Soon the crowd of nobles began to draw ahead, in spite of the best efforts of Eadulf’s horse, which seemed aware of its rider’s limitations. At one point the track narrowed so much that the beast itself decided to slow the pace without any help from Eadulf. When it emerged into a clearing, with no sign of the riders ahead, Eadulf finally managed to halt it. Gormán came up behind him in a moment.
‘I’ve lost them,’ Eadulf said in disgust.
Gormán cocked his head to one side, listening. ‘I think that they’ve split up. Some have gone down that path to your left, some to the right.’
There came the sound of staccato calls on the horn to the right. They sounded close by.
‘That way!’ cried Eadulf, turning his mount. It responded immediately, believing another canter was required of it. But this time Eadulf kept to a steady, controlled trot, Gormán at his side.
The trees soon began to thin out and they came to shrubland, then open fields crossing the hills where crops had been planted. Stone hedges bordered some of the fields. Not far ahead of them, he saw some of the hunters on horseback and nearby some of the dog handlers and their hounds. The yelping of the hounds combined with the cries of encouragement from the men. They seemed to be surrounding something.
Then the something suddenly shot out of their encirclement.
A big, dark shape began to race directly towards where Eadulf’s horse was trotting forward. He caught sight of a great muscular animal with heavy shoulders, as tall as a large hound with four times the bulk. He saw sharp white tusks protruding from an open, snorting mouth, and sharp red pinpricks of eyes.
His horse reared back with a whinny of fright.
So suddenly did it happen that Eadulf found himself dislodged from his seat and tumbling back over the rump of his horse, hitting the ground with such force that the breath was knocked from him.
He heard shouts and cries of alarm from all sides.
He blinked, trying to recover his senses, and a strange feral smell assailed his nostrils. It was the fetid breath of a wild beast. He opened his eyes and was aware of the black bulk of something standing almost over him. He registered a red eye, pink gums, sharp yellow teeth and curved tusks.
He shut his eyes quickly and it seemed that his blood froze.
Then came a sound as if a hand was smacking flesh. An appalling squeal in his ear, and he felt the bulk shifting. It moved with astonishing agility. He could hear the grunting and squealing fading rapidly. He opened his eyes and it was gone. Then someone was pulling him upright into a sitting position. It was Gormán.
‘Are you hurt, Brother Eadulf?’
Eadulf, still sitting, examined his extremities carefully before, with Gormán’s help, he climbed slowly to his feet.
‘Bruised and winded,’ he replied in disgust.
He was aware of cries, yells and a band of riders galloping swiftly by. Behind them came running the men on foot with the hounds giving full cry. Then Eadulf and Gormán were alone again.
‘What, by all that is holy, was that?’ Eadulf asked, shaking his head.
Gormán grinned. ‘You have just encountered a wild boar. It nearly did for you.’
Eadulf shuddered. ‘What distracted it? I thought it had me.’
‘I smacked it across the snout with my sword and it turned off. Then the hunters came up. They have chased it back into the forest. I suspect that if it keeps in the cover of the trees and undergrowth, it will elude them.’
Eadulf rubbed the back of his neck and turned his head this way and that to ensure there was no damage from his fall. Then he remembered what he was there for.
‘Was Muirchertach with them?’ he inquired anxiously.
‘I didn’t see him,’ replied Gormán.
‘Devil’s teeth,’ swore Eadulf, annoyed.
Gormán mounted his animal again and waited while Eadulf clambered back into the saddle of his own horse.
‘Muirchertach may have gone off with the other group, when they divided back at the clearing,’ he suggested.
‘Let’s go and find him, then.’
They retraced their path back to the clearing, and as they reached it they saw a horse and rider coming along the path. It was the slight figure of a woman. She suddenly tugged on the reins of her horse as she noticed them and then, as if wanting to avoid them, plunged off along an adjoining path and quickly vanished.
‘One of the women following the hunt,’ muttered Gormán, ‘but I think she is going in the wrong direction. Shall I go after her?’
‘She is moving pretty rapidly,’ replied Eadulf, adding: ‘Did you notice who she was?’
Gormán shook his head.
‘That was Sister Marga, one of those who came with Abbot Ultán,’ Eadulf said. ‘I thought I recognised the horse . . . that is the same horse that Ultán arrived on.’
Gormán pulled a face, expressing his disapproval. ‘Obviously, Sister Marga does not believe in following the proprieties. One would expect a time of mourning after her superior’s death.’
He suddenly glanced up with a frown. There came the sound of laughing and chattering and a band of riders appeared along the track in front of them. They were proceeding at a sedate pace through the forest. It was the rest of the hunt followers and their escort. The attendants carried baskets of food and drink and the ladies rode in a relaxed manner, talking and laughing as if out on some innocent picnic.
One of the attendants called to Gormán and asked him which way the main band of huntsmen had gone, and Gormán pointed along the path where they had last seen them.
‘My lord Colgú, the High King and their party were chasing a tusker in that direction only a short time ago,’ he told them. ‘Be careful, ladies, for the animal is large and strong.’
Little cries of excited horror came from them but it was all done with humour and laughter. The attendant thanked him as the party moved slowly off. Meanwhile, Eadulf had ridden a short distance along the second path to the left. Gormán quickly caught up with him.
‘The ladies seem to think this is an amusement,’ he commented sourly. ‘They don’t realise the dangers.’
‘Nor did I,’ Eadulf observed dryly. ‘I’m sorry. I neglected to thank you for what you did back there. You saved my life.’
Gormán gestured indifferently. ‘Smacking the animal across the snout? That was nothing. It was frightened and wild. It would probably have run off anyway. The hunters were close by.’ He drew rein and looked around, then cursed softly. ‘Begging your pardon, Brother Eadulf, but I think we may have lost the other party. I see no sign of a large body of horsemen passing along here. That is the trouble in these hunts – people often tend to scatter all over the place.’
‘Do you think that we should turn back again?’ Eadulf was beginning to when, once again, the sound of horses came to their ears, but muted this time by the rich tone of a man’s laughter.
‘Hóigh!’ shouted Gormán to attract attention. ‘Hóigh!’
There came an answering call and a few moments later two horses emerged through the woods from their left. One of the riders was the smiling Abbot Augaire and behind him came the sharp-featured lady Aíbnat.
‘Brother Eadulf,’ the abbot said in jovial fashion. ‘Are you lost?’
Gormán immediately answered for him. ‘Not lost, but we have become separated from the main hunt.’
Abbot Augaire shook his head with a smile. ‘Well, my friend, we are definitely lost. I think the main hunt went in that direction.’ He pointed back the way they had come. ‘We were actually thinking of returning to Cashel, if we can find the way.’
Gormán nodded. ‘In that case, if you follow the path along here as far as a fairly large clearing back there and then turn to the west, that track brings you to the main road back to Cashel.’
Abbot Augaire and lady Aíbnat were about to move off when Eadulf stayed them with a sudden thought.
‘Have you seen anything of your husband, lady?’ he asked politely.
She frowned irritably at him. ‘I presume that he is with the main body of the hunt.’
‘I thought that he and another group had moved further that way.’ Eadulf pointed to the direction from which the two had come.
Abbot Augaire shook his head. ‘We have seen nothing of anyone there. But I was part of the body separated from the High King’s group. We tried to get round behind the boars but in the excitement we lost each other. I don’t think you’ll see anyone back there.’
Eadulf acknowledged the information and they separated, Abbot Augaire and the lady Aíbnat riding off towards the clearing.
Gormán looked after them with a puzzled expression. ‘I find it strange,’ he muttered.
‘Strange?’ queried Eadulf with a smile. ‘What is strange, my friend?’
‘That people no longer seem to take notice of conventionality in their behaviour.’
‘You mean Sister Marga going on a hunt when her abbot has just been buried after being murdered? Even to the extent of using his horse?’
‘That, and Muirchertach Nár and his wife Aíbnat being part of the hunt when he is charged with murder.’
‘It is a distraction,’ explained Eadulf. ‘No one is going anywhere until this matter is cleared up so why not let them have their diversions? And a king is hardly likely to flee from justice in these circumstances.’
They rode on in silence for a while and then another cry cut through the still forest air.
‘Hóigh! Hóigh!’
This time it sounded like a man shouting for help. Eadulf and Gormán drew rein immediately and peered through the trees, turning in the direction of the sound.
One of the dog handlers emerged from the trees. He was red-faced and breathless but when his eyes alighted on Gormán a look of relief crossed his features. He gave another shout and came running forward, speaking rapidly. Gormán moved towards him, bending down. The man spoke so quickly that Eadulf was unable to hear what was said. Gormán turned in his saddle and waved Eadulf forward. He seemed troubled.
‘What is it?’ Eadulf demanded.
‘Something that I think requires your attention,’ replied the young warrior. He turned to the man on foot. ‘How far?’
The man gestured with his outstretched hand behind him.
‘Not far, through the trees there. There is a clearing beyond called Cúil Rathan – the brook of the ferns. I’ll show you the way. You’ll have to dismount and lead your horses along here for the path is overgrown. The branches are too low for riders.
Eadulf and Gormán slid from their mounts and followed.
The man led them quickly along a narrow winding path through the dark forest of oaks, beeches and chestnuts, through a covert of broom, bramble and ferns dressed in the brown-white sheen of winter. Then they were in open shrubland. There was a small mound ahead and the man trotted up it and pointed downwards without speaking.
Eadulf and Gormán left their horses and scrambled up the mound to join him.
He was pointing down into the gully where the tall figure of a man was sprawled on his back, a rich blue embroidered cloak rumpled from his shoulders.
Eadulf’s mouth went suddenly dry. The blue cloak was familiar.
He moved to the side of the man and knelt down. There was no mistaking the strangely sallow, now deathly pale features, the skin tightly stretching over the bony face, the long dark hair surrounding it. Two things registered with Eadulf immediately. The man was Muirchertach Nár, the king of Connacht, and he was dead.
Deep in thought, Fidelma walked down to the accommodation for male members of the religious that had been set up beyond the town square below the fortress. She found the hostel steward, the brugaid, supervising the delivery of some straw palliasses by two men in a cart. He greeted Fidelma with a sad smile.
‘I am sorry that the ceremony has had to be delayed, lady.’
Fidelma stifled an inward sigh. Everyone was sorry. She was sorry most of all. She had a wild desire to take her horse and ride away across the plains, ride and forget all the sad faces and the anger and confusion.
‘Can I help you, lady?’
She came back to the present quickly. ‘I believe that you have a Saxon named Brother Berrihert lodging here?’
The brugaid nodded confirmation. ‘He and his two brothers – blood brothers, not only brothers in the Faith – and his old father.’
‘I would like to see Brother Berrihert.’
‘Alas, lady, he is not there. He went out before dawn. I know not whither he has gone.’
Fidelma felt disappointed. She had wanted to clear up several things before Eadulf returned. She was about to turn away when the hostel steward went on: ‘But his two brothers are inside, lady. They might know where he went.’
Fidelma turned back with a word of thanks and entered the large tent. There were only two men inside. They were fairly young and both had fair hair. They came to their feet as she entered and crossed to them. She noticed that they wore religious robes and had their hair cut in the tonsure of St John, shaved at the front to a line from ear to ear, with the hair, worn long and flowing at the back.
‘Are you the brothers of Berrihert?’ she asked.
The young men exchanged glances and one of them inclined his head slightly.
‘We are brothers in flesh as well as brothers in Christ, sister,’ he said.
‘I am Fidelma. What are your names?’
The younger of the two smiled. ‘We recognise you, sister, for we saw you at the Council of Witebia. I am Naovan. My brother is Pecanum.’
‘Those are not Saxon names.’ She had decided to assume no prior knowledge as a means of clarifying the information she wanted.
Brother Naovan smiled. ‘Since we left our own land to sojourn in foreign fields, lady, we have adopted names in the language of the chief city of the Faith.’
‘Then let us be seated. I am told that your brother, Berrihert, is not here?’
Brother Pecanum shook his head as they sat on the camp beds. ‘He left early this morning. We do not know where he went but he assured us that he would be back this evening. It was some . . . some pilgrimage to make reparation, he said.’
Fidelma was puzzled. ‘A pilgrimage of reparation made within a day’s travel from Cashel?’
‘That is what he said,’ affirmed Brother Naovan.
Fidelma shook her head as she thought of the sites around Cashel where one could make what could be described as a pilgrimage.
‘And has your father also gone on this pilgrimage?’
‘He is not of our faith, lady,’ replied Brother Naovan. ‘But he is not here. We are not sure where he has gone.’
She paused a moment and then asked: ‘I presume that you are aware of what happened at the funeral ceremony of Abbot Ultán last night?’
The brothers glanced uneasily at each other.
‘There have been many stories among the people here,’ said Brother Naovan. ‘Many have condemned the curse that our brother put on a fellow religious.’
‘Can you explain why he did so?’
‘Although we would have preferred our brother not to have given way to his anger, there was a reason. But reaction in anger can bring no resolution.’
‘Wise words,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘So, if I have understood right, your mother died as the direct result of some action of Abbot Ultán?’
‘Perhaps you should be speaking to Berrihert,’ Brother Naovan replied hesitantly.
‘You have been in this country since the great Council of Witebia, have you not? That is nearly four years or so.’
‘That is so, Sister Fidelma.’
‘Then you know of our laws, the laws of the Fénechus? You know that I am a dálaigh, qualified to the level of anruth. I have been charged to make an investigation. I require information and you are duty bound to answer my questions.’
The brothers were uncomfortable.
‘We do not wish to go against the laws and customs of the land that has given us refuge, sister
,’ Brother Pecanum agreed. ‘We will do our best to answer you.’
‘So tell me exactly what happened to your mother.’
By some silent consent between the two of them it was Brother Naovan who told the story.
‘You know that our family did not accept the decision of Oswy, made at the Council of Witebia, as binding on us? We decided to follow Abbot Colmán to this land and enter a religious community that he had established on Inis Bó Finne, a little island . . .’
Fidelma gestured impatiently with her hand. ‘Eadulf has told me the story as he heard it from Berrihert. But he also told me, and you have just confirmed, that your father Ordwulf, who came with you, is not a Christian.’
For a moment the younger brothers’ expressions shared sadness.
‘It is true that our parents came with us, though not of our faith. It was because we were their only means of protection in their old age. We could not abandon them to their certain deaths when they were no longer able to fend for themselves.’
Fidelma was momentarily surprised but then remembered that the Angles and Saxons had different views on age from her own people. The law texts of the Fénechus were absolute. ‘Old age is rewarded by the people.’ When men and women became too elderly or infirm to take care of themselves, the law stipulated the rules by which they were to be taken care of. No elderly person was allowed to become destitute or in need. The legal text of the Crith Gabhlach decreed that a special officer called the úaithne, the name meant a pillar or support of the society, be appointed by every clan to ensure all the elderly were looked after. They were to receive proper allowances and care and were protected from any harm or insults. The Senchus Mór stated, of the elderly, that it was the duty of the clan to support every member.
When the head of a family became too old or infirm to manage his affairs, the laws allowed him to retire and hand over to his next of kin. He and his wife or widow was then to be maintained for the rest of their lives. They could live with their next of kin if that was their desire or, if they wished to live in a separate house, that house, called an inchis, was maintained for them. Even if they had no children or close relatives to help them, this was done under the supervision of the úaithne. The elderly, if infirm, had to be washed a minimum of once a week, especially their hair, and to have a full bath a minimum of every twenty days. Provisions and fuel allowances were also stipulated in law.
A Prayer for the Damned Page 19
