Dancing With Demons

by Peter Tremayne

  Beorhtric laughed as if he found the idea uproarious. ‘Peace among those who fall under the Roman heel? The real rulers of Rome recognise no peace. While they conquer, they preach that the conquered should have poverty of spirit. They are thus able to oppress them, for when men are of poor spirit then the proud and haughty can easily rule them. Oh yes, Eadulf, I know something of the religion you still uphold. “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven”. That’s what is taught, eh?

  ‘And what else do they teach?’ he went on, goading Eadulf. ‘“Him that takes away your cloak, do not forbid him to take your coat also. Give to every man that asks something from you and of him that takes away your goods do not make protest”. And if physical violence is used against you, why, “if you are struck on the one cheek, turn the other so they can strike you again”!’

  Beorhtric burst out laughing. ‘This is the religion that slave-masters teach to slaves, the better that they might enslave them.’

  Eadulf stirred uneasily, for Beorhtric had certainly homed in on what he had always seen as the weakness of the new philosophy.

  He and Fidelma had spent much time discussing such matters and they had always felt that resistance to wrong and the practice of moral right and self-reliance was the better course. But it was surely contrary to the teachings of the poverty of spirit that was claimed to be a virtue?

  ‘And does this Crom uphold such virtues?’ he demanded. ‘I heard that this idol was some aberration of the Old Faith of Éireann whose priests demanded human sacrifices to appease their appetites.’

  Beorhtric made a dismissive gesture as if it was of no consequence. ‘Crom? That is for the people of this land. I have never foresworn Woden. And if Woden is using Crom to overthrow the New Faith, then so be it. Crom only demands the sacrifices of his enemies. He demands, moreover, that people stand up against the Christians who would oppress them by stealth. He commands us to drive the tide of Roman cunning back into the sea as the old Romans were driven back before.’

  Eadulf shook his head sadly at the light of fanaticism in Beorhtric’s face.

  ‘And this is the reason for what is happening here?’

  ‘It is a great cause. It is the freedom of people from the new oppression. Sadly, our Saxon brethren have been fooled into accepting these insidious ideas. Here we might win and then be able to bring our army back to our homelands to reconvert our people to the true ways and mend the harm that has been done.’

  ‘To return to what?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘Was life so good when we sacrificed to the gods, when we left people with no hope but the utter void that follows death?’

  ‘We had the choice,’ Beorhtric said fiercely, ‘to die with weapon in hand and the name of Woden on our lips so that we might live again in the Hall of Heroes.’

  ‘And how many could hope for such a death, a futile death at that?’

  For a moment, Beorhtric’s eyes blazed. Then he said slowly: ‘You are playing for time with me, Eadulf. I give you a final chance. Join us now. Tell us where Fidelma of Cashel is. Tell us what is happening at Tara and who is coming against us. If you do, you will live and the world will be yours. Refuse, and you will die a death at the next festival to Crom, a death in flames and so horrible that even you will cry out to Crom for mercy with your last breath.’

  Eadulf had sat back. He glanced down at the mug that he still held in his hand. Now, with a quick movement, he threw its contents over the face of the Saxon warrior.

  With an oath, Beorhtric sprang up and drew his sword in one swift motion. The blade was raised. Another moment and it would have sliced into Eadulf.

  ‘Hold!’ snapped a voice.

  For a moment everything seemed frozen in time and space. Then slowly Beorhtric lowered his sword and sheathed it. Eadulf, transfixed in his seat in the chair, relaxed and began to breathe again.

  The woman known as the ceannard had entered the tent. She looked at Eadulf with a curious smile.

  ‘I was right about you, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. For a Christian you display a remarkable courage. I did not think that they would break you and cause you to betray your beliefs or Fidelma of Cashel.’ She glanced at the Saxon warrior. ‘You see, Beorhtric? I know men. I knew he would not accept your offer to join us. No matter. My daughter will soon send us word about what is happening in Tara. Now take him back and ensure that he is confined properly. No harm must come to him before the time is right and we present him to Crom Cróich.’

  Sullenly, Beorhtric moved forward and yanked Eadulf roughly from the chair.

  The woman smiled almost encouragingly at Eadulf. ‘It is good, my Saxon friend,’ she said softly. ‘If you were a coward, you would not make a fitting sacrifice to Crom.’

  Then Beorhtric was hauling him out of the tent back to the stone prison to rejoin Bishop Luachan.

  Ardgal found Fidelma pacing in the refectory of the abbey. He paused nervously at the door.

  ‘Bad news, lady,’ he blurted out.

  Fidelma stood, the coldness clutching her heart. ‘Eadulf has been found?’ she asked hoarsely.

  ‘No, lady. But my men have found the body of Brother Manchán. He had been run through with a sword. There were the tracks of many horses … ’

  ‘But no sign of Eadulf?’

  ‘No sign of anyone else but the slain brother.’

  ‘What did your trackers tell you?’

  ‘They saw traces of a heavy-laden horse.’

  ‘Eadulf and Brother Manchán were riding one horse.’

  Ardgal nodded and continued: ‘They think a number of riders were lying in wait for them and surrounded them. That was where Brother Manchán was killed. Then the horses moved off. There was no longer any sign of one horse being heavier than the others.’

  ‘So they took Eadulf captive?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘There is nothing to suggest otherwise, lady.’

  ‘Which way did they go?’

  ‘My trackers say they went north into the hill country. They followed the trail as far as they could without endangering themselves – up to within sight of Sliabh na Callaigh.’

  ‘The Hag’s Mountain? What is that?’

  ‘It is the highest hill in these parts, lady. And one which the old pagans declared as sacred. There are buildings of great antiquity on it and some travellers have said that there have been campfires and bands of riders seen there recently. It accords with what we have heard before – that this is probably where the dibergach are encamped.’

  ‘Then this is where we shall go to confront them,’ Fidelma said decisively. ‘We must follow and rescue Eadulf.’

  ‘Lady, I have only twenty warriors,’ protested Ardgal. ‘The raiders might have ten times that number.’

  Fidelma stamped her foot angrily. ‘Might?’ she sneered. ‘Eadulf is a prisoner of these evil people. Should I allow a “might” to stop me?’

  ‘Be reasonable, lady. Let us wait for the arrival of Irél and his Fianna.’

  ‘By then it could be too late. Give me the help of your local tracker and I’ll go alone with Caol and Gormán.’

  Ardgal sighed. ‘If you are determined, then I must go with you,’ he said reluctantly. ‘But my men must be allowed the same choice of whether to go or stay. It is suicide for a few men to attack the Hag’s Mountain.’

  ‘The choice is yours and theirs. But I will not delay long. Eadulf is in danger.’

  ‘What did they want of you, my son?’ asked Bishop Luachan, when Eadulf had rejoined him.

  ‘They wanted me to betray my wife, my son and my religion.’

  ‘And the alternative?’

  ‘Death in some weird ritual.’

  ‘Ah, as I have said. Some sacrifice at the equinox. At least we have a few days of life left.’

  ‘A few days?’ Eadulf snorted, still angered by Beorhtric. ‘A bit more than that, if I have anything to do with it. I intend to seize the first opportunity for us to escape.’

  ‘From this place?’ />
  ‘No place is the perfect prison,’ pronounced Eadulf optimistically. ‘Though I have to say that this comes near to it.’

  ‘There is only one way out of here,’ Bishop Luachan pointed out again, ‘and that is the way we came in. Along the tunnel and out of the entrance.’

  ‘Which means that we need some way of distracting the guards, to get them away from the entrance … ’

  ‘Moving aside the wicker gate and running off down the hill.’ The old man was cynical. ‘How can we distract the guards from inside the tunnel in order for them to leave the entrance unguarded? You should think again.’

  Eadulf pursed his lips. ‘It is not the first time that I have been incarcerated with apparently no means to escape,’ he said. He was thinking of the watery grave to which Uaman the Leper had once sought to consign him.5

  ‘Then we must pray for divine intervention to rescue you again,’ the old man said sarcastically. ‘Meanwhile, I am going to try to sleep.’

  Ardgal and his men were gathered round Fidelma in the refectory of the community of Delbna Mór.

  ‘My men have all agreed to follow me, if I can assure them that the attack on the Hag’s Mountain will not simply be a futile exercise that has no chance of success.’

  Fidelma looked at them all with a smile of gratitude.

  ‘I do not believe in futility, Ardgal. I have an idea by which we may surprise them and rescue Eadulf.’

  Ardgal continued to look serious. ‘Very well. My men will listen to your idea and then I shall ask if they approve it. If they do not, that is their decision.’

  Fidelma turned to meet their expectant gaze. ‘My plan calls for hunters, not warriors. It was the farmer who took me prisoner who has inspired this idea … ’

  There was a noise at the door of the refectory and one of Ardgal’s sentinels came breathlessly in.

  ‘Warriors!’ he called urgently. ‘Warriors coming along the road from the east!’

  For a moment there was pandemonium as the warriors began to draw their weapons. But Ardgal raised his voice above it.

  ‘Are they dibergach?’ he demanded.

  The sentinel was hesitant. ‘They ride with discipline and they have a banner at their head. There must be a hundred of them.’

  Fidelma’s eyes widened. A look of relief and hope spread on her features.

  ‘The Fianna?’ she gasped. ‘If so, then this is an unexpected blessing. But we must be prepared in case it is a trap. Ardgal, disperse your men to cover. Brother Céin, come with me to greet whoever they may be.’

  Within moments, her orders had been carried out and Fidelma and the steward of Delbna Mór took a stand by the gates, almost in the manner that Fidelma and her companions had first been greeted at Delbna Mór. But now there were only the two of them while everyone had taken defensive positions out of sight.

  They heard the sound of many horses. It grew louder, and seconds later, the head of the column came into view. Two outriders swept into the courtyard and examined it swiftly. Then a familiar figure rode in at the head of the column.

  ‘Irél!’ called Fidelma as the young man halted his mount before them.

  The commander of the Fianna was smiling at her. ‘Fidelma! Is all well with you, lady?’

  He swung down and Fidelma moved forward to greet him.

  ‘It is a long story. How came you here?’

  ‘Soon after you had departed from Tara, Cenn Faelad became worried, having heard tales of the raiders. He asked me to follow with a company of my men. We were resting at the church on the thorn island not a great distance away, when a merchant rode by and he told us that he had seen an abbey burning to the north-west. From what he said, I believed it to be Baile Fobhair.’

  ‘It was,’ confirmed Fidelma.

  ‘Well, we set off straight away. Delbna Mór lies on our route. Then we met a young rider from here who said the abbey was expecting to be attacked.’

  ‘The abbey at Baile Fobhair is burned and everyone slain,’ Fidelma said sadly. ‘And, indeed, we were expecting an attack here. But I think things are altered – and you may have arrived at an opportune moment.’

  Irél looked at her in bafflement. ‘I do not follow.’

  ‘As I said, it is a story that is long in the telling. First, you may tell your men to dismount and rest. I have some twenty warriors led by Ardgal here with me. They took up positions thinking you were raiders.’

  With Irél issuing orders to his men, Fidelma turned and called Ardgal to come forward and as soon as all were settled, she told lrél the story.

  Irél turned to Ardgal. ‘And your scouts actually saw this encampment on the Hill of the Hag?’

  The chieftain nodded. ‘They are men who know the country well. There is a camp there which they estimate contains about one hundred and fifty warriors, no more than two hundred. They have women with them but there seems no sign of children.’

  ‘But they were unable to locate Brother Eadulf?’

  Ardgal gave a negative gesture with his hand.

  Irél sighed. ‘It is one of the best defensive places in the area. I explored it once a few years ago. It will be a hard place to make a surprise attack on.’

  ‘With conventional methods, yes,’ Fidelma commented.

  Irél frowned. ‘You have an idea, lady?’

  ‘I was about to explain it to Ardgal’s men when you arrived.’

  ‘That is true.’ Ardgal smiled briefly. ‘We were going to put the idea to a vote. You said something about it being a job for hunters, not warriors.’

  ‘That is true. The element of surprise rests on our enemies’ sentinels being stalked and silenced as a hunter will stalk game in the forest – silently, quickly, and striking without mercy.’

  ‘Do you realise what you are saying, lady?’ Irél stared at Fidelma. ‘You are a woman, a woman of the religious but you are suggesting … ’

  ‘The women of the Eóghanacht were warriors from the dawn of time,’ Fidelma replied sharply. ‘My namesake Fidelma Noíchrothach, Fidelma the Nine Times Beautiful, was such a warrior champion. Indeed, aren’t you forgetting that Creidne was female champion of the Fianna? Come, let us have no more comments arising from male ego. Let us address ourselves to how we may resolve the problem as efficiently as possible.’

  ‘And that is?’ demanded Ardgal, amused at the crestfallen features of the illustrious commander of the Fianna.

  ‘Your men must approach the Hag’s Hill in the manner of hunters. The attack must take place in the last moments of darkness before dawn. It is the time when most people are in a deep sleep and do not react so quickly. The attackers must rely on their long bows as if they are hunting game. Long bows and knives. They must pick off the sentinels, silently and accurately, one by one, as they find a path up to the hill. Now we have the Fianna to back us. So once that path is made, the Fianna will come silently up the hill; once on the hilltop they will have the eastern light to help them and may attack openly. As they do so, I with Caol and Gormán will attempt to discover where Eadulf is held and release him.’

  ‘It sounds a simple plan in the telling,’ muttered Irél begrudingly.

  ‘It should be simple in the execution.’

  Ardgal was thoughtful. ‘I will put it to my men. I think it is a plan that will appeal to them. Our people are hunters and farmers and not warriors. The prospect of overturning warriors with hunters’ bows will amuse them.’

  Irél snorted disdainfully. ‘It is not exactly an honourable way of battle.’ ‘Is any battle honourable?’ snapped Fidelma.

  ‘The plan has its merits,’ admitted Irél, flushing. ‘As such, I accept it. I do not have to put it to my men, for we are of the Fianna.’

  Fidelma repressed a smile at the arrogance of his tone.

  ‘Excellent. If all is well, we will depart from here as soon as possible.’

  Eadulf had finally fallen asleep. He had spent hours walking around the inside of their prison while Bishop Luachan lay snoring. It was true what
the old man had said. There was only one way into this strange mausoleum and one way out of it. And as there was only room for one man crawling out at a time, there was no hope at all of surprising the two warriors who stood sentinel outside, let alone making an escape, even if the wicker gate was not in the way.

  He had sat down and started turning over various plans in his mind, but had to discard each one before he had advanced far into it. It was while he was doing so that he had finally fallen into a sleep of troubled exhaustion.

  It was dark and the chill of early morning made Fidelma feel cold and uncomfortable. She was thankful for the knowledge of Ardgal’s men, for it appeared that Sliabh na Callaigh encompassed a row of several hills running east to west. Ardgal had told her that the extreme western peak and its close neighbour, the highest peak of all, were where the ancient pagan buildings were situated. His trackers believed that it was around this highest hill that the dibergach camp was to be found.

  They had approached from the south towards the western side, passing a small lake through woodlands of densely branched trees. They had left their horses tethered in the woods then began to climb upwards. After a short distance, Ardgal had bade her wait with Caol and Gormán while he and his men advanced up the hill to deal with the sentinels. Behind them, the ranks of the Fianna had already halted and stood ready to make their ascent when instructed.

  They waited in total silence.

  It seemed strange. No sound came to them through the night air, and Fidelma was wondering if her plan was working at all when there came a rustle among the undergrowth and almost before they had time to react, one of Ardgal’s men appeared in the shadows.

  ‘We have dealt with all the sentinels on this side, lady,’ he whispered. ‘The Fianna can move up, but as quietly as possible.’

  Irél was already motioning his men forward. Like a silent stream they ascended the hill with Fidelma, Caol and Gormán trailing in their wake.

  They paused to regroup at the tree-line that gave access onto the bald peak. Fidelma could see the outline of stone buildings, of campfires, tents and some wooden structures. Then the Fianna were racing forwards; the timing was perfect. The sun was still below the eastern hills, but a thin shaft of light was creeping over the hill. The Fianna were on the sleeping dibergach before they knew it.