‘Is this why the farmer feared us?’ intervened Caol, having recovered from his bruised dignity, a warrior bested by two farmer’s lads with hunting bows.
‘Yes,’ Ardgal said. ‘The raiders have killed too many people here. Every abbey and church within this area is coming under attack from them.’
‘Do they really expect to overturn the New Faith?’ Caol asked.
‘That is their intention.’
‘Dubh Duin’s slaughter of the High King was part of this?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Well, it has not worked,’ Fidelma stated. Then she suddenly gave a groan and closed her eyes.
‘What is it?’ demanded Ardgal in alarm.
‘The raiders — I had forgotten. We encountered them at Baile Fobhair and thought they were on their way into your country. We now believe they turned back. Where are they now?’
‘We have a series of sentinels who would warn us of their approach, like this farmer when he mistakenly thought you were part of their group.’
‘That certainly means that they have doubled back. We must return immediately to the abbey of Delbna Mór.’
‘Why there?’
‘Because they will attack it next.’ Briefly, Fidelma told him about Eadulf and his mission to warn Brother Céin, the steward of the abbey, and try to bring help from Tara.
‘Little use starting off now that darkness has fallen,’ Ardgal demurred. ‘The road is treacherous in the darkness and there are rivers and marshlands to cross. We must rest here and then move before sun-up.’
‘He’s right, lady,’ Caol agreed practically. ‘We can do little on a strange road in the darkness.’
Fidelma was reluctant but saw the logic of it.
‘Do you have any knowledge of who the leader of the raiders is and where they might be based?’ she asked the young chief.
‘We think they are based somewhere in the northern hills, since people there talk of some of the fanatical Druids who claim that the Tuatha Dé Danaan have betrayed the people. They call on the populace to welcome back the idol Crom Cróich with all the bloodthirsty rituals that Tigernmas demanded.’
‘Bloodthirsty rituals?’
‘Human sacrifice, lady. Woe betide anyone who falls into their hands, for these fanatics will slaughter them.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ardgal and his men had set up a rapid pace, and had Fidelma not been an expert horsewoman, she would have been hard pressed to keep up with them. As it was, they saw the outline of the abbey of Delbna Mór well before midday. They were aware that their approach had been spotted, but Fidelma’s figure had obviously been identified, since there was no hostile reaction as the brethren gathered to meet them before the main abbey buildings.
Brother Céin himself came out to greet them personally.
‘Sister Fidelma!’ exclaimed the steward, and then he recognised her companion. ‘Ardgal? What brings you here?’
Fidelma dismounted quickly from her horse. ‘Where is Eadulf?’ she demanded without preamble. ‘Has he gone on to Tara yet?’
Brother Céin looked astonished. ‘Gone on …? I haven’t seen Brother Eadulf since he left with you for Ardgal’s country. Is he not with you?’
Fidelma went cold. ‘Has not Eadulf and a Brother Manchán from Baile Fobhair come here, reporting destruction and death at the abbey?’
‘He has not.’ Brother Céin looked shocked. ‘You say that the abbey of Baile Fobhair has been attacked?’
Fidelma groaned inwardly. ‘Eadulf should have arrived here yesterday afternoon with Brother Manchán. He was to warn you that the raiders were overheard discussing an attack on Delbna Mór, and pass on my instructions that you should defend yourselves as best you could while he rode on to Tara to bring Irél and some warriors to help.’
Brother Céin was shaking his head. ‘There has been no sign of him, sister. Nor of this Brother Manchán. I know him. Perhaps Eadulf missed the road and … but, surely, Brother Manchán of Baile Fobhair would know the road here very well. They would not get lost unless … ’
‘Unless he encountered some of the raiders,’ Ardgal said grimly. ‘Let me send out two of my best trackers to see if they can pick up their route along the road.’
Fidelma tried to hide her fear as the chief turned to give instructions.
‘I think that we should also send to Irél at Tara immediately,’ she added quietly, determined to be practical instead of giving way to the anxiety that beset her mind.
‘I have a good lad with a fresh horse who can reach Tara quickly,’ suggested Brother Céin.
‘Let him do so then,’ agreed Fidelma.
‘We can remain here in readiness and wait for the Fianna to arrive.’ Ardgal had returned from giving orders to his men.
The steward was solemn-faced, clearly worried at their news.
‘That is good, because the dibergach could attack at any time. We need to be ready to defend ourselves.’
Eadulf came awake with a start. Bishop Luachan was already sitting up and peering down the passage that led out to the wicker gate.
‘What is it?’ whispered Eadulf,
‘The guards are talking to someone outside,’ replied the old bishop.
Eadulf shuddered. ‘Is it time? Do they intend …?’
‘No. It is several days yet to the equinox, my friend. They will not do anything before then.’
Suddenly there was a commotion at the entrance and a voice called: ‘Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham! Come forth — quickly!’
Eadulf started a little. The voice called in Saxon without accent. He glanced at the old bishop and explained: ‘I am being summoned outside.’
‘Come forth, Eadulf. I mean you no harm,’ repeated the voice.
There was no alternative but to obey. Eadulf began to move towards the tunnel.
‘God go with you, my son,’ the old bishop blessed him.
Eadulf pasued, smiled back in thanks, and then made his way down the tunnel. Outside, dawn’s light was flooding the sky and it was fairly cold. There were two guards waiting for him with a third man. Eadulf rose out of the passageway and stood up, studying the man. He was tall, with long blond hair, a beard, drooping moustaches and angular features. It was the warrior whose features had appeared familiar to him when he was being questioned by the woman called the ceannard.
‘Come with me, Eadulf,’ he said in faultless Saxon.
‘Do I know you?’ Eadulf asked, as the tall man turned and motioned him forward. ‘You are Saxon by your speech.’
The man smiled but said nothing. Instead, he led the way to one of the tents pitched in the shelter of the ancient stone buildings and entered. There was no one else inside. The man motioned to a chair and then went to a cask, took two mugs and filled them with ale. He handed one to Eadulf before sitting down opposite him.
‘You do know me, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham,’ the Saxon said, with an amused expression on his features.
Eadulf shook his head with a frown. ‘I can’t recall … ’
‘I grant you that it was many years ago. We were scarcely more than boys gathered at the feet of a new teacher named Fursa; Fursa a man of Éireann who tried to convert us to the New Faith.’
Eadulf closed his eyes for a moment, casting his memory back to the lad of sixteen summers that he had been when he had left the old gods and goddesses of his people and converted to the New Faith. A time when the missionaries of Éireann had come converting the South Folk to follow the path of the Christ. He suddenly saw an image of youths sitting in a circle at the feet of the elderly teacher.
‘You are Beorhtric of Aeschild’s Ham,’ he said suddenly.
The blond-haired warrior smiled broadly now. ‘Your memory does not play you false, Eadulf. I am, indeed, Beorhtric from the land of the East Saxons.’
Eadulf regarded him with astonishment as the memory flooded back. ‘But what are you doing here? Why are you dressed as a warrior, Brother? I thought you went to join Fursa’s abbey at Burgh in the land of the North Folk.’