Suffer Little Children sf-3

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Do you recognise this lady?’ inquired Aíbnat.

  ‘Yes, she is the lady who took us away so the wicked men would not find us,’ replied one of the little girls solemnly.

  ‘Where is Sister Eisten?’ chimed in the other. ‘When is she going to visit us?’

  ‘Soon.’ Fidelma smiled vaguely, after Aíbnat had shot her a warning glance, shaking her head slightly. The children had clearly not been told what had happened to Eisten. ‘Now there are some questions I want to ask. I want you all to think carefully about them before you answer. Will you do that?’

  The two girls nodded seriously but the boy said nothing, scowling at the log and not meeting Fidelma’s smiling gaze.

  ‘Do you remember the other two boys who were with you when I found you?’

  ‘I remember the baby,’ said one of the little girls gravely. Fidelma recalled that her name was Cera. ‘It went asleep and no one could wake it.’

  Fidelma bit her lip.

  ‘That’s right,’ she said encouragingly, ‘but it is the boys that I am interested in.’

  ‘They wouldn’t play with us. Mean, spiteful boys! I didn’t like them.’ The other little girl, Ciar, set her face sternly and sat with folded arms.

  ‘Were they mean, those boys?’ pressed Fidelma eagerly. ‘Who were they?’

  ‘Just boys,’ replied Ciar petulantly. ‘Boys are all the same.’

  She gave a look of derision towards the little boy who ceased kicking at the log and sat down abruptly.

  ‘Girls!’ he sneered back.

  ‘Remind me what your name is,’ Fidelma encouraged with a smile. She had recalled the girls’ names but she could not remember what the boy had been called.

  ‘Shan’t say!’ snapped the boy.

  Aíbnat clucked her tongue in disapproval.

  ‘His name is Tressach,’ she supplied.

  Fidelma continued to smile at the boy.

  ‘Tressach? That name means “fierce and war-like”. Are you fierce and war-like?’

  The boy scowled and said nothing.

  Fidelma forced her smile to broaden.

  ‘Ah,’ she said, with a little sarcasm, ‘perhaps I misheard the name. Was it Tressach or Tassach? Tassach means idle, lazy, one who can’t be bothered to speak. Tassach sounds more like you, doesn’t it?’

  The boy flushed indignantly.

  ‘My name is Tressach!’ he grunted. ‘I’m fierce and war-like. See, I already have my warrior’s sword.’

  He drew the carved toy sword from his belt and held it up for her inspection.

  ‘That is a fearsome weapon, indeed,’ Fidelma replied, attempting to sound solemn though her eyes were dancing with merriment. ‘And if you are, indeed, a warrior then you will know that warriors have to obey a code of honour. Do you know that?’

  The boy stared at her in uncertainty, replacing the sword in his belt.

  ‘What code?’ he demanded suspiciously.

  ‘You are a warrior, aren’t you?’ pressed Fidelma.

  The boy nodded emphatically.

  ‘Then a warrior is sworn to tell the truth. He has to behelpful. Now if I ask you about the boys named Cétach and Cosrach, you must tell me what you know. It is the code of honour. You were obviously named Tressach because you are a warrior and bound by that code.’

  The boy sat still seeming to ponder this and at last he smiled at Fidelma.

  ‘I will tell.’

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Did you know Cétach and Cosrach well?’

  Tressach grimaced.

  ‘They wouldn’t play with any of us.’

  ‘Any of you?’ queried Fidelma, frowning.

  ‘Any of the children in the village,’ supplied Ciar. ‘Boys!’

  Tressach turned on her angrily but Fidelma interrupted.

  ‘Didn’t they come from the village?’

  Tressach shook his head.

  ‘They only came to our village a few weeks ago to live with Sister Eisten.’

  ‘Were they orphans?’ demanded Fidelma eagerly.

  The boy looked blankly at her.

  ‘Did they have a mother or father?’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘I think they had a father,’ the little girl named Cera chimed in.

  ‘Why so, darling?’ prompted Fidelma.

  ‘She means that old, old man who used to come to the village to see them,’ supplied the boy.

  ‘An old man?’

  ‘Yes. The old man who brought those mean boys to Sister Eisten’s house in the first place.’

  Fidelma leant forward eagerly.

  ‘When was this, darling?’

  ‘Oh, weeks ago.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘He had a cross, like the one you’re wearing, around his neck,’ Cera gave a look of triumph towards Tressach.

  The boy grimaced in annoyance at her.

  ‘Who was he?’ Fidelma did not really expect the children to answer the question.

  ‘He was a great scholar from Ros Ailithir,’ announced Tressach with an air of complacence.

  Fidelma was astonished.

  ‘How do you know this?’ she asked.

  “Cos Cosrach told me when I asked. Then his brother came up and told me to shut up and go away and if I told anyone about his aite he would hit me.’

  ‘His aite? He used that word?’

  ‘I’m not making it up!’ sniffed the boy petulantly.

  Fidelma knew that the term of endearment, aite, was an intimate form of address for a father. But because, for centuries, young children in the five kingdoms of Éireann had been sent away for fosterage, to gain their education, the intimate words for ‘father’ and ‘mother’ were often transferred to the foster-parents, so that the foster-mother would be addressed as ‘muimme’ and the father as ‘aite’.

  ‘No, of course you are not making it up,’ Fidelma reassured him, many thoughts racing through her mind. ‘I believe you. And how would you describe this man?’

  ‘He was nice looking,’ supplied Ciar. ‘He would not have hit us. He was always smiling at everyone.’

  ‘He looked like an old wizard!’ declaimed Tressach, not to be outdone.

  ‘He was not! He was a jolly old man,’ chimed in Cera, evidently fed up with being left out of the conversation for more than her fair share of time. ‘He used to tell us about the herbs and flowers and what they were good for.’

  ‘And this jolly old man came to visit Cétach and Cosrach often?’

  ‘A few times. He visited Sister Eisten,’ Ciar corrected. ‘And it was me he told about herbs,’ she added. ‘He told me about, about …’

  ‘He told everybody,’ replied Tressach scornfully. ‘And those boys were living at Sister Eisten’s house, so visiting them was the same thing as visiting Sister Eisten! There!’

  He stuck out his tongue at the little girl.

  ‘Boys!’ sneered Ciar. ‘Anyway, sometimes he brought another sister with him. But she was strange. She was not really like a sister!’

  ‘Girls are so stupid!’ grunted the young boy. ‘She was dressed like a sister.’

  Sister Aíbnat caught Fidelma’s eye. She obviously felt that the questioning had continued long enough.

  Fidelma held up a hand to prevent the argument developing.

  ‘All right now. Just one more thing … are you sure the man came from Ros Ailithir?’

  Tressach nodded vehemently.

  ‘That’s what Cosrach told me when his brother threatened to punch me.’

  ‘And this sister who accompanied him? Can you describe her? What was she like?’

  The boy shrugged disinterestedly.

  ‘Just like a sister.’

  The children seemed to lose interest now and scampered away in the direction of the sister who was playing the reed pipe.

  Fidelma, deep in thought, accompanied Aíbnat back to where Molua had laid the table for their meal. Aíbnat seemed totally bewildered by the conversation but did not question Fi
delma further on the matter. Fidelma welcomed the silence as she turned the facts over in her mind. As they entered, Cass looked up and examined Fidelma’s perplexed expression.

  ‘Did you get the information you want?’ he asked brightly.

  Fidelma laughed dryly.

  ‘I do not know what information I wanted,’ she responded. ‘But I have gathered another stone to build my cairn ofknowledge. Yet one which does not make sense at the moment. No sense at all.’

  The meal which Aíbnat and Molua provided was comparable to the feasts that Fidelma had enjoyed in many a feasting hall of kings. She had to force herself to eat sparingly for she realised that it was a ten-mile ride back to Ros Ailithir and riding on a full stomach was not good for the body. Cass, on the other hand, gave himself unchecked to the meal and accepted more of the heady cuirm spirit.

  Aíbnat quietly attended to their wants while her husband excused himself and disappeared to look after some mysterious errand.

  When Molua brought out their horses, they found that the big farmer had watered, fed and groomed the animals.

  Fidelma thanked both Aíbnat and Molua profusely for their hospitality and swung into the saddle.

  Fidelma gave their erstwhile hosts a blessing and they began to turn their path back towards Ros Ailithir.

  ‘What did you learn, Fidelma?’ demanded Cass, once they were out of earshot, crossing the river’s ford and ascending across the wooded hills which crowned the large headland.

  ‘I found out, Cass, that Cétach and Cosrach were taken to Rae na Scríne just a few weeks ago to live with Sister Eisten. They are …’ she paused to correct herself, ‘They were the sons of Illan.’

  ‘But the brother at Sceilig Mhichil said that Illan’s sons had copper-coloured hair, like the little girls.’

  ‘Anyone can dye hair,’ observed Fidelma. ‘Moreover, they were several times visited by someone from Ros Ailithir. Cosrach boasted to the boy Tressach that the man was a scholar. That someone Cétach and Cosrach called aite!’

  Cass looked amazed.

  ‘But if this person was their father then they were not the sons of Illan. Illan was killed a year ago.’

  ‘Aite can also mean foster-father,’ Fidelma pointed out.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Cass said reluctantly. ‘But what does it mean and how does it fit the puzzle of this murder?’

  ‘It would be no puzzle if I knew,’ Fidelma reproved. ‘The man was sometimes accompanied by one of the sisters. There is a path here which leads to Intat! And we know that Intat is Salbach’s man. There is a circle here if only we could find a way of entering it.’

  She lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

  They had gone over a mile, perhaps not more than two miles, when, topping a rise, Cass glanced over his shoulder and exclaimed in surprise.

  ‘What is it?’ cried Fidelma, swinging round in her saddle to follow his gaze.

  Cass did not have to reply.

  A tall, black column of smoke was rising into the pale-blue, cold autumnal sky behind them.

  ‘That’s coming from the direction of Molua’s place, surely?’ Fidelma said, her heart beginning to beat fast.

  Cass stood in his stirrups and seized the overhanging branch of a tree, hauling himself up into the topmost branches with an agility which surprised Fidelma.

  ‘What do you see?’ she cried, peering up into the dangerously swaying branches.

  ‘It is Molua’s place. It must be on fire.’

  Cass scrambled down the tree and jumped to the ground, a pile of early fallen leaves breaking his drop. He brushed himself down and grabbed the reins of his horse.

  ‘I don’t understand it. It’s a big fire.’

  Fidelma bit her lip, almost causing blood to flow as a terrible idea grew in her mind.

  ‘We must go back!’ she shouted, turning her horse.

  ‘But we must be careful,’ warned Cass. ‘Let the incident at Rae na Scríne serve us as a warning.’

  ‘That is precisely what I fear!’ cried Fidelma, and she was already racing her horse back towards the column of smoke.Cass had to urge his horse to its utmost stride to keep place with her. Although he knew that Fidelma was of the Eóganacht and brother to Colgú, who was now his king, Cass was always surprised that a religieuse could ride so well as Fidelma did. It seemed that she had been born in the saddle; that she was at one with her horse. She nursed it with dexterity as it thundered along the trail they had only recently traversed.

  It was not long before they came over the brow of the hill and saw the great muddy estuary spread before them.

  ‘Halt!’ yelled Cass, pulling rein. ‘Behind those trees, quickly!’

  He was thankful that for once Fidelma did not question him but obeyed his orders immediately.

  They drew up behind the cover of a copse of amber-yellow leafed aspens with a surrounding dense thicket.

  ‘What did you see?’ Fidelma commanded.

  Cass simply pointed down the hill.

  She narrowed her eyes and saw a band of armed horsemen breaking through the fragile fences which surrounded the small community of Molua and Aíbnat. A squat man sat on his horse before the burning buildings as if surveying the handiwork of his men. There were a dozen of them. They completed their grim business and then went riding away through the trees on the far side of the river. The squat rider, who was obviously their leader, turned with a final glance at the burning buildings and galloped after them.

  Fidelma suddenly gave vent to a cry of impotent rage. She had heard Salbach say, as he rode away from the cabin in the forest, ‘I know where they might be … I’ll give you my instructions for Intat.’ She had heard and not understood. She should have realised. She could have prevented … At the back of her raging mind a voice told her it was the second major mistake she had made.

  ‘We must get down there!’ cried Fidelma in fury. ‘They may be hurt.’

  ‘Wait a moment,’ snapped Cass. ‘Wait for the assassins to leave.’

  His face was grey, his jaw was tight set, the muscles clenched. He already knew what they were bound to find in the inferno that was the once the prosperous farm settlement.

  However, Fidelma was already urging her horse from the cover and racing down the hill.

  Cass gave a cry after her but, realising that she would not obey, even though there might be danger from the attackers, he drew his sword and urged his horse after her.

  She galloped down the hill, splashing through the ford at speed and tore to a halt in front of the buildings.

  She flung herself from the saddle and, raising an arm, to protect herself from the fierceness of the heat, she ran forward towards the burning buildings.

  The first bodies that she saw, sprawled by the entrance, were those of Aíbnat and Molua. An arrow had transfixed Aíbnat’s breast while Molua’s head was almost severed by a sweeping sword cut. They were quite obviously beyond help.

  She saw the first child’s body nearby and a cry stifled in her throat. She was aware that Cass had ridden up and dismounted behind her. He still had his drawn sword in hand and he stared about him impassively but with horror mirrored in his eyes.

  One of the two sisters who had been helping Sister Aíbnat to take care of the children was slumped against the chapel door. Fidelma realised in revulsion that she was held there by a spear which had been run through her body to transfix her to the wooden door. Half a dozen little bodies were clustered at her feet, some of the children’s hands still clinging to her skirts. Each one of the children had been stabbed or had their tiny skulls shattered by blows.

  Fidelma held an overwhelming urge to be sick. She turned aside and could not quell the bile that rose to her throat.

  ‘I … I am sorry,’ she mumbled as she felt Cass’s comforting arm on her shoulders.

  He said nothing. There was nothing one could say.

  Fidelma had seen violent death many times in her life but she had seen nothing so heartrending, so poignant as these dead little bodies wh
o, a few moments ago, she had seen happy and laughing, singing and playing together.

  She attempted to quell her loathing, pull herself together and move on.

  There was the body of the other sister of the Faith who had been playing the pipes, lying still under the same tree where Fidelma had seen her, the pipes now broken in two and lying near her outstretched and lifeless hand, obviously crushed by the foot of some maniacal assassin. There were more bodies of children near her.

  The buildings were burning fiercely now.

  ‘Cass.’ Fidelma had to force the words, through the tears and heartache she felt. ‘Cass, we must count the bodies. I want to know if the children from Rae na Scríne are among them … whether everyone is accounted for.’

  Cass signalled his acknowledgment.

  ‘The little boy certainly is,’ he said quietly. ‘He lies just over there. I’ll look for the girls.’

  Fidelma went forward to where Cass had indicated and found the twisted body of Tressach. His head had been cleaved with one blow. Yet he lay as if asleep, a hand carelessly flung out before him with the other still held tightly to his wooden sword.

  ‘Poor little warrior,’ muttered Fidelma, kneeling down and letting her slim hand stroke the fair hair of the child.

  Cass appeared after a while. His face was even more grim than ever.

  Fidelma raised her eyes to his.

  His expression was enough.

  ‘Where are they?’

  The warrior jerked his thumb behind him.

  Fidelma rose and went round the corner of the chapel. The two little copper-haired girls, Cera and Ciar, were clasped in one another’s arms, as if trying to protect each other from the cruel fate which crushed both their skulls without any compassion.

  White-faced, Fidelma stood and stared at the once idyllic farmstead which Aíbnat and Molua had given over to the purposes of an orphanage.

  Tears gathered in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

  ‘Twenty children, three women religieuses, including Sister Aíbnat, and Brother Molua,’ reported Cass. ‘All dead. This is senseless!’

  ‘Evil,’ agreed Fidelma vehemently. ‘But we will find some twisted sense behind it.’