Fidelma cast him a disapproving look. ‘Well, I would advise moderation, especially with the apple cider. A full belly is not a good travelling companion.’
Eadulf reluctantly pushed his platter from him, saying to the miller with a smile of regret: ‘It is a good feast, Marban. I had not expected millworkers to eat so well.’
‘We also work well,’ Marban replied seriously. ‘It’s a hard day’s work to keep the mill productive. Sometimes we work our kilns all night as well – and a man cannot fulfil such work and maintain his health on just a small bowl of gruel. These,’ he waved a hand to encompass everyone, ‘are my people. I am responsible for them.’
‘That reminds me, Marban,’ Fidelma said. ‘You are not well protected here. Do you have plans if the news from the merchants proves true? What happens if Gláed and the men of Sliabh Luachra come riding down on your mill? It was here that we captured him after he killed his father in one of your sheds. Your mill also lies on the route to Dún Eochair Mháigh.’
‘You make a good point, lady,’ agreed the miller. ‘And it is on that point that I decided I must remain here to protect my mill and ensure the safety of my people.’
Fidelma gazed around her. ‘I see no defences,’ she commented.
‘Neither will Gláed, I hope,’ the miller smiled confidently. ‘The path to this mill from Sliabh Luachra is one that passes across the marsh plains. You see, lady, I have learned a few tricks since you were last here. There are eyes and ears that will alert us of any approach of Gláed and his marauding wolves.’
Eadulf had to think for a moment before remembering that foilc, the term for marauding wolves, was also used for bands of robbers and brigands.
‘But even if you knew Gláed’s brigands were on their way, you could hardly sustain a defence against an attack.’ Fidelma remained concerned.
‘We don’t mean to,’ Marban said easily. ‘As soon as we get warning of Gláed’s ravening wolves coming out of Sliabh Luachra, everyone will make for the forests.’ He gestured across the stream to the south which, unlike the areas to the north and south-west, was a thick tangle of forest.
‘Gláed could destroy the mill,’ Eadulf pointed out.
‘I have my strategy, lady. We’ll retreat until the threat is gone, and if Gláed tries to follow us into the forests then it will be to his detriment. My people and I are forest-dwellers so we shall survive any attack.’
It was finally time to leave. They bade farewell to Marban, who showed them the track that led north-west across the flat plains criss-crossed by streams and watercourses. At first it was easy riding, although the atmosphere was close and humid. The track eventually became muddy even in this summer month. The area was, in effect, a marshland not too dissimilar from the stretches that lay east of Cashel and bordered on the lands of Osraige – and with the same amount of midges, so Eadulf morosely observed. There were no more little hillocks poking out to alleviate the flatness of the scenery and they had long since left the high trees to the south.
Eadulf disliked travelling through such terrain, if terrain it could be called for there was little of land in it. It was a treacherous wetland of bogs, waterholes and mires whose liquid traps could swallow men and horses if they mistook their way and deviated from the narrow, safe tracks that ran through it. The predominate growth through which they passed consisted of reed mace, or bulrushes, standing thirty centimetres high and reminding Eadulf of dark sausages on spikes. Here and there he saw what appeared as little sprouts of white on the green parts of plants: experience told him they were groups of white leeches, nasty little carnivores that it was best to avoid, as were most little insects that populated the area. Dragonflies, flea-flies, damselflies – each were irritants and bearers of disease. Now and then they had to flick away such creatures from their patiently plodding horses.
The area was strangely quiet to Eadulf’s ears. He glanced up several times at the blue canopy above, shielding his eyes against the lowering but unprotected sun. There was not a cloud in the sky. Neither was there any sign of birds – and that seemed unusual to him. The only bird he had seen was a stately grey heron, standing on its long legs in some shallow water and, with its long sinuous neck, poised ready to stab its prey and swallow it whole. Once he spotted an otter marking its territory, appearing incongruous in the climate with its thick fur and webbed feet.
He was not sure how long they had been moving through this wilderness when Enda called, pointing before them.
‘We are coming to the treeline. The land is beginning to rise. The forest is just ahead.’
‘We’ll pause a moment to rest the horses as soon as we reach the shade of the trees,’ replied Fidelma.
It was not long before they could feel the ground hardening beneath their mounts and rising away from the low-lying marshland. A short while later, they entered the shelter of the forest and paused by a freshwater stream. It gushed down the hill and emptied into the marshland. They dismounted and allowed their horses to drink while Eadulf took the opportunity to wash the taste of the marshland and its sticky odours from his mouth. Then he gazed around. They were surrounded by hazel trees but here and there, mainly along the borders of the marshes, were a variety of yew trees.
‘There seems a good track this way.’ Enda pointed to a narrow path that certainly wound its way through the trees in the direction they intended to go.
Without further conversation, they remounted and moved off in single file with Enda leading the way. It was pleasant to ride under the shade of the trees, and now their ears became attuned to more sounds – bird calls and the grunt of wild boar snuffling through the undergrowth – a contrast with the quietness of the marshland.
Enda turned in his saddle and informed them, ‘There is an open stretch ahead and a hillock. We can probably see the hill where this man, Corradáin, has his hut.’
‘So long as it’s not the hill of corrmíl,’ Eadulf tried to joke, giving the word for the tiny biting midges, as he was still suffering from their attentions during the trek through the marshes. No one laughed, nor had he expected them to.
They came to the area, a rocky rise where, it seemed, no trees could put down roots. The area was clear of tall growth and verdure. They halted and Enda immediately scrambled up on to a tall rock.
‘I think I can see the hill that the miller means,’ he announced excitedly. ‘It shouldn’t take us long to reach there.’ Then he frowned.
‘What is it?’ Fidelma asked, looking up at him.
‘I can see smoke. Smoke on the hill.’
‘Just someone’s cooking fire?’ hazarded Eadulf. ‘You don’t need fires for warmth in this heat.’
‘It just seems too large a pall of smoke for a cooking fire.’
‘Let us move on directly,’ urged Fidelma. ‘I don’t want us to be journeying through the forest at twilight.’
Enda gave a final glance in the direction of the hill before scrambling down and mounting his horse. ‘It is not that far,’ he said. ‘We should have plenty of time to reach it before dark.’
‘Reaching it is one thing,’ Fidelma said, ‘but then, somewhere on it, we have to find Marban’s cousin Corradáin, and, hopefully, Gormán and Aibell.’
They were on a broader track now which meandered through the forest.
‘I hope our reception by Gormán and Aibell will be a friendly one,’ Eadulf fretted. ‘Aibell believed Ciarnat’s story and convinced Gormán – so they might not welcome our appearance.’
‘We have to convince them otherwise,’ Fidelma replied. ‘They will see that Marban trusted us.’
It wasn’t long before they arrived under the dark shadows of the long hill. It certainly looked like the one which Marban had described. From east to west, Fidelma’s acute eye judged it was many kilometres in length. The western end was more densely covered by a forest of hazel.
‘Which way now?’ Eadulf asked.
Enda was looking towards an area at the western end of the hill. ‘There is st
ill that pall of smoke up on that ridge, lady,’ he said, pointing, ‘although it’s not as heavy as it was when I first saw it. The fire seems to be dying out, whatever caused it in the first place.’
‘Fire might be a sign of human habitation,’ Fidelma responded. ‘Let’s explore that source first. We might even find someone to inform us where Corradáin has his dwelling.’
There was a straightforward track leading up to the ridge which Enda had indicated. It was simple to follow the treeline up the hill to where it opened on a large level area. They could smell charred wood as they came up to it. Thankfully the winds were blowing across the mountain, taking the noxious fumes away from them.
There was no mistaking the remains of a human habitation which had been the source of the fire. The wooden building and surrounding sheds had been almost totally reduced to charcoal. Stretched in front of the burnt-out buildings were two male bodies. They had been untouched by fire. One of them had a woodsman’s axe still buried in a smashed skull. The cause of the death of the second man was also clear. Two arrows were embedded in his chest.
Eadulf glanced round nervously for a potential threat but Enda was already dismounting.
‘Whoever did this must have set fire to the buildings and are long gone,’ he reassured them quickly. ‘There are signs of several horses having been here.’ He gazed about, a grim expression on his features. ‘From the remains of the tools, lady, this looks like a woodman’s workplace and there are some newly carved pieces over there.’
Fidelma’s mouth was dry. ‘You think that this might be Corradáin’s place?’
Enda went over to the bodies and stared down at the man with the axe still buried in his head. Then he did the same to the body with the arrows.
‘I am afraid that this one seems familiar, lady.’
Fidelma and Eadulf dismounted and joined Enda. In life the man had been tall and muscular, with a mass of dark red hair and a bristling beard.
‘He and Marban could have been brothers,’ Eadulf commented.
‘But they were cousins.’ Fidelma’s voice was tight. She stood back and peered around the clearing.
‘I wonder who attacked him and why?’ Enda asked.
Fidelma suddenly raised a finger to her lips. Her head was to one side as if listening. They did not hear anything beyond the trilling of birds in the surrounding trees. She leaned closer to them. ‘I thought I heard a sound like something falling, coming from behind that burnt-out cabin.’
‘Woods are full of sounds,’ Enda whispered back.
‘This was like pottery falling and breaking. Did you not hear it?’
They shook their heads in unison.
Fidelma gestured for them to follow her. Such was the intensity of her demeanour that Enda unsheathed his sword. He knew that she was not given to imagining things. She led them to an area at the rear of what had been the wooden cabin, where she halted. The land hereabouts had clearly been planted, mainly with herbs. Gorse bushes which were just ceasing to flower formed a border against the tall hazel trees.
Yet there was one gorse bush that caught Fidelma’s eye. It stood incongruously apart from the others; not in the borderline at all. In fact, she could even see a gap where it had been cut and moved; the glint of white cut roots showed clearly. She moved quietly towards it and glanced down. Then she waved her companions forward and pointed. There were dried blood splatters on the soil around it.
Finger to her lips, she gestured to the gorse bush with a motion as if pushing it aside. Enda nodded, and pointed to Eadulf in an elaborate pantomime to show that he should shove the gorse aside. Then he motioned to his sword. It was over in a matter of movements. With the bush dragged aside, a wooden trap door was revealed, its boards level with the surrounding earth. An iron ring formed a handle on it in the middle.
Eadulf exchanged a look with Enda and then bent to the ring, heaving it up. Enda sprang forward, sword poised ready. Below them was revealed a small underground chamber. It was easily recognisable as a fotholl – an underground cavity lined with wood, in which food was stored to keep it fresh as long as possible. In larger houses it was called a talam, or cellar.
As the dying rays of the sun struck the entrance and lit up the hole, they saw a figure lying at the bottom, staring up at them with terrified eyes. The features were bloodstained but easily recognisable.
‘Aibell!’ Fidelma gasped.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
For a moment Fidelma had a sense that she had witnessed this scene before. Then she recollected that her first encounter with Aibell was when they had found her hiding in a woodsman’s hut. She had stared up at them, her tousled blue-black hair cut short and quite dirty, scattered with dead leaves and wisps of straw. Now, instead of patches of dried mud on her face, there were streaks of blood, yet her features were still as attractive, symmetrical with discernible freckles on her cheeks. Her dark eyes were wide and her lips parted in fear.
‘Aibell, it is I, Fidelma. Are you injured?’
The girl shivered and stirred herself. ‘Have they gone?’ she managed to get the words out.
‘They have – whoever “they” are,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘Let us help you out of there.’
Eadulf reached down, caught the girl’s outstretched arms and drew her from the hole. As she emerged, he saw the abrasion on the side of her head and another on one bloodied arm. ‘You are hurt,’ he said. ‘Those wounds need attending to.’
The girl was looking round at the devastation with a horrified expression.
‘Where is Corradáin?’ she asked hesitantly, gazing at the smoking remains of the cabin.
‘If he had red hair and looked like your uncle, Marban, I am afraid that he lies dead in front of the hut.’ Fidelma spoke the words gently but there seemed no other way of telling her the truth.
The girl gave a single sob and lowered her head, staggering a little as if she would fall. Eadulf steadied her and said to Enda, ‘Can you find something she can sit down on?’
Enda spotted a short log, obviously cut for the purpose of sitting. It had been placed so that anyone sitting on it could rest their back against a hazel tree that grew directly behind it. He helped Eadulf guide the girl to it. Then Eadulf darted back to his horse to fetch his lés, the medical bag. He had noticed a spring nearby which rose from the hillside and bubbled down, passing the buildings. This must have supplied Corradáin with his water source. Taking a clean cloth from his bag, he soaked it, and also filled a mug of the crystal clear water before returning to the girl.
No one had spoken to her or questioned her, waiting for Eadulf to tend to the girl’s injuries first. He gave her the water to drink and she swallowed it eagerly. Then he peered at the abrasions and started to wipe away the blood. She winced once or twice as he did so but did not cry out during his administrations.
‘You had a nasty blow to the side of the head and another you seem to have deflected with your arm,’ he observed. ‘The blood has ceased to flow from the wounds so they are not deep, but I expect that you will have bruising for some time.’
He put a salve on the wounds and used clean linen strips, also taken from his lés, to bandage them. Then Eadulf returned to the spring, filled a second mug of water and took it back to the girl. This time she sipped it more slowly.
Fidelma, who had been standing watching, now seated herself on the log beside the girl.
‘Where is Gormán?’ Fidelma asked.
‘I pray that he has escaped,’ replied Aibell.
‘Escaped from whom? What happened here?’
Eadulf felt the question was too blunt and tried to preface it with more tact. ‘Marban told us why you and Gormán felt the need to escape from Prince Donennach’s fortress. We guessed that you would seek shelter with him but he explained that you both felt it best to … to vanish. He said you would stay awhile with his cousin Corradáin while you were making up your mind where to go.’
Aibell’s expression was despondent but her voice held a note of
bitter reproach aimed at her uncle. ‘How did you persuade him to tell you? He was meant to protect us.’
‘And he did so,’ Fidelma returned in a firm tone. ‘Once he heard that the story Ciarnat told you was not true, that we were not abandoning you and Gormán to the mercies of Abbot Nannid, he realised that you were in more danger than ever.’
The girl’s dark eyes flashed momentarily.
‘Are you asking me to believe that Ciarnat lied? She is a friend from my childhood.’
‘Ciarnat has been murdered,’ Fidelma told her brutally. This was no time to be delicate: the truth had to be revealed.
The girl sat back, shocked. Eadulf frowned at Fidelma in disapproval of her forthright approach.
‘She may have lied to you or, as we believe, she was told a lie herself,’ he explained kindly. ‘That is why she met her death – so that she would not reveal the identity of the person who told her that lie.’
Aibell was quiet for a moment. ‘Are you saying that you would not have abandoned us … abandoned Gormán? Abbot Nannid was so certain that Gormán would be executed under these new church laws. Every time it was argued that it was not our law, he replied something in Latin saying execution was demanded by the Holy Scripture.’
‘Qui percussent et occiderit hominem, morte moriatur,’ Eadulf muttered. ‘And he that kills any man shall surely be put to death.’
‘A line from Leviticus.’ Fidelma was dismissive. ‘Abbot Nannid is very fond of quoting that line. He should remember the words of the Christ Whose religion he claims to follow. “Do not judge, so that you may not be judged. For with the judgement you make you will be judged and the measure you give will be the measure you get.” Abbot Nannid will one day find himself judged accordingly.’
Eadulf smiled encouragingly at Aibell. ‘All we are saying is that we are here to help and to uphold the law so that the truth of what happened is known.’
‘Gormán did not kill Abbot Ségdae,’ Aibell said quietly.
Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma) Page 21
