‘I thought so. Her silence admits the plot. Crond, scout the paths here and see if there is any sign of anyone accompanying this Eóghanacht bitch. Cuán, help me tie her up. At least her presence will provide us with a safe passage to our own country.’
‘But-’ Fidelma began to protest.
Cuirgí suddenly reached forward and slapped her across the cheek. It was a hard, stinging slap and made her dizzy.
‘Silence! No more words from you!’
Fidelma stumbled back and, before she could recover her senses, Cuán had expertly tied her hands with cord. He began to drag her out of the stable and towards the main building.
‘Put her above stairs for the time being and make sure she is secured,’ came Cuirgí’s instruction.
‘What if she has companions?’ demanded Cuán as he half pushed, half dragged her across the main room of the lodge.
‘Then they will be given a choice. To withdraw and let us proceed in safety, or else be given her body.’ Cuirgí laughed without humour. ‘I think even Colgú will make the right choice.’
‘Listen to me. You are making a mistake…’ Fidelma cried once more but a rough hand was clamped across her mouth. Cuirgí looked on with an approving sneer.
‘Make sure she is secured and cannot cry out to alarm her friends.’
She was dragged up the staircase to the top floor of the lodge and pushed into one of the sleeping chambers. She could not help feeling it a strange irony that she was put into the very room where she had slept as a child and felt so safe and protected. Now she was a trussed and helpless prisoner.
Cuán was no amateur when it came to ensuring that his victim was bound so as to be completely helpless. He secured her hands behind her and trussed her at the ankles. Then he tore a strip of linen from the cover of the adart, or pillow, and tied it firmly across her open mouth.
‘Comfortable?’ he grinned viciously, and then he pushed her helplessly back on the lepad, the wooden bed. She gazed back coldly.
What if Cuirgí and Conrí were both wrong? What if there was some new Uí Fidgente plot to have the chieftains released and neither knew about it? What if her son was going to be sacrificed to their mistrust and lack of knowledge?
She waited until Cuán went downstairs and then she gently tried the bonds. They were very tight. She exhaled in frustration. She felt no movement against them in her feet or wrists. Resigned, she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, her mind racing as she tried to think of some plan of escape.
Some time later, she was not sure how long, there was a shout from downstairs.
‘Crond is coming back!’
She heard the sound of a horse arriving outside the building, and identified Cuirgí’s voice.
‘What news?’
‘No sign of anyone,’ replied another voice that she supposed was Crond’s. ‘I went up to the hill yonder, where you can see the approaches through the woods into this vale. There is no movement. I would take my oath that the woman was on her own.’
‘It is not your oath that will be taken if she is not,’ sneered Cuirgí.
‘So I would not be making a mistake when my own life is what I should lose,’ snapped back the other, apparently not intimidated. ‘We are secure here for the moment. Perhaps the woman spoke the truth, that she was alone and stumbled on us by accident.’
‘More fool her if she did,’ a third voice joined in. That was Cuán, the man who had tied her up.
‘Very well.’ Cuirgí’s assertive tone showed that he was in command. ‘If we accept that the Eóghanacht bitch came here by accident, then the fates have been on our side. All we have to do is wait awhile and then continue our journey back to our homeland.’
‘But what if some of our supporters have truly kidnapped this woman’s child?’ It was Crond who voiced Fidelma’s thought.
Cuirgí laughed. ‘You believe that tale? We would have known about it.’
‘I grant you that you have put up a good argument against it, but… but what if it were true?’
‘What if it is so? There will be one less Eóghanacht in Muman and we are still free.’
‘If it is true, Cuirgí, and the child dies, by tomorrow all the warriors of Cashel will be searching for us to redden their weapons with our blood,’ Crond argued.
‘And does that frighten you?’ sneered Cuirgí. ‘We have fought the Eóghanacht before.’
‘I am an Uí Fidgente of the same proud lineage as you, Cuirgí!’ Crond replied angrily. ‘I am prepared to shed my blood in our cause. But I am not prepared to shed it wastefully. If I am to be hunted down and killed, I do not wish to be remembered as someone who died in reparation for a child’s death. Do you?’
‘That is a point, Cuirgí.’ This time it was Cuán. ‘While we wait here, the entire countryside might be roused against us and our journey home become impossible.’
There came a chuckle from the older chieftain.
‘You forget that we have the sister of Colgú to secure us a safe passage. Anyway, I have told you before … if there was such a plot to free us we have friends who could have bribed someone to get a message to us. That old jailer used to take bribes to pass messages in and out and even bring us luxuries. We would have heard something. This is an Eóghanacht plot. I am sure of it.’
Listening to them, Fidelma groaned inwardly. She had to admit that Cuirgí was making a good point. If someone had gone to all those pains to construct the kidnapping then it would have been an obvious move to inform those involved about what was happening. But if this was not a means of releasing the Uí Fidgente, what was it? Who was behind it?
The three men had removed themselves to the room below and their voices had become muffled. Fidelma was aware that darkness was spreading across the window. The hour was growing late.
She had intended to send poor Tulcha to Cashel to inform them where she was staying. When she did not show up, and no message from her was received, she wondered what her brother would do. Might he guess that she could be at the hunting lodge? She tried to move into a more comfortable position. The gag was making her feel sick.
She must have dozed in her exhausted state for the next thing she knew the room was lit with an oil lamp. Someone was removing her gag. She coughed and gasped for breath. Powerful hands reached under her arms and pulled her into a sitting position with her back against the wooden headboard of the tolg, or bedstead.
Crond was sitting on the edge of the bed looking down at her with a humourless smile on his lips.
‘What time is it?’ she finally gasped when she had cleared her throat.
Crond chuckled in amusement.
‘Not very late, lady. It is well before midnight. I thought that you might like some food. We wouldn’t want you getting weak. There is a long journey to the land of the Uí Fidgente before us.’
Fidelma blinked rapidly. ‘When are you starting out?’
Crond shrugged. ‘Whenever Cuirgí thinks it safe enough. Perhaps tomorrow; perhaps the next day.’
Fidelma glanced at the bowl of stew and drinking mug that he had placed on the side table.
‘If I am to remain bound, you will have to help me eat and drink. If not, then release my hands so that I can feed myself,’ she said.
Again Crond chuckled.
‘Oh, I shall feed you, lady. I have little else to do and we would not want you to get any foolish ideas, would we?’
‘The cords are cutting into my flesh,’ she protested.
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Crond assured her. ‘Cuán has a remarkable talent for binding people so that they stay bound.’ He reached forward and took the mug, raising it against her lips. ‘I presume you would like to drink first?’
The drink was mead. It was slightly sour but her throat was dry and irritated after the hours that the linen gag had been tied across her mouth. She sipped eagerly.