‘Aye, stay and continue your story,’ urged Dado.
Eadulf shook his head firmly. ‘Our destination is not far from here and we must reach it before darkness falls.’
Dado looked disappointed. ‘If you are sure …?’
Eadulf was already out of the wagon, having thrown down the travelling bags, and turned to help Fidelma alight from the vehicle.
After thanking their Frankish hosts, they stood by the side of the track watching the wagon swaying through the tree-lined path, disappearing out of sight between the wintry evergreens.
Fidelma looked around at the darkening woods and shivered slightly.
‘I hope that you are right, Eadulf, when you say we have not far to go. Are you sure that this is where you want to be?’ she asked. ‘You were not making an excuse to leave our inquisitive friends? I could have spun a story to keep them amused.’
Eadulf looked hurt. ‘I do not doubt that you could have told them some story. However, this is Tunstall Wood and this is where Aldhere says that there is a community of religious from the five kingdoms of Éireann, still hiding out after the edict from Whitby. If anyone knows where Garb and his family are hidden, I am sure we will find them here.’
‘Let us hope so, for as our friend Dado said, it will soon be dark and darkness brings a weakness upon me. I probably should have rested for another full day to complete my recovery.’
Eadulf was painfully aware of the fact and was trying his best not to show his concern for Fidelma because he realised that she would disapprove of it.
‘If I remember the old place, it is less than a mile in that direction,’ he said, pointing along the track.
The woods were so thick that little snow had lain on the paths that crisscrossed them. Some memory, some instinct, drew Eadulf along the track, crossing paths that might have tempted them in other directions and maintaining a south-easterly course through the woods.
They stopped now and then, for Fidelma was growing increasingly uncomfortable in the night chill. The journey through the woods was not easy. They could hear animals scuttling around them and now and again came the staccato bark of foxes. The path came upon a stream and led along its bank, around a large hillockon which stood the overgrown earthworks of some ancient fort. It was almost concealed, with brush and trees growing over it.
Abruptly they came to the edge of a clearing. In the clearing were several wooden buildings and smoke was rising from a number of them.
Eadulf turned to Fidelma with triumph, although a closer observer might have noticed a predominance of relief in his eyes.
‘Tunstall. This is Tunstall. We have reached safety.’
Fidelma, her breath almost gone in the icy cold dusk of early evening, simply nodded.
There came a warning shout across the clearing. They had been spotted. Several men emerged from the buildings, most clad in the robes of religious and most wearing the tonsure of the Blessed John.
As Eadulf and Fidelma began to walk across the clearing towards what Eadulf presumed was the main building of the settlement, Eadulf noticed a small group of warriors. They were clearly not Saxons and Eadulf felt a surge of relief as he realised that he had been right. He did not doubt that these were Garb’s men. He felt a quickening of his pulse as he thought that soon the mystery of the death of his friend Botulf might be explained.
He halted, for one of the warriors had given a cry and was running towards him with an upraised sword.
A religious was also running forward as if to intercept the warrior, who skidded to a halt a sword’s length away. To his surprise, Eadulf saw that his antagonist was Garb himself.
‘Stand back, Brother,’ Garb cried in Irish to the religieux, who had come to a halt next to him and was looking bewildered. ‘This man is one of Cild’s evil brood. I recognise him. He was in Cild’s abbey when I delivered the ultimatum. It means that murdering abbot has tracked us down. Stand back while I kill them, and then we must be prepared to abandon this place.’
Chapter Eleven
‘Put up your sword, Garb of Maigh Eo! We are not members of Abbot Cild’s fraternity,’ snapped Eadulf.
Garb sneered in disbelief. ‘I saw you among the brethren, Saxon. You are a liar!’
‘He does not lie!’ Eadulf suddenly found Fidelma had stepped between him and the Connacht warrior, her hand raised, palm outward. ‘I am Fidelma of Cashel. Put up your sword, Garb. You would not wish to kill innocent people!’
Garb had actually started to swing his sword back and now he hesitated, momentarily confused.
‘I said, put up your sword,’ ordered Fidelma once again, ‘unless you wish to kill an advocate of the Laws of the Fénechus and a king’s daughter.’
The warrior examined her closely with narrowed eyes. Then he slowly began to lower his sword.
‘You say that you are Fidelma of Cashel?’ It was the religieux at his side who spoke. ‘Are you Fidelma the dálaigh, the advocate who solved the mysterious theft of the High King’s sword?’
‘I am Fidelma the dálaigh,’ she confirmed without embellishment.
The religieux now regarded her with an expression of surprise mingled with awe. He was a man of middle years, his grey hair shaven in the style of the Irish tonsure. His face was still handsome, commanding, with dark eyes and a firm mouth.
‘Are you Fidelma, sister to King Colgú?’
‘I am.’
‘What are you doing here, in this place, and with this Saxon?’ demanded Garb gruffly. His sword was lowered but still held in his hand. ‘I saw him in the abbey run by Cild only two nights ago. How is it that he claims not to be one of Cild’s men?’
‘I was also in that abbey, Garb,’ she said to him. ‘BrotherEadulf is my companion and emissary of Archbishop Theodore of Canterbury. We were guests there, having just arrived that night. I was ill and Brother Eadulf here was attending the funeral rites of his friend, Brother Botulf, when you made your unorthodox entrance.’
Garb frowned suddenly. ‘Was Botulf your friend?’
‘He was a friend of Brother Eadulf,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘So perhaps you should think with your head instead of with your sword hand.’
Garb was still suspicious.
‘What are you doing here? Did Cild send you?’
Fidelma gave an impatient gesture with her hand.
‘He did not. We became prisoners in the abbey. Cild planned my execution and we thought it wise not to wait for it. Because of the remarks about Botulf which you made to Cild in the abbey chapel, Brother Eadulf and I came in search of you. You are not hard to find.’
The religieux came forward with hands outstretched, ignoring the petulant warrior.
‘I am Brother Laisre. I am leader of this small religious group here and I would bid you welcome, Fidelma of Cashel. Welcome to Tunstall. I welcome your companion also. Let us go in by the fire so that we may hear your story and why your footsteps have been guided here.’
They followed Brother Laisre to one of the wooden buildings, with Garb following, his sword now sheathed, although he still regarded Eadulf menacingly. The warmth in the building was a welcome contrast to the chill of the dusk outside. It was clear that the early evening meal was being prepared for several religieux were busy about various tasks and there was an aromatic smell emanating from a steaming cauldron of stew which simmered over the fire.
‘You will be our guests here for as long as you like, Fidelma of Cashel,’ said Brother Laisre, smiling. He turned to Eadulf and began to translate what he had said into Saxon but Eadulf sniffed impatiently.
‘I have studied in the island of the five kingdoms,’ he said brusquely. ‘I speak your language fluently.’