As if in answer to his thoughts, there was a sound outside his door and it opened. Eadulf threw the towel on the bed and found himself face to face with a small, wiry and thin-faced man whom he had never seen before.
‘I am told that you understand our language, Saxon,’ the man said abruptly.
‘I have a knowledge of it,’ admitted Eadulf.
‘That is good.’ The man obviously believed in brevity. ‘You may go.’
Eadulf frowned, uncertain that he had heard him correctly. ‘Go?’
‘I am to tell you that you are free to leave this fortress. If you godown to the river you will find a religieuse from Cashel waiting for you.’
Eadulf’s heart beat faster and his face lightened. ‘Fidelma? Sister Fidelma?’
‘I am told that is her name.’
Eadulf felt a surge of relief and joy. ‘Then she has cleared me? She has won the appeal?’
The thin-faced man’s features were immobile. His eyes dark and deep set.
‘All I am asked to convey to you is what I have already done. I know no more.’
‘Then, my friend, I shall leave you with my blessing. But what of the elderly chieftain? How may I express my thanks to him for his kindness in bringing me here?’
‘The chieftain is not here. There is no need to thank him. Go quickly and silently. Your friend is waiting.’
The man’s tone was without emotion. He stood to one side and made no attempt to take Eadulf’s extended hand.
Eadulf shrugged and glanced round the room. He had nothing to take with him. All his possessions were at the abbey.
‘Tell your chieftain, then, that I owe him a great debt and will ensure that it is repaid.’
‘It is of no consequence,’ replied the foxy-faced man.
Eadulf left his room and the man followed him outside. The fortress seemed deserted in the cold white light of the crisp autumnal dawn. A frost still lay on the ground making it slippery beneath his leather sandals. His breath came like puffs of smoke and he realised just how cold it was.
‘Is it possible to borrow a cloak?’ he asked pleasantly. ‘It is cold and my cloak was confiscated at the abbey.’
His companion seemed impatient.
‘Your companion has clothing for your journey. Do not delay. She will be growing impatient.’
They had reached the gate of the fortress. A second man stood there; a sentinel who began to unlatch the wooden bolts and swing open the portal.
‘Can’t I express my thanks to anyone for giving me this sanctuary?’ Eadulf thought it churlish to leave the fortress in such a fashion.
His companion seemed about to make some sharp comment andthen a curious smile flickered over his cadaverous features.
‘You will be able to thank him soon, Saxon.’
The gate swung open.
‘Your friend will meet you down by the river,’ the man repeated. ‘Now you may go.’
Eadulf thought he was a surly fellow but smiled his gratitude all the same and hurried on through the gate. Before him stretched a sloping path from the small hillock on which the fortress stood, winding down towards a wooded area through which he could see the grey ribbon of water a few hundred metres away.
He halted and glanced back to the man at the gate.
‘Straight down there? Is that where Sister Fidelma is waiting?’
‘Down by the river,’ echoed the man.
Eadulf turned down the frosty path. It was slippery beneath his feet but the only alternative was to walk in the centre of the path where horses had churned it into a muddy mess. He stuck to the side of the path, its angled level causing him to move more quickly than he wanted. It was only a few moments later that the inevitable occurred. He suddenly slipped and fell.
That was what saved his life.
As his legs shot out from under him, causing him to fall backwards, two arrows flew by, one embedding itself with a hard thud in a nearby tree.
For a split second Eadulf looked at the arrows in stupefaction. Then he rolled swiftly on his side and glanced back.
The thin-faced man who had told him to go stood in the act of placing another arrow to his bowstring. He had been joined by the second man who looked every inch a professional archer for he was just releasing his second shot. Eadulf rolled again, this time into the side of the track and then he scrambled to his feet in an ungainly movement, throwing himself immediately into the underbrush. He heard the soft whine of the wood pass by his ear.
Then he was running; running for his life. He had no thoughts as to how or why; he did not try to work out what had happened. Some animal instinct for self-preservation overcame all his thought processes. He was pushing through the woods, while some small part of his brain uttered a prayer of thanks that they were mainly evergreen trees and shrubs which thus shielded him from his attackers. However, the frost was not on his side. He knew he was leaving tracks and he prayed forthe sun to rise and allow the frost to disperse. Failing that, he must find some ground where the frost had not taken.
Inevitably he made his way towards the river. He knew that air near running water was sometimes warmer. Would Fidelma be there, waiting for him?
He gave a sardonic laugh.
Of course not. It had simply been a ruse to kill him. But why? He suddenly realised that the men had law on their side. What was the ruling of the maighin digona? He had been given sanctuary provided he kept within the bounds of the grantee’s land. The owner of a sanctuary was bound not to allow a fugitive to escape, for the owner would then be held responsible for the original offence.
Eadulf groaned in anguish as he ran through the brush. He had fallen for a trick. He had been told to go but now could be shot down as a fugitive who had broken the laws of sanctuary. He had given them the legal opportunity to kill him, but who were they? Was this some ruse of Coba himself to kill him? If so, why rescue him in the first place? It did not make any sense.
He came to the riverbank and, as he had anticipated, the air was warmer here near the water and the frost was vanishing. The pale sun was climbing upwards in the sky and soon it would be dispersed. He paused and listened: he could hear the sounds of his pursuers. He began to hurry along the bank of the river, eyes searching for cover. He knew that his pursuers would soon break out of the trees behind him. He could not afford to stay on the bank any longer.
Ahead he saw some small juniper trees and then a patch of densely growing holly with its thick, waxy green leaves rising into a narrow conical shape with several proclaiming their feminine gender by their red berries. Eadulf was well aware that the sharp spines on the lower leaves, nature’s design to protect the trees from browsing animals, were going to hurt, but there was no other means of concealment to hand.
He could hear the two men tracking him shouting to one another now. They were very close. Eadulf left the river bank and jumped into the juniper coverage, falling to the ground, before pushing and hauling his way under the uncomfortable screen of the holly trees. He flung himself flat under their cover and lay on the hard, cold ground, heart beating wildly from its recent exertions. He could see a little stretch of the riverbank from his position, and from this vantage point he saw his pursuers come to a halt.
‘God’s curse on the wily Saxon!’ he heard the thin-faced man declare.