A Prayer for the Damned

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Fidelma had caught up with Caol in the main square of the township below the great rock of Cashel. He had selected four other warriors of Colgú’s bodyguard and together with the tracker Rónán they had ridden from the fortress down into the town. Already Rónán had pointed out to them the hopelessness of his being able to pick up any tracks of Brother Drón’s in or around the township. He had spent some time examining the stall where Drón’s horse had been kept and discovered that there was nothing significant about the animal or its tracks. Caol had sent his men about the town to see if anyone had seen the religious from Cill Ria, but by the time Fidelma joined them he had had no success.

She found Caol standing morosely outside the main inn or bruighean speaking to the innkeeper.

‘There are still many strangers in the township, lady,’ he said in a resigned tone.

‘It is true, lady,’ added the innkeeper. ‘People find it hard to tell one from another. I can’t recall any northerner making such inquiries as you ask.’ Fidelma was about to thank him when he added: ‘Perhaps Delia might know something. I know she gave shelter to a young female religieuse from the north last night. Perhaps, if she is still there, she would know the man you are looking for?’

‘Della?’ Fidelma was astonished at the mention of her friend, the mother of Gormán. ‘Last night? Are you sure?’

The innkeeper answered in the affirmative. There was not much that happened in the township that he did not know about, he boasted.

Fidelma suggested that Caol’s warriors wait for them at the inn while she and Caol went directly to seek out Della. If the innkeeper was so free with the information about a northern religieuse staying at Della’s, then Drón would have probably been there before them.

Delia was standing at her open door when Fidelma swung down from her horse. She was a woman of short stature, in her forties, but her maturity had not dimmed the youthfulness of her features or the golden abundance of her hair, or the trimness of her figure.

‘You are welcome, lady.’ She smiled. ‘I was hoping that by now I would be at your wedding feast.’

‘Alas, there are matters to be sorted out first,’ responded Fidelma. ‘You have heard of what has happened, of course?’

‘My son. .’ she spoke the words with an added pride, as it had been only recently that she could admit in public that Gorman was her son, ‘has told me some of the details.’

‘I am told that you also had a visitor last night? Is she still here?’

Della’s eyes widened and her hand crept to her throat.

‘She left at midday. Surely, lady, she was not connected with the murders?’

Fidelma smiled reassuringly. ‘Do you know her name?’

‘Indeed. She told me that she was Sister Marga from Cill Ria.’

‘How did she come to stay with you?’

‘It was late last night. I was aroused by a noise in the little barn at the back where I keep my pigs and goat during the cold of winter. I know there are wolves about at this time of year and so I rose and lit a lamp and took my blackthorn stick and went to investigate. It was cold and the rain was falling so hard it was difficult to see one’s hand in front of one’s face. I went to my barn and there in a corner was this young, frightened girl.’

She paused and Fidelma waited patiently.

‘She told me that she was fleeing from some man in her community who wished her harm. She was on foot and had come to the barn, driven there by the cold and rain and night. She had thought to go east to Laigin but felt the man would guess her intention so she was going to attempt the western road but was overcome with tiredness and the rain. She was also exhausted. Naturally, I offered her shelter and warmth in my house.’

‘Did she give any further details?’

‘Only that she kept on about this man, Brother Drón, who wanted to harm her and how she had tried to escape from him once, and fallen in with someone whom she thought she could trust to help her. I gathered it was some young man. She did not tell me his name. She told me that he had betrayed her because he did not believe in her and so she had decided to flee from Cashel. We talked awhile and then she slept. In fact, the poor girl was so exhausted that she slept almost until midday.’

‘She left here at midday?’

‘Shortly afterwards,’ Della agreed.

‘I don’t suppose you noticed in which direction she went?’

‘Is the girl in trouble?’ Della demanded.

‘She will be unless I reach her first and speak to her.’

Della hesitated a moment and then sighed. ‘I put her on the road to the glen of Eatharlaí.’

Fidelma was surprised. ‘Why there?’

‘As I have said, she was fearful of going east to Laigin. I have a cousin among the Uí Cuileann who dwell in the glen. I told her to go to Rumann the smith. I loaned her my horse and told her to go there and that he would protect her. I promised that I would send word to her when all the guests had departed from Cashel.’

‘Having just met the girl, you are very trusting, Della.’

The older woman smiled wanly. ‘In my lifetime, with my experience, lady, I have come to know people. Not their outward appearances but their inward beings. I am sure there is no harm in that girl, only fear.’

‘I hear you, Della,’ replied Fidelma grimly. ‘Nevertheless, I will have to send one of the warriors after her. The thing is, news of your guest was known by the innkeeper and if he was passed that news on. .’

Della looked troubled. ‘The innkeeper was passing the house just as the poor girl was leaving. I told him that she was a friend who was staying with me but he picked up on her northern accent. Send Gormán after her, lady. My son will treat her gently.’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘Coincidence is a strange thing, Della, for not long after Sister Marga departed on that road, Gormán set out for the glen of Eatharlaí on an unrelated errand.’

The woman looked surprised but Fidelma was frowning as she considered matters.

‘The main thing now is whether Brother Drón has discovered the road on which she was travelling.’

‘He has not,’ Della offered unexpectedly. ‘A short time after the innkeeper left, this northern brother came here asking where Marga was going.’

Fidelma tried to hide her surprise. ‘He came here?’

‘The innkeeper is a blabbermouth. He had told someone and that someone told this Brother Drón. Well, he came here looking for her and I told him that she had gone. He wanted to know where.’

‘But when was this?’ Brother Drón had left the fortress in the early hours of the morning before dawn. Where had he been overnight?

‘It was about an hour or so after Sister Marga left here. After midday.’

Fidelma groaned softly. ‘That means he could catch up with her before she gets to the glen of Eatharlaí. .’

She noticed that Della was smiling broadly. ‘Unlike you, lady, with your religion and your law, I am not governed by a rule that I have to tell the truth.’

Fidelma glanced at her uncertainly. ‘What did you tell him?’

‘I sent him along the road south-east to Rath na Drínne. I said that she had mentioned something about meeting someone at Ferloga’s inn there at nightfall.’

Fidelma stared at her for a moment and then her features moulded into her famous mischievous grin.

‘Well done, Della. For the first time, I approve of an untruth. I have a feeling that it will not be long before you will be enjoying the wedding feast after all. I will despatch one of the warriors to Eatharlaí while Caol and the others can find Brother Drón at Ferloga’s inn.’

For the first time in the last few days Fidelma felt relaxed and almost happy.

‘That’s Ardane!’ Gormán pointed as he led the party of riders through the woods towards the surprisingly brightly lit settlement. There were many men moving around with lighted brand torches and they were challenged several times.

‘What is happening?’ Eadulf called to Gormán as he rode alongside the silent Sister Marga. She had not spoken, since they had left the spot where they had encountered her and forced her to come with them.

‘I have no idea,’ Gormán replied. ‘There seems to be a lot of activity.’

Miach, the chief of the Uí Cuileann, was the first to come forward to greet them.

‘What is happening?’ asked Eadulf again, as he dismounted.

‘We heard that you were coming, Brother Eadulf. Brother Berrihert has explained everything. It is all arranged. We gave Ordwulf and his sons hospitality in our territory. With hospitality comes duty. Some of my men have already gone up into the mountain with Brother Berrihert to help him to build a funeral pyre.’

‘You are very generous,’ said Eadulf. ‘You realise that Ordwulf was not a Christian?’

Miach grinned. ‘Neither were my people a hundred years ago. What matter so long as a man lives a moral life and dies firm in his belief?’

Gormán nodded in approval. ‘From what I saw, Ordwulf was a warrior and deserves to be saluted by fellow warriors,’ he agreed.

‘Fidelma told me to tell you that she approves of this action,’ Eadulf added.’

‘She has a great heart.’ Miach smiled, and turned to Pecanum and Naoyan. ‘I share your grief, sons of Ordwulf. Your father was a fine warrior and I salute his spirit. We have waited here to guide you up to where the funeral pyre is prepared for your father. I have suggested it be placed not so high up but on the summit of An Starraicin, the small peak on the south side of the valley. We can ride up there on horseback.’

‘Before we do,’ Eadulf interrupted, ‘I would request a further favour. This is Sister Marga.’ He motioned to the girl. ‘She is our unwilling guest, for she is needed back in Cashel to answer questions from Fidelma. She will not go of her own accord. Therefore, until we are ready to return, I would like her to stay here, for she has no place at the funeral of Ordwulf.’

Miach looked thoughtful. ‘She will stay willingly or unwillingly?’

Eadulf looked at the girl, who raised her chin slightly but maintained a defiant silence. ‘She will remain unwillingly.’

Miach sighed and motioned to one of his men to come forward. ‘Then we shall ensure that she is here on our return.’ He issued instructions and a couple of women were summoned from one of the buildings.

‘Sister Marga, your safety will be ensured with these women until our return.’

Still saying nothing, Sister Marga was led away.

Half a dozen men with burning brand torches had now gathered on horseback. Everyone remounted and, with Miach leading the way, they set off across the valley floor before beginning to ascend the wood-covered mountains of Sleibhte na gCoillte. They followed one of the gushing streams that rose on the mountainside to tumble down into the river Eatharlaí, the path along the eastern side of this white water stretching up through the trees towards the bare higher slopes.

It was growing dark now. The low black clouds had descended on the mountain tops that rose in front of them. As Miach had said, An Starraicin, as its name indicated, was a small peak, almost a foothill, to the higher peaks behind. They left their horses at the edge of the wooded area and Miach, with his men holding their torches aloft, led the way out on to the bald, open summit of the hill, warning those following where to avoid the boggy ground round which they had to walk. It was a short distance, over the boulder-strewn landscape, to where there was a group of men also holding torches and standing round an already constructed funeral pyre of stacked logs.

To Eadulf, the scene was familiar. Many Saxon warriors had been sent to Wael Halla, the eternal hall of the heroes, to feast for ever with Woden, Thunor, Tiw and the other great warrior gods of his people. He swallowed nervously. The former gods of his people, he corrected himself.

Pecanum and Naovan went forward immediately to greet their brother Berrihert, to exchange embraces and talk for a moment of their father’s death. Ordwulf’s body now lay on top of the pyre, his weapons beside him. His double-edged battleaxe had been placed on top of his body, his lifeless hands clasping its shaft and the blade flat against his chest.

Eadulf and Gormán moved forward to stand beside the chief of the Uí Cuileann while Pecanum and Naovan went forward to the pyre and solemnly raised their hands in salute to their father. It was a traditional gesture of farewell. Then they both stepped back to stand either side of their brother Berrihert.

He started to speak in the Saxon tongue. Eadulf found himself automatically translating for the benefit of Miach and Gormán, so that they could tell the others what was happening.

‘We come not to make the funeral obsequies for a pagan but for our father. He was Ordwulf son of Frithuwulf Churlslayer. He was a noble warrior of his people. He lived and died as a warrior believing in the gods of his childhood and of his people. He came to this land because his sons wanted him to come; he came with his wife, our mother, Aelgifu daughter of Aelfric. Even though he and his sons had parted company in their religion, they had not parted company in their common blood. He was our father. And he died seeking justice against those who slew his wife, Aelgifu, our mother. We will promise him one thing and this we swear by his funeral pyre this night. We swear to achieve justice for our slain mother. We have adopted a new faith, come to a new country and will follow the laws and customs of this country. We will continue to follow these laws that are still strange to us in order to pursue the justice that Ordwulf sought. We swear to bring the punishment of those laws to those who slew his wife, our mother. This we swear.’

Pecanum and Naovan echoed him: ‘This we swear.’

Brother Berrihert turned his face to the darkened sky.

‘Great God, Aelmihtig, you are known to men in many guises and by many names. Our father knew you as Woden. If you are truly he, then take our father into your eternal hall Wael Halla so that he might reside for ever with the heroes he knew and let our mother, Aelgifu, be there as young and beautiful as he knew her once, to serve his mead and bring his meat, according to custom. Aelmihtig, if you are not Woden, then, as we believe, you are more powerful. Soften your stern eye, for being all-knowing, you know that our father was a good man and that he and Aelgifu are deserving of their belief that they may live for ever in whatever Wael Halla you decree for them.’

Berrihert paused, then, turning, he took up one of the burning brands in his right hand. His brothers, on either side of him, reached forward, so all three grasped the staff of the torch. All three raised their faces to the heavens and gave one long eerie cry. ‘Aelmihtig!’

Across the mountains behind them first one lone wolf and then another and another took up an echo of that cry until the valleys echoed with their ghostly chorus. The three brothers had taken the steps forward to the pyre and thrust the burning torch into it. The dry twigs and fuel that had been placed there caught immediately and within moments great flames were leaping upwards to the sky.