Dancing With Demons

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘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.’

  Fidelma looked grim. ‘Of that I am aware, Ardgal. It is part of the reason that I have ridden from Tara with the intention of meeting with you.’

  Ardgal was once more surprised. Then he waved a hand to indicate the room.

  ‘This is not the ideal place for hospitality but it must suffice for the moment.’ He looked at the farmer’s sons. ‘See what you can offer the lady to make amends for this treatment.’

  Their faces flushed with embarrassment, the young men went to fulfil the task.

  Ardgal drew up a stool and sat down to face Fidelma with a concerned look.

  ‘Why are you seeking me?’ he asked.

  ‘That will surely be no surprise when it was your chief who assassinated Sechnussach,’ she said.

  Ardgal inclined his head contritely. ‘We are not all the same, lady. Dubh Duin was my cousin and my chief, it is true. A few years ago, we perceived some strange madness possessing him. He had always spoken of the old ways. We are a liberal people, believing in each to his own. We did not mind that he stood firm for the Old Faith and forsook the path of Christ. But when he became an advocate against the New Faith, then his beliefs began splitting the loyalties of our clan. He became a fanatic. In fact, while Dubh Duin was at Tara this last time, attending the Great Assembly, the derbhfine of our clan met and it was decided that he should be ousted under process of the law, and that I be installed as chief in his place.’

  ‘Why was this?’ demanded Fidelma, accepting a mug of cider from the farmer’s son, and sipping it gently for her throat was very dry.

  The farmer had returned, still muttering justifications, with Caol and Gormán. Ardgal took charge, ordering that a meal be prepared for the visitors while his men encamped in the barns outside. Then he turned back to her and repeated, ‘Why? Because of the behaviour that resulted in the deed he carried out.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘It is a tale that can be short in the telling but long in the recitation of its consequences.’

  ‘Tell it as you see fit.’

  Ardgal shrugged. ‘As I said, he had always preferred the Old Faith to the new. No harm in that, for there are many in this land who prefer to offer their prayers to the gods and goddesses who have served our people for thousands of years, rather than to what some consider as a strange god from the East. But Dubh Duin began to change from tolerance to fanaticism. He became obsessed with trying to force the Old Religion on everyone.’

  ‘And you?’

  Ardgal smiled briefly. ‘I am of the New Faith, lady. So are most of my people. But there were others in the clan who supported Dubh Duin. Most of them have now fled to the hills and forests since the assassination of the High King. When Irél came demanding hostages, we were able to provide him with some of Dubh Duin’s followers, and these are now incarcerated at Tara as surety for the clan’s good behaviour. That way, the innocent will not suffer.’

  ‘But there are these raiders, the dibergach, who have been active,’ Fidelma pointed out.

  Ardgal’s expression was serious. ‘Dubh Duin was not their leader. There are others more powerful and influential than he. And what they adhere to is a perverted form of the Old Religion. Our old gods and goddesses were not out for bloodlust. The Tuatha Dé Danaan were deities of light and goodness who defeated the sinister forces of evil before they ruled in this land. Of course, they had their human vices. They experienced all human passion but they loved life. These misguided fools have set up the Crom Cróich, an aberration.’

  ‘And yet,’ Fidelma put in, ‘this aberration seems to be attracting the allegiance of many.’

  Ardgal laughed shortly. ‘Allegiance? It is attracting the fear of many. Only fear sustains this new movement.’

  ‘Is this why the farmer feared us?’ intervened Caol, having recovered from his bruised dignity, a warrior bested by two farmer’s lads with hunting bows.

  ‘Yes,’ Ardgal said. ‘The raiders have killed too many people here. Every abbey and church within this area is coming under attack from them.’

  ‘Do they really expect to overturn the New Faith?’ Caol asked.

  ‘That is their intention.’

  ‘Dubh Duin’s slaughter of the High King was part of this?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Well, it has not worked,’ Fidelma stated. Then she suddenly gave a groan and closed her eyes.

  ‘What is it?’ demanded Ardgal in alarm.

  ‘The raiders – I had forgotten. We encountered them at Baile Fobhair and thought they were on their way into your country. We now believe they turned back. Where are they now?’

  ‘We have a series of sentinels who would warn us of their approach, like this farmer when he mistakenly thought you were part of their group.’

  ‘That certainly means that they have doubled back. We must return immediately to the abbey of Delbna Mór.’

  ‘Why there?’

  ‘Because they will attack it next.’ Briefly, Fidelma told him about Eadulf and his mission to warn Brother Céin, the steward of the abbey, and try to bring help from Tara.

  ‘Little use starting off now that darkness has fallen,’ Ardgal demurred. ‘The road is treacherous in the darkness and there are rivers and marshlands to cross. We must rest here and then move before sun-up.’

  ‘He’s right, lady,’ Caol agreed practically. ‘We can do little on a strange road in the darkness.’

  Fidelma was reluctant but saw the logic of it.

  ‘Do you have any knowledge of who the leader of the raiders is and where they might be based?’ she asked the young chief.

  ‘We think they are based somewhere in the northern hills, since people there talk of some of the fanatical Druids who claim that the Tuatha Dé Danaan have betrayed the people. They call on the populace to welcome back the idol Crom Cróich with all the bloodthirsty rituals that Tigernmas demanded.’

  ‘Bloodthirsty rituals?’

  ‘Human sacrifice, lady. Woe betide anyone who falls into their hands, for these fanatics will slaughter them.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ardgal and his men had set up a rapid pace, and had Fidelma not been an expert horsewoman, she would have been hard pressed to keep up with them. As it was, they saw the outline of the abbey of Delbna Mór well before midday. They were aware that their approach had been spotted, but Fidelma’s figure had obviously been identified, since there was no hostile reaction as the brethren gathered to meet them before the main abbey buildings.

  Brother Céin h
imself came out to greet them personally.

  ‘Sister Fidelma!’ exclaimed the steward, and then he recognised her companion. ‘Ardgal? What brings you here?’

  Fidelma dismounted quickly from her horse. ‘Where is Eadulf?’ she demanded without preamble. ‘Has he gone on to Tara yet?’

  Brother Céin looked astonished. ‘Gone on … ? I haven’t seen Brother Eadulf since he left with you for Ardgal’s country. Is he not with you?’

  Fidelma went cold. ‘Has not Eadulf and a Brother Manchán from Baile Fobhair come here, reporting destruction and death at the abbey?’

  ‘He has not.’ Brother Céin looked shocked. ‘You say that the abbey of Baile Fobhair has been attacked?’

  Fidelma groaned inwardly. ‘Eadulf should have arrived here yesterday afternoon with Brother Manchán. He was to warn you that the raiders were overheard discussing an attack on Delbna Mór, and pass on my instructions that you should defend yourselves as best you could while he rode on to Tara to bring Irél and some warriors to help.’

  Brother Céin was shaking his head. ‘There has been no sign of him, sister. Nor of this Brother Manchán. I know him. Perhaps Eadulf missed the road and … but, surely, Brother Manchán of Baile Fobhair would know the road here very well. They would not get lost unless … ’

  ‘Unless he encountered some of the raiders,’ Ardgal said grimly. ‘Let me send out two of my best trackers to see if they can pick up their route along the road.’

  Fidelma tried to hide her fear as the chief turned to give instructions.

  ‘I think that we should also send to Irél at Tara immediately,’ she added quietly, determined to be practical instead of giving way to the anxiety that beset her mind.

  ‘I have a good lad with a fresh horse who can reach Tara quickly,’ suggested Brother Céin.

  ‘Let him do so then,’ agreed Fidelma.

  ‘We can remain here in readiness and wait for the Fianna to arrive.’ Ardgal had returned from giving orders to his men.

  The steward was solemn-faced, clearly worried at their news.

  ‘That is good, because the dibergach could attack at any time. We need to be ready to defend ourselves.’

  Eadulf came awake with a start. Bishop Luachan was already sitting up and peering down the passage that led out to the wicker gate.

  ‘What is it?’ whispered Eadulf,

  ‘The guards are talking to someone outside,’ replied the old bishop.

  Eadulf shuddered. ‘Is it time? Do they intend … ?’

  ‘No. It is several days yet to the equinox, my friend. They will not do anything before then.’

  Suddenly there was a commotion at the entrance and a voice called: ‘Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham! Come forth – quickly!’

  Eadulf started a little. The voice called in Saxon without accent. He glanced at the old bishop and explained: ‘I am being summoned outside.’

  ‘Come forth, Eadulf. I mean you no harm,’ repeated the voice.

  There was no alternative but to obey. Eadulf began to move towards the tunnel.

  ‘God go with you, my son,’ the old bishop blessed him.

  Eadulf pasued, smiled back in thanks, and then made his way down the tunnel. Outside, dawn’s light was flooding the sky and it was fairly cold. There were two guards waiting for him with a third man. Eadulf rose out of the passageway and stood up, studying the man. He was tall, with long blond hair, a beard, drooping moustaches and angular features. It was the warrior whose features had appeared familiar to him when he was being questioned by the woman called the ceannard.

  ‘Come with me, Eadulf,’ he said in faultless Saxon.

  ‘Do I know you?’ Eadulf asked, as the tall man turned and motioned him forward. ‘You are Saxon by your speech.’

  The man smiled but said nothing. Instead, he led the way to one of the tents pitched in the shelter of the ancient stone buildings and entered. There was no one else inside. The man motioned to a chair and then went to a cask, took two mugs and filled them with ale. He handed one to Eadulf before sitting down opposite him.

  ‘You do know me, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham,’ the Saxon said, with an amused expression on his features.

  Eadulf shook his head with a frown. ‘I can’t recall … ’

  ‘I grant you that it was many years ago. We were scarcely more than boys gathered at the feet of a new teacher named Fursa; Fursa a man of Éireann who tried to convert us to the New Faith.’

  Eadulf closed his eyes for a moment, casting his memory back to the lad of sixteen summers that he had been when he had left the old gods and goddesses of his people and converted to the New Faith. A time when the missionaries of Éireann had come converting the South Folk to follow the path of the Christ. He suddenly saw an image of youths sitting in a circle at the feet of the elderly teacher.

  ‘You are Beorhtric of Aeschild’s Ham,’ he said suddenly.

  The blond-haired warrior smiled broadly now. ‘Your memory does not play you false, Eadulf. I am, indeed, Beorhtric from the land of the East Saxons.’

  Eadulf regarded him with astonishment as the memory flooded back. ‘But what are you doing here? Why are you dressed as a warrior, Brother? I thought you went to join Fursa’s abbey at Burgh in the land of the North Folk.’

  Beorhtric laughed in good humour and took a sip of his ale. ‘I am no Brother of the Christian Faith. After you left to study here I wandered with Fursa for a while. Then I realised my mistake and returned to the kingdom of Sigehere. I saw the devastation left by the Yellow Plague. Our new god had not protected us from the evil and so I supported Sigehere when he returned to the Old Faith and called on Woden to drive out the evil. I was with Sigehere when he destroyed the new Christian churches and re-opened the old temples.’

  Eadulf grimaced. ‘I had heard that the East Saxons had returned to the old ways. I am sad to find that you are one of them.’ He frowned. ‘Yet I heard that Sigehere had, with the guidance of Bishop Jaruman, returned to the Faith of Christ.’

  ‘Sigehere was a fool,’ snapped Beorhtric. ‘He was not swayed by argument but because Wulfhere of Mercia, who fancied himself as a Christian overlord, promised him his niece, Osyth, in marriage. They now have a Christian brat called Offa. Sigehere is a weak king. He runs with the hare and tries to hunt with the hounds. He allowed Wulfhere to drive out those who remained true to Woden.’

  ‘Is that why you are here?’

  Beorhtric smiled thinly. ‘With all the Saxon kingdoms falling to this Christian teaching, I and some companions decided to take service with those who would pay for our swordhands. We found ourselves coming to this land and by chance we fell in with this band who are fighting for the restitution of their old gods against the Christians.’

  ‘Do you really hope to change the tide of the New Faith?’

  ‘The tide is with us, Eadulf,’ Beorhtric said. ‘Soon this army will spread through the country and the few generations that separate the people from their old gods will be but a curious moment in time, a pause in the march forward to a new golden age.’

  ‘You cannot believe that?’ Eadulf looked aghast at the Saxon.

  ‘And you are too intelligent not to consider it, my friend. Remember your youth when you worshipped at the grove of Woden? Are we not all descended from Woden’s seven sons? How can you turn your back on him whose divine blood is in all of us?’

  Eadulf shivered slightly.

  It was true that, having accepted the New Faith with his intellect when he was seventeen, Eadulf’s emotions still felt the power of Tyr, Woden, Thunor and Freya. Every time he spoke against them, he felt their lurking presence, waiting to seize him and consign him to the flames of Hel. Deliberately he raised the mug of ale and took a swallow in order to disguise his emotions.

  ‘What is the purpose of this conversation, Beorhtric?’ he asked coldly. ‘Are you trying to reconvert me to the old ways?’

  Beorhtric smiled pleasantly and sat back. ‘I hope that I have the power to do so, Eadulf. You were an her
editary gerefa of your people and it was your duty to maintain the faith and code of your ancestors. I have persuaded our leader to give me an opportunity to save your life.’

  ‘An opportunity?’ Eadulf raised an eyebrow. ‘What will that entail?’

  ‘You may join us, be received into my warband with the respect I would give to any gerefa of my people … ’

  ‘On what condition?’

  ‘That you tell us what you know about the happenings in Tara and whether the Fianna is marching against us.’

  ‘You mean to ask me to make an act of betrayal?’

  Beorhtric shook his head. ‘It is no betrayal. Tell us what we need to know and we will not harm you. That is simple enough.’

  ‘It is a betrayal of my wife and her people, as well as all I hold dear.’

  ‘Your wife, this Fidelma of Cashel, will not be harmed. Our leader has said that she has great respect for her. We will capture her and then, if she won’t join us, you can take her with you and go where you want.’

  Eadulf stifled the refusal that came to his mind because something else occurred to him. Perhaps he could find out more about these people, the strange woman who led them and the strength of her army, if he did not make an immediate rejection of the offer.

  ‘You cannot expect me to abandon all I believe in just like that,’ he countered. ‘Tell me more of why you fight for this woman.’

  ‘The ceannard?’

  ‘Yes. What is her name?’

  ‘She is just the leader, the Wise One. A priestess of the god Crom.’

  ‘So she has no name?’

  ‘None that dare be spoken.’

  ‘And she believes in this old god?’

  ‘She believes that the Christians are just a new empire spreading from Rome as they once spread before; she believes that they are destroying the old ways and customs just as the Romans tried once before to make everyone bow down to their ways and government.’

  ‘And that is why she fights?’

  ‘That is why.’

  ‘But the message of Christ is peace,’ pointed out Eadulf.