Master of Souls (28 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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Fidelma moved forward with both hands outstretched to the old man in greeting. ‘Then this is a blessed meeting, Ganicca. You have my unending gratitude
The old man waved his hand in deprecation.
‘You are welcome here, lady, but I wish I could greet you in happier circumstances.’
‘What has happened here?’ she demanded, encompassing the ruined village with a wave of her arm.
‘And who are these men who threaten us with their arrows?’ added Eadulf.
Ganicca held up a hand, palm outward, to stay further questions and then turned to the burly man.
‘No harm will come from these travellers. I know them. Release them.’ Their captors seemed a little reluctant but they put down their weapons and slowly dispersed. Ganicca pointed at the barn behind him.
‘It is a harsh winter, so come in. I fear the best we can offer is some corma and a rude shelter from the mountain winds. Enter and I will tell you what has befallen my people and why you have been treated with such scant hospitality.’
The young boys handed Conrí and his men back their weapons. Others led their horses to a paddock out of the wind. Their erstwhile captors reluctantly dispersed.
‘Seat yourselves.’ The old man pointed to sacking on the floor. ‘I regret that we have been left with no luxuries.’
One of the young boys had followed them inside and now poured corma for everyone as Ganicca was introduced to each member of the party.
‘Now first,’ began Ganicca, ‘I heard that Nessan and Muirgen had decided to stay in Cashel after you left here, Brother Saxon. Are they well? And what news of your child, Fidelma of Cashel, does he prosper?’
Fidelma smiled and nodded.
‘He does, thanks be to God. Muirgen continues as nurse to him. Nessán tends the flocks of sheep on the hills south of Cashel. They are both well and happy.’
‘And how is the stranger from the East called Basil Nestorios? Do the Fates deal well with him?’
‘When we last saw him he was well and continuing in his travels, collecting knowledge of this land, Ganicca,’ Eadulf replied solemnly.
‘And the young warrior, what was his name?’
‘Gormán.’
‘Gormán, indeed. How fares it with him?’
‘He is now deputy commander of my brother’s bodyguard,’ Fidelma replied.
‘And your brother, the noble Colgú, is all well with him?’
‘My brother is, as ever, concerned for the peoples of his kingdom and worries when ill befalls them.’ Fidelma paused and then added: ‘He will be concerned at the ill that has befallen you in this place.’
‘What has happened since I was here?’ Eadulf joined in. ‘Why were we ambushed and brought here in such a fashion?’
Ganicca sighed deeply.
‘It happened some weeks ago. Until then, we had long dwelt here in an open community without fear. Even in the bad days, so long as we paid tribute to the Lord of the Passes, Uaman, we were never harmed.’
He paused, as if gathering his thoughts.
‘It was one afternoon when a band of warriors came along the track just as you have done. They were on horseback. Between them, marching on foot and at swordpoint, was a band of religious … they were prisoners.’
Conrí leant forward excitedly.
‘Six young females?’ he demanded.
‘And a foreign Brother of the Faith.’
Fidelma frowned. ‘I had no information about a foreign brother.’
‘He was a rough-looking young man,’ continued Ganicca. ‘He appeared more suited to a life spent outdoors than among the pale creatures that
are cloistered in the dim recesses of a monastery … saving your presence, Brother Saxon.’
‘But he was a prisoner and a religieux as well?’ queried Eadulf.
‘He was.’
‘What happened when these warriors and their prisoners came to your village?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘We offered hospitality, as is the custom. The warriors took corma and demanded food. They dismayed us by ill treating their prisoners, allowing them only water and some bread.’
‘Did anyone question the religious as to why they were prisoners or what manner of warriors their captors were?’ asked Fidelma.
Ganicca made a negative gesture.
‘The warriors discouraged contact with the prisoners and when our smith, the man who captured you, asked what was happening, he received a slap across the face. The lesson was reinforced by the tip of a sword to deter him from pressing further.’
‘And then?’
Ganicca raised his arms as if encompassing the whole settlement.
‘Then, my friends, two more warriors came riding up with a third person. That person ordered the warriors to burn the village … they burnt and looted it. We had no weapons to hand. They attacked our blacksmith’s forge and then started to fire our houses. Most of us managed to escape up the mountains to the shelter of the caves there. Seven of our people were slain, too young or too old to escape the onslaught. Many more were wounded. It is as you see … we are a destroyed community.’
Fidelma frowned. ‘Have you reported this matter to your chief, to Slébéne?’
The old man shrugged. ‘We sent him word. But he has never protected us in the past so why would he protect us now?’
‘Slébéne’s duty is to protect his people. He is also answerable to my brother, the king.’
‘Slébéne is his own man and is answerable only to himself. We selected one of our number to go to Daingean and speak to him. He has not returned.’
Eadulf bent close to Fidelma and whispered, ‘See, we were right about Slébéne!’
Fidelma was grim-faced. ‘Then I swear, Ganicca, that he shall answer for any transgression. A chief has responsibilities as well as rights.’
Ganicca regarded her calmly. ‘You are truly a descendant of Eoghan Mór, lady. However, I knew that Slébéne would not come to our aid.’
‘Why so?’
‘Because I know that evil figure who ordered his warriors to turn on our village and destroy it.’
‘Slébéne himself?’ asked Eadulf eagerly. He found the old man’s eyes looking sorrowfully at him. ‘Well, out with it,’ he demanded. ‘Who was it?’
‘Saxon brother, you told us two months ago that you saw Uaman the Leper die before your eyes. You were wrong. The person who gave the order for this destruction,’ he raised his hand to embrace the scene, ‘was Uaman. Uaman the Leper. The Lord of the Passes.’
 
 
‘Impossible!’ Eadulf exploded after the brief silence that followed Ganicca’s announcement. The old man sadly shook his head.
‘I wish it was impossible, Brother Saxon. I would know that slight figure of Uaman the Leper anywhere.’
‘You actually saw the face?’ Eadulf pressed.
Ganicca smiled in reprimand.
‘No one looks on the face of Uaman the Leper and lives.’
‘I did,’ retorted Eadulf.
‘You were lucky, my friend. He was not called Master of Souls for nothing.’
Eadulf frowned at the familiar expression.
‘Master of Souls?’
‘He who despises his own life is soon master of another’s – beware for such a man can become master of souls,’ Fidelma quoted quietly.
Ganicca glanced at her with interest.
‘You know the old saying then, lady?’
‘It was a saying of my mentor, the Brehon Morann.’
Eadulf was now frowning in annoyance.
‘I have said before that I saw him in the quicksand as it pulled him down. Then a great wave descended and he was gone. No one could have survived that.’
‘Then it is a wraith who rides out from the Otherworld and instructs his warriors to destroy my people,’ replied Ganicca calmly.
Eadulf made to say something but then remembered the words of the boy Iobcar. He had said something similar.
‘So this attack happened some weeks ago?’ interposed Conrí. When Ganicca nodded emphatically, he turned to Fidelma. ‘Then it is easy to
see the train of events. Uaman and his war band wrecked the ship. Then they came on Abbess Faife and her companions. They killed her and took them as prisoners, moving northwards up through the mountains. That’s where they picked up the warship. That’s why it flies the banner of Eoganán of the Uí Fidgente, Uaman’s father.’
Fidelma was thoughtful.
‘I am trying to understand what purpose all this would serve? Why wreck the merchant ship? Why kill the abbess but then take her companions prisoner? Who is the male religieux who is with them? A foreigner? Perhaps a Gaul, perhaps a survivor from the wreck?’
Conrí, however, was excited as he interpreted the events. He turned to Ganicca.
‘Tell my companions where this road leads?’
The old man looked puzzled.
‘Why, it leads northwards out of this valley.’
‘But tell them where.’
‘Well, if you cross out of the valley by the eastern route over the mountains you can join the road that leads along the coast to the lands of the Uí Fidgente and north again to Ard Fhearta. But if you cross to the west then you will come to the seashore and the road takes you across a low-lying thrust of land called the Machaire peninsula with the great bay of Bréanainn to the west and the Machaire Islands to the northern tip.’
Conrí was nodding eagerly.
‘The Machaire Islands,’ he said meaningfully.
Ganicca was perplexed.
‘They are nothing except a group of small uninhabited islands … well, apart for one that is occupied by hermits. Seanach’s Island.’
Conrí turned to face Fidelma with a smile of satisfaction.
‘The Machaire Islands,’ he said again with emphasis.
Eadulf, recovering from Ganicca’s claim that he was mistaken in his belief that Uaman was dead, was regarding the warlord seriously.
‘Are you claiming that the wreckage on Uaman’s island, the killing of the Abbess Faife and the disappearance of the religieuse and the attack by the mysterious warship are now all connected?’
‘I say that they must be. And if Uaman is involved, it makes perfect sense.’
Eadulf pursed his lips sceptically.
‘Ganicca is the only one who has positively identified Uaman as part of this affair,’ he pointed out.
‘The boy also did so,’ replied Conrí softly.
‘But the boy didn’t know Uaman. He was repeating something he had heard adults say.’
‘And I know who I saw, Brother Saxon,’ Ganicca intervened sharply.
‘We must follow the path these people took,’ Fidelma interrupted to silence them. She recognised that this exchange might soon lead to an argument. ‘I think the answer will be found on those islands that you called the Machaire.’
‘It is nearly noon, lady, and we have little hospitality to offer now,’ Ganicca said as he realised why Fidelma had stopped the conversation. ‘What we have, you are most welcome to.’
Fidelma shook her head and thanked the old man.
‘We will move on immediately, my friend.’
‘Yet there is no hurry,’ the old man pointed out. ‘It is now three weeks since this happened and the chances of catching up with these men …’ He shook his head.
‘Nevertheless, we will ride on,’ Fidelma insisted firmly. ‘Whether the leader is Uaman or not, we must find those who have been abducted.’
‘Then may God be on all the paths you travel, lady. It is a dangerous game that you hunt.’
‘Thank you, Ganicca. I promise in my brother’s name to ensure that your village is compensated for the outrage you have suffered.’
The old man smiled sadly.
‘The Brehons have a list of honour-prices for each one of us. But how do you really judge the value of lives, lady? It is not easy. But we will survive, some of us at least. And while the names of our dead are still spoken, then their lives will have meant something in this sad world in which we live.’
A short time later they were climbing their horses along the mountain track and keeping on the west side of the river which ran rapidly through the valley below them. They were almost turning east, paralleling the course of the river, when Conrí pointed to a narrow pass through the hills by a number of ancient stones that had apparently been set up by their ancestors in the dim distant past.
Taking the pass, they found they were now following a smaller stream that rose on the mountain behind them, tumbling northwards. They
descended towards a valley and could see a broad plain with the misty sea in the distance.
‘We’ll have to think about stopping soon, lady,’ Conrí suggested, ‘otherwise it will be dark before we know it and we haven’t eaten since last night.’
‘I thought I glimpsed a farmstead on the plain ahead of us,’ Fidelma replied. ‘We’ll seek hospitality there.’
Indeed, when they approached the series of wooden buildings, half hidden in the shelter of a copse of some sturdy oaks, a farmer and his son appeared to be waiting for them. They looked nervous and held some farming implements defensively in their hands.
Fidelma called out a friendly greeting and the two men began to look slightly relieved.
‘We saw you coming down the hill road, Sister,’ said the elder man, recognising her robes. ‘We saw some strange riders only and wondered who you were.’
‘No one who means harm to you and yours, my friend. We are just weary travellers who need a shelter for the night,’ replied Fidelma, dismounting.
‘My wife would be pleased to offer you a bed, Sister,‘replied the farmer, rubbing his jaw and seeming to mentally count them. ‘But your companions will have to shelter in the barn. We have little room in the house.’
‘That will suit us fine, farmer,’ Conrí assured him. ‘A place out of the wind and warm straw will suit us well.’
‘There is the spring in which to wash but plenty of venison to eat and bread to take away your hunger.’
‘You hospitality is generous,’ Fidelma replied warmly. ‘Yet you still seem nervous. Have there been other travellers on this road?’
The farmer exchanged a brief glance with his son. Fidelma was right. They were nervous.
‘In truth, there have, Sister. Travellers that I would not like to play host to. It was several weeks ago but, thanks be to God, they passed on without stopping. They went across the top meadow in the direction of the sea.’
‘You appear fearful of them. Why so?’
‘They were warriors on horseback but we saw them herding a group of prisoners. They were religieuse, poor young women, with a male prisoner.’
‘Herding is an odd choice of word,’ Conrí pointed out.
Herding is the only word that comes to mind, my friend,’ the farmer replied almost defensively. ‘They passed by and we prayed for their souls.’
‘You were looking to the north-west,’ Fidelma observed. ‘Is that the direction in which they went?’
‘Indeed they did. Towards the Machaire peninsula.’
Fidelma’s expression was one of satisfaction.
‘If you can tell us where we might tether our horses … ?’
The farmer glanced round and pointed.
‘You can put them in the enclosure at the back. We have some sheep there but I doubt whether they will be bothered. It will keep them out of the cold winds. The spring is over there, and the barn where you may sleep. Sister, come to the house. The food will be ready after you have washed.’
The food was good and the hay was warm and, for the first time in several days, Eadulf slept a deep comfortable sleep without waking once during the night. He did not begrudge Fidelma her more civilised abode. By the time he woke and washed, everyone else was sitting down to a breakfast. Gifts were given by Conrí, who had the foresight to travel with such items, to the farmer, his wife and their son in exchange for their hospitality. Socht and his companion had saddled their horses and after an exchange of farewells they rode on again.
The salty smell of the sea was never far away on the peninsula of the Corco Duibhne but now it was really strong. The air was filled with the crying of gulls, and these were joined by a few lost-looking greenshanks, wading along the few freshwater pools and lakes that they passed. But it was the noisy gulls that dominated, especially the great black-backed gull with its fierce, heavy, hooked bill. It was a fearsome butcher of a bird, eating refuse and carrion and preying on the chicks of other species like puffins, shearwaters and kittiwakes. In fact, just as the thought entered Eadulf’s mind, there came the strident call of ‘kitti-wa-a-k!’ like the eerie cry of a lost soul. Two adult kittiwakes swooped along the coastline ahead of them, with their soft grey plumage, white heads and yellow bills.
Conrí was riding in front with Fidelma and Eadulf and the two warriors behind them.
‘Well,’ Eadulf said, wishing to break the silence that had lasted since they left the hospitality of the farm, ‘we have criss-crossed this peninsula twice now. I should know the place by now.’
Conrí glanced across his shoulder.
‘No one can ever really know a country like this.’ He waved a hand across the mountains behind him. ‘I have been through this country before. They call those valleys Gleannta an Easig, the valleys of the waterfall.’
Eadulf could see why. It was a curious land, he thought, where cliffs rose overshadowing lakes and rivers meandered through valleys that were green and tree covered before changing in turn into bleak and rocky areas and then back again into verdant swaths. The land seemed barely populated but as they passed along the white sandy shore leading to the small finger of what they now knew was the Machaire peninsula, Eadulf could see a few isolated farmsteads and buildings almost hidden here and there among trees and rocks.
They passed within sight of a broad lake to their left, a bright loch which seemed swarming with wildfowl. Smoke rose from a point on its shore.
‘It looks like a smith’s forge.’ Conrí commented as he followed the direction in which Eadulf was staring. The faint clang of metal on metal came to their ears as if in confirmation of the fact.
They rode on down the narrow green spit of land with the white sands on either side until the reached the end bay with low headlands either side like the claws of a crab, edging in and narrowing at the mouth. It was a rock-clustered, inhospitable shore, not like the broad sandy slopes that had stretched either side of the main strip of land that thrust out into the sea. The only sign that man had been here at all was a tall
gallán
or standing stone that rose erect at least five metres above the ground.
Beyond the entrance of the bay they could see some of the distant islands of Machaire. But it was the keen-sighted Conrí who became aware of something else.
‘Look there!’ he shouted abruptly, causing them to start.
He pointed beyond the rocky eastern headland.
At first, seen against the choppy grey sea, it looked like a dark plank of wood being tossed and thrown about over the waves. Then as it came closer into the bay, heading for the rocky shore, Eadulf realised it was one of the light canoes they used in this part of the world, a wickerwork frame covered with hides stitched together with thongs. There seemed to be only one figure bent to the oars although the light craft must have been eight metres long and a metre or more wide.

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