The rain was cold and blustery but very fine as the group of horsemen approached the Lake of Pigs on their way to cross the river Siúr. It was a small lake standing just south of the Ford of the Ass which Eadulf knew well. Gormán, however, insisted that due south from this little lake was a shallow crossing which could be negotiated over the broad river and that would be a shorter route into the great glen which was their destination.
All four men had heavy woollen cloaks to protect them against the fine but penetrating rain. The route lay over the plains where there were numerous little homesteads and prosperous farming lands.
Gormán was leading the way confidently and setting a good pace. Eadulf came next and behind him the two Saxon brothers, Pecanum and Naovan.
‘We should be at Ardane just after nightfall,’ called Gormán. He pointed one hand to the sky. ‘The clouds are breaking up in the west. The rain will cease soon. We can let the horses water at the lake.’
By the time they reached the Lake of Pigs, as Gormán had foretold, the rain had stopped and a pale winter sun had even appeared between the drifting, dark clouds. But it was not warm enough to remove their heavy cloaks, and Gormán suggested they have a swallow of corma to keep out the chills.
The lake lay surrounded by oaks and yews that seemed to vie with one another for predominance.
They had let the horses water themselves, though not too much, and having taken their drink of fiery spirit were about to mount up when Eadulf saw a movement among the trees at the far end of the lake.
‘Another traveller,’ he observed to Gormán, nodding in the direction of the movement, as he mounted his horse.
Gormán, already seated in the saddle, squinted in the direction Eadulf had indicated. There was a glimpse of a rider moving swiftly through the trees.
‘A religious,’ Gormán observed. ‘In a hurry . . . a female at that.’
The thought struck Eadulf immediately. Could it be Sister Marga? She had disappeared from Cashel before midnight. But she had been on foot, not on horseback – and had she had a horse she would have surely been able to travel farther than this? Nevertheless, some instinct pricked his curiosity.
‘Can we catch up with her? It may be the missing woman from Cill Ria.’
‘Keep straight on this path with the others, for this is the path she will join further along,’ replied Gormán, pointing. ‘I think I may be able to halt her long enough for you to catch up with her.’ The young warrior turned, nudged his horse forward into the shallows of the lake and swam it across.
Eadulf waved his companions, Pecanum and Naovan, to follow him. He did not pretend to be a good horseman but he nudged his horse into a swift trot that soon became a canter. He hung on grimly, thankful that his mount seemed to sense, as intelligent horses do, what was wanted of it. He had no idea where Gormán was going, though he presumed that the young warrior knew a short cut over the small lake that would bring him round to cut off the figure in front. It was now that Eadulf began to have second thoughts. Why would the lonely figure be the missing Sister Marga? What made him think it was? The girl, if running away from Cashel, would surely not head in this direction but east towards Laigin as she had done before? Yet the instinct that made him act was strong.
He felt as if the canter would never end. In reality it was a short time indeed before he saw the figure of the religieuse on the road ahead, riding at a steady pace and apparently unaware of pursuit. The thudding of their hooves, however, eventually came to her ears and she glanced back. Even so, Eadulf was unable to identify her. Her action denoted panic for she turned and kicked her beast forward, but at that very moment Gormán appeared, bursting through the woods on to the track just in front of her.
Her horse, startled first by her vicious kick and then by the appearance of another horse and rider blocking its path, reared up. The slight figure fought to maintain her balance, lost hold and rolled off its back. Gormán grabbed the beast’s reins and brought it under control just as Eadulf and the others came up.
Eadulf slid from his horse’s back and bent down to the girl. She lay on her back winded.
He felt a strange combination of relief and concern.
It was Sister Marga.
Sister Fidelma’s face was impassive as she regarded Fergus Fanat as he lay stretched on his bed.
‘Tell me, Fergus, what happened when you were attacked?’
‘I didn’t see. I was hit from behind.’
‘Yet you say that you are sure it was Sister Marga.’
‘I am sure.’
‘When was the last time you spoke to Marga before that?’
‘After we came back I promised her that I would try to resolve the problem. It was some time before I came up with an idea. The resolution was simple. I would go to my cousin, Blathmac the king, who, like me, knew of Abbot Ultán’s unsavoury reputation. I would tell him the story and ask for his intervention. At least he could prevent Marga’s being sent back to Cill Ria.’
‘There is one thing that puzzles me.’
‘Which is?’
‘If you thought Marga had killed Abbot Ultán, did you believe that she had also killed Muirchertach Nár?’
He hesitated and then nodded. ‘When I asked her about Muirchertach, she became very angry. She denied it, of course. But I wondered if she had killed him because Muirchertach had seen her on that night of Ultán’s killing just as I had and was trying to use it as a weapon over her. He wanted a weapon against Cill Ria.’
‘That sounds very far-fetched. From what I know, Marga would have been happy to join with anyone who wanted to bring Cill Ria into disrepute.’
‘Marga is a woman who does not like to be forced into anything,’ he said grimly. ‘In the forest, when I asked her if she had seen Muirchertach during the hunt she denied it. I believe she killed him.’
Fidelma sat back for a moment with closed eyes.
‘You do not sound as if your proclaimed love allowed you to trust her,’ she commented sceptically.
An expression of anger crossed his face. ‘My proclaimed love, as you call it, allowed me to put my honour at stake in standing by her over the murder of Abbot Ultán . . .’
‘Which you believe she committed even though she denies it,’ Fidelma said with emphasis.
‘I was trying to help her.’
‘Just so. And you proposed to go to Blathmac, proclaim that she was a murderess but that you loved her, and ask him to intercede so that . . . what? What exactly was Blathmac to do?’
‘Let the truth be known that she had every good reason to kill Ultán. I was prepared to pay the fines and honour-price on her behalf.’
‘What did Marga say to this plan?’
‘When she realised that I was not pleading her innocence but mitigation in the belief that she was guilty, she turned on me angrily. She felt that I ought to be pleading her innocence. She felt I could not love her if I thought her guilty. I explained that she could not hope to get away with such a plea with the overwhelming evidence against her. I was pleading mitigation out of my love for her.’
‘Would your love not accept that she was innocent?’ queried Fidelma dryly.
Fergus Fanat once again raised his head defiantly. ‘My love is tempered with logic.’
‘So what then? Was this when she hit you?’
He shook his head. ‘This conversation had taken place before the evening meal, at the side of the chapel. She went running off to the hostel. I spent some time walking round the walls of the fortress, trying to get things clear in my head. But my mind was made up. With or without her approval, I had to show that she had reason to kill Ultán, before she was found out and condemned. I decided to go ahead with my plan to tell Blathmac.’
‘And then?’
‘Then I went to Blathmac’s chamber intending to discuss the matter with him. I remember that I entered the corridor that led to his guest chamber. It was empty and I started along it.’ He paused, frowning suddenly.
‘A thought
has just occurred to you?’
‘I had passed a small alcove in which there was a window . . .’
‘I know the one.’
‘I thought that it was empty. But now I recall that after I had passed it, I thought I heard a soft thump. I remember now, I glanced over my shoulder but there was nothing to account for it. Mind you, I could not see back into the alcove. I had almost reached the door when I heard a soft rustle of clothes behind me and before I could turn . . . well, I suppose I was hit, for the world seemed to explode into darkness. That was all I recall until I awoke with the old apothecary tending my wounds here.’
Fidelma was silent for a moment. ‘But you told me a moment or so ago that it was Marga who attacked you. Now you are saying that you did not see who it was.’
Fergus Fanat shook his head firmly. ‘I did not need to see her to know that it was her.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘There was the rustle of clothes, her dress, and, for a moment, I smelt perfume on the air. It was the same fragrance that I have noticed on her before.’
‘What fragrance was this?’
‘It is called lus na túis – lavender.’
Fidelma gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment. ‘And that is how you knew it was Marga? By this fragrance?’
‘It was. She is so silly to think that attacking me would hide her crime. But what it has done has been to show that she is either out of her mind or was just using me.’
‘Where do you think Marga will go now? To Laigin?’
‘She will know that would be the direction in which any search for her will be made. I suspect that she will go to earth.’
‘Go to earth?’ He had used the phrase in the manner in which a hunter spoke of a fox hiding in a burrow. ‘That is an odd expression.’
‘It was a phrase that she used when we were speaking during the boar hunt. I asked her what she would do if the alarm were raised before she could make her way to Laigin. It was a phrase that came naturally to her. I told you, she was a good horsewoman and hunted as well as any man I know.’
Fidelma was thinking that if she had been forced to go to earth near Cashel, waiting for the right moment to leave for Laigin, where would she have chosen? Uppermost in her mind now was the fact that she had to find Sister Marga before Brother Drón caught up with her.
Eadulf bent close to the recumbent form.
‘Sister Marga, are you all right?’
The girl opened her eyes. She tried to focus but she gave up and closed them again. She took several deep breaths and tried again. This time she succeeded and said softly: ‘I am merely winded, I think.’
Then she recognised Eadulf and her eyes widened in fear. She scrambled to a sitting position.
Eadulf put a restraining hand on her shoulder.
‘Lie still!’ he ordered. ‘You might have broken something.’
She shook her head and replied: ‘Why are you following me?’
Eadulf smiled grimly. ‘It was purely coincidence that we saw you on this road. We were heading for the Glen of Eatharlaí when we saw you. Where were you going?’
She stuck out her lower lip pugnaciously. ‘Away . . . away from Cashel . . . from everything.’
Eadulf smiled. He had seen no signs of pain from the girl, and now he helped her to her feet. It was true that she appeared none the worse for her fall.
‘I am afraid, Marga, that you will have to come with us for the time being and tomorrow return with us to Cashel.’
‘I will not!’ the girl replied sharply.
Eadulf shrugged. ‘You have no choice.’
‘You are no brehon. You are a foreigner and cannot compel me.’
In this respect, the girl was speaking the truth. Eadulf glanced at Gormán, who had dismounted and was examining the horse she had been riding with a curious look. The warrior responded at once.
‘I am afraid that Brother Eadulf is right, sister,’ he said sharply, ‘for I am of the Nasc Niadh, the bodyguard of the king of Muman, and can compel you to return to Cashel to face questioning.’
‘Questioning about what?’ demanded the girl angrily. ‘I have already been questioned about Abbot Ultán’s death.’
‘About where you stole this horse from to start with.’
The girl flushed indignantly. ‘I did not steal it.’
‘Really? I know the horse well,’ Gormán said sharply. ‘I gave it to someone very dear to me as a present.’
Eadulf glanced at the warrior in surprise but decided to stick to the important matter in hand. ‘And we have to ask you what knowledge you have of the attack on Fergus Fanat,’ he added quietly.
The girl seemed to stagger a pace and went pale. ‘An attack on . . . on Fergus?’ she began.
‘He was attacked last night, and he had not recovered consciousness when I left Cashel just after midday. All we know is that soon after that attack you left Cashel. This necessitates many questions.’
Sister Marga stared at him as if not understanding his words. Then, finally, she was able to say in a tremulous voice: ‘Are you accusing me of attacking Fergus?’
‘I am not accusing you of anything, Sister Marga. I am telling you what has happened and why you need to return to Cashel to clarify matters.’
‘If I do, I shall be killed,’ she suddenly sobbed.
‘I presume that you fear Brother Drón?’
She nodded quickly.
‘Then do not, for he has been taken under guard to Cashel this morning to answer questions also.’ He quickly told the story of Ordwulf and Drón and the reason for their journey to the Glen of Eatharlaí.
She listened quietly.
‘It must have been Brother Drón who attacked Fergus,’ she commented at last. ‘He is an evil man. If he tried to kill Fergus, then he will try to kill me.’
‘We will protect you,’ Eadulf assured her. ‘Brother Drón is safe under lock and key in Cashel. He will not escape to harm you.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Fidelma had caught up with Caol in the main square of the township below the great rock of Cashel. He had selected four other warriors of Colgú’s bodyguard and together with the tracker Rónán they had ridden from the fortress down into the town. Already Rónán had pointed out to them the hopelessness of his being able to pick up any tracks of Brother Drón’s in or around the township. He had spent some time examining the stall where Drón’s horse had been kept and discovered that there was nothing significant about the animal or its tracks. Caol had sent his men about the town to see if anyone had seen the religious from Cill Ria, but by the time Fidelma joined them he had had no success.
She found Caol standing morosely outside the main inn or bruighean speaking to the innkeeper.
‘There are still many strangers in the township, lady,’ he said in a resigned tone.
‘It is true, lady,’ added the innkeeper. ‘People find it hard to tell one from another. I can’t recall any northerner making such inquiries as you ask.’ Fidelma was about to thank him when he added: ‘Perhaps Delia might know something. I know she gave shelter to a young female religieuse from the north last night. Perhaps, if she is still there, she would know the man you are looking for?’
‘Della?’ Fidelma was astonished at the mention of her friend, the mother of Gormán. ‘Last night? Are you sure?’
The innkeeper answered in the affirmative. There was not much that happened in the township that he did not know about, he boasted.
Fidelma suggested that Caol’s warriors wait for them at the inn while she and Caol went directly to seek out Della. If the innkeeper was so free with the information about a northern religieuse staying at Della’s, then Drón would have probably been there before them.
Delia was standing at her open door when Fidelma swung down from her horse. She was a woman of short stature, in her forties, but her maturity had not dimmed the youthfulness of her features or the golden abundance of her hair, or the trimness of her figure.
‘You are
welcome, lady.’ She smiled. ‘I was hoping that by now I would be at your wedding feast.’
‘Alas, there are matters to be sorted out first,’ responded Fidelma. ‘You have heard of what has happened, of course?’
‘My son . . .’ she spoke the words with an added pride, as it had been only recently that she could admit in public that Gorman was her son, ‘has told me some of the details.’
‘I am told that you also had a visitor last night? Is she still here?’
Della’s eyes widened and her hand crept to her throat.
‘She left at midday. Surely, lady, she was not connected with the murders?’
Fidelma smiled reassuringly. ‘Do you know her name?’
‘Indeed. She told me that she was Sister Marga from Cill Ria.’
‘How did she come to stay with you?’
‘It was late last night. I was aroused by a noise in the little barn at the back where I keep my pigs and goat during the cold of winter. I know there are wolves about at this time of year and so I rose and lit a lamp and took my blackthorn stick and went to investigate. It was cold and the rain was falling so hard it was difficult to see one’s hand in front of one’s face. I went to my barn and there in a corner was this young, frightened girl.’
She paused and Fidelma waited patiently.
‘She told me that she was fleeing from some man in her community who wished her harm. She was on foot and had come to the barn, driven there by the cold and rain and night. She had thought to go east to Laigin but felt the man would guess her intention so she was going to attempt the western road but was overcome with tiredness and the rain. She was also exhausted. Naturally, I offered her shelter and warmth in my house.’
‘Did she give any further details?’
‘Only that she kept on about this man, Brother Drón, who wanted to harm her and how she had tried to escape from him once, and fallen in with someone whom she thought she could trust to help her. I gathered it was some young man. She did not tell me his name. She told me that he had betrayed her because he did not believe in her and so she had decided to flee from Cashel. We talked awhile and then she slept. In fact, the poor girl was so exhausted that she slept almost until midday.’
A Prayer for the Damned Page 30
