The Subtle Serpent

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘There is much wisdom in what you say, sister,’ agreed Odar stolidly.

  They rode on in silence now, heads bent as the wind slowly rose and blew fine dry snow against them. There were more snow clouds bunching up from the west but Fidelma was unsure whether to be thankful or dismayed. She was thankful that the clouds might obscure the bright moon which, reflecting on the snow, made the night almost as brilliant as daylight and made them visible for considerable distances against the white background. On the other hand she was dismayed that the heavy clouds were threatening more snow and promised to make their journey as uncomfortable and as perilous as possible.

  It was after they had gone five miles that the wisdom of Fidelma’s advice to conserve the cuirm, or spirit which Odar had brought, became apparent. They were freezing in spite of their warm cloaks and she halted her horse in a small clearing. It was a rocky area by an entrance to some caves. She suggested that Odar allow each of them a sip of the cuirm to fortify them. Thus fortified, they rode on again. After another mile or so, they descended through a series of twisting tracks out of the mountains and through the more rounded hills towards the seashore. They could see the black, brooding sea, reflecting now and then by the moon’s rays as the snow clouds parted and allowed it to shine through.

  Their horses became skittish and not far away wolves started to bay. Fidelma, looking up the mountain, caught sight of several dark shadows moving hurriedly across the white snow and she suppressed a shiver.

  ‘The queen of the night is bright,’ muttered Ross, apprehensively. ‘Perhaps she is too radiant.’

  Fidelma, for a moment, wondered what he was referring to until she realised that sailors had a taboo about referring directly to the moon or to the sun. The moon was often referred to as the ‘queen of the night’ or, simply, ‘the brightness’. The ancient language of Éireann gave many other names for the moon, all of them euphemisms so that the sacred name of the moon would never be spoken. It was an old pagan custom from the time the moon was thought of as a goddess of whom no mortal could evoke her power by uttering her name.

  ‘Hopefully the clouds will thicken before we reach the settlement,’ Fidelma replied.

  The howling of the wolf pack gradually died away across the mountains.

  After what seemed an eternity, Ross halted his horse and pointed down the hill. Fidelma could just see the tiny glow of fires.

  ‘Those are the buildings around the mines. It is an area of fields on a cliff top. Below is a strand and the harbour from where the Dóirse islanders told me the Gaulish ship sailed from.’

  Fidelma peered forward. Of course, earlier it seemed so easy to simply say that they would ride across the peninsula to the mines and find out what happened to the crew of the merchant ship. Here, in the chilly moonlight, the plan’s flaws presented themselves to her. When Ross interrupted her thoughts with: ‘What will you do, sister?’ she could have rebuked him in her irritation.

  ‘Do you know how many people live down there?’

  ‘There are many mine workers and their families.’

  ‘Are they all prisoners, hostages and slaves?’

  Ross shrugged.

  ‘I do not think so. But many are. If the Gauls are among them then they should be easy to find. Or, at least, their whereabouts will be known to most people.’

  ‘What about guards?’

  ‘I cannot really say. There were few warriors there when I last traded at the mines. But, after what the islanders have told me about the Ui Fidgenti warriors, there might be as many as fifty warriors or even more.

  ‘Do you know the layout of the settlement? Where would the most likely places be in which the prisoners could be kept?’

  In answer, Ross swung off his horse and beckoned her to follow suit. He chose a clear patch of snow and took out his sword. With the tip of it, he made several depressions.

  ‘Those are the entrances to the mines, there,’ he jabbed with the sword point. ‘And here is the path which goes down into the settlement. Here and here, are the huts. There are many shacks where I think the workers live. Apart from that, I cannot help further.’

  Fidelma stared at the depressions and sighed.

  ‘We will ride down a little further and you and Odar will wait with the horses while I go on into the village on foot.’ She held up a hand to stop Ross’s protests. ‘I may achieve much more on my own than the three of us. We would simply attract attention.’

  ‘But you don’t know what you will find down there,’ Ross protested. ‘The whole place might be an armed camp in which strangers are not welcomed.’

  Before he could protest further, Fidelma had remounted and was trotting off down the track towards the flickering lights. As they approached closer to the buildings, a dog started to yelp. A raucous voice cursed the animal, thinking — or so Fidelma judged by the sense of what was shouted — that the poor beast was yapping at the wolves on the mountainside. She held up her hand and motioned her companions towards the shelter of the surrounding trees and undergrowth where they dismounted out of sight of the settlement. Without a word she handed her reins to Ross and shook her head vehemently when he began to open his mouth in protest.

  She drew her cloak more firmly over her shoulders and moved off, across the slushy approach to the settlement. It was not an enclosed settlement, as some were, but the buildings seemed to be placed in a haphazard fashion. She had no idea where she was actually going or what she was going to do. She just walked firmly into the shadows cast by the buildings as if she had every right to be there. Someone actually emerged between two of the cabins, carrying a lantern, and began to walk by her without a second glance. He was a thick-set warrior, with shield and spear slung on his back.

  With heart beating, Fidelma turned after him.

  ‘Warrior!’ she called, her voice filled with as much authority as she could muster.

  The man paused and turned. He did not seem surprised to see a stranger accosting him in the dark and she made a point of letting the light of his lantern fall on her crucifix around her neck.

  ‘Yes, sister?’ There was no suspicion in his voice only a curiosity and respect. She could not see his features and hoped that they mirrored his tone. She decided to chance everything on a bold move.

  ‘Among the prisoners is a Saxon religieux. I need to question him. Do you know where he has been held?’

  ‘A Saxon?’ The man thought for a moment. ‘Oh, yes. He is being kept with the other religieuses. Do you see that second cabin across there, by the edge of those trees? You’ll find him there.’

  ‘Thank you, warrior.’

  The warrior raised a hand in salutation and swung away.

  Fidelma could hardly believe that it was so easy. She found herself recalling the line from Phormio by Terence: audentes fortuna juvat —fortune favours the daring. Her mentor, the Brehon Morann of Tara had frequently repeated that and added his own maxim. Unless one entered the wolfs lair, one could not take the cubs. Fortune had certainly smiled on her and she had entered the lair easily enough.

  She hurried towards the cabin which the warrior had indicated. It was a large, isolated cabin, standing at the very edge of the settlement by the border of the woods that served as protection from the mountains. The next building was about thirty yards away. The place appeared to be in darkness, although she saw a window across which a sackcloth hung. A faint glow of a lantern seemed to be flickering behind it. She moved up to the window and listened carefully. She could hear no sound at first. Then there came a strange, scratching noise, like metal on metal. Raising herself on tiptoe, she tugged gently at the sackcloth and peered cautiously in.

  The cabin seemed divided into two rooms. The window gave entrance to one of these rooms. It was bare, except for a lamp hung from the rafters giving out a faint light. There were several poles supporting the roof. A figure sat at the foot of one of these poles. It was a male, clad in brown robes, sitting with his body bent towards his feet. He appeared to be working a
way at something. Fidelma breathed sharply. The figure wore the tonsure of Peter of Rome. She peered around, ensuring that there was no one else in the room. The window was impossible to get through as wooden bars prevented ingress. She went to the door and found a heavy bar locking it from the outside. Fidelma looked swiftly around and, ensuring no one was in sight, she heaved at the bar, managing to slide it from its iron mountings so that she could pull the door open.

  She moved hurriedly inside and closed the door behind her. For a moment she stood with her back to it and gazed into the room.

  The figure on the floor had stopped his attentions to his feet and was slumped against the pole as if in an attitude of repose. Eyes fast shut.

  Fidelma took a step forward and smiled with satisfaction.

  ‘It is no time to be sleeping, Brother Eadulf,’ she whispered.

  It was as if a cold stream of water had suddenly hit the figure. He jerked his head upwards, his body going tense and stiff. His mouth hung open as he gazed at the shadowy figure above him.

  She took another step forward and the meagre light from the lamp fell across her face.

  ‘My God! Can be it you?’ came the incredulous voice of the Saxon monk.

  Impulsively, Fidelma bent forward, stretching forth both hands and grasped those that Eadulf held out to her. His hands were free but she noticed that he was shackled by one ankle to the wooden pole against which he was squatting. He looked dirty and careworn and appeared as if he had not eaten or slept for a week. The Saxon monk apparently could not believe his eyes and hung on to her hands fiercely as though afraid that she was a vision which would abruptly vanish.

  ‘Fidelma!’

  For several moments neither of them were able to speak. Then it was Fidelma who finally broke the silence.

  ‘Of all people, Eadulf,’ Fidelma said, forcing a tone of rebuke, though there was a slight catch to her voice. ‘Brother Eadulf, you are the last person I have been expecting to see in this land of mine.’

  ‘If the truth be known,’ replied Eadulf, the corners of his mouth twitching in a dry grimace, ‘if the truth be known, I will admit that I never hoped to see anyone I knew ever again. But how have you come here? You are surely not a friend of these people … ?’

  ‘There is much to explain,’ Fidelma replied with a shake of her head. ‘But we must hurry and get you away from this place before we are discovered. How are you bound?’

  Eadulf bit back the hundred and one questions that were obviously flooding into his mind and gestured to the iron manacle on his ankle.

  ‘I have been trying to work it loose but I do not have the right tool.’

  Fidelma examined the lock, frowning slightly in concentration. It was a simple mechanism but needed something long and thin to prise it open. She reached into her crumena and drew out the knife she carried and attempted to insert the point into the opening of the padlock. It was too broad.

  Eadulf watched her glumly as she peered around the room obviously searching for a long piece of metal to prise the lock open.

  ‘There is nothing within my reach. I have looked.’

  She did not reply but rose and examined the lantern which was hanging on the wooden pole. She reached forward, removing it and examining the iron nail on which it had been hooked. Then she put down the lamp and using her knife began to dig at the nail. It took a few moments to remove sufficient wood around it to start to loosen it and a few moments more to wiggle it up and down so that she could extract it with ease. Then she returned to her task.

  ‘I still do not understand how you came here, Fidelma,’ Eadulf said as he watched her twist the nail in the lock.

  ‘It will take some time to explain. More important than that is the question of how you came here.’

  ‘I was a passenger on a Gaulish merchant ship. The captain put into this port to trade and suddenly we were all captured.’

  ‘Where are the rest of the captives?’

  ‘Mostly held in the mines to work. There are some copper mines here …’

  ‘I know. Ah! That’s it.’

  There was a click of the mechanism as it turned. She unloosened the fetter from his ankle.

  Eadulf began to massage his bruised flesh.

  ‘Well, I shan’t be sorry to desert these people’s hospitality,’ he muttered. Then he glanced awkwardly to the shut door which separated this part of the cabin from the second room. ‘However …’

  ‘What is it?’ Fidelma demanded impatiently, she was already moving for the outer door. ‘We should leave now. Our luck can’t hold forever.’

  ‘There is an elderly religieuse imprisoned in the next room. She has been here for several weeks now. I would not like to leave her. Can we take her with us?’

  Fidelma did not hesitate.

  ‘Is she alone?’

  Eadulf nodded.

  Fidelma took the lamp and moved cautiously to the next room and opened the door.

  An elderly, white-haired woman lay on a straw palliasse in a corner. She was asleep. Like Eadulf, one ankle was gripped in an iron manacle which was fastened by a chain to the wall.

  Fidelma bent beside her and shook her gently

  The elderly religieuse came awake, eyes wide in fear. She opened her mouth but Fidelma placed a finger to her lips and smiled reassuringly.

  ‘I’m here to help you. I presume that you are Sister Comnat?’

  The woman stared in astonishment and then gave an affirmative gesture.

  Fidelma took the nail and bent to the lock.

  ‘This should not take a moment.’

  Sister Comnat looked from her to Eadulf who was standing in the doorway, stretching and massaging his leg to restore the circulation.

  ‘Thank God!’ whispered the elderly sister. ‘Then Sister Almu managed to get through safely?’

  Fidelma compressed her lips for a moment and then gave a quick shake of her head.

  ‘We will talk about this later.’

  The lock on Sister Comnat’s fetters was not so difficult as that on Eadulf’s manacle or else Fidelma had become more learned at the art of the manipulation of the mechanism. There was a click and the fetters came undone.

  ‘What now?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘There are many warriors in this place.’

  Fidelma helped to raise the frail religieuse to her feet.

  ‘I have some friends with horses close by. Come.’

  She took the weight of Sister Comnat, who was swaying a little with weakness, and led her to the door of the cabin.

  ‘Take a look outside and see if it is clear,’ she instructed Eadulf.

  The tall monk nodded briefly and eased open the door. A moment later he turned with a grim look of satisfaction.

  ‘No sign of anyone.’

  ‘Then we shall go. Move around the side of the cabin and into the cover of the woods behind. Be careful, for there is at least one dog about this place.’

  They moved out of the cabin and Fidelma motioned Eadulf to close the door and thrust home the wooden bar, so, to the casual glance, the cabin would still appear secure from the outside. Then they moved cautiously to the edge of the cabin. A dog started to howl close by but its cry was taken up by the distant baying of the wolves high up on the mountainside. They heard a voice cursing and then a sharp yelp. Obviously the irritated owner of the voice had thrown something at the poor beast.

  With Fidelma leading the way, they continued along the side of the cabin and into the trees and undergrowth behind. Here there was a clump of round headed yews and the area was thick with a profusion of holly and strawberry trees, some female species of holly with their bright red berries and many younger trees with green bark. Ivy leaves permeated through the trees, among the elders, so that the forest welcomed them with a natural screen. Trying to avoid the prickling of the sharp spines on the lower leaves, Fidelma pushed into the shelter of the woods.

  ‘My friends should be close by here,’ she whispered, indicating the path. She led them silently in a semi-circle
around the edge of the settlement, keeping under cover of the trees and bushes until they came across Ross standing impatiently with Odar and the horses. The burly sea captain examined Fidelma’s companions in amazement.

  ‘No time for explanations now,’ Fidelma cut in before he could begin to ask questions. ‘We must put some distance between this place and ourselves.’

  Ross responded to the urgency immediately.

  ‘We can move to the caves on the hillside a few miles back. The old … the sister can mount behind you, Fidelma. The monk can mount behind me.’

  Fidelma agreed and swung up on her horse.

  ‘Odar, help Sister Comnat up behind me,’ she urged.

  Still looking somewhat dazed, the elderly religieuse was helped to clamber up behind her. Ross mounted and helped Eadulf up behind him. Then he turned to lead the way, picking the path up through the woods which hid them effectively from anyone’s prying eyes from the settlement below. It was half an hour before he called a halt in a small clearing where the snow had turned to slush in front of the rocky entrance to a large cave. He signalled for them to dismount and then led the horses into the cave entrance away from any casual observers.

  ‘Come on,’ he instructed the others, ‘there is plenty of room and we will be out of sight.’

  Ross was right. It was a large cave and he had been able to tether the horses well back from the entrance while they gathered in a small circle where a series of dry rocks served as excellent seats.

  ‘I think your flask of cuirm is appropriate now, Odar,’ Fidelma said solemnly.

  The tall sailor went to his saddle bag and removed the vessel, unloosening the stopper and handing it first to the elderly Sister Comnat. She coughed a little at the fiery liquid and then smiled in gratitude.

  Fidelma took it next, paused then passed it silently to Eadulf.

  ‘I think you stand in need of this more than I do.’