He gave an inward sigh. What was he thinking about, assessing their defences when there was no one who was going to storm this place to rescue him? He had not reached Delbna Mór to warn Brother Céin, let alone Tara. He wondered whether Fidelma had realised yet that the raiders had doubled back. He had to face the fact that he was on his own.
The two warriors shoved him towards an entrance in the stone construction, which was revealed when a wicker gateway was swung aside. It was a small, narrow passage that seemed to lead into the bowels of the earth like the entrance to a tomb.
One of the men pointed along it. ‘Down there, Saxon!’
Eadulf hung back, warily examining the darkness.
‘Where does it lead?’ he demanded.
The man sniggered and then struck him viciously across the face. Eadulf saw the blow coming and leaned backwards to defuse the force but it stung nevertheless.
‘You do not ask questions. Get down in there.’
Eadulf had no option but to obey. He bent his head and moved along into the passage in a crouching position. The wicker gate swung shut behind him. He paused, expecting to be shrouded in blackness, but there was a flickering light some distance ahead at what was, presumably, the end of the passage. Cautiously he began to crawl forward. The passage was cold but it was dry and the ground easy underfoot. He had the light to guide him and it was not long before he found himself in the interior of the manmade structure.
The first thing he saw was an elderly man squatting on the floor with an oil lamp on one side of him and a clay jug on the other.
The man looked up as Eadulf emerged into the cavern. Despite his white hair and haggard features, he had a striking presence. Even with the shadows, Eadulf saw that he had once been handsome; his eyes werestill dark and his gaze penetrating. The eyes widened a little as he took in Eadulf’s clothing and tonsure.
‘And who might you be?’ he asked, not moving.
‘Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham,’ replied Eadulf, staring around the cavelike room in which he found himself. The light showed the interior of it to be covered in intricate carvings, which seemed vaguely familiar. He realised they were like the carvings he had seen in the man-made cave near the Abbey of Delbna Mór.
‘I welcome you, Brother Saxon. You will overlook the fact that I cannot rise. I feel my ankle was broken or sprained when they captured me.’
At once, Eadulf was concerned and bent to the old man, examining his puffy and swollen ankle by the faint light. He touched it gently.
‘You have some knowledge of the physician’s art?’ asked the old man.
‘I studied at Tuam Brecain,’ replied Eadulf, before asking the man to attempt some movement on the ankle.
He did so, wincing a little. Eadulf observed the movement with an expert eye.
‘When did it happen?’
The old man shrugged. ‘Difficult to be accurate when imprisoned without sight of the sky. Perhaps three or four days ago.’
‘Well, it’s not a break, thanks be to God. I think it is a sprain. You really need some cold compress on it. I will ask the guards.’
The old man laughed and caught him by the arm, shaking his head.
‘I don’t think you’ll find any compassion among them, Brother. They are not Christians.’
Eadulf nodded glumly. ‘That I have already discovered for myself.’
‘What brings you hither, Brother … Brother Eadulf? The name has a familiar ring.’
‘I am husband to Fidelma of Cashel.’
The old man looked at him sharply. ‘Fidelma the dálaigh? Is it so? I had heard that the High King’s Great Assembly had sent for her to attend at Tara and investigate the High King’s death.’
‘Just so,’ agreed Eadulf.
‘Then tell me how you came here?’
‘It is a story that will be long in the telling.’
The old man was amused. ‘So far as I can see, we are not pressed for time.’
Eadulf squatted down beside him. ‘So, first things first. You know who I am. What is your name?’
‘I am Luachan,’ the man replied.
‘Bishop Luachan of Delbna Mór?’ gasped Eadulf.
The man frowned. ‘I am. How do you know of me?’
‘We have been searching for you.’
‘How so?’ The old man was amazed.
‘We had a report of your visit to Sechnussach on the night before he was murdered and of the strange gift you took to him. Fidelma and I set out to speak with you at Delbna Mór, and from Brother Céin we heard that you had gone missing.’
The old man groaned. ‘You were with Fidelma? Don’t tell me that they have captured her, or killed her?’
‘They captured only me. Fidelma was on her way to see the Cinél Cairpre with two of Cashel’s best warriors while I was riding back to Delbna Mór to report that the abbey at Baile Fobhair had been attacked.’
Bishop Luachan’s face was woebegone.
‘Baile Fobhair attacked?’ He gave a deep sigh. Then he brightened a little. ‘But Fidelma is not captured? Then there is some hope for her. But tell me your story in detail.’
‘Before I do so, tell me … who are these people? I know they are raiders and hold no allegiance to the Faith.’
‘They are the cursed of the earth!’ hissed Bishop Luachan with such vehemence that even Eadulf was surprised.
‘I know they are not followers of the Christ,’ he said.
‘They are not even followers of the old religion,’ snorted Luachan. ‘They follow an aberration of the old gods that even the Druids of old had to rise up and destroy many years ago. Worse, these animals believe in sacrificing human life to this idol. I am afraid, my friend, that we are their next intended victims.’
Eadulf shuddered. ‘How long do we have?’ he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
‘Oh, a few days yet. I have heard them talking. It is their intention to perform the sacrifice at the time of the sun-standing, the grien tairisem.’
‘Sun-standing? Oh, the solstice. Well, that gives us some time to plan an escape.’
Bishop Luachan smiled in the gloom. ‘You are optimistic, my brother in Christ.’
Eadulf grinned wryly. ‘Dum spiro, spero,’ he rejoined. The phrase translated as: while I breathe, I hope.
‘A good enough philosophy.’
‘Do you know where they plan to carry out their unholy ritual?’
‘Not here, that is for certain.’
‘Why not? From what I have seen, this seems to be some ancient pagan site.’
Bishop Luachan sniffed. ‘This is an ancient site where those of the old religion gathered and performed their rituals. But this is not part of the evil they worship. The ancients built this very chamber we are in, in order to show them the time of the geiseabhan … ’
‘The sun facing south?’ queried Eadulf, trying to translate the term that he had not heard before.
‘The time of the equal night,’ explained Luachan. ‘The equinox. That is what this complex of buildings were constructed for, not for the solstice. So I think that when the time comes for their ritual, they will have to take us to another site which will show them the appropriate time.’
Eadulf looked round and shuddered. ‘How can a dark man-built cave such as this show the time of anything?’
Brother Luachan smiled. ‘As you came through the entrance and were made to come along the passage into this chamber, you might have noticed all the strange carvings. Above the entrance is a hole through which, on the day of the equinox, at the specific time, a beam of light from the sun comes and spreads along the passage to hit the very stone I am leaning against. It lights certain things, carvings, designs on the stone, and indicates the very time. The ancient astronomers were clever.’
‘So it tells us the time of the equinox but not the time of the solstice?’ Eadulf asked.
‘There are some other constructions in the country which do,’ the bishop replied. ‘That is why I think they will move us before
that time.’
‘Then we will have to ensure that we are not here to be moved,’ Eadulf said firmly.
‘That will be difficult, since there is only the one way in and out of this prison — the narrow passage whose entrance is always guarded.’
‘Tell me more about their superstition. You have said that it does not really have much to do with the old beliefs and ideas that were followed before the teachings of Christ came here. Is there something, some weakness about their superstition, that we can use against them?’
‘You have an inventive mind, my friend’, Bishop Luachan said with a sigh. ‘However, there is nothing that will put fear into these people. It is told that in the days of a High King called Tigernmas, which name means Lord of Death, the worship of a great golden idol called Crom Cróich became widespread. The people turned from their old gods and goddesses — the Children of Danú. Tigernmas approved of the worship of the idol and it was placed in Magh Slécht, which means the pain of slaughter, in the sub-kingdom of Breifne. He ordered sacrifices to be offered to the idol from the chief scions of every clan, including the firstborn of every issue. Many worshipped the idol, pouring blood around it, and their worship was frenzied and evil. Some say that Tigernmas and his priests in their worship of Crom slaughtered a third of the population.’
‘How long ago was this?’
Bishop Luachan shrugged. ‘Time beyond measure. According to the old chroniclers, Tigernmas was son of Follach, son of Eithrial, of the race of Eremon, and he held the sovereignty of Éireann for fifty years. They claim he was the seventh ruler after Eremon. According to some, he encouraged the mining of gold and introduced the custom of using colours in dress to denote the clans. He won twenty-seven great battles against the descendants of Eber, but all the good he did was set at naught by the evil religion he introduced.
‘It was recorded that Tigernmas so roused the anger of the Druids that they gathered the people and, on the eve of Samhain, while the King and his fellow worshippers were in their frenzy before the idol on Magh Slécht, they attacked and killed him and three-quarters of his followers. Some say that afterwards the five kingdoms were without a High King for seven years because the Druids feared his legitimate successors. Others say that a High King called Eochaidh succeeded him and ruled the five kingdoms justly.’
Eadulf pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘So there is nothing that is deep in their superstition? They merely worshipped a golden idol and sacrificed people to it — that is all?’
‘All except the slaughter of the innocents,’ replied Bishop Luachan.
‘How can this shallow superstition have survived to this day?’
The old bishop was serious. ‘Consider what has happened in these lands in recent generations, my friend. Countless centuries of belief have been overturned by the New Faith. All in all, it has been a peaceful process, for our true ancient beliefs were not so far from the concepts that werebrought to us from the East. This was not so elsewhere, for I have heard that great wars have been fought and many slaughtered as other peoples refused to accept the truth of Christ. Even in the empire of Rome itself, wars were fought between the rival emperors, Constantine and Licinius, as to whether the new or the old gods should dominate.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘That it is to be wondered at how peaceful the change was among the peoples of the five kingdoms. However, there are many areas where some have clung to the old beliefs. We have done our best to change those beliefs or subvert them to the New Faith … ’
‘It was so in my own land,’ Eadulf nodded. ‘When Gregory of Rome sent Abbot Mellitus to convert the Angles and the Saxons, he told him that it would be easier to convert the people if they were allowed to retain the outward form of their religious traditions, while claiming them in the name of the Christian God.’
‘It was so here,’ agreed Luachan. ‘Holy wells became baptisteries, temples became the new churches and the old festivals were renamed in honour of the Christ. It seemed to work well. Soon people were worshipping Christ and His saints at the holy wells and springs or in certain forest glades without any remembrance of the ancient gods and goddesses. Then, in recent times, there seemed to arise a resistance to the spread of the Faith.’
‘How so?’
‘It happened a generation or two ago when Gregory, the servant of the servants of God, asserted that the papal offices in Rome were the primacy of all the Christian Faith. In the five kingdoms, we cannot yet agree which of our great centres is the primacy of the island, let alone agree that we must obey Rome in all things. Many saw it as the rise of the old empire of Rome in new form, an infringement of our liberties.’
Eadulf pulled a face. He had been at the Council of Witebia when Oswy had decided to follow the rule of Rome. Even recently at Cashel there had been much debate about the claims of Ard Macha as the centre of the Faith in the five kingdoms, at which claims and counter claims were made.
‘Are you saying that those adhering to the Old Religion saw dissension within those holding to the Faith and have used that as a means of overturning it?’
‘Perhaps not that, but they have seen the movement of many of theFaith to uphold the ways of Rome, as you obviously do, judging from your tonsure, my friend. They see Roman-inspired laws, the Penitentials, being used to subvert our ancient law system, and the Brehons set at naught, just as the Druids had been banished into obscurity. They see that the Christianity they had accepted is now being changed yet again into something entirely alien to their beliefs.’
Eadulf smiled thinly in the gloom. ‘I presume from what you say that you do not follow the path of Rome?’
‘I wear the tonsure of the Blessed John, not the corona spina that I observe you wear, my friend. That should say enough.’
‘So, this pagan faith is but a backlash to the growing influence of Rome here?’
‘I cannot make it clearer.
‘But why so extreme? Why not merely support those in the five kingdoms who reject the Penitentials and other matters? Or why not go back to the faith of the Druids? Why would they choose such an aberration as this idol you call Crom?’
‘In times of uncertainty, fear is the unifying force,’ averred the old bishop. ‘Fear binds people together in a way that cannot be achieved by other means. Those who would convert the people back to the old ways need fear, need something that will drive everyone back to the paths of darkness.’
‘Well,’ Eadulf remarked bitterly, ‘I do not intend to become a martyr just yet. We will find a way out of this prison.’
Fidelma had been meditating, practising the old form of the dercad. She did not believe in unnecessary action when it was bound to be futile. She was tightly bound and the farmer and his son were continually present with watchful eyes. As it had grown dark, oil lamps were lit by the old man who then took a lantern outside. She presumed it was to check on Caol and Gormán and hoped they had not been hurt. They must be shackled in the barn outside. The old man came back after a while, and as he refused to answer her questions about her companions, so she returned to her meditation.
After a passage of time, the sound of horses’ hooves aroused her from her trance. There were a fair-sized number of riders — perhaps twenty or more — clattering into the farmyard.
The farmer sprang up. ‘The chief!’ he said in a thankful tone to his son.
A moment later, a muscular young man burst into the room, closely followed by the farmer’s younger son and a couple of other men who carried swords in their hands.
‘Your son reported that you might have raiders,’ began the young man, as his eyes fell on Fidelma. He had a shock of black hair, thick with curls, a full beard and not unpleasant features.
‘She and two warriors came to the farmstead,’ the farmer said respectfully. ‘You told me to beware of strange warriors, so I had them trussed up in the barn and kept the woman here.’
The young warrior turned to Fidelma. ‘You appear to be a Christian?’ he said wonderingly
, as his eyes fell on the cross she wore around her neck.
Fidelma regarded him with a thin smile. ‘So far, no one has bothered to ask me who I am. Perhaps there is no courtesy left in this part of the country?’
The young man looked startled for a moment. ‘There is courtesy for those who are courteous,’ he replied. ‘Very well — who are you?’
‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, a dálaigh entrusted with the investigation of the assassination of the High King Sechnussach, by the Great Assembly.’
The young man’s eyes widened and he glanced at the farmer with an interrogatory look in his eyes.
‘I asked no question of her,’ the man replied defensively. ‘People can be deceitful with their tongues. She was with two strange warriors.’
As the young man turned back to her, Fidelma said, before he could ask the question: ‘My companions are Caol, commander of the Nasc Niadh, the bodyguard of my brother, Colgú of Cashel, and Gormán, one of his men.’
‘Fidelma of Cashel? Can you prove it?’ he asked.
‘Does it need proof?’
‘In this time and in this place, it does.’
‘In my saddlebag you will find the hazel wand of office of the High King, given me by Cenn Faelad to assert my authority.’
The young man turned to the farmer’s son. ‘Find the saddlebag and bring it here.’
It was the work of moments and the ornate hazel wand was produced.
The young man exhaled softly and shook his head.
‘Undo her bonds,’ he instructed the farmer. ‘Accept my apologies, lady. These are troubled times. I am Ardgal, chief of the Cinél Cairpre.’
Muttering that he was not to blame, the farmer released Fidelma from her bonds. Ignoring him, for a moment or two, Fidelma sat rubbing her chafed wrists.
‘I trust my companions will also be released now?’ she asked.
Ardgal addressed the farmer. ‘Make it so!’ he snapped. Then, turning back to her: ‘Believe me, I am sorry. But, lady, this land is beset with raiders, burning churches and destroying the homes of any who support the clergy.’
Dancing With Demons sf-18 Page 24
