She looked at him blankly for a moment before she realised that she had spoken aloud and he was answering.
‘How are we going to achieve it?’ she echoed. After a moment’s thought she said firmly: ‘Grella was last seen riding in this direction from Eochaill with this cousin, Glaisne. If we find him, then we shall find her.’
‘What we need,’ Eadulf suggested, ‘is someone who knows this territory.’
‘Áed said that Glaisne had a brother who had a community somewhere near here,’ she said.
‘We should have kept a more careful watch on that bow-maker,’ Enda sighed.
‘That does not help resolve the question now,’ Fidelma replied. ‘When you looked at the tracks in the abbey complex, how clear were they?’
‘Fairly clear so far as the muddy ground allowed,’ Enda replied. ‘We followed them to the stream here.’
‘Could we follow them further?’
‘I am not sure how far we could, but it is worth trying. But they are old and we do not know if they were made before or after Grella was in Eochaill.’
Fidelma stood up abruptly. ‘Then we will follow and see if they initially went there. Wherever they went, we will have to follow and try to pick up a newer trail from there. With these winter days so short, we should not delay. Let us see how far we can get.’
From the entrance to the grim valley, the woods grew thicker but the track followed the winding stream. Enda began to lead them eastwards through the valley. The track was hardly more than a tuagróta, a farm track, fairly narrow and muddy because it was not maintained, and Eadulf wondered how Grella’s ornate coach had managed to negotiate it in the first place. He called to Fidelma, riding just ahead and behind Enda.
‘Have you noticed how small this track is?’
Fidelma had already realised the point he was going to make and could not help disappointing him.
‘You think it is strange that Grella’s coach could have come along it? The way is too difficult.’
‘More than that,’ he replied. ‘If that girl, Cairenn, told you correctly, then she as well as Grella must have had knowledge of the existence of this route.’
‘How so?’ Fidelma asked.
‘You said that she told you that they came to the mouth of this valley, that Grella asked her to go on to Finnbarr’s Abbey to hear what Abbot Nessán had to say and then return to meet her here. They had brought a spare horse with them and so Cairenn took it and rode off, leaving Grella to go to the abbey to meet her relative – Antrí. So Grella knew the existence of this obscure trackway, as did Cairenn. How would that be? They had not been in this territory for some years, living in Tara. I also thought it odd that she also knew about that village, Baile an Stratha, as a place to meet.’
‘A good thought,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘However, there could be an explanation. People do retain memories from younger days. It is conceivable that she even visited this place before she left for Tara.’
‘Anything is conceivable, I suppose,’ muttered Eadulf, somewhat hurt that his speculations had been so easily explained away.
‘The point that I think needs explanation,’ Fidelma was continuing, ‘is why the wife of the High King came to this remote corner at all. Of all the places she could have chosen, why here? If she meant to question Nessán at Finnbarr’s Abbey, why remain here? Why not stay closer to Nessán’s abbey?’
They were suddenly aware that Enda had halted his horse and was searching the ground around him. He turned with a disappointed expression on his features.
‘The trail ends here, lady,’ he called. ‘They must have taken themselves into the stream.’
‘Not crossed it?’ Fidelma asked.
‘There is no sign they left it. So they probably used it to disguise their tracks. The riding is easy on the bank, so it was not for easy progress. We might follow the stream, because they would have to eventually emerge from it somewhere along its route.’
‘Why would they feel the necessity to disguise their tracks?’ asked Eadulf. ‘Who would be pursuing them? They would certainly not expect anyone like us to follow them.’
Enda turned and began guiding his horse into midstream. The waters were shallow and came only above the horses’ fetlocks. However, any indentations in the soft muddy bottom would have been washed away by the flow of the waters and there was no hope of tracking previous movement.
They moved slowly on, eyes moving from side to side to try to spot any place where the riders had felt it safe to emerge.
Suddenly Enda halted and pointed wordlessly. Just ahead, on the northern side of the stream, was a shallow, muddy bank. Hoofmarks could clearly be seen emerging from the water. Some of them had barely dried, showing a recent passage.
‘Why leave the stream here?’ questioned Eadulf, looking around. ‘There is nowhere to go except to those caves. That cliff-like hill blocks any path in that direction and the close-growing trees and bushes form a horseshoe which would prevent movement either side. To move from here, you would have to go back into the stream.’
It was true that beyond the scrub and denuded willows the hill rose very steeply, and some way up they could see several cave entrances. But there seemed to be no tracks going in that direction. It was too steep.
‘But as you can see for yourself, friend Eadulf,’ replied Enda quietly, ‘the tracks of the animal leave here.’
‘You speak in the singular?’ Fidelma picked on the syntax.
‘Because only one animal left the stream at this point. Look at the tracks.’ Enda was suddenly still and lowered his voice. ‘I think we are being observed, lady. There is movement in those trees along there.’
They sat still on their horses, peering cautiously forward into the undergrowth and the shadows of the copse of willows. There was, indeed, movement and now they could hear the snap of dead branches breaking. Obviously, their observer was not unduly concerned about hiding his presence.
With some suddenness, the ‘observer’ appeared from the bushes and stood on the bank of the stream, looking at them with mournful eyes.
‘It’s an ass!’ Enda cried, letting out a loud laugh.
It was then they noticed that the grey-coated ass was saddled. At once Enda had drawn his sword and was peering round warily. But there was nothing but winter silence in the woods around them. He moved his horse forward to the bank, keeping watchful eyes on the undergrowth. Nothing stirred. He glanced back at Fidelma and Eadulf with a motion of his hand, indicating they should remain silent and be vigilant. Then he swung off his horse and went to the patiently waiting ass. He stroked its muzzle with one hand, whispering softly to it in order to reassure it. Then he made a quick examination of it. He must have seen something, for Fidelma and Eadulf saw him lean forward and place his hand on the saddle, then look at his hand. They heard him stifle an exclamation.
He turned back to them. ‘I think the rider must be injured or dead,’ he said quietly. ‘There is blood on the saddle.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
They all dismounted and crowded around the patient ass to examine the bloodstains. There seemed nothing on the beast to give a clue as to whom its rider had been. The blood on the saddle was fairly fresh.
‘That means the rider can’t have gone far,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘There must be signs nearby.’
Fidelma agreed to make a search of the undergrowth. The search did not take them very long. They found a body almost immediately, barely hidden in the undergrowth. They recognised him at once, though his clothes were dishevelled, torn and dirty as well as blood stained.
‘It’s the bow-maker,’ Enda said, with a long sigh.
There was no need to ask how the man had met his end. The crossbow bolt was still embedded in his chest, the blood saturating the clothing around it. There was also a heavy welt that had broken the skin and caused some bleeding across the forehead.
They stared at the body of Áed Caille for a while in silence.
It was Enda who noticed that there was
something clutched in the dead man’s hand. It was a piece of torn cloth, and something else. Eadulf bent down and began to ease it out of Áed’s grasp.
‘He has not long been dead,’ he observed. ‘The hands have not stiffened in death and the blood is not entirely dried.’
He removed the item and held it up. ‘It looks like a piece of gold.’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘It’s a seal … a gold seal,’ she said.
Eadulf frowned. ‘How do you know? You have barely looked at it.’
For an answer, Fidelma reached in her comb bag and brought out the seal she had taken from their would-be assassin, with the replica of a woman holding a solar wheel on her right shoulder. She held them both for her companions’ inspection.
Enda sighed. ‘What does it mean? Is it a cult of some sort?’
Fidelma stared at him for a moment and then her features broke into a smile.
‘A symbol of a group – yes. I believe that you may well have hit upon it. It is something to do with this matter. The seals are usually carried by couriers as identification. But identification of what? We were not ambushed by those two men at Dubh Glas abbey by mistake. I think Áed was similarly targeted.’
‘But why?’
‘Let us consider the “how” first. He was obviously shot while seated on his ass, probably just as he emerged from the stream. He fell and probably crawled to the cover of those bushes before he died. Look!’
She moved forward and picked up a second bolt, almost hidden by the foliage.
‘The killer must have tried to make sure by releasing a second bolt from his crossbow but missed. Then the killer or an accomplice came forward to check whether Áed was dead. He bent down and Áed, even dying, managed to grasp the man. He tore away that piece of cloth, perhaps part of a firbolg or purse, and with it came the seal. Then Áed was struck across the forehead and was probably dead moments later.’
Enda was staring at the corpse thoughtfully. ‘Who would have killed the bow-maker and left the gold seal behind?’
‘The killer probably did not realise the seal had come away with the torn cloth. We’d better have another look around.’
‘You mean the killer might still be nearby?’ Eadulf asked.
‘And if he is not, we might find the spot where he fired from and see if we can pick up any tracks.’
‘We must be on our guard,’ Enda reminded them, glancing around. ‘The hill protects us like a horse shoe. So the shot could only have come from across the stream.’
Eadulf looked down at the corpse. He suddenly shook his head, glancing up at the cliff. ‘You are wrong. If Áed was emerging from the stream, he would be facing forward. The bolt hit him in the chest so it had to have been fired from the hill above us. See the way the bolt protrudes at an angle? It was not fired from a point below or level. Remember, Áed was sitting on the ass. We need to look for a point above.’
Fidelma stared up at the hill that rose from the trees and undergrowth. It was fairly bare terrain with only two black holes, like expressionless eyes, indicating caves in the hillside.
‘The caves are high enough. But horses could not reach them. So whoever killed the bow-maker would have had to climb up there.’
‘If so, lady, we are easy targets,’ Enda said nervously.
‘If the killer was there and wanted to kill us, he would have done so before now,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘If he is there, I don’t think he has identified us as his enemy.’
‘What next then, lady?’ asked Enda. ‘Do we go on as before, go on following the stream? I would advise that we should not stop here to bury Áed’s corpse. If we stay longer, we will have to spend the night here.’
Fidelma was hesitant, and continued to gaze at the caves above.
‘We will go on,’ she decided. ‘I think the killer has already departed. If he has not, then he means us no immediate harm. We will go. Our first duty is press on and find out what happened to Grella … remember, the High King’s life depends on our resolution.’
‘Not to mention the life of the girl, Cairenn,’ Eadulf added. ‘She was honest with us, at least. She said that she would take the horses to Baile an Stratha and she did so; the horses were there with all our bags, and not even a gold piece was missing. And she waited for us as she said she would, until she was herself abducted.’
Fidelma’s expression was sombre. ‘I had not forgotten, Eadulf.’
They decided to leave the corpse of Áed as they had found it and remounted. But Eadulf took the reins of the ass and secured them to his saddle before they moved off once more along the route of the stream. This time Enda was more alert, his eyes seeking out any possible place for an ambush. They were not sure how far they had travelled before they noticed that the light was diminishing fast and the heavy grey winter clouds were thickening.
‘I suppose we should think about stopping soon and finding shelter.’ Fidelma sounded reluctant but it was no use going on until dark when they did not know the countryside.
‘We’re coming to a clearing ahead,’ Enda replied. ‘There seems to be a flat stony patch next to the stream, and some sort of rocky overhang; maybe it’s a cave. That would be ideal, or do you want to try to continue further before nightfall?’
Fidelma considered only for a moment before replying. ‘We’d better take this opportunity; we might never find another suitable place.’
They emerged from the stream onto a flat stony shore. It was remarkably similar to the previous place they had stopped as the hills followed a similar pattern along the path of the stream. This little inlet, too, was backed by a rocky rise with woodland on either side. It seemed quite sheltered and certainly out of the way of the winds. They had not yet dismounted when Enda raised a forefinger to his lips, indicating they should be silent. Then he was taking up his longbow with a slow cautiousness; he drew an arrow and strung it. They did not see what had caused his alarm, but he was not taking cover or making any sudden movements. He was aiming towards the stream and suddenly, with a hum, he loosed his arrow. Almost before it had left the bow he had sprung from his horse and was running, as if after its flight, with a drawn sword.
They turned to look after him, ready for any defensive action.
There was a strange cry and they saw Enda’s sword come up and swing down. They saw something long and brown thrashing in the water. Blood was spurting everywhere. They watched, mesmerised, as Enda slashed down with his weapon. The animal was some ninety centimetres in length with a tail almost as long. Its brown fur was contrasted by a white bib running from under the jaw to its chest. Enda turned triumphantly to them, holding the carcass by the fur of its neck.
‘This will last us a few days, at least,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘The meat of the doburchú is regarded as a great delicacy,’ he added – Eadulf was staring at the dead furry creature with an expression somewhere between distaste and sorrow.
Eadulf searched his memory for a translation of the term. He knew the name meant ‘water hound’ but what was the equivalent in his language? ‘You’ve killed an otter?’ he finally said, recognising the water mammal by the shape of its body and its webbed feet rather than the name.
Enda regarded his quarry with contentment. ‘That’s a fine pelt. The skin is highly prized, equal to that of the deer and fox.’
‘Are you sure it is edible?’ Eadulf demanded, not having eaten otter before, to his memory.
‘Of course,’ Fidelma confirmed. ‘As Enda said, it is regarded as a great dish among our people.’
‘Indeed, lady,’ Enda agreed. ‘I claim its liver.’
Fidelma, seeing Eadulf’s surprise, explained. ‘Hunters often claim the liver as a prize. I would have thought with your knowledge of the healing arts that you would have heard of the curative properties of an otter’s liver. It helps heal burns and scalds and other hurts.’
Seeing that Eadulf was unconvinced, she pursed her lips reprovingly. ‘You will not last long in the country unless you are prepared to e
at the food that the country provides you with.’
‘I understood otters were sacred creatures and regarded as such in terms of religious symbolism?’ Eadulf replied as he dismounted from his cob and led it with the ass to tether them to a nearby tree.
‘Not exactly,’ Fidelma corrected him. ‘The storytellers have it that the mother of the king and warrior Lugaid mac Con Roí, who killed the great champion Cúchullain, was impregnated by an otter. And, of course, Cuirithir, the lover of Liadain, was also known as Dobharachon, the son of the otter. To our ancients, being born from an otter’s seed was something special.’
Fidelma had also dismounted and was looking around the area. It was certainly suitable for a night’s encampment.
‘Will you collect some wood, Eadulf? I’ll see to the horses’ feed and Enda can light the fire. He is better at working up a blaze with flint and tinder than I am, and I admit that he is also better at skinning and preparing meat than I am.’
Enda smiled. ‘That is all right, lady. Leave such tasks to the experienced.’
The fire started to snap and crackle as the flames engulfed the dry wood. Enda stood back and admired his handiwork. Most warriors, during their training, were instructed on how to make a fire quickly. Each carried in their firbolg, or man-bag, flint, steel and kindle, the means to start what was known as ‘hand-fire’. Warriors would pride themselves on how quickly they could produce a fire when out on campaign, or a slúagad or ‘hosting’, as it was called. He had already skinned the otter with a deftness that impressed Eadulf. He placed the skin to dry and jointed the carcass, cutting it into manageable pieces, and removed the stomach as well as the offal, which he put to one side, separating the liver and kidneys. He selected some branches of willow and cut three pieces of suitable length, and made the ends pointed in preparation for cooking.
The sky was darkening now but, thankfully, the fire produced a good enough light and some warmth. As one who had travelled much, Fidelma always carried in her baggage at least two candles. Called innlis, the poorer sort were made with wicks of peeled rushes that had been dipped in meat grease, usually the natural fat of cattle or sheep. In more noble households, bees’ wax was used. Fidelma set these aside – she did not light them as the fire provided enough light.
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