In one corner there were artificially cut steps, leading upwards. Presumably these would bring them into the courtyard of the abbey itself.
‘We’d best check those smaller sealed caves first before we go up into the abbey. If Fidelma is a prisoner, she could well be kept there,’ advised Aidan.
With a nod, Eadulf moved quickly across the cave and checked the first of the three doors – stout wooden affairs with iron handles and bolts. He tried each in turn but, peering inside with the use of his torch, he saw they were mainly storerooms for food, and one was clearly used for keeping strong liquor. None of the three caves revealed anything more. He then noticed another small side tunnel. It was barely visible, but a greying light at the end of it revealed it was a means to an exit. He drew Aidan’s attention to it.
The young warrior looked, then whispered: ‘I think it is another exit onto the hillside, but the entrance seems to be completely overgrown. Doubtless it is covered by the all-pervasive ivy on this side of the abbey walls.’
‘Well, at least we know that we have a choice of two exits,’ Eadulf murmured cheerfully. ‘That could come in useful when Gébennach returns with his friends.’
‘In that case, we’d better check it out to make sure we can escape in that direction,’ Aidan said.
‘We are losing time,’ Eadulf objected. ‘It’s curious, though – I would have expected a hue and cry to have erupted before now.’
‘It will take but a moment.’ Aidan set off down the narrow corridor. He had not gone far when Eadulf saw him halt. ‘There are a couple of doors here, blocked-off side caves, and …’
Suddenly there was a muffled cry.
‘Lady!’ Aidan cried, bending forward to a door. Then Eadulf was racing down the passage to join him.
‘Fidelma, is it you?’
‘More a ghost of me. I am cold and hungry!’ she called. ‘Can you see the cave I am imprisoned in?’
‘We are outside the door,’ Aidan assured her. He was examining it with the light of Eadulf’s brand torch held high behind him. ‘I think we are in luck. I can see only two bolts.’
He bent to draw them back. They slid free easily and, using the metal ring handle, he swung back the door. A dishevelled Fidelma staggered out into Eadulf’s arms. After a moment or two she pushed away.
‘What took you so long?’ she demanded, although there was humour in her tone.
Eadulf said ruefully, ‘That is an even longer story.’
‘Have you brought Gormán and the others from Cashel?’ was her next question.
Eadulf looked guilty and shook his head. ‘I thought the more imperative task was to rescue you.’
‘We’d best be on our way to somewhere safer to discuss it,’ Aidan cautioned them, glancing nervously over his shoulder. ‘Our luck can’t last for ever.’
‘I think it has already run its course,’ Eadulf muttered.
They followed his gaze. There were flickering lights at the far end of the tunnel. Eadulf had the wit to extinguish his lantern but a shout indicated that the light had already been seen.
‘Quick!’ Aidan urged. ‘We’ll try this exit. It’s the only way out now.’ He rushed forward, drawing his sword in order to cut a path through the thick curtain of creepers. He had managed to push the canopy of growth aside when he teetered and seemed to be trying to regain his balance, almost dropping his sword in the process. He managed to pull himself backwards with difficulty.
As they joined him they saw that the entrance beyond the growth emerged onto a rocky part of the hillside which, in effect, was a cliff face with a sheer drop of at least fifteen metres. There was no other way down.
‘I might be able to make it,’ Aidan observed, glancing quickly to the sides of the opening. ‘If I can get over to those creepers at the left side there, I should be able to climb down. It needs just a good swing.’
‘We couldn’t all make it in time,’ Fidelma said.
The light behind them had come closer and there was a deep rasping laugh.
‘Well, well. Were you leaving us so soon, lady?’
They turned to find themselves facing three men, two of them armed with crossbows, the bolts aimed so that they could not miss. The third man, who held high a lantern, was unmistakable – it was Brother Giolla Rua of Corcach Mór.
‘Well,’ Fidelma smiled thinly, ‘I wondered what your real connection with this place was.’ Then she suddenly snapped: ‘Aidan!’
The young warrior knew immediately what she wanted him to do. Before anyone could react he was through the curtain of fronds and the cave entrance. With a shout, one of the bowmen, instead of releasing his bolt, rushed forward but Eadulf, dropping the lantern from his hand, blocked his passage, struggling with the man who was forced to release his grip on the bow.
‘Lady,’ Brother Giolla Rua yelled, ‘tell your Saxon friend to stop, otherwise you will be dead.’
In the light of Brother Giolla Rua’s lantern, the second bowman had raised his weapon and was aiming at Fidelma. Eadulf immediately released his hold and stood aside. As the man he had been struggling with pushed forward to see where Aidan had gone, Eadulf’s foot came out and the man went flying through the curtain of fronds. They heard his cry of fear and the sickening sound of his body falling the fifteen metres to the rocks below. Eadulf stood back, turning a bland expression to Brother Giolla Rua.
‘Your man seems to have tripped,’ he said, without any emotion.
The second bowman had swung his weapon round to Eadulf and was about to release the bolt when Brother Giolla Rua told him to hold.
‘Just cover them both. You will both now be moved back along the tunnel. The first one who does not obey will be dead. Of that, I can assure you.’
Threatened by the bowman who, with Brother Giolla Rua, backed slowly along the tunnel before them, they soon came abreast of the cave they had just quit, the one Fidelma had been in.
‘Now, get inside … both of you!’ ordered Brother Giolla Rua.
Reluctantly, Fidelma marched into her former prison followed by Eadulf, still covered by the unwavering crossbow.
Brother Giolla Rua smiled grimly in the flickering light. ‘At least this time you will have a companion, lady – until I have completed my transactions.’
‘Your transactions?’ Fidelma tried to make the question sound innocent.
‘As if you did not know, lady.’
‘I suppose Brother Gébennach alerted you?’ Eadulf’s tone was bitter.
For a split second a look of puzzlement crossed the features of Brother Giolla Rua. ‘You mean the librarian of this place?’ he said in surprise. When Eadulf did not bother to answer, Brother Giolla Rua simply shrugged. Then the door was slammed shut. Darkness descended as the lantern was taken away and they heard the sounds of Brother Giolla Rua and his companion moving back down the corridor.
‘What now?’ Eadulf demanded, hoping that his eyes would soon grow used to the half light to be able to see a little better.
‘Now?’ Fidelma’s response was resigned. ‘Let us hope that Aidan was successful in his attempt to grab those creepers and scale down the rockface. Thanks to your fancy footwork, he seems to have managed to get to the creeper without harm or we should have heard it.’
‘Unlike Brother Giolla Rua’s companion.’ Eadulf added dryly. He had only meant to impede the murderous bowman, not kill him. He had no illusion that to fall head first down that height was certain death. ‘Requiescat in pace,’ he murmured unctuously.
‘If Aidan makes it safely, I trust he will go straight to Cashel as I originally wanted you to do and bring back Gormán and his warriors. A catha of the warriors of the Golden Collar would soon overcome this place.’
There was no rancour in her voice but Eadulf felt guilty that he had not followed her instructions; this detracted from his satisfaction that he had resolved the mystery of the abbey’s connection with the attacks on Prince Gilcach’s silver cargoes.
‘It is going to be difficult,’ he
replied glumly. ‘We left the horses at Spelán’s cabin. It was Gébennach, the librarian, who brought us into the cave complex and betrayed us. He will have probably ensured that the horses are no longer there. It is a long way to Cashel if you are walking these hills without a horse.’
‘Gébennach brought you into the cave complex? Well, since we have nothing else to do, I suggest that you tell me all about it and how he betrayed you. Anyway, Aidan is good in difficult situations. He will manage one way or the other.’ Fidelma hoped her voice did not carry the lack of confidence she felt.
Aidan was not on his way to Cashel. He was lying at the foot of the rocky plunge, unconscious.
When Fidelma had shouted to him, he had known instinctively what she wanted him to do for there was no other choice. He pushed through the curtain of fronds and creepers and, glancing to his left, he examined the hanging ivy in a split second to search for a suitable spot before launching himself across the short space. He had no option but to let his sword fall, as he stretched out both hands to grab for the vines. He caught and clasped them. They gave immediately under his weight but after dropping him a metre or so, they held. He clung on, praying they would take his weight.
It was in that same moment he heard a scream and saw a body tumbling by him. For a cold moment of panic he thought it was either Fidelma or Eadulf but then he saw it was a man, an abandoned crossbow falling with him. As he heard the sickening thud of the body on the rocks below, he realised it must have been one of the bowmen who had rushed to follow him, and somehow missed his footing and fallen. But there was no time to dwell on this. Gritting his teeth, he sought to lower himself down the small cliff as quickly as possible, for the ivy was not as strongly attached to the cliff face as he would have preferred. Every so often it gave and he dropped short distances, scrambling for a new hold.
It was only in the last three metres that he lost the battle. The ivy snapped and came away from its precarious hold, sending Aidan plummeting backwards. He waved his arms wildly, hoping to land in a less awkward position. But a moment later he experienced a terrible pain in his right leg; the scream he heard was his but it was silent. He had no time to utter it aloud for at that moment he sank into merciful unconsciousness.
Torcán the woodsman had left the Abbey of Ráth Cuáin, having deposited his weekly load of logs, and swung his mule cart through the great gates, around the northern slope of the Hill of the Bullock and across to the south-west towards the sloping path that led into the forest and home. Brother Tadhg, the gatekeeper, had been as abrasive as ever but the price for the exchange of logs had been fixed by the abbot, so there could be no argument on that score. As Torcán guided his ass team along the track, he wondered if the folk from Cashel had been successful in their curious rendezvous at the Ford of the Ass, the previous night. He rather liked the lady Fidelma and her companions. She was not what he expected a princess of Cashel would be, far less a dálaigh. She was not haughty at all, but able to sit down with a woodsman and his wife and exchange gossip without the arrogance that he had usually associated with such folk. He even found himself liking the quiet, thoughtful Saxon … why did the man keep correcting him, to say ‘Angle’? He had known some Saxon travellers passing along the great river and they certainly spoke the same language.
He had not gone far down the track when he suddenly saw a horse standing in the middle of the way, chewing at a bush growing along the side. Drawing rein on the mules, he halted his cart and stared at the beast for a while before recognising it as the grey-white pony that the lady Fidelma had been riding. He dismounted from his wagon and saw the reins were loose but with a small piece of broken branch and some leaves caught up in them. To a woodsman of Torcán’s experience, he saw that the reins had been tied to a bush or branch to secure the animal. Some motion of the horse must have snapped this makeshift tether and the animal had wandered freely. It was then he realised that he was near the copse where the ruined cottage of Spelán stood. Could it be that the lady Fidelma had gone back to the cabin and lost her horse? It would not take him long to check.
Torcán walked up to the pony, took the reins and led him to the back of his wagon, where he fastened him to it before climbing back onto the seat and urging his team forward, manoeuvring the wagon away from the main path and down towards the copse. Once there, he immediately saw two other horses and an ass. These were securely tethered. He called several times and examined the nooks and crannies of the ruins. There was no sign of anyone.
He stood for a few moments wondering what he should do. Should he take all the horses and ass back to his cabin or should he leave them here in case Fidelma and her companions returned? It was a difficult choice. It was while he was contemplating this that a sound impinged on his mind. It was high pitched, a dark ‘crouk-crouk’ cry, almost a cracking sound – and it was not one cry but several. Torcán shivered, for he knew what the rising cries indicated. He made his way to the edge of the trees and stared up into the sky. He was right. Soaring high over the hill were at least a dozen dark shapes with diamond-shaped tails, black shiny birds, circling and calling triumphantly. The harbingers of death, the birds of ill-omen … ravens.
Torcán knew enough about the scavenging habits of these birds to be aware that it was something substantial which made them behave so; it was not their usual fare of small mammals, birds or insects. This was the behaviour of ravens gathering to feast on the dead after a battle. Someone further up the hill was dead or helplessly injured. The thought came to him immediately – and here were abandoned horses. The woodsman had no second thoughts now. Seizing his stout staff, he swiftly and athletically began to ascend the hill, keeping his eyes on the central point of the circling birds of prey.
Guided by these black harbingers of death, he came to the rocky ledge under the tall walls of Ráth Cuáin, and was shocked to find two bodies there. He averted his eyes from one, which was clearly beyond help: the ravens had already started to feast on it. The head was twisted at a curious angle and it was apparent that the man had died before the ravens had descended. A snapped crossbow, the type that was rarely used by warriors in the area, and a spilled quiver of bolts, as he knew these short arrows to be called, lay nearby.
In disgust Torcán twirled his staff around his head to clear off the hovering birds and then moved on to the second body, which was half covered by fallen ivy. Pulling it away, he recognised the man immediately. It was the warrior who had accompanied the lady Fidelma. There was no mistaking him, even if he had not been wearing the golden circlet at his neck which denoted he was a warrior of the Nasc Niadh, the Golden Collar, and bodyguards to the King of Cashel. Nearby lay the young warrior’s abandoned sword. He stooped down to pick it up, for such a sword was valuable. Then he stood wondering what to do next. At that moment there came a soft moan from the warrior and Torcán realised that the young man was still breathing. He saw that one leg was bent under the body and it was covered in blood. Should he alert the abbey? Should he try to carry him there and seek help?
Something prompted him to hold back. Perhaps it was the questions that the lady Fidelma had asked during her visits that made him think that it might not be the right course. But he had to get help – and quickly too. Someone would be coming to search here soon – he was sure of it. Torcán bent down and replaced the young man’s sword in its scabbard. Then he knelt and tried as best he could to straighten the young warrior’s body into a position where he could lift him on his shoulder. Years as a woodsman in the forest had given Torcán tremendous strength, enough to hoist a great log across his shoulders and move at a trot for a hundred metres or more without fatigue. Now he hefted Aidan’s body across his broad shoulders and moved sure footedly down the hill and back in the direction of the ruined cabin.
Fidelma peered into the gloom of their cell and sighed long and deeply. ‘I can’t see you clearly, Eadulf,’ she muttered.
A shadow stirred at the side of her. ‘I’m here, wherever here is.’
Sh
e reached out a hand and found his, and their hands entwined. ‘As the man said, at least we are together. I’m not sure how long we’ve been here though,’ she added. ‘I just hope Aidan has made it.’
‘There must be something that we can do,’ Eadulf said.
‘Nothing. Except …’
‘Except … what? Don’t tell me to go in for meditation stuff. There is no way I can calm my thoughts.’
Fidelma smiled in the darkness. ‘I won’t. It takes many years of practice to do so. I was thinking that instead of wasting this time we might go over the facts of this mystery and see what resolution we can arrive at.’
‘Ah, the resolution is simple. It is all to do with the cargoes of silver that have been robbed from the boats hired by Prince Gilcach. This abbey has been at the centre of the robberies, as I discovered.’
‘How did you make your deduction?’
Eadulf hesitated a moment. ‘Well, more by luck than deduction,’ he admitted.
‘Tell me.’
‘When we came into the caves here …’
‘How was that?’
‘As I said, Brother Gébennach showed us the way. However, I began to suspect that he was in league with the thieves and brought us here so that we could be captured. Unfortunately, it did not strike me until we found the silver. He must have informed Brother Giolla Rua, who then came to stop our escape.’
‘I don’t quite follow that. You had better tell me the whole story.’
Eadulf outlined what had happened when he and Aidan had realised that Fidelma was a prisoner, the meeting with Gébennach and the passage into the caves where Eadulf had found the sacks of silver ore.
‘So you think Brother Gébennach was part of the gang of thieves?’
‘He certainly knew something about Febal and Sionnach.’ Eadulf realised that he had no positive proof. It was just circumstantial. He wished he could see Fidelma’s face in the greyness because he was uncertain of the tone in her voice.
Night of the Lightbringer Page 31