‘Take the warriors to the shed and make sure they are well bound, Ciar,’ the man commanded.
‘We meant you no harm,’ Fidelma protested, but the man gestured for her to be silent.
‘You think I believe you? Strangers and warriors?’ He turned as the small boy came back. ‘Cuana, saddle your horse and ride for the chief. You’ll be there before dark. Tell him that we have visitors. He’ll know what to do.’
‘I am on my way, Father,’ cried the boy, who was surely no more than twelve years old.
The young man addressed as Ciar came back, still holding his bow.
‘They are secured, Father,’ he reported.
Then the farmer relaxed a little and tossed his spancel to the other young man.
‘You tend to the cows now. We’ll take her inside. We might as well be comfortable while we wait.’
‘Keep a close eye on her,’ replied the young man. ‘These people are full of tricks.’
Fidelma frowned as the farmer prompted her forward to the building. ‘Who do you think I am?’
The man gave a sardonic snort. ‘Try no games with me, woman. I have seen enough of them — from you and your people. Our chieftain will be here soon and then you may try your tricks on him. Now, sit in that chair.’
Fidelma had no sooner sat down than Ciar laid aside his bow, seized her wrists and bound them with a length of rope. Having done so he smiled at his father, who nodded in approval.
‘You can put aside your bow now, Ciar, but keep it handy. There may be others about. Anyway, the chief should not be long.’
Eadulf was being dragged up a steep hill, the cords cutting deeply into his wrists. Even if he had wanted to cry out in pain, the tight gag effectively stopped any sound from emerging. His eyes began to water with the agony and he hoped his captors did not think it was some sign of weakness as, jeering, they pulled and prodded at him with the shafts of their spears. Several times he fell but they continued to pull, dragging him up the rough earth, until he was able to lurch to his feet again.
Earlier, he could not estimate how long, they had ridden before a halt was called and they had dismounted. He had been roughly manhandled from his horse, and forced to climb these steep slopes.
It seemed an age before they reached the top of the hill. It was coldand the wind was sharp, but somehow it gave his bruised and battered body some comfort. Then someone removed his blindfold and the same hand removed his gag. He stood, trying to catch his breath, and glanced around. The lowering sun still lit the land with its wintry soft golden light. He realised that he was on a high hill and noticed some curious structures there — stone-built edifices of the type he had seen elsewhere in the country. People had told him that such buildings were very ancient, constructed by the gods in the time beyond memory. He shivered slightly.
Nearer to where he stood with his captors, there were some rough wooden buildings and cooking fires, around which some women sat. But there were no signs of any children, only adults.
He became aware of one of the women approaching him.
She was tall, and her raven-black hair tumbled down almost to her waist. A silver headband bearing a strange crescent design held the hair in place around her forehead. Her features were angular but striking; the dark eyes flashed with some inner fire. It was a face used to command. It was also a face that he felt he had seen before — but could not think where. Eadulf also saw that around her neck and stretching across her chest was a great semi-circular collar. Then he realised that it was a silver equivalent of the great necklet that Fidelma had shown him in Cashel. The one she had found in the room of the dead guest at Ferloga’s inn; the one she had said was a symbol of the Druids, the priests of the old gods.
His captors thrust him forward to face the woman by the expedient of prodding him with the tip of their swords. They all seemed to treat the woman with reverence.
In spite of the ropes binding him, Eadulf drew himself up, staring at her with his chin thrust forward defensively.
The woman halted before him. She was nearly half a head taller than he was. She looked down at him, and her thin lips parted in a smile without warmth. Her dark eyes seemed to bore deeply into his.
‘Well, a Christian prisoner. You are welcome, my friend, welcome to Sliabh na Caillaigh.’
‘The Mountain of the Hag?’ Eadulf was frowning. He seemed to have heard the name before.
‘You are a Saxon by your accent,’ she observed.
‘I am Eadulf, of Seaxmund’s Ham in the land of the South Folk,’ he replied proudly. ‘Who are you?’
The woman laughed without humour.
‘That is not for strangers to know, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham in the land of the South Folk,’ she replied, mimicking his accent.
The woman was accompanied by several warriors. One of her entourage a fair-haired man, seemed familiar to Eadulf and he struggled to think where he had seen the man before. He found it curious that there were several things here that seemed known to him: the ornament at the woman’s neck, her features — and now the face of this warrior.
Then the leader of his captors moved forward and addressed the woman, but with bowed head.
‘Ceannard, this man claims to be husband to Fidelma of Cashel. We have heard that there was a female and male religious accompanied by two southern warriors at Tara recently.’
‘Is this true?’ demanded the woman, staring at Eadulf with sudden interest.
Eadulf smiled. ‘Perhaps that is not for you to know,’ he replied, with an attempt to mimic her.
The black-bearded warrior at his side struck him with the flat of his sword and Eadulf staggered a pace, biting his lip to stop from uttering a sound at the pain.
The woman turned behind her and called to one of the warriors nearby. ‘Come forth and see if you recognise this man.’
The warrior came forward to examine him.
‘That is the man called Brother Eadulf,’ he confirmed.
Eadulf immediately recognised Cuan, the short, dark warrior of the Fianna who had fled from Tara.
‘He was in the company of Fidelma of Cashel who was sent for to investigate Sechnussach’s death,’ the man continued. ‘They were accompanied by two warriors of the Nasc Niadh, the golden collar, in the service of the King of Muman. I saw them all at Tara.’
‘They will be searching for me even now,’ Eadulf defiantly, ‘as they are searching for you, Cuan. I am told the Fianna dislike deserters and traitors and have ways of dealing with them.’
‘Their search will be in vain,’ snapped Cuan, ‘and you will be dead before they find you.’ He raised his sword threateningly but the woman stayed him with a sharp command.
‘Do not harm him lest you incur my displeasure, Cuan. And do not underestimate this man’s companion,’ she rebuked. ‘I have heard of Fidelma of Cashel. She is very clever and in other circumstances I wouldwelcome her to my homestead. She is a defender of many of the old ways against these pernicious ideas that are being spread through these lands. She is also an advocate of the ancient laws and that makes a worthy enemy.’
Cuan was immediately obeisant.
‘Where is she now?’ demanded the woman of Eadulf.
As Eadulf set his jaw firmly, his black-beareded captor moved forward and said confidently, ‘Ceannard, I will send two of my men to find out.’
The woman smiled thinly at him. ‘You mean that you don’t know already?’ she sneered.
‘We came upon the Saxon on the track to Delbna Mór. He was travelling with a survivor from Fobhair. We killed the other man. They rode with no one else.’
This was greeted with a frown.
‘You allowed someone from Fobhair to survive?’ There was a threat in her voice.