Master of Souls (27 page)

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Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #blt, #Clerical Sleuth, #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery, #Medieval Ireland

BOOK: Master of Souls
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The boy paused, frowning for a moment.
‘Neither. My father said they were going north.’
‘North into the mountains?’ Conrí frowned in surprise. He and Eadulf had expected that the raiders would be returning to Slébéne’s fortress.
‘Along the track that leads up the mountain valley, where the River Imligh flows,’ agreed the boy. ‘They were heading north.’
Eadulf turned to Fidelma.
‘I know part of that way, for that is the path we travelled in search of little Alchú.’ There was a tense quality in his voice as he spoke which only Fidelma picked up, realising he was remembering his frantic search for their abducted son.
‘Then that is the road we must take tomorrow,’ Fidelma decided with a firmness that admitted no dissension. She waited until she and Eadulf were alone and then she reached out and laid her hand on Eadulf’s arm.
‘Memories are hard, I know,’ she said softly. ‘But our baby is now safe in Cashel. Muirgen and Nessan are protecting him as fiercely as if he were their own child. Once this matter is over, we will soon be back with him.’
Eadulf sighed sadly and patted her hand.
‘Yet the memories come, especially in this place. It is such a short time that has passed since last I was here. The memories of what happened here are sharp and I am still anxious.’
Fidelma grimaced and Eadulf realised that her eyes were unnaturally bright.
‘Forgive me,’ he suddenly said in a soft tone.
She passed a hand over her eyes quickly, as if to disguise the act of wiping them, and frowned questioningly.
‘I am being too selfish about my feelings,’ Eadulf raised a shoulder and let it fall expressively. ‘It is a great fault.’ He took her hands in his and squeezed them.
Fidelma forced a smile.
‘Brehon Morann used to say, they are truly good who are faultless. I am very aware of my own faults. But I share your anxieties. It is a heavy duty, being sister of the king as well as a
dálaigh.
It often leaves no room for the woman nor for the mother. Yet the woman and the mother are here in this same body. You, above all people, should know that.’
Eadulf bowed his head for a moment. Then he cleared his throat.
‘We’d best get some rest for we must start early in the morning,’ he said shortly.
Fidelma was the first to wake the next morning. Iobcar son of Starn the blacksmith was gone, along with his bow. She went outside to the well, drew some water, and washed quickly. When she had done, Eadulf and the others were stirring. They decided not to waste time in hunting more game to break their fast, for there was no other food to hand, no fruits nor berries. The midwinter days limited their diet. They decided to press on immediately and pause at lunchtime for food. Eadulf assured them that by that time they would have reached a hamlet where he knew hospitality would be accorded them. So, slaking their thirst with fresh water from the well, they saddled their horses and set off along the track across the shoulder of the mountain which Eadulf indicated was to be their path.
The patient horses climbed for a while, bringing them to a spectacular view of the inlet below them when they emerged above the treeline.
‘Look!’ It was Conrí who brought them to a halt. He was pointing down to the island below.
A large vessel had sailed up the narrow waters and was riding at anchor a short distance off the island. Some of the crew were taking down its sails while others launched a skiff from the side of the ship. The vessel looked vaguely familiar to Fidelma and Eadulf, but it was only when the breeze caught at the banner snaking from the mainmast that they realised why. Fidelma turned to Conri in surprise.
‘That is the warship that attacked us off the Machaire Islands.’
Conrí had already realised that fact.
‘It must have put on new sail and then passed round the end of the peninsula and sailed up the inlet. Why would they be following us?’
‘They cannot be following us,’ replied Fidelma with a shake of her head. ‘They would not know that we were crossing the peninsula and passing this spot.’
‘Then what are they doing?’ demanded Conrí.
‘Well, the best thing is to dismount lest they see that they are being observed,’ Eadulf advised. ‘Then we may be able to see what they are doing on the island.’
Socht took their horses further along the track to a spot behind a group of rocks where they were hidden from prying eyes.
They perched themselves in a clump of boulders from where they could look down into the inlet without being seen. It was not very long before they discovered what the crew of the strange ship was about.
‘Why,’ Conrí observed in wonder, ‘they are loading up with the stores from the shipwreck.’
‘Do you think they had any part in wrecking the ship?’ Eadulf asked.
‘Perhaps they are the wreckers, and hoarded the goods so that they could return for them later,’ Fidelma hazarded.
‘Then they must be the same men who killed Faife and abducted her companions. They moved north and picked up their vessel on the north side of the peninsula,’ Conrí said. ‘The prisoners must be on board the ship.’
Eadulf shook his head. ‘Why march north if they merely meant to sail back here again? And the wreck and capture of the women was nearly three weeks ago now.’
‘That island would be ideal as a spot to lure unsuspecting ships on to its rocks,’ mused Socht.
‘How so?’ demanded Eadulf.
‘The passage to the south of the island is narrow, but you can see from the colour of the waters that it is deep water,’ Socht observed. ‘Ships from as far as Gaul run up here to the safe anchorage at the abbey of Colman to the east. Once past this island, the ships are protected from the rough ocean waters and find safe harbour there. Can you imagine what would befall a ship running to the north of the island straight on to the sands or, indeed, running into the rocks around that southern extremity?’
‘It is more apparent from this vantage point,’ Eadulf agreed. ‘How do you know such things, Socht?’
Conrí replied for him. ‘Socht is one of our best seafaring warriors and knows the coastline around our waters.’
‘Terrible crimes have been committed here,’ Fidelma commented. ‘I think we have seen enough. It is obvious that the ship knew that the stores were there and went straight to them. I think we can assume that the crew are the wreckers. They are responsible for killing the hapless sailors as they came ashore. And we know that this ship lurks around these waters and bears the war banner of Eoganan of the Uí Fidgente.’
‘If they are Uí Fidgente, then they are rebels and traitors. We are at peace,’ asserted Conrí, feeling the need to defend his people once again.
‘I accept that,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Certainly a flag does not always guarantee the identity of the person who flies it. But our main task is to press on after the abductors. I’d like to reach this little hamlet that Eadulf told us about before we die of hunger.’
‘You don’t think we will find Abbess Faife’s missing companions on that vessel down there?’ Conrí was disappointed.
‘We can’t be sure that the wreckers and abductors are one and the same,’ Fidelma replied firmly. She made no further comment as they remounted and rode on.
Although it was still fairly cold, it was pleasant riding through the mountains. The sky was pale blue and the sun, though weak, reflected on the snow and the crystal waters of mountain springs, giving an impression of intense brightness. Eadulf remembered the path and so they rode confidently through the rocky terraces that inclined steeply to a large rushing river as it tumbled down from the far peaks. They passed several old grey standing stones from a bygone age. As the path dipped below the treeline once more Eadulf realised that they must have started their
descent to the ford where the hamlet stood. He was about to say as much when there was a curious whistling sound and a thud.
The arrow embedded itself in a tree about an arm’s distance from Conri’s right shoulder. His horse shied nervously, causing the mounts of his companions to move skittishly, heads tugging sharply at their reins, whites of their eyes showing in terror.
As Conrí and his men reached automatically for their weapons a harsh voice called out: ‘Don’t move. That was a warning shot. If we had wanted to hit you, we would have done so. Get down off your horses.’
Conrí was hesitant.
They heard the hum of another arrow. This time it seemed to come from another direction and hit a tree behind them.
‘In case you think there is only one archer, let me tell you that you are surrounded. That is enough of warnings. You will get down off your horses and lay your arms on the path before you.’
Conrí glanced at Fidelma and gestured helplessly.
‘There is no choice,’ she said in resignation as she made to obey.
‘Wait!’ called the voice. ‘You will dismount one at a time. Each walk forward five paces and lay down your arms, leaving your horse where it is.’
Even Eadulf had to admire the technique of the ambush. There would now be no chance of their dismounting and taking cover behind their horses.
‘The warriors will dismount first – one by one.’
Conrí, his face red with mortification, went forward first and laid down his weapons. His two men followed individually.
Then Eadulf went forward, dismounting awkwardly, and striding forward to the pile of weapons. He stood feet apart and spread out his arms.
‘I carry no weapons,’ he called to the invisible bowmen. ‘I am a Brother in Christ.’
‘You are a man and men often have weapons no matter what clothes they wear,’ came back the uncompromising tone. ‘Stand aside but keep your arms out, hands well away from your body.’
Fidelma was called forward next.
‘I have no weapons either,’ she called.
There was no answer and then half a dozen men, all with drawn bows, each aimed at Fidelma and her companions, emerged from behind trees
and rocks. The leading man, who had the look of a burly smith about him, suddenly whistled. Three or four young boys, emerging from hiding places among the trees and undergrowth, came forward. Without being asked, some took hold of the horses’ reins while others gathered the discarded weapons.
‘Who are you?’ snapped Conrí.
The burly man, who was obviously the leader, smiled beneath his beard showing blackened teeth.
‘You will know soon enough. Now, all of you will turn and march before us down this path. Try no tricks and no one will come to harm. And no talking … you’ll be given an opportunity to sing your hearts out soon enough.’
Eadulf had time to give their captors a quick scrutiny. He had an idea that he had seen the burly man before but could not place him. The others appeared an ill-assorted group; he would not really equate them with well-muscled warriors like Conrí and his men. They seemed ill fed and more like field hands than military men.
They all moved on in silence, swinging along the path that ran along the hillside through the valley until it came round into an open area with the river flowing along it. Eadulf suddenly knew where he was. There was the standing stone with the ancient writing on it, the ford across the rushing river and the buildings making up the small hamlet. This was the little settlement where he, with Basil Nestorios and the warrior Gormán, had come after the destruction of the fortress of Uaman the Leper.
For a moment his heart leapt and then it plummeted as he realised the buildings were blackened, their stones knocked askew and some pulled down. Many of the wooden buildings no longer existed except for the remains of burnt timbers. It looked as if the place had been overwhelmed by some catastrophe. Were these men responsible? Were they responsible for the death of Abbess Faife?
They were being marched through the buildings from which people were emerging, quiet but angry, some staring at them with hatred. Yet no one made any sound but stared tight-mouthed as they went by.
They were halted before a half-burnt barn, which it was apparent someone had been trying to repair by putting a new roof on it.
Out of the building came an elderly man with parchment-coloured skin and a shock of white hair. His bright eyes were of indeterminate colour as he surveyed the group.
Eadulf recognised him immediately.
‘Ganicca!’ he called.
The old man frowned. ‘Who speaks my name?’
Eadulf moved a step forward. ‘It is I. Don’t you recognise me?’
The old man stared and then his thin features broke into a slow smile of recognition.
‘Why, it is the Saxon Brother. How come you here again?’
‘A story that is long in the telling, Ganicca. But this is Fidelma.’
Ganicca’s eyes widened and he asked quickly. ‘Fidelma of Cashel?’
Fidelma was looking puzzled.
‘Ganicca was the man who helped us when we fled from Uaman’s fortress,’ explained Eadulf. ‘It was he who pointed us to the home of Nessan and Muirgen and so was responsible for the eventual recovery of our child.’

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