A short time before Fidelma and her party had arrived today, he had been taken from his room to the cellar, handled roughly by Duach and Cellaig and tied to a chair. He had known that his time was now limited.
Fidelma was thoughtful. Then she said: ‘This curious stone that Failge brought here … I presume that it is still here?’
‘It is, as far as I know.’
‘Then I desire to see it,’ Fidelma announced, rising.
‘I will take you to the stables,’ Brehon Ruán replied, exhausted as he was. ‘It is my house and I want to reclaim it,’ he added after she protested.
Fidelma instructed Aidan and Enda to watch the prisoners carefully and then signalled Eadulf to follow her. She picked up one of the lighted lamps on the way as darkness had now descended.
Outside, the horses were still standing in the gloom of the courtyard and stamping a little fretfully at being deserted for such a long period of time.
‘We will have to attend to the horses. Is that the stable?’ she asked, pointing to a building in the gloom.
‘That is my main stable,’ Ruán agreed. ‘That is where Failge put the wagon with the stone in.’
They crossed to it and opened the doors. A sturdy farm wagon of the type called a baighín stood inside. Holding her lantern in one hand, Fidelma nimbly climbed up on it.
The wagon contained a large object, about the length of a short man, lying on its side, covered with sailcloth. Watched by the others, Fidelma drew back the cloth, revealing a stone, similar to the standing stones that Eadulf had often seen about the country, placed as memorials, and sometimes carved with words in the ancient Irish form called Ogham.
‘Is this the Golden Stone?’ he asked incredulously. ‘I expected something more imposing.’
Fidelma pointed to the stone. ‘See the flecks of gold? Once it was covered in gold. Yes, this is what lies at the root of all this death and deceit. You are right, Eadulf. It doesn’t look very impressive, does it? I was just wondering how Feradach and his followers managed to drag it from the hidden chamber though the passageway to that smithy.’
‘Where there is a will, there is always a way,’ Eadulf remarked philosophically. ‘So this is the famous Golden Stone. If I placed it by the roadside, folk passing by would not give it a second glance.’ He was clearly still disappointed as he peered at it. ‘I just thought it would be a little more spectacular. There is not even any ancient writing on it.’
‘No, none,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Yet it was believed, according to the Old Religion, that the gods and goddess spoke through this stone to the Druids, who would interpret their words to the people.’
‘Maybe it is the mind of the beholder and not the eye which makes the stone so sacred,’ remarked Eadulf sagely.
‘Well, it is now important enough for us to take it to Cashel.’
‘It is only a stone,’ Eadulf protested. He had made the remark before and this time it was Brehon Ruán who corrected him.
‘It is an icon of the Old Faith and, as such, has the power to motivate people. It motivated my father, but he was from that generation where the Old Religion and the New Faith were in conflict. Worse is the fact that it motivated my own nephew to murder. That is an example of the mesmeric power of the stone.’
‘Icons always seem important to people,’ Fidelma agreed sadly. ‘We of the New Faith venerate the symbol of the fish and the cross, although the cross is now more potent since the end of Roman repression of the Faith. Yet it is not the icons themselves but what we see in their symbolism that is the real source of power.’
‘I’ve never understood why the members of the Faith adopted the image of a fish as a symbol,’ Eadulf remarked. ‘I can understand the use of the cross – the old Roman method of execution on which we are told the Christ was executed. But why the fish?’
‘In those early days, when Christians were being persecuted by Rome, in order to distinguish friend from foe a secret sign was needed; just as Feradach and his fanatics used the raven symbol for their belief in Badh.’
‘But a fish?’ pressed Eadulf.
‘The early language of the Faith was Greek.’
‘And so?’
‘Ichthys is the Greek work for fish. The Greek for “Jesus Christ, God’s Son, Saviour” is Iesous Christos Theou Yios Soter. Take the first letters – I, Ch, Th, Y and S of the word and you have Ichthys – fish.’
They replaced the cover over the stone and closed the stable door. Eadulf stared glumly at the fretful horses in the courtyard. ‘We shall need to become stable lads tonight.’
‘True enough,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘Also, we must watch the prisoners throughout the night, for we can do nothing before first light. We’ll take it in turns with Aidan and Enda. Tomorrow we shall be faced with the problem of getting these prisoners and the Golden Stone back to Cashel. There are others of this Fellowship about. For example, that smith who guarded the secret tunnel will expect Feradach to return. Then Ruán here says his brother’s fortress and farmstead are occupied by Feradach’s men.’
‘Perhaps we could send to the township for help?’ Brehon Ruán offered. He still looked exhausted, having been kept prisoner for so long. ‘Surely some of the Prince of Osraige’s warriors there will help?’
‘I would not trust anyone now,’ Fidelma said soberly. ‘Don’t forget, Feradach commanded those warriors. Perhaps he fooled them and they are genuine adherents to the Prince of Osraige, or maybe they are all part of this Fellowship. I would not trust anyone in Cill Cainnech unless I had the company of two-twenties of Nasc Niadh at my back.’
‘Then we seem to have a choice of abandoning the prisoners or the stone,’ Eadulf declared.
‘I’d rather not abandon either,’ Fidelma replied firmly. ‘But I could do with more warriors to keep an eye on the prisoners. At the moment Failge is in shock. I must admit that I can understand it. I have never known ravens to attack like that. I don’t trust Duach and Cellaig either. They are well used to arms and might have some tricks up their sleeves.’
It was an exhausting night. Failge seemed to have retreated into his own world and it was clear that he had not recovered from the death of his leader and by such a vile retribution. He sat with eyes closed, unmoving and not responding even when offered a drink or food. The portly woman was also fairly uncommunicative but her mood did not impinge on her appetite. It was clear that she was not very intelligent, nor a moving force in the curious Fellowship of the Raven. Duach and Cellaig were clearly not fanatics. They seemed to have little interest in any religion. This fact made their role worse, in Fidelma’s eyes. They were mercenaries and she swiftly came to the conclusion that they would cheerfully serve and kill in the service of whoever paid them the most.
Although exhausted, Fidelma was glad to welcome the eventual coming of the dawn. Only the little terrier seemed to have slept soundly through the night. Ríonach went to busy herself in the kitchen with the dog trotting happily after her. Enda immediately volunteered to fetch water from the well for her. Fidelma noticed that the young warrior still seemed keen to help the girl at every opportunity. Fidelma had spoken to Ríonach during the hours of waiting for dawn and heard more details of her sorry story and her account of what had happened at the farmstead. She tried to reassure the girl that, under her knowledge of the law, she had little to fear. Eadulf, she noted approvingly, had already given her the correct advice on her defence.
Aidan had been despatched to take a position on the look-out tower at the gates of the homestead as a precaution in case any of Feradach’s warriors approached from the township. It was only after everyone had eaten that Fidelma recalled that there remained one distasteful task to be carried out.
Leaving Eadulf and Ruán to watch over things, she took Enda with her into the backyard. The evil-looking inhabitants of the hen coop seemed quiet enough now; crouching darkly, the rising sun reflecting on the shining black of their feathers, eyes glinting with that strange malignance. Now and then, they let forth a
grating sound from the back of their throats – a sound that was far more intimidating than the shrill cry of their feeding. There was still quite a lot of Feradach’s body left. Fidelma screwed up her face and turned away for a moment.
‘Lady, you don’t have to do this,’ Enda told her sympathetically. ‘I can handle it.’
She shook her head. ‘It is my responsibility as a dálaigh,’ she said. ‘Had I not ordered his hands to be bound, he might have fought his way out of the shed.’
‘Had he not attacked you, had he not done this or done that … wishing things were different is no consolation for what has happened. If wishes were cows, then every farmer would have a wealthy herd.’
Fidelma caught herself and realised that Enda’s old saying and his comment were valid. She thanked him.
‘We must be careful then,’ she advised. ‘These birds are vicious. Grab those scúap and give me one.’
The scúap were yard brooms made from bundles of reeds. Gripping them firmly, they approached the door of what had once been the hen coop. Fidelma slipped the catch and threw the door open wide. Then they both retreated either side of the coop and began to bang on the netting and yell. At first the ravens seemed resentful, staring beadily at their tormentors, but then they started to hop through the dried and bloodied remains on the floor of their prison towards the open door. At first they did no more than hop onto the earth outside and then, as Fidelma and Enda carried on thwacking the side of the coop with their brooms, yelling loudly, the birds flapped their large black wings, took a few experimental hops into the air and then were suddenly away, soaring upwards into the morning sky. They circled a few times as a flock before disappearing on towards the distant marshlands.
The next task for Fidelma and Enda was even less pleasant.
Fidelma had first returned to the house and asked Ruán for something that she could use as a winding sheet for his nephew’s body. Realising what they were about, Ruán, as frail as he was, had taken a spade and gone to a field behind the outhouses and begun to dig a grave for the remains. Enda quickly took over the task; then dragging the sheet with the remains wrapped in it, he pushed it into the hole.
Once the last spadeful had been thrown over to cover it, Fidelma drew a sigh of relief.
‘I suppose I should offer a prayer for his soul but I don’t think he would appreciate it. You could say Badh took him. So, as he believed, let us hope that Donn has gathered his soul and taken him to Tech Duinn on his voyage to the Otherworld.’
Enda muttered that, in itself, it was prayer enough.
‘There is a stream just behind the trees there,’ volunteered Ruán, pointing in that direction. ‘I bathe there myself. I’ll fetch sleic and towels to dry ourselves.’
They came from a society that was highly conscious of keeping the body clean and healthy, and bathing was a daily occurrence, although it generally took place in the evening. However, after the efforts of clearing the ravens and their victim, it was essential, according to the old physicians, to wash themselves clean. The Crith Gablach insisted that foulness must be washed away with sleic, soap, and the body dried with fresh linen.
When they finally rejoined the others, it was mid-morning, and Fidelma realised that it was time for a decision. They could delay no longer before setting out for Cashel.
‘Would we find horses in your field strong enough to pull the wagon containing the stone?’ she asked Ruán.
‘I should think so,’ replied the Brehon. ‘Although I have not had a chance to assess my stock since being made a prisoner.’
‘I presume that you have a plan?’ Eadulf asked Fidelma.
‘We could put the prisoners in the wagon with the stone, ensure the team is strong enough, and the rest of us will ride our own horses as an escort, After that, all we can do is hope that our road to Cashel will be a safe one.’
At that moment Aidan, who had been at his look-out post, burst into the hall, slightly out of breath. ‘Now we have real trouble,’ he gasped without preamble. ‘Riders, a score or more of them, are coming along the highway. They will be here in a few minutes.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘This is not good,’ Aidan was whispering, although there was no reason to do so. The approaching riders were still some distance away. He and Fidelma had climbed up to the watch-tower next to the wooden gates of the homestead. The others waited anxiously below.
‘Can you identify the riders?’ Eadulf called up to them.
‘I make out twenty horsemen, and from their demeanour they are not amateur warriors,’ Aidan responded. ‘We won’t be able to defend this place if they are hostile.’
Fidelma too was observing the column of riders. ‘At least they are not coming from the direction of Cill Cainnech. We might be lucky. But even if they are loyal to Feradach, we might be able to fool them. We have not achieved this much to be overcome now by this fellowship of fanatics.’
‘I doubt we can fool them.’ Aidan was pessimistic. ‘The only alternative will be to fight.’
‘One thing at a time,’ Fidelma replied, although she silently agreed with him. ‘Let’s wait to see if they are merely passing. They might simply be on their way to Cill Cainnech.’
They did not have long to wait because the column of horsemen soon turned off the main highway and followed their leader up the short track towards Ruán’s homestead. A little way from the main gate, their leader halted his men before coming on alone at a trot to rein in before the wooden gates.
Even before he drew close, Aidan let out an astonished gasp. ‘I recognise that man.’
Fidelma was already smiling in relief. ‘Open the gates,’ she called down to Eadulf. ‘Let Luan and the Nasc Niadh in.’
An astonished Luan was still shaking his head in disbelief when Fidelma and her companions surrounded him with shouts of welcome.
‘Now tell us, what brought you here?’ she demanded when things had quietened and the rest of Luan’s troops had been assured that all was well.
‘A young man, the son of a shepherd from these parts, rode into Cashel with a strange story,’ Luan explained. ‘There was a lot I didn’t understand about his tale of a farmhouse, a dead farmer and two men who had been made prisoners there. The shepherd and his son had released these two men, who thanked them by promptly stealing their horses and galloping off, cursing and swearing about giving chase to a man and a woman.
‘The shepherd had already spoken to the man and woman. He described the man as a foreigner wearing the tonsure of Rome. The man sounded remarkably like friend Eadulf, but the woman did not appear to be you, lady. Anyway, it worried the shepherd and so he sent his son on his remaining horse to Cashel to report the matter because the man had mentioned Fidelma’s name and he thought the King should be informed directly.’
‘That shepherd should be well rewarded,’ Eadulf declared.
‘Indeed. Well, the King ordered me to take a company of men and ride here to make enquiries. We followed the tracks to a hermit’s place in the mountains. The hermit was called Brother Finnsnechta. He confirmed that it was Brother Eadulf and told us that he had advised him and his companion to come to Brehon Ruán at Tulach Ruán. And so here we are.’ Luan ended by raising his arms in a helpless gesture. ‘I have no understanding of any of these events, lady.’
‘No matter,’ Fidelma said cheerfully. ‘All will be explained in due time. For the moment, the Fates have smiled on us. We have prisoners and a wagon to transport back to Cashel. We were going to have some difficulty with the journey, so your arrival is fortuitous.’
‘Is it a heavy wagon?’
When Fidelma took him to the stable and showed him, Luan was doubtful. ‘With that large stone in it, I would say it will take several days to haul that wagon to Cashel, even with a strong team of horses. Why do you need to take the wagon and stone, lady? On horseback, we can return to Cashel in half that time.’
‘But it is the stone in the wagon that is important,’ Fidelma pointed out.
&nbs
p; Luan looked at the wagon and scratched his head. ‘What’s so special about it? It’s just a bit of old rock.’
Eadulf chuckled and clapped the warrior on the shoulder. ‘I’ll explain all about that “bit of old rock” later, Luan.’
Fidelma was standing, thinking. ‘Now that your men have arrived, we can get them to round up some of Brehon Ruán’s horses. We’ll select a good team for the wagon. Half your company can act as escort for the wagon back to Cashel, if you command them. The rest of us can escort our prisoners on horseback, assisted by the other half of your men.’
‘Very well, lady,’ Luan agreed.
‘We can then give a full report to my brother before the arrival of the wagon. Were the Cleasamnaig Baodain still under restriction in Cashel when you left?’
‘They were, lady, although the King and the Chief Brehon did not seem too pleased about the situation.’
‘Has the Chief Brehon returned to Cashel then?’
‘He has.’
‘So the sooner we return, the better.’
Six days later, the council chamber of King Colgú was crowded with sombre-faced people.
The arrival in Cashel of Fidelma and her party had been met with curiosity and much excitement. People knew that the party included prisoners. When, some days afterwards, Luan and his warriors had arrived, accompanying a wagon containing an object that looked like a small standing stone, which was hauled up to the King’s palace, there was considerable speculation and animated gossip.
Fidelma and Eadulf were met by her brother, the King, on their arrival. Colgú was with his Chief Brehon, Fíthel. The new arrivals gave a brief account of their experiences in Osraige, and it was agreed that a dál or court should be convened on the following day. Cerball, Lord of Cairpre Gabra, who was still at Rumann’s inn, would be summoned to attend, as well as all the adult members of Baodain’s Performers.
In agreeing to this, Colgú regarded his sister with some resignation.
‘Are you sure that all the mysteries can be explained? Will you be able to enlighten us about what happened when the girl’s wagon was set on fire on the marsh road?’
The Second Death (Sister Fidelma Mysteries) Page 32