Master of Souls

by Peter Tremayne

  The hour grew late and as Slébéne and his lady had already disappeared, Fidelma suggested that the party withdraw to the guests’ chambers, leaving everyone else to the continued intoxication of the night’s merrymaking.

  The next morning the sky was blue and cloudless but this also meant it was cold and a frost lay on the ground, hardening the snow where it lay outside the fortress and its surrounding settlement. Winter harshness covered the landscape.

  To their surprise Slébéne was up and greeted them all with a broad smile when they went in to break their fast in the tech-nóiged, the meal room. When Conrí returned his greeting without enthusiasm, the chief clapped him on the shoulder with a great roar of laughter.

  ‘You must have humour, warlord of the Uí Fidgente. Do not take our little ways too seriously. It was but a jest.’

  Fidelma glanced uneasily at Slébéne.

  ‘It was a jest in poor taste,’ she said quietly.

  Her rebuke did not dent Slébéne’s good humour.

  ‘We are simple folk here, Fidelma of Cashel. We believe in old ways, old customs, and cannot change.’

  ‘Is there not an old saying that change is refreshing?’ replied Fidelma in admonishment.

  Slébéne bellowed with laughter again.

  ‘I presume,’ he said after a pause, ‘that you will set off on your quest as soon as you have eaten?’

  ‘That is our intention,’ Eadulf confirmed between mouthfuls of wheaten bread and honey.

  ‘You have heard no word of the missing women of Ard Fhearta?’ Fidelma asked quietly.

  Slébéne shook his mane of hair.

  ‘No word has come to me.’

  ‘I was not clear from our conversation yesterday how far you had looked for them.’

  ‘I have asked my people to spread the word among the eastern settlements.’ Apparently Slébéne did not notice her disapproving look.

  ‘When you heard word of Abbess Faife’s death and the disappearance of her company, I might have expected you to send your warriors in search of them.’

  Slébéne looked genuinely surprised.

  ‘If the marauders along the border have abducted them, it would serve little purpose to send my warriors up into the mountains to be cut down.’

  Conrí sniffed in his displeasure.

  ‘Yet you do not mind if we set out alone?’

  The chief smiled a little viciously.

  ‘You are warlord of the Uí Fidgente and have two of your warriors with you. Those who once marauded my eastern borders were supposedly of the Uí Fidgente. I am reminded that Uaman was a prince of your people. I presume then that you would surely be safe enough.’

  Conrí was on his feet, a hand clapped to his side, before Fidelma could stay him. Had it not been a rule that no warrior could sit at meals without leaving his weapons outside, a blade might have been drawn and worse.

  Slébéne was sitting back chuckling cynically at his reaction.

  Fidelma stood up and caught Conrí’s arm.

  ‘I think we have had enough of your humour, Slébéne. The Abbess Faife was of the Uí Fidgente. Moreover, she was aunt to Conrí. The fact did not protect her.’

  It was obvious that the look of remorse that Slébéne assumed was false. ‘Then I am contrite indeed. I never thought of her as Uí Fidgente. She was so devoted to Cashel. Yet the abbess was possessed of a great soul.’

  Fidelma moved quickly before Conrí took this as a new insult.

  ‘A bad excuse is better than none,’ she whispered quickly, looking meaningfully at the warlord.

  Conrí hesitated and then nodded.

  ‘We should be on our way, lady, and make the best of the day for travelling,’ he said heavily.

  ‘You are right, Conrí,’ she said.

  Conrí was immediately out of the door pretending to see to his men and organise their horses to avoid the farewell.

  Eadulf was embarrassed by the exchange of hostility and he also rose, brushing the crumbs from his clothes.

  ‘You are welcome to return any time, Fidelma of Cashel.’ Slébéne smiled, emphasising the word ‘you’. ‘Then we shall feast and speak of great battles and worthy enterprises. My bard will sing again the great forsundud of the kings of the race of Eibhear and this time add a verse praising your adventures.’

  ‘Let us pray that the verse will speak of the success of the current adventure, Slébéne,’ Fidelma replied solemnly.

  ‘May success be at the end of your road, Fidelma of Cashel,’ the chief intoned equally solemnly.

  A little while later, with Conrí’s two warriors bringing up the rear, Fidelma, Eadulf and Conrí left the fortress of Daingean and took the road that ran eastward along the peninsula with the mountains rising to their left and the sea at some little distance to their right. They rode in a brooding silence for a long while before Conrí burst out in anger.

  ‘That man! He has been provoking me ever since we arrived.’ Fidelma agreed.

  ‘Mugrón told me of his perverse humour,’ she said. ‘Maybe you cannot teach an old dog new tricks or an old man the etiquette of a new age.’

  ‘I think this Slébéne is a man of anger and arrogance. There is something about him I distrust,’ Conrí said.

  ‘I agree with Conrí,’ Eadulf added.

  Fidelma smiled and shook her head.

  ‘Perhaps you are both taking his sense of humour too seriously. Perhaps he is a straight and honest man.’

  ‘Is it not said that a straight sapling may have a crooked root?’ pointed out Eadulf.

  It was not often that Eadulf made up his mind so quickly to dislike someone.

  ‘You must have something on your mind, Eadulf,’ Conrí observed.

  ‘I noticed that he was not perturbed by our report of the warship in his waters and the possible fate of the hermits on that island. I will wager that when we ask, we shall discover that no vessel will have been sent by him to inquire as to the safety of the community,’ he said.

  They received this in thoughtful silence.

  ‘There is another thing,’ added Eadulf, ‘and I think you both noticed it.’

  ‘Which is?’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘How he was not really concerned about the murder of Abbess Faife or the disappearance of her companions. He made no search for the missing religieuse. Further, he is prepared to let us ride eastward alone, not even offering warriors to escort us; ride east into an area that he claims is still subject to raids.’

  Conrí was grim-faced.

  ‘Once more, I agree with Brother Eadulf. For a chieftain of this land, his behaviour is less than gracious. Courtesy never undermined a chieftain’s power but he has none. I think we should keep a careful watch.’

  Fidelma was reflective for a moment.

  ‘These observations are true,’ she finally said. ‘But having made them, is there something we can deduce from them?’

  Eadulf and Conrí exchanged a glance.

  ‘I am not sure that I understand,’ Eadulf ventured.

  ‘Why would Slébéne behave in such a manner?’

  ‘Because he knows more than we think he does.’

  ‘Knows more about what?’

  ‘About whatever it was that happened during the abduction of the women,’ suggested Conrí. ‘Perhaps there is more in the murder of my aunt and the disappearance of her companions than we can guess at.’

  Fidelma grimaced ruefully.

  ‘Suspicion is one thing. But we know nothing and so can guess at nothing. The intention of this journey is to find facts so that we may discover the truth. To speculate on the motives of another, even when one is witness to bizarre behaviour, is not profitable, as I am always telling Eadulf.’

  ‘Well, I am happy that we have put Daingean behind us,’ Conrí said firmly. ‘I shall instruct my men to keep a careful watch on our backs.’ He hesitated. ‘I have not thanked you, lady, for what you did at the feasting last night.’

  Fidelma smiled.

  ‘I did nothin
g but demand the curath-mir by right of lineage.’

  ‘I realise that Slébéne was deliberately challenging me. He wanted to pick a fight with me. I cannot believe that it was simply because he hates all Uí Fidgente. There was some other reason, of that I am sure, but what it was …’ He ended with a shrug.

  They fell silent again as they rode on.

  The whisper of the sea nearby was practically the only sound that broke the white snowscape through which they journeyed. Now and then came the harsh cry of birds and then the howl of a lonely wolf, causing cold fingers to touch at their backbones. But there was no sign of anyone following from Daingean or, indeed, anyone else on the road.

  They journeyed leisurely, stopping at midday to prepare a hot broth, and they eventually halted just before nightfall at a coirceogach, one of the ancient deserted stone cabins that littered the mountainsides in this part of the world. With a fire lit, it was warm in these small dwellings. One of the two warriors took charge of the horses to ensure they were fed and watered, and made as warm and comfortable as possible. Everyone took turns in keeping watch through the night, but nothing untoward happened. There were no surprises and no signs of anyone with aggressive intent.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was nearly noon on the next day when they came within sight of the place that Eadulf had thought he would never see again, nor wished to. It was a spot that he remembered too well. For some time, as they had journeyed along the coastal road heading eastwards, the low-lying island of Uaman had been resolving from a dim outline to become sharp and distinct. So clear was it now that Eadulf could see the blackened walls of what had been the circular fortress where a few months ago he had been imprisoned. It was low tide when they approached the deceptive-looking stretch of sand dunes that linked the island to the mainland. The solid-looking sand did not deceive Eadulf. He knew that not only did it contain dangerous quicksand, but when the tide came in it would often bring a destructive wave two metres high that would catch the unwary and wash them to destruction. He had seen Uaman the Leper die that way, sucked into the quicksand and struggling as the wave engulfed him. Even now Eadulf shivered at the memory.

  It was the warrior, Socht, who suddenly called out.

  ‘Look, lord Conrí, down at the shoreline!’

  They all followed the line of his extended hand.

  There seemed to be a large amount of flotsam and jetsam along the shoreline, and pieces of timber, the unmistakable wreckage of a broken ship.

  ‘It is as Mugrón told us,’ exclaimed Eadulf.

  ‘This is the wreckage we saw when we came to collect the body of Abbess Faife,’ Conrí confirmed.

  ‘But, lord,’ interrupted Socht, ‘there are still bodies there. No one has been here to give them proper burial.’

  It was true. Several decomposing bodies seemed caught up in the wreckage that lined the sandbank near the shore.

  ‘Should we recover them, lord?’ demanded the warrior.

  ‘Do not!’ snapped Eadulf harshly as the man began to urge his horse towards the shoreline and the treacherous sands.

  They turned to look at him in curiosity.

  ‘I know this place,’ Eadulf said simply. ‘It is unsafe. There are quicksands there. Apart from that, even in these cold winter months, the rotting corpses will carry disease. Let us keep a reasonable distance.’

  They sat on their horses viewing the scene.

  ‘We agreed before that a ship was driven on to the rocky shore further out on the island,’ Conrí observed. ‘Those poor men must be part of the unfortunate crew who were drowned.’

  Fidelma was peering round.

  ‘And where was Abbess Faife’s body found in relationship to this place?’ Conrí pointed immediately.

  ‘See there! A short distance along the road and slightly up the mountainside.’

  She could see the dim outline of the stone coirceogach.

  ‘I wonder whether there was any connection between the two events – the shipwreck and the abduction?’ she mused almost to herself.

  ‘What connection could there be, lady?’

  ‘I am wondering why no one has cleared the wreckage and the bodies. Eadulf reported a village nearby and the wreck must have been noticed.’ She frowned. ‘Eadulf, do you think you can remember your way across the sands to this island? I think we should make an attempt to search it, especially those blackened ruins.’

  Eadulf was reluctant.

  ‘That was Uaman’s Tower. He is dead. What are you hoping to find there?’ he demanded.

  She smiled patiently.

  ‘It would be good if we found the missing companions of Abbess Faife for a start,’ she said with soft irony.

  Eadulf coloured a little.

  ‘It’s best if we leave our horses among those trees there.’ He had spotted the very place where Basil Nestorios and Gormán had camped on the night of the escape from Uaman’s fortress. ‘It will keep them out of the wind.’

  They tethered their mounts where Eadulf suggested so that the horses had movement and were within reach of fodder. Then Eadulf led the way down to the bank, searching his memory for the path across the shifting sands to the island. They could see that the gates of the grim round fortress still hung open and were blackened where they had been burnt. Even though he knew that Uaman the Leper was dead, and the fortress deserted, Eadulf found the grey stone tower with its circular walls as dark and menacing as ever. Everywhere were traces of the conflagration that had enveloped it, yet the walls were still high, encompassing the central tower itself. It still exuded that atmosphere of threatening evil.

  The tide would not be at its flood until early evening. The sandbanks looked firm enough but he knew their treachery. Crabs scuttled about, following the waters, taking refuge in little pools, and here and there a sea bass or pollock had been caught unawares in these pools, splashing in search of its vanishing environment.

  ‘Follow me,’ he instructed the others, adding, ‘and when I say “follow” I mean follow closely in my footsteps.’

  He climbed down from the bank on to the sand, which sank a little under his weight, water running over his feet. Then he began to move forward, traversing the sandy link to the rocky edge of the island proper and making his way up some stone-flagged steps to the grassy knoll on which the Tower of Uaman rose.

  As they had seen, the great oak gates, reinforced by iron, hung open, one at an odd angle. There were some skeletons at the gate. They had been Uaman’s warriors, cut down by Gormán, their flesh picked clean by the scavenging birds that circled this shoreline. Eadulf had a curious feeling of satisfaction when he saw Conrí and his two warriors loose and remove their swords from their sheaths and peer nervously around. At least he was not the only one who nursed a strange fear of this place.

  They passed through the gates into the main courtyard.

  ‘Let us search quickly and depart,’ muttered Conrí, glancing uneasily about him.

  Fidelma smiled softly, understanding his feelings but not, apparently, sharing them.

  ‘Eadulf, where is the best place to start looking?’ she asked.

  Eadulf cleared his throat nervously.

  ‘There is a door through there that leads to the cells where Basil Nestorios and I were held. It also gives access to Uaman’s chambers.’

  ‘Take me there. Conrí, you and your men can search these outbuildings.’ She turned and made for the door that Eadulf had indicated without waiting for an acknowledgement.

  The living chambers of the fortress were certainly deserted and had been ransacked of furniture. They must have been picked bare of goods when the local villagers, long dominated by Uaman, had attacked the place. It was not long before they all met up again in the courtyard, certain now there was no one else in the ruined fortress. However, Conrí was standing with some excitement showing on his face.

  ‘Come and look at this, lady,’ he invited, waving his sword towards the doors of what appeared to be storerooms. ‘What do you make
of this?’

  The storerooms seemed full of cases and barrels.

  Fidelma went to them and examined them quickly.

  ‘These cases have been immersed in the sea,’ she observed. ‘It looks as though someone has rescued them from the remains of the shipwreck.’ Fidelma noticed the watermarks on the boxes and barrels. ‘Mostly oil and wine from Gaul, but look at these.’

  They came forward and peered over her shoulder. One of the boxes had been prised open.

  ‘Gold!’ exclaimed Eadulf.

  ‘Gold, indeed, and not our native gold because it is too pale,’ added Conrí. ‘Our gold has a reddish tinge to it.’

  Fidelma stood up and regarded the stored goods, head on one side. ‘Come,’ she finally said. ‘Let us go outside and see if there is anything else this island can reveal.’

  They left the circular fortress, walking along the grassy knoll. The low tide revealed long stretches of sandy pebbled beaches but at the southern end there were rocks that stretched out under the water. They had no difficulty in spotting the rotting timbers of the main bulk of a wreck still protruding from the water. It was clearly a merchantman but it had been dashed so hard against the rocks that its masts were broken and timbers smashed. Only its stern seemed intact, and even that was fast decaying in the rough winter seas.

  Then the smell caught at their nostrils. Among the prickly bushes that lined the beaches lay more decomposing bodies. They had been there for some time and the carrion had been feasting. Trying to control her look of distaste, Fidelma approached one of them. Her eyes took in the remnants of clothing.

  ‘Seamen, foreign seamen,’ she muttered. ‘I have seen that style of clothing somewhere.’

  It was Eadulf who supplied the answer.

  ‘When I was returning from Rome, I took passage on a Gaulish merchant ship, and they wore a similar style of clothing.’

  ‘Gaulish? Mugrón identified the boot that was found as that of a Gaulish seaman. That makes sense.’

  ‘Those poor wretches, drowning so near to land,’ muttered Conrí.