‘Quickly, man!’ snapped Eadulf.
Bressal jerked in obedience.
‘I have two swords and this bow, that’s all.’
Eadulf eyed the bow speculatively. It looked a good one, made of yew, strong and pliable, so far as he could judge.
‘How well can you use that?’
‘Not well,’ Bressal confessed.
‘Then give it to me. Take a sword.’
Bressal was bemused.
‘But you are a brother of …’
It was Fidelma who cut him short by stamping her foot.
‘Give the bow to him!’
Eadulf almost grabbed the bow from his hand and strung it with an ease born of long experience.
‘Give me one of the swords,’ Fidelma instructed as Eadulf tested the string. There was no time to explain to the astounded hostel keeper that as daughter of a Failbe Flann, king of Cashel, she had grown up using a sword almost before she had learnt to read and write.
Eadulf took the handful of arrows that were on the table.
‘Is there a back door?’ he questioned.
Bressal gestured wordlessly in the direction of the rear of the hostel.
Eadulf and Fidelma exchanged a quick glance.
‘I mean to sneak out the back and try to circle behind these carrion,’ he replied in answer to her silent question.
‘I’ll come with you,’ replied Fidelma at once.
Eadulf did not waste time arguing.
Fidelma glanced to Bressal.
‘Our young companions are above and will attempt to put out the lighted arrows that fall into the room. You stay here and do the same but be sure that you bar the door after us.’
Bressal said nothing. Events were happening too quickly for him to protest.
Eadulf, with bow and arrows, followed by Fidelma, gripping the sword which Bressal had thrust into her hand, moved to the back door. Bressal unbarred it and, looking swiftly out, motioned to them that it was safe to leave. Eadulf hastened across the yard into the trees beyond. Fidelma followed a moment later, thanking the saints that the attackers, whoever they were, did not have the sense to completely surround the hostel.
Once into the cover of the woods, Eadulf moved cautiously, swinging around the hostel towards the roadway which ran in front of it. They could see several more arrows had been released towards the front of the hostel, one or two falling onto its thatched roof. Soon the place would be ablaze unless the attack was quickly beaten off.
The air was cold but the light was sharp now as the sun began to rise.
Fidelma, peering through the cover of the trees, saw the shadowy figures in the underbrush opposite. She knew enough to realise that they were not professional warriors for they made no good use of the cover and were shouting to each other thus revealingtheir positions. It was clear that they did not expect any real opposition from the hostel keeper and his guests. It occurred to Fidelma that it was curious that they did not simply burst into the hostel and rob the occupants, if that was their intention. It seemed as if they merely wanted to burn the place down.
Eadulf had strung an arrow and was waiting the next move.
Fidelma’s eyes narrowed.
One of the men, shooting the flaming arrows into the hostel, stood up to aim, presenting a clear target in the early morning light. Fidelma touched Eadulf’s arm lightly and gestured towards the figure. She had no wish to kill anyone, even though the man seemed intent on destroying the hostel, but it was too late to instruct Eadulf how to ply the bow.
Eadulf raised the bow and aimed quickly but carefully. She saw his arrow embed itself in the shoulder of the man, the shoulder of the bow arm. She could not have done it better. The assailant gave a sudden scream and dropped his own bow, clasping his bleeding shoulder with his other hand.
There was a momentary silence.
Then hoarse voices cried out demanding to know what the matter was with the man. Someone ran towards the injured attacker through the trees, making a noise that any real warrior would be ashamed of. Eadulf had strung a second arrow and silently asked a question of Fidelma with a glance. She nodded.
A second bowman had appeared by the side of the injured man.
Eadulf took aim and released another missile.
Again he aimed carefully and hit the bow arm, his arrow striking the man’s shoulder. The second man yelled more in surprise than in pain and began a furious cursing.
A third voice cried out in panic: ‘We are being attacked. Let’s go. Go!’
There was a clamour, the frenetic whinny of horses and the two injured men turned and stumbled, moaning and cursing, through the trees. Eadulf strung a third arrow.
Out of the surrounding forests came a small band of horsemen, urging their mounts to breakneck speed towards the narrow path ahead. Fidelma saw that, as Eadulf had said, there were no more than half a dozen men. She spotted the two injured men, precariously mounted. They came charging down the road, passing close to where Fidelma and Eadulf had taken up their positions. Eadulf was about to spring out at them, but Fidelma held him back.
‘Let them go,’ she instructed. ‘We have been lucky so far.’ Indeed, she uttered a prayer of thanks for professional fighting men would not have been so easily routed.
She stared up as the attackers rode by her and noticed the last man in the cavalcade, a burly man with a large reddish beard and ugly features, crouching low over his horse’s neck. Eadulf had half raised his bow but let it drop with a shrug when he realised the rider failed to present a good enough target.
The band of horsemen quickly disappeared along the path and into the forests.
Eadulf turned to Fidelma in bewilderment.
‘Why did we let them go?’ he demanded.
Fidelma smiled tightly.
‘We were lucky. If they had been warriors we would not have come away so lightly. Thank God that they were a group of cowards, but if you corner a coward, like a small frightened animal, he will fight savagely for his freedom. Besides, our attention is needed at the hostel. Look, the roof is already alight.’
She turned and hurried to the hostel, calling out to Bressal that the attackers had fled and to come out to help them.
Bressal found a ladder and within moments, they had formed a chain, passing buckets of water up to the thatch. It took a while but eventually the fire was doused and the thatch just damp and smoky. Bressal, gratefully, took a flagon of mead and poured cups for them all.
‘I have to thank you for saving this hostel from those bandits,’ he announced as he handed them the drink.
‘Who were they?’ demanded young Archú. ‘Did you see any of them close to, sister?’
‘Only a glimpse,’ confessed Fidelma.
‘At least two of them will have painful shoulders for a while,’ Eadulf added grimly.
‘This area is a poor part of the country,’ Archú reflected wonderingly. ‘It is strange that bandits would attempt to rob this hostel.’
‘Rob?’ Fidelma raised an eyebrow slightly. ‘It seemed to me that they were trying to burn it down rather than rob it.’
Eadulf nodded slowly.
‘That is true. They could have come up quietly enough and burst in, if they had wanted to simply rob the hostel and its guests.’
‘Perhaps they were just passing by and seized the opportunity on the spur of the moment without any thought of a plan,’ Bressal offered the explanation but his tone did not carry conviction.
Eadulf shook his head.
‘Passing by? You said yourself that this road is not one used frequently and that it only leads in and out of Araglin.’
Bressal sighed.
‘Well, I have never been attacked by outlaws before.’
‘Do you have enemies, Bressal?’ Eadulf pressed. ‘Is there anyone who would want to see you driven out of this hostel?’
‘No one,’ affirmed Bressal with conviction. ‘There is no one who would profit in any way by the destruction of this hostel. I have served here all my life.’