‘We managed to find her, but now we need a place where she can be nursed,’ Eadulf panted.
‘Follow me,’ replied the smith, catching the urgency in his voice. ‘My cabin is behind the forge. You can bring her there. Have no fear – I live alone. My poor wife died last year.’
They carried Fidelma through the forge and across a small yard area into the stone cabin beyond. There was a bed in a curtained-off area inside the cabin and it was to this that the smith conducted them.
‘First we need some stimulant,’ Eadulf said.
‘I have some strong corma,’ offered Gobán.
Eadulf asked the man to fetch it. As he poured a little down Fidelma’s throat, she began to cough and tried to push it away.
‘Being gagged for so long has probably made her throat very sore,’ Eadulf fretted. ‘Where is my bag?’
Gobán pointed to a corner of the cabin. ‘I turned your horses loose in the pasture beyond, but brought your bags inside where they would be safe from prying eyes.’
Eadulf rose and picked up the lés, the small medical bag which he always carried, and peered through its contents, sighing in exasperation.
‘What is it?’ asked Gormán.
‘I was looking for something to help ease the soreness of her throat and act as a tonic.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’ asked the smith.
‘Not unless you have some wild angelica,’ replied Eadulf, automatically naming the flower in his own language.
Gobán stared blankly at him.
Eadulf thought for a moment: ‘Gallfheabhrán.’ He dredged the name from his memory.
‘Ah, but there is some that grows not far from here by the grass on the riverbank. I will go and get some. Is that all?’
‘That will be fine.’
As he left, Eadulf went to Fidelma’s side and gave her another sip of corma. Again she struggled and coughed, but this time opened her eyes and seemed to become aware of her surroundings. There was a moment of panic and then she saw Eadulf. She tried to speak but could not manage more than a rasping sound.
‘It’s all right,’ Eadulf smiled soothingly. ‘You are safe. You are with me and Gormán here.’
She blinked her eyes in acknowledgement and gave a weak smile. Then she tried to speak again.
‘Plenty of time to speak when you are feeling better,’ admonished Eadulf. ‘Just be assured that you are safe for the moment. You are in the house of a friend in Durlus Éile. Safe with Gormán and myself.’
This time she managed a nod.
‘As soon as our friend comes back with a particular plant, I shall mix a potion for you that will do you good. After that, you must rest.’
A moment or so later, Gobán appeared with a bunch of the wild angelica. Gormán, at Eadulf’s instruction, had already started to boil water over the fire that heated the cabin. Eadulf removed the leaves of the plant and then chopped the stem and put both together in the hot water to make the infusion. Gobán offered some honey as he also kept bees, and so Eadulf added it to the mixture before allowing it to rest and cool. Then he washed and cleaned the roots of the plant.
‘You can chew these, they can be very refreshing,’ he explained to his companions when he put them in a small pile.
When the tonic was cool enough, he took it to Fidelma’s side and supported her head and shoulders while she sipped a sufficient quantity to satisfy him. Then he told her to rest.
While he had been doing this, Gobán had prepared a meal for them of cold meats, bread and cheese, washed down with some ale which, he boasted, he had brewed himself. They ate the meal seated in front of the fire. It was devoured mainly in silence except for once, when Gobán glanced at the recumbent form of Fidelma on the bed and asked Eadulf: ‘Will she be all right?’
‘I have every hope that she will,’ Eadulf replied fervently. ‘She has had quite a shock. She nearly suffocated with a gag stuffed into her mouth and confined in a sack. But I have found no external injuries apart from where the bonds cut into her wrists and ankles. So once we have her breathing normally, that will be good. She needs only to know that she is safe and without restriction. She should be well in a little while.’
Gobán arose after the meal and told them that he must close the forge while they could make themselves as comfortable as possible for the night. After he left, Eadulf said quietly, ‘Do you think we shall be safe here?’
‘Gobán did say that Fidelma had saved some relative of his and he wanted to be of service,’ Gormán reminded him.
‘I was not thinking of Gobán specifically. But someone will eventually see the broken lock on the storehouse and find the body of the ferryman’s son inside. If they are just people who noticed the storehouse is opened, they will raise the alarm. If they are the abductors, who might return to dispose of the bodies, then they will start looking for Fidelma. We should have found out who owns those barns. That leper we met will sell his soul for a handful of food. He could tell anyone we were interested in the barns.’
‘All is possible,’ admitted Gormán. ‘But I cannot think that we will find a better shelter than this for the time being.’
‘You are doubtless right,’ Eadulf replied. ‘I am a little nervous, but we have priorities to attend to. Fidelma’s recovery must come first.’
After a little while, they heard Gobán returning.
‘How is she?’ he asked, gazing at Fidelma.
‘You are very anxious about her,’ observed Eadulf.
‘I have already told you that I am in her debt, for she defended my sister when she was unjustly charged.’
‘When was that?’
‘It was many years ago.’
‘Tell me about it,’ invited Eadulf.
‘My sister was trained in the healing arts, like you have been, and was a member of the community in Cill Dara. Sister Fidelma was then a member of that community as well. There were some deaths from the administration of hemlock, and suspicion turned on my sister, Poitigéir, because she knew the properties of poisons. But Fidelma used her skill to identify the real culprit and thus exonerated my sister. For that I owe Fidelma much. That is why I helped you today and why I am anxious for her health.’
Eadulf felt embarrassed at questioning the sincerity of the man. ‘I apologise for questioning you, my friend. I should have taken your word in the first place. But there are many mysteries here and we are not sure in whom we can put our trust.’
‘I have said that I owe a debt to Fidelma and will be loyal to you so long as I am not asked to be disloyal to my own people.’
‘We trust that you will never be confronted by that choice. Tell us, do you know who owns the three barns on the far side of the river opposite the township quays?’ Gormán asked.
‘Of course,’ Gobán replied at once. ‘This is not so big a place that we do not know who owns what.’
‘So who do they belong to?’
‘Why, to the Lady Gelgéis.’
Eadulf glanced at Gormán, who seemed about to say something but then closed his mouth. However, Gobán saw the gesture and his eyes narrowed.
‘Why do you ask about those barns?’
Eadulf decided there was nothing to lose by being honest.
‘Because that is where we found the Lady Fidelma, tied up and gagged. Had we not found her and rescued her, she would surely have died.’ Ignoring the shocked look on the face of the smith, Eadulf went on: ‘There is still a dead body in the storehouse from which we released Fidelma. It is the body of Enán, the son of a ferryman, who was persuaded to act in place of one of the injured oarsmen in the abductor’s boat. I suspect he was killed simply to prevent him identifying the abductors.’
‘Perhaps a choice has come to confront you sooner than we thought,’ observed Gormán dryly.
‘The sheds have not been used during the last summer,’ Gobán said, ignoring the implication. ‘If the Lady Fidelma was abducted by these people, why was she left there for dead? Would that not be the opposite
of what abduction is meant to achieve?’
‘There are many mysteries that must be resolved,’ Eadulf replied. ‘Have you ever heard of a young poet called Torna?’
‘The only Torna I know of was the famous Torna Eigeas who was bard to Niall of the Nine Hostages. He lived centuries ago.’
‘This young man said he was also a bard.’
Gobán shook his head. ‘I know of no other bard by that name.’
‘Our Torna was certainly alive yesterday. He might even have been the intended victim of the abduction all along; maybe the Lady Fidelma tried to interfere and was taken, along with the victim.’
‘I do not understand.’
Eadulf grinned sadly. ‘We have little understanding ourselves. Tell us: what does this Lady Gelgéis use the storehouses for?’
‘As I have said, they are mainly disused now. It is only when there is an excess of tribute coming in from the outlying clans who acknowledge her authority,’ replied the smith. ‘And when there has been a particularly good harvest.’
‘So someone might have known that these storehouses were unused?’
Gobán hesitated and Gormán interpreted the pause: ‘You are thinking that the storehouses are in full sight of the quays. If they were used in daylight it would have to be noticed and reported to the Lady Gelgéis.’
Gobán shrugged helplessly as he pondered the matter.
‘What do you know of a leper who begs along the quays?’ Eadulf suddenly asked, changing the subject.
‘An old man with scarcely the use of his legs?’ asked Gobán, and when Eadulf nodded confirmation he went on: ‘That is Leathlobhair, or so we call him.’
‘Half-leper?’ Eadulf translated the name literally.
‘Indeed. He has begged along the quayside ever since I can remember. I think he has a cabin in the rough glen just west of the township. Why do you ask about him?’
‘Because it was Leathlobhair who saw Fidelma being taken into the storehouse from the river and alerted us to the fact.’
‘In return for …?’ The smith smiled cynically.
‘For food.’
‘He would not be so altruistic as to provide information for nothing. However, neither would he lie. And so this was how you came to find the Lady Fidelma?’
‘It was.’
‘And did Leathlobhair see where the men who placed her there went after they had left?’
‘He said they got back into their boat and let the current take it southwards.’
The smith pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘That would take them away from the township and the fortress. So it is clear they were not of the people of Durlus nor acting for Gelgéis, otherwise they would have gone into the town or up to the fortress.’
‘At the moment, nothing is clear to me,’ Eadulf sighed. ‘We must wait for Fidelma to recover her senses and see if she can enlighten us.’
He rose and went across to the bed where Fidelma was lying. She was now breathing normally, and seemed in a deep, natural sleep.
‘That is good,’ he whispered in satisfaction. ‘Sleep can be a great healer.’
There was but one bed in the smith’s cabin, but he had sheepskin rugs to act as mattresses and these he spread on the floor before the fire and, with their woollen cloaks as blankets, the men stretched themselves out to get what rest they could. It was a long time before Eadulf could allow slumber to overtake him. He heard the rising snore of the smith and the deep breathing of Gormán long before he too fell asleep. Even then he dreamed of fast-flowing rivers, of Fidelma drowning, and shadowy figures descending on him with a knife. And then …
Then he was aware of the crackle of the fire and movement.
He blinked and sat up with a sleepy yawn. It was daylight and Gobán the smith was cooking something over the fire. Eadulf peered round for Gormán, but the warrior’s place was empty. Then he looked at the bed. Fidelma was gone. He was on his feet in a moment, gazing around. Sleep had vanished from his mind.
‘Where is—?’ he began.
The door of the cabin suddenly opened and Fidelma stood there, wet-haired, with a linen cloth and her comb bag in her hands and a smile on her features.
‘Where have you been?’ Eadulf rapped out.
‘Not quite the greeting I expected,’ she replied primly. ‘Gobán has a small spring at the back of the cabin where one can wash and recover a sense of being human. Thankfully, you recovered my marsupium, Eadulf, and hence I was able to find my comb bag.’ Then her features broke into a smile, and she put down her things and turned to embrace him. Gobán bent to his cooking, pretending not to notice them as they kissed. ‘For pursuing the abductors and saving my life, thank you is not an adequate phrase,’ she whispered.
Eadulf felt a little foolish at his anxiety. ‘I was just worried. How are you feeling?’
‘Famished. Gobán here is preparing a meal so that I can break my fast – which fast I feel has lasted a lifetime. The soreness has gone from my throat. My lungs are properly full of air, and whatever you gave me has stimulated me into life again.’
‘Where is Gormán?’ he then asked nervously, changing the subject.
‘I saw him checking the horses,’ Fidelma replied, seating herself at the wooden table.
Eadulf picked up the sheepskin rugs, rolled them to one side and joined her.
‘We have much to ask you,’ he told her.
‘As I, in turn, have much to ask you. But it can wait until Gormán joins us and we can indulge our appetites over Gobán’s meal. He has told me roughly how you came here. It is a miracle that you were guided to this forge of all places. A heaven-sent coincidence that I knew his sister, Sister Poitigéir at Cill Dara, and was able to render her a service.’
The door opened and Gormán entered. He paused to sniff the aromas from Gobán’s cooking appreciatively. Breakfast was usually a light meal, for the principal meal of the day was the prainn, which was taken in the evening. Usually, at midday the eter-shod, or middle meal, was also a light meal. But this morning, in view of Fidelma’s hunger, Gobán was basting trout with honey on an indeoin or gridiron. There was fresh bread, for apparently Gobán had an arrangement with a neighbour to bring him bread while, in exchange, she could call on his services as a smith. There was also butter, plenty of honey, a dish of apples and hazel-nuts, and a pitcher of cold water from his spring or a jug of ale to drink.
At their enthusiastic comments, Gobán smiled deprecatingly. ‘After my wife departed this world, I had to maintain myself,’ he said, as he gave them wooden platters and indicated that they should help themselves. There were even basins of water provided, for the custom was to use a knife in the right hand and eat with the fingers of the left hand, cleaning them in the water and drying them with a lámbrat or hand cloth.
Eadulf was not as hungry as the others and so took the opportunity to narrate what had happened to Gormán and himself since they awoke to find Fidelma and the young man, Torna, gone. Once more Fidelma regarded him with grateful eyes.
When he had finished, Fidelma had completed her meal and was sitting back sipping at a beaker of water.
‘Now it is time for your tale,’ prompted Eadulf softly.
‘There is little in the telling,’ she replied. ‘Little, that is, you have not guessed.’
‘Better that we hear it from your lips.’
Gormán nodded vigorously. ‘Indeed, lady. What has happened to you is a great outrage against the honour of the Eóghanacht. I am responsible to your brother, the King, for your welfare.’
Fidelma smiled briefly.
‘We were, as you recall, all asleep on the riverbank. I was disturbed by our horses. Aonbharr was fretful. I woke just in time to see the shadows of men behind you both as you slept. You, Eadulf, had begun to stir but things happened so quickly. The men hit you both on the head …’
Eadulf ruefully rubbed his head. ‘And a sharp blow it was. However, Gormán suffered the worst.’
At once Fidelma looked concerned. ‘I sh
ould have enquired about that sooner.’
‘It was nothing, lady,’ Gormán reassured her. ‘I’ve had a split skull before. Thanks to friend Eadulf’s skills, the abrasions have begun to heal and the throbbing of the hammers in my skull receded.’
‘Just as I would expect from one with his fine skills,’ she said gravely, a smile at the corner of her mouth.
‘What did you do then?’ demanded Eadulf uncomfortably.
‘I sprang to my feet. It was still dark but the moon was up so I could see the attackers, although I could not distinguish their features clearly. I heard a noise behind me, swung round and saw Torna fighting with another man, but a fourth was coming towards me. As you know, I am trained in the troid-sciathagid …’
The Battle through Defence was an old form of unarmed combat which it was said had first been taught by the Druids in the days before the New Faith had come to the land. However, although many of the practices of the Old Religion had been forbidden, this technique was taught to travelling religious as a means of defending themselves against robbers without resorting to the use of weapons and breaking their religious vows not to take a life.
‘And what happened?’
‘I let the man come at me and used the momentum of his attack to send him flying into the man who had knocked you unconscious. I heard him scream. Later I realised my attacker had knocked into the man who held a knife and this had cut his hand.’
‘So that’s why they needed another rower when they reached the ferryman’s house,’ muttered Gormán.
‘Go on,’ Eadulf urged, ignoring the comment.
‘I heard a cry from behind me; turned and saw Torna falling to the ground. His attacker was holding a club. I made ready to face the man. Then I must have been hit on the head as well. Everything thereafter seems to have passed in a semi-waking dream. I know I was bound and that awful gag placed in my mouth. There were snatches of conversation.’
‘Such as?’
‘Torna seemed to have recovered and was telling them to leave me alone as I was not his companion.’
Eadulf looked up quickly. ‘Not his companion?’
‘I know that they laughed at him. Someone else replied that they were paid to capture him and his woman.’
23- The Seventh Trumpet Page 14
