His companion looked around. His voice was morose. ‘He could have gone either way, Gabrán. Up or downriver. It’s your choice.’
‘God rot him!’
‘That’s no answer. Anyway, I can’t see why we had to wait until he was out of the fortress to shoot him down. Why couldn’t he have been killed while he slept?’
‘Because, Dau, my good friend,’ the other explained with a sarcastic tone, ‘it had to be made to look as though he had fled the sanctuary, that’s why! Also, we had to get him out of Coba’s fortress quietly before the household awakened. The death of the guard that I had to silence will be put down to the Saxon. Another murder to his account. Anyway, you go upriver and I’ll look downriver. My boat is moored below. I shall have to bring it upriver before noon. I do not like this. All the while the Saxon is alive, he is a danger to the whole scheme of things. It would have been best had he been left to hang at the abbey.’
The thin-faced man left his companion and began to move off rapidly along the river bank, his eyes searching the ground for signs of Eadulf’s tracks. His companion halted a while and examined the surrounding countryside and then began to walk slowly in the opposite direction. Then he paused. Eadulf shifted nervously. Had the man spotted where he had left the bank and pushed through the juniper trees?
He looked desperately round for some means of defence. Near at hand lay a discarded blackthorn stick, torn from a nearby tree. Eadulf reached tentatively forward and eased it towards himself with his fingertips. Then he grasped it firmly and rose carefully, trying not to catch the sharp leaves of the holly.
The warrior who had been addressed by the name Dau had kept an arrow in his hand, holding it in the same fist as his bow, and was now peering round as if searching for tracks.
It was at that moment that Eadulf suddenly realised that he had no choice as to his next move. The man was going to kill him. He was not sure why but that did not matter at the moment. His task was to save his own life. Eadulf moved carefully, trying to remember the skills he had once been taught as a youth by his father when hunting in his own country, the land of the South Folk. Avoiding the entwining branches, he moved slowly inch by inch around the holly tree and through the junipers to come up behind his adversary. With each footstep, he swore that the man must surely hear him.
The bowman stood looking irresolutely before him into the trees and shrubs, even as Eadulf crept forward, raising the stick in both hands. It took one swift blow to knock the man down. He fell with an almost imperceptible grunt. For a moment Eadulf stood over the inert form still holding his blackthorn stick ready to strike again. There was no further movement.
‘Forgive me for I have sinned,’ he muttered as he genuflected and knelt down by the unconscious man. He removed his adversary’s leather boots, throwing them into the river, swiftly followed by his bow and quiver of arrows. He removed and placed the man’s hunting knife in his own belt. He also removed the man’s sheepskin cloak, realising that he needed it if he was taking to the open country. At least, when the archer came around, he would not be thinking in terms of pursuit for a while, not without his boots, warm cloak and weapons. Eadulf glanced skyward, trying to remember the lines from John: ‘If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just.’ He hoped that the divine powers would understand his actions.
Then he stood up, swung the heavy cloak around his shoulders and started to walk towards the rising hills. He was unsure which way he should go. He realised that he ought to put enough distance between the fortress of Cam Eolaing and himself before he started to make any decisions on his ultimate destination. Certainly, he had realised that Fidelma was not any part of this strange plot to kill him. It would probably be a waste of time to go in search of her now. The best thing to do might be to head eastward to the coast and try to find a ship that would take him to either the land of the West Saxons or one of the other Saxon kingdoms? Well, there was plenty of time to think about it. He must find shelter, and some food, before he started to make decisions.
Fidelma glanced up at the knock on the door. It was Lassar, the innkeeper. She looked tired and somewhat nervous.
‘It is the Brehon, Bishop Forbassach, again. He wishes to speak with you.’
Fidelma had just finished dressing and was about to descend to the main room of the inn for breakfast.
‘Very well. I’ll come immediately,’ she told the innkeeper.
Downstairs, seated by the fire and enjoying some of Lassar’s hospitality was not only the Brehon of Laigin, Bishop Forbassach, but the elderly, white-haired man called Coba the bó-aire of Cam Eolaing.She tried to disguise her astonishment at his appearance at the inn that morning. Immediately she became aware of a third man seated before the fire, an austere, elderly fellow with pinched features and a prominent nose. He was dressed in rich robes, the robes of a religieux with an ornate golden crucifix on a chain around his neck. He greeted Fidelma coldly and without approval.
‘Abbot Noé.’ Fidelma inclined her head towards him. ‘I was wondering only last night whether I would meet you during my stay in Fearna.’
‘It was, alas, an inevitable meeting, Fidelma.’
‘I am sure it was,’ she replied dryly and then, turning to Forbassach, ‘Do you wish to search my room again for Brother Eadulf? I can assure you that he is not there.’
Bishop Forbassach cleared his throat as if in embarrassment.
‘I have actually come to offer you an apology, Sister Fidelma.’
‘An apology?’ Her voice rose incredulously.
‘I am afraid that I leapt to the wrong conclusion the other night. I now know that you did not help the Saxon to escape.’
‘Really?’ Fidelma did not know whether to be amused or concerned.
‘I am afraid that it was I who aided that escape, Sister Fidelma.’
Fidelma swung round to Coba who had spoken slowly and with a note of regret.
‘Why should you help Brother Eadulf?’ she demanded in astonishment.
‘I have just arrived from Cam Eolaing this morning to confess my deed. I found Abbot Noé had arrived back at the abbey and was in conference with Bishop Forbassach. We spoke of the matter and came here to support Forbassach in his apology to you.’
Fidelma raised her arms in a helpless gesture. ‘I do not understand.’
‘Alas, it was simple enough. You know already where I stand on the infliction of punishment under the Penitentials. I could not stand by and see another of these punishments carried out when I claim that they are opposed to the basis of our legal system.’
‘I agree with your concerns,’ Fidelma acknowledged. ‘But how did that lead you to take the law into your own hands and help Eadulf escape?’
‘If I am at fault, I shall be punished.’
Bishop Forbassach scowled at the man. ‘You will have to pay compensation for this action, Coba, and you will lose your honourprice. No more can you claim to exercise magisterial powers in this kingdom.’
Fidelma was impatient to know if her suspicion that Coba had given Eadulf shelter was correct.
‘What has happened to Brother Eadulf?’
Coba glanced nervously at Abbot Noé.
‘It would be wise if you tell Sister Fidelma all,’ the abbot advised brusquely.
‘Well, being against the punishment, I decided that I would offer the Saxon sanctuary — the maighin digona of my fortress …’
‘Sanctuary does not involve helping someone escape from incarceration,’ muttered Forbassach.
‘Once in the confines of my fortress, the sanctuary applies nevertheless,’ snapped Coba.
Fidelma considered the argument.
‘That is true. However, the person seeking sanctuary usually finds the territory of the maighin digona by themselves before requesting sanctuary. Nevertheless, the sanctuary rule applies once inside the boundaries of the chieftain willing to provide it. Are you confirming my suspicion that Brother Eadulf is now receiving shelter and sanctuary in your fortress?’