‘I would not say that escaping from the abbey showed guilt,’ Fidelma replied sourly. ‘Especially after all that you have told me. It merely showed that he had no desire to be executed like Ibar.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Your husband, Daig, was also involved in the apprehension of Brother Eadulf in the abbey.’
‘He was. But then it was Mel who was captain of the watch that night and Daig was only following his orders. That was when the young girl was raped and killed.’
‘A young girl killed, a boatman killed and then Daig drowned …’ mused Fidelma. ‘In every case it seems that Forbassach has been persuaded not to ask the right questions and thus ignore the evidence. Is that a matter for concern, I wonder?’
Deog did not understand what she was driving at.
It was Enda who, having sat quietly through all the exchanges, suddenly spoke up, his eyes excited.
‘Didn’t you tell me that Gabrán’s boat was tied up on the abbey quay the night the girl was killed? Isn’t there a link there?’
Fidelma turned to him in annoyance but saw the young warrior was so eager that she felt she could not reprove him for pointing out a fact that she had completely overlooked.
‘We will speak of that later, Enda,’ she said. It was then Fidelma realised that the room had grown dark, apart from the warm light cast by glowing embers of the fire.
Deog stood up and lit a tallow candle and then threw some more wood onto the fire. There was a crackle and soon flames licked at the dry wood, causing a brighter light to chase the gloom.
‘We’d better head back to Fearna,’ Fidelma announced, rising regretfully. She turned to Deog. ‘I am most grateful for everything thatyou have told us, Deog. I am sorry to awaken any chords of anguish in your heart. Sometimes it is best to discuss things so that grief can be exposed rather than bottled up.’
Deog grimaced. ‘I do not mind speaking of my husband. He was a good man and sought to do his best for the community. My great sadness was that he did not get on with my sister. Nor did she like him. Alas, her years in religion have seen her grow bitter with life and harsh in her judgments of people. Yet she does not see her own faults. This relationship with Bishop Forbassach will end unhappily.’
Fidelma raised a hand and touched the woman comfortingly upon the shoulder.
‘They are truly good who are faultless, Deog. Alas, who among us is without faults?’
Deog looked pleadingly at Fidelma. ‘You will not tell anyone about Fainder?’
Fidelma looked impassive. ‘I cannot promise that, Deog. You know that for I, too, have sworn an oath to pursue truth.’
‘Fainder will never forgive me.’
The woman was clearly distressed at the idea of what her sister might do if the truth became known. Fidelma squeezed her shoulder again.
‘Fainder must live with the consequences of her own actions and prejudices. You need not mention the substance of our discussion to her. I promise you this, I will not reveal Fainder’s relationship with Forbassach nor with yourself unless it becomes necessary.’
‘Becomes necessary? I don’t understand.’
‘If this fact needs to be brought to light in the course of my enquiries, then I shall bring it to light. If it is simply irrelevant, then it shall remain a secret between the two of us. Isn’t that fair?’
Deog, sniffing, nodded her head in agreement. ‘I suppose it will suffice.’
‘Good. Now, it is dark and we must return to Fearna.’
They left the woman in her cabin and went to where they had tethered their horses.
The night was dark and chill, the clouds, chasing one another across the night sky, obscured the stars and the moon for the most part, making it almost impossible to see far.
‘It’s best to give the horses their heads,’ advised Enda. ‘In that way, they may tread the path homeward more carefully.’
Fidelma smiled in the shadows. She had ridden almost before she could walk and knew the habits of horses well enough. She rode with a loose rein allowing the horse to pick its way along the track, guiding gently only now and then to keep the beast moving in the right direction. She rode behind Enda, a dark shadow in front of her, knowing that the young warrior was keenly aware of his surroundings, attuned to any sense of danger.
The late autumn evening was really cold. Instinctively she knew that there would be a frost that night, the first frost of the oncoming winter. She hoped that Eadulf was not sleeping out in the open. She shivered at the thought. Yet if he were not hiding in the surrounding forests or hills, where was he? Who would be sheltering him?
She had pondered long on the problem of how he had managed to effect his escape from his cell in the abbey. Time and again she had come back to the conclusion that he must have been helped by an outside force. But who? And why?
‘Not that path, lady!’ called Enda from the darkness ahead.
Fidelma blinked.
She realised that she had fallen so deeply into her thoughts that she had given her horse too much head. As they reached a fork in the track, the horse, with free rein, had begun to turn down the left-hand path. Fidelma hauled quickly on the rein and turned the animal’s path towards the shadow of Enda.
‘Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,’ she called. ‘Do you know where that path leads? It seems to go directly south.’
‘It leads to a place called Cam Eolaing. I was told that it is on the same river that passes by the abbey but it is a longer route to Fearna if we go down to Cam Eolaing and turn along the river track.’
‘Cam Eolaing?’ Fidelma wondered why the name seemed familiar to her. She had heard it recently but could not place where and in what context. ‘And this is the quickest way?’
‘It is. We shall be-’
It was Enda who heard the danger a split second before the cry caused Fidelma to start. Three or four shadows burst through the woods and brush at the side of the road, attempting to grab their horses’ heads. Instinctively Fidelma jerked the reins of her mount, causing it to rear up on its hind legs and lash out with its forelegs in protest as the bit tugged at the corner of its mouth. It was this that caused its flying hooves to connect with the body of one of the forms, knocking itbackwards with a harsh scream of agony.
The figures were men and they were wielding weapons; not sticks or staves but swords, so far as the darkness allowed her to identify them. She tugged at her horse again, as it seemed the only means of protection.
In front of her, Enda had drawn his sword and smashed it down on another attacker.
‘Ride, lady, ride!’ the young man yelled.
It was as she dug her heels into the animal’s flanks to spur it forward, that the clouds parted for a second or so and the bright white winter moon shone down, causing the scene to be lit with an ethereal brilliance. She glanced down and for a moment time stood still.
It was the face of the boatman, Gabrán, which stared up at her in anger.
Then her horse surged forward and she was tearing along the darkened track with Enda at her side.
It was only after a kilometre had passed that they drew rein to allow their snorting mounts to recover from the swift gallop. They were lucky that the track was straight, its surface fairly even, otherwise the precipitous gallop through the darkness might have been extremely dangerous.
Enda replaced the sword that he had drawn. ‘Robbers!’ he snorted in disgust. ‘This country is filled with robbers!’
‘I don’t think so,’ rejoined Fidelma.
Enda’s head came up sharply. ‘What do you mean, lady?’
‘The moon came out for a second behind the cloud and I recognised their leader. It was Gabrán.’
‘Gabrán?’ Enda’s tone displayed his astonishment, mingled with some satisfaction. ‘Didn’t I say that he was the connection?’