Brother Faro noticed her interest in her surroundings and unbent further from his usual air of distance.
‘You recall the dish we ate last evening?’ He pointed to some tall trees dominating areas of the lower reaches. ‘That was sweet chestnuts, the fruit of those trees there.’
Fidelma had seen such trees in her journey to the Saxon kingdoms. An old sage had told her that the Romans had brought the tree into the country long ago.
‘They are similar to trees I have seen in the lands of the Saxons, but the nuts there do not ripen for eating like they do here,’ she observed.
Magister Ado and Sister Gisa had halted in order for them to catch up.
‘The nuts on these trees are rich and succulent,’ calledSister Gisa over her shoulder, hearing the end of their conversation. ‘You have merely to bend down and gather the spiky husks, split them open and harvest the nuts. They are often used in the dishes here.’
Magister Ado now dropped back to ride alongside Brother Faro in order that Sister Gisa and Fidelma could continue their conversation on local food. Sister Gisa and Brother Faro rode nearest to the riverbank while Fidelma and Magister Ado rode on the interior side of the path.
Ahead of them, Fidelma had noticed a bird with pointed wings and long tail rising abruptly from where it had been standing by the edge of the river which ran to their left. The bird rose with its strange chirping cry and Fidelma recognised a kestrel. A moment later from the woods came piercing cries and two large, dark birds with broad rounded wings and short necks suddenly soared from the treetops. Buzzards. There came a cacophony of bird noise, causing her to glance at the dark woodlands. She saw a shadow by a tree and turned back with a cry of warning.
Magister Ado had apparently already seen the shadow, for he leaned sharply across his horse’s neck. There was a whistling sound and Brother Faro gave a cry of pain and fell from his horse, sprawling on his back on the track. Fidelma had only time to realise that the haft of an arrow was protruding from his shoulder and there was blood spurting from the wound. When she glanced back, Magister Ado had straightened up. It seemed that he had seen the archer loosening his bow and ducked. The arrow had passed over him and hit Brother Faro instead. Sister Gisa was screaming.
Fidelma turned back to the trees. Two men, bows ready, had emerged from cover and were moving deliberately towards them. She was undecided for a moment. If they fled,they would have to leave Brother Faro, wounded as he was, to the mercy of the attackers, for there was no time to dismount and put his unconscious body on horseback again. But if they stayed it would surely mean their own death.
It seemed, however, that Magister Ado had decided upon his own salvation and was urging his horse forward, passing her. He had gone but a short distance when another sound ahead of them caused him to halt. It was a blast on a hunter’s horn, followed by a series of short warning blasts. It was all happening so fast that Fidelma could not keep up with events and sat undecided on her horse. Along the valley track around a bend ahead of them, emerged half a dozen mounted and armed men at the gallop. She now saw the two archers turning and heading rapidly into the cover of the trees.
The leader of the newcomers shouted orders and three of the riders detached themselves, dismounted and were scrambling up into the dense forests after the fleeing attackers.
Sister Gisa had swung down from the mule and was kneeling by the prone form of Brother Faro. Fidelma dismounted and went to help her. Brother Faro’s eyes were opening and he groaned a little. She saw that the arrow had stuck into fatty tissue and missed the important muscles. Nevertheless, she knew that it had to be extracted immediately and the wound treated. It could still cause poisoning, and he could die of the result.
‘Hold him,’ she instructed Sister Gisa, then turning to Brother Faro added: ‘I am afraid this will hurt a little.’
He nodded that he understood. She peered closely at the arrow which, without bone or muscle to block it, had penetrated the flesh so that the point stuck out the other side. The arrowhead itself was thankfully smooth and not barbed. She reached forward and snapped off the feathered end asclose to the wound as possible. Then, taking hold of the head, she pulled the shaft rapidly through the flesh. Brother Faro gave a sharp cry and fainted.
‘Quickly, Sister, some water to wash the wound,’ Fidelma ordered.
Sister Gisa brought the water from the river and something from her saddlebag. As Fidelma washed the young man’s wound, Sister Gisa said: ‘This is a paste of crushed garlic. I have often seen my father use it. In these parts it is spread on wounds and has healing qualities and will prevent infections.’
Fidelma nodded silently and allowed the girl to apply the paste before she bound the wound tightly with strips of linen. By the time she had finished, Brother Faro had recovered consciousness again. They sat him up, back against a tree trunk, and he took a little wine which Sister Gisa also provided.
Fidelma finally rose and walked to where Magister Ado was talking earnestly to the leader of the horsemen, who was now standing by his horse. He was a tall warrior with long fair hair and bright blue eyes that were almost a violet shade. Magister Ado performed the introduction.
‘This is Sister Fidelma of Hibernia who travels to Bobium with us.’
‘I am Wulfoald, Sister. I am in the service of Radoald, son of Billo, Lord of Trebbia. You are welcome in our country.’ He spoke to her in faultless Latin.
‘It does not seem that everyone would share your welcome.’ Fidelma could not help the cynical response.
Wulfoald’s left eyebrow rose a little disdainfully. He gestured towards the woodland where the attackers had disappeared. ‘Bandits, Sister. They will be caught and punished.’
She was about to make a further remark when Magister Ado seemed eager to intervene.
‘We were lucky that you and your men came along, Wulfoald.’
The young warrior gave a brief shrug. ‘We were on our way to pick up some goods that my lord was expecting from merchants at the junction of the Salt Road. We heard the warning of the birds and a cry, and so I ordered the horn to be sounded to let it be known that Radoald’s men approached. How is your companion?’
‘Brother Faro?’ Magister Ado seemed to realise for the first time that his young companion had been hurt. He swung round but saw that Brother Faro was sitting up and being well attended by Sister Gisa.
There came a call from the hillside and the three warriors who had chased after the attackers were returning empty-handed.
‘They escaped, Wulfoald,’ their spokesman said at once. ‘They had horses further up the hill and were away before we could close on them.’
‘Did you recognise them?’ demanded Wulfoald.
‘We did not. They wore black cloaks and hoods and we could not discern their features.’
Sister Fidelma glanced at Magister Ado. ‘Black cloaks and hoods?’ She made the comment into a question.
Magister Ado gave an almost indiscernible shake of his head, a warning in his eyes.
‘Bandits,’ Wulfoald said again, with emphasis. ‘Have no fear, Sister. They will put much distance between here and their lair. They will know that my lord Radoald’s reach is long and his vengeance is swift. They will not be back. As guarantee, I shall instruct two of my men to see you safe to the walls of Bobium itself. Indeed, I suggest that this nightyou accept the hospitality of my lord, Radoald, at his fortress. Our physician, Suidur the Wise, will be pleased to attend to your young disciple there.’
Magister Ado was profuse in his thanks. And while Wulfoald went to instruct his men, he and Fidelma made their way to where Brother Faro was now sitting up. The young man smiled ruefully.
‘It stings a little but is not too painful,’ he admitted when asked how his wound felt. ‘I have had worse.’