backwards, pulling it gently by the head. Using the strength of its forelegs and its back legs as a means of propelling its great body, the animal came little by little out of the clutches of the marsh, emerging with a squelching sound as if the mud was reluctant to let go.

  Aidan moved sheepishly towards the animal, knowing enough to stay calm and also murmuring to it and stroking its muzzle. The horse stood, trembling slightly, and allowed Fidelma to hand the reins back to him.

  She returned to her own stallion, Aonbharr, and took the reins from Enda, before swinging herself back up on to the animal’s broad back. She stared around with a frustrated expression.

  ‘Eadulf was right. We can be sure that no ox-hauled wagon ever came along this path,’ she said. ‘You can see that this path ends a short distance further on, after which we would all be floundering in the marsh.’

  ‘It has probably been long disused,’ offered Enda. ‘Perhaps it did lead somewhere once, but marshland can change and can often swallow a whole area of firm land in its maw. It is easy to make a mistake.’

  Fidelma did not even smile at Enda’s feeble attempt to offer support to his comrade. In fact, she was chastising herself for not observing the path that Aidan had led them on more carefully. She had been concentrating so hard on running over the facts as she knew them, that for a while she had been blind to her surroundings. Now she was angry with herself and this caused her to be angry at those she had counted on to play their part.

  ‘Marshland does not swallow a track in a couple of days! No one has been down this path in years, let alone a few days ago. We simply chose the wrong path and that is all there is to it. So now we must turn round and as carefully as we can go back to the main highway and search out the right path!’

  She swung Aonbharr around, almost on the stallion’s hind legs, and began to trot angrily back the way they had come. Eadulf followed after seeing Aidan remount and exchanging a slightly sour grimace with Enda.

  The sun was well beyond its zenith when they returned to the Slíge Dála and to the very pool from which they had set out.

  Aidan was still clearly upset about what had happened. ‘The trouble with those roads across the marshes, they all look alike. You never know where they will lead,’ he muttered to Eadulf.

  ‘We’ll try further along the road,’ Fidelma instructed. ‘There must be another small track from which she came and joined Baodain’s group.’

  Enda coughed nervously. ‘We ought to rest and water the horses again before proceeding, lady.’

  They had been on the road since first light and were now fairly exhausted. Fidelma wanted to move on as quickly as possible and was about to argue about the lost time. However, as an experienced horsewoman, she knew that the animals in her care should be treated with all due attention. While the mounts were being watered and fed by Aidan and Enda, she sat down on a rock by the pool and stared into it moodily.

  Eadulf sat down beside her. ‘It’s not Aidan’s fault that we wasted time following the wrong way,’ he said gently.

  Fidelma sniffed. ‘Did I say that I blamed him?’

  ‘Not exactly, but you made it clear that you did not appreciate his mistake.’

  ‘He was so certain that the path was the right one. Apart from the fact that it became too narrow to take a wagon, he should have observed whether there were any tracks in the mud.’

  ‘I should have spoken up earlier. It was as much my fault,’ Eadulf said. He glanced over to where Aidan was washing his horse down with the clean waters from the pool. ‘I’d say that he was contrite enough.’

  Fidelma’s irritation merely increased because she was still inwardly blaming herself for a lack of attention. ‘We have lost the greater part of the day when we can ill afford it,’ she muttered. ‘And who knows where the next track will lead, if anywhere? It might prove to be another dead end.’

  ‘Baodain said she came out of a track from the north and joined them at this pool. I don’t think there are going to be too many choices,’ Eadulf replied dryly.

  Fidelma jumped to her feet, using action to disguise her ill temper. ‘Then the sooner we find the right road, the better.’

  Eadulf saw Aidan exchange a miserable glance with Enda. He felt sorry for the warrior because he himself would have suggested they try the same track as Aidan had done. Initially the track had looked inviting enough and it was close to the pool so was the logical choice. In hindsight, he accepted that they should have looked for signs of the passage of the wagon in the mud. What was the old saying? ‘By time everything is revealed.’

  When the horses were ready, the group remounted and set off along the Slíge Dála again. They were upon the next track almost immediately – a large gap among the bordering trees and shrubs where wagon tracks showed that its use was quite regular. This time Enda swung down from his horse and bent to examine the tracks. It was not long before he stood up with a smile.

  ‘Well, lady, I cannot be absolutely sure, but a team of oxen has used this road and they were pulling a four-wheeled wagon, the wheels being rimmed with iron and of good quality The beasts themselves were shoed.’

  ‘There’s many four-wheeled wagons pulled by oxen, even wagons with iron rims on the wheels.’ Fidelma was still in a sour mood.

  ‘I am fairly sure that these tracks were produced by a wagon similar in size to the one that the girl was driving.’

  ‘Then we will try this path,’ she conceded grumpily.

  The word ‘path’ was not an exact description because it was not a narrow and isolated track. Eadulf knew that this would be classed as a tuagrota under the laws on highways, for the Brehons were very strict about the size of roads, how they should be made, maintained and by whom. The tuagrota were classed as farmers’ roads and used as such; a means of moving from one farmstead to another. Had it been more carefully maintained, this route was more of a main road between settlements. Perhaps it was still used as such.

  However, it plunged straight through the marshland – flat, apparently verdant areas, except that to wander off the hard mud-baked tracks would be dangerous. A man and his horse could easily be swallowed by the sucking mud that lay beneath the innocent-looking verdure; such a fate had nearly overcome Aidan a short while before.

  Fidelma and Aidan took the lead again. Most of the countryside was flat and peat-covered, but now and then little hillocks rose, like islands, and there were clumps of trees. Oases of firm land dotted the landscape. Wild brambles edged the track, barricading it from the bogland beyond.

  Enda was examining the surroundings closely. ‘I believe that I recognise this track, lady,’ he announced suddenly with a smile of confidence. ‘I remember riding along this way from Durlus Éile several years ago.’

  Fidelma swung round. ‘Are you saying that this track leads all the way north to Durlus?’

  ‘Yes. It is a long road and fairly deserted, but I remember a tavern some distance ahead where we can rest for the night.’

  ‘That is good news,’ Fidelma repl
ied, although her tone did not express much gratitude. ‘If the girl came this way with the wagon, then the tavern-keeper should be able to give us information.’

  They rode on in silence. The road was long and empty. Only the screech of birds, or the sudden movement of animals crossing their path, interrupted the monotony of their journey.

  They came round a slight bend in the track where the bushes were low and they could see across the marshland to the distant eastern hills. Eadulf had spotted a fairly large hillock some way off to his right. There seemed to be a building there, half-hidden by trees.

  ‘What place is that, Enda – the building up on that rise in the distance?’ he asked, drawing rein. ‘Any idea?’

  Enda glanced in that direction. ‘It is years since I rode here, friend Eadulf, but I think it is an abandoned farmstead.’

  They were passing a gap in the hedge of wild brambles; it appeared to be the beginnings of another track.

  ‘This gap is wide enough for a wagon to have passed through,’ Eadulf called out.

  They halted, while Enda dismounted and had a look. ‘The hard stones here make it difficult to see any signs of the passage of a wagon,’ he reported.

  Fidelma examined the entrance and then gazed into the bogland beyond. ‘Look at the size of that track,’ she said, and pointed. ‘It starts off looking broad enough but – see, beyond – there is a tóchar, a narrow causeway, before the track narrows even further. That’s too small for a wagon to pass along.’

  Eadulf looked again. Not far along, the bog became a richer green, darker and therefore more dangerous. Someone, at some time, had built a causeway to span the impassable patch. Tree branches, bushes and earth had been laid down to create a base, and planks of wood overlain on top. But it was clearly of old construction, for it was almost overgrown, with green shoots poking up between the planks, several of which were split.

  Aidan was nodding in agreement. ‘Even if you could negotiate a two-oxen wagon over that, it is true that if you look beyond, the track becomes no more than the size of a sét.’

  Eadulf knew this was one of the smallest classes of track along which a horse or ox could move in single file, certainly not a team of oxen and a four-wheeled wagon. Nevertheless, he had a curious sense of premonition about the distant building.

  ‘But shouldn’t we have a look at it?’ he asked stubbornly. ‘It seems just the sort of place where the girl might have spent the night before joining Baodain.’

  ‘We do not have time to spare,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘You can see there is no room for a wagon along that path. It will soon be dusk anyway. Time to press on to this inn Enda has talked about. By the time we ride to that deserted farmhouse and back again, it will be nightfall.’

  ‘I still think that we should not ignore any possibilities.’ Eadulf suddenly dug in his heels. ‘You have always said that many things seem impossible until they are accomplished. If the girl could negotiate that path, then a deserted farmstead would be an ideal place to hide a wagon if a person did not want to be observed.’

  ‘The track tells its own story,’ Fidelma said impatiently. ‘The wagon could not have passed along it. Also, this is too close to where the girl joined Baodain’s troupe for that place to be where she stayed.’ She added forcefully: ‘We will press on.’

  ‘It would have taken her two days, perhaps three, in an ox wagon from Durlus Éile to reach here,’ Enda agreed, ‘so I think it is unlikely that this place would have any relevance, friend Eadulf.’

  In normal circumstances, Eadulf would have accepted the logic of their arguments. Perhaps it was the growing exasperation he felt with Fidelma and her churlish attitude to Aidan earlier. ‘I am still of the opinion that we should examine all possibilities,’ he said quietly but with determination.

  Fidelma glanced at the sky. ‘It will be dark shortly. And it will be a wasted journey.’

  Eadulf’s jaw thrust out. ‘Well, I shall go and examine the place and then I will rejoin you on the road – unless you reach the tavern first. In that case, I’ll join you there.’

  Fidelma felt her temper rise. She had begun to have second thoughts about the wisdom of trying to trace where the girl and her wagon had come from. She now believed that they were wasting their time and had spent long enough already on the venture. Eadulf might have been right when he suggested they should remain in Cashel and confront Cerball, Lord of Cairpre Gabra, as well as questioning Ronchú and Comal on their story.

  ‘If you want to waste even more time, go ahead and look,’ she said curtly. ‘Take Enda with you.’

  Eadulf, equally stubborn, made a cutting motion with his hand. ‘I have no wish to waste Enda’s time or anyone else’s. I will go on my own.’

  Without waiting for any response, he turned his horse and trotted through the gap towards the causeway beyond. Fidelma hesitated and then gave an exasperated sigh, before turning northward along the road towards the inn. Aidan and Enda exchanged a wry glance before following after her.

  Eadulf found that the track to the causeway consisted of hard, sunbaked earth reinforced with stones. Many of the ruts and wheel-tracks were obviously quite old. When he came to the causeway, the planks creaked a little as he crossed, and his usually placid cob faltered a few times. Eadulf grew slightly nervous, but it was not long before he reached the far side. He was not a good horseman, as he had so often pointed out to people, therefore he was grateful to the more knowledgeable among them who had recommended his small horse, stoutly built and strong-boned, with its steady disposition. Not for the first time, he was able to trust the animal not to panic as he might do.

  It was here that the path narrowed – or seemed to. From the hedge where they had viewed it, it did indeed seem to be wide enough for only one animal to move along it at a time. But now that he was on it, Eadulf realised it was merely that the path was overgrown. It was broader than met the eye from a distance and, more importantly, something of width had recently moved along it. To one side, the grasses and tufts of moss had been partially crushed.

  He had half a mind to call the others back to examine this. But there was no sign of them; they had already moved on. He wavered for a moment – then the stubborn streak in his character rose in him once more. A wagon had passed here recently. It might not be the girl’s wagon but he would find that out for himself. Then he would show Fidelma that he did not make suggestions without a reason. He would teach her a lesson in humility!

  Setting his jaw, he urged his cob forward. It was not long before he found himself crossing a patch of slightly raised firm ground with some woodland on it. It was one of the curious islets in the great marshland. Once through this area, no more than a copse, the vista gave way to a large expanse of verdant greenery through which the tiny, hard-earth track meandered. He had to keep reminding himself that the flat stretches, so green and inviting as a short cut, were treacherous. He also began to realise that, while the rise on which the building was silhouetted looked near, the meandering track increased the distance three-fold. The reason why the path moved in serpent-like twists and turns was obvious, and now he reflected that perhaps it had not been such a good idea to refuse Enda’s company. But he had set out to prove a point.

  A rocky hillock thrust up from the side of the track. He had observed it from some distance back as so much else was flat. He had not even thought that he would pass it, so confusing was the route to the buildings. But now he realised that he was going to pass near it – and behind it, he could see another patch of woodland. It seemed ages ago since he and Aidan had been looking down at these little hillocks rising out of the bog like islands from the sea. That was before they had encountered Baodain and his wagons on the highway. Now he reminded himself that the marshland was just as perilous as any sea.

  As he turned to follow the path, he almost halted in shock for, hidden behind the rocky thrust, by the woodland was a second bog road which joined it from the south. Moreover, a man was seated on a fallen tree apparently resting. He w
as clad in muddy clothes of the sort a farmer or his labourer might wear, and was of middle years, with weatherbeaten skin and bright blue eyes. In his hand was a shepherd’s crook but there was no sign of any sheep. A dog sat by him and, seeing Eadulf, the beast rose and let out a low, menacing growl.

  The man looked up and said something to the dog in a curt tone. The beast abruptly sat down, but kept cautious eyes on the stranger. Observing Eadulf clad as a religious, the man came awkwardly to his feet.

  ‘God’s peace on you, Brother,’ he greeted him respectfully.

  ‘And His blessings on you, my friend.’

  ‘Are you lost, Brother?’ went on the man. ‘This is a curious and deserted spot to find a stranger. You are a stranger to this land, aren’t you?’

  Eadulf grinned. ‘How did you guess?’

  The man grinned back. ‘How do I know my sheep from my neighbour’s? By sound, by look, by smell.’

  Eadulf chuckled. ‘Well, by whatever means, I am an Angle.’ He decided not to say more. ‘And you find me on this marsh road because I was interested in that distant house, over there on that rise. Will I find hospitality there?’

  The man turned his head to follow the direction of Eadulf’s outstretched hand.

  ‘That’s been deserted for some years, Brother. Once it was a thriving farm. They called it the Homestead by the Crossing, because there is a small river beyond. It was a prosperous place, but no longer.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘The Yellow Plague, many years ago. It penetrated even these inaccessible marshlands.’

  Eadulf knew that the plague had been one of the most devastating diseases to spread through every kingdom in the world. It spared no one – from princes down to the poorest of the poor.

  ‘So all the people at that farmstead died?’

  ‘It was the will of God,’ the man said quietly. ‘There were seven in the family who worked it. Was not Learghusa, the farmer, my own cousin? All were dead within a week of its visitation, all with the yellowing of their skins.’