Badger's Moon

Chapter Fourteen

Eadulf stared at the man but nothing now surprised him. He just wished Fidelma had confided in him about her suspicions concerning the cave. Perhaps the matter had nothing at all to do with the deaths of the girls. They watched as the thick-set figure of the blacksmith approached the cave entrance. He did so quickly, surely footed as if he knew exactly where he was going. At the cave entrance he halted and gave a sharp call, apparently announcing his presence. Then he disappeared inside.

Eadulf glanced across to the rocks where Goll still lay hidden. He noticed a movement behind the rocks that indicated the woodsman’s presence and gave a quiet sigh of exasperation. He wished he had listened more carefully to what Fidelma had said about the mine. He could not see how it was at all relevant to the moonlight killings of the girls except that the bodies had been found in the vicinity. And what had Goll to do with it? He could not even think what questions to ask, let alone seek answers.

Menma gave a tug on his sleeve. The dark stranger, Brother Dangila, and Gobnuid were coming out of the cave mouth. Gobnuid was waving his hands in the air as if to help him explain something to the stranger. Brother Dangila extinguished his lamp and they both began walking slowly back down the hill in the direction of the abbey. Gobnuid was talking loudly but not loud enough for Eadulf to understand what he was saying. As soon as they were out of sight, Goll rose from his hiding place and began to follow them in a stealthy manner.

When they had all disappeared Menma rose. ‘What now, Brother? Do we follow them?’

‘We do not,’ Eadulf replied. ‘I need to report this to Sister Fidelma. Following them will not tell us anything. The stranger and Gobnuid seem to be heading back to the abbey. Goll appears to be merely watching them. The question that must be resolved is why?’

‘That is true,’ agreed Menma. He glanced up at the sky. ‘Anyway, within the hour it will be dark. Let’s get back to the horses.’

The horses were waiting patiently, tethered where they had left them. Menma led the way back down the winding track through the hilly woodland. They had progressed about halfway down the trail when they came to a fairly open stretch of hillside. Eadulf, lost in his thoughts, almost let his horse run into that of Menma, who had sharply halted.

‘What-’ he began, startled.

‘Look!’ Menma held out a hand.

Eadulf followed the line he was indicating to the woods at the bottom of the hill. Dusk was coming down, obscuring the clarity of his vision, but even so he could make out a rising plume of white smoke.

‘It’s coming from my cabin!’ Menma suddenly yelled. ‘My cabin is on fire!’

Without another word, he thumped his ankles into the sides of his mount. With a startled whinny, the horse leapt forward and began to canter down the hill. A sudden fear for Fidelma clutching at his breast, Eadulf followed swiftly in the other’s tracks.

It seemed to take an interminable age to get down the hill. They had to slow their speed several times because of the steep descent in places, which threatened to precipitate both horses and riders in tumbling heaps down the hillside. They reached the main track to Rath Raithlen and crossed it, plunging on into the woods. As they neared the hunter’s home they realised that the entire cabin was one gigantic bonfire. It was blazing from wall to wall, and as they rode up the roof fell in with a cascade of sparks and burning debris.

‘Suanach!’ yelled Menma, peering round in desperation for his wife. ‘Suanach!’ He flung himself from his horse and, for a moment, looked as though he was going to dash forward into the burning building.

Eadulf had dismounted and ran forward to grasp his arm. ‘You cannot go in there!’ He had to yell to make his voice heard above the crackling of the flames as they ate hungrily into the wood.

Menma halted, his eyes wide and staring.

Eadulf, too, was gazing in horror at the burning building. If Fidelma and Suanach had been inside then there was no hope for them. He moved backward and his heel hit something hard and metallic. He dragged his gaze away from the burning cabin and glanced down, finding, to his surprise, a discarded shield on the ground. He raised his eyes and began to look around.

There was something about the scene that did not seem right. The carcass of a dog was lying a short distance away, an arrow projecting from behind its shoulder. It was Luchóc. And now Eadulf saw there were boxes and garments strewn about, as if discarded in hurried fashion. He tugged at Menma’s arm and pointed silently.

The young hunter stared, visibly shaken. Then he dropped to his knee by his dog and examined the arrow. He saw the shield that Eadulf had found, and swore vehemently.

‘What is it?’ demanded Eadulf.

‘Uí Fidgente!’ snapped Menma.

Eadulf shivered slightly. He was well aware of the rebellious clan of north Muman. He had had dealings with them before.^* He also knew that they were a constant threat, challenging the authority of Fidelma’s brother at Cashel and sometimes raiding his territory.

‘You mean it is an Uí Fidgente raid?’ he demanded.

There was no need for Menma to confirm the obvious. The hunter was examining the area, using his tracking skills.

‘Probably about twenty men. At least, there were enough horses here to carry that amount.’

He was looking down at an area of churned-up earth. All Eadulf could see was a number of hoofprints.

‘But Fidelma and your wife…?’ he began.

‘I think they have been taken as prisoners. Look, a woman’s footprint over the hoofprints.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘A woman was made to mount the horse here.’

‘Both of them? Or one of them?’ demanded Eadulf.

Menma pulled a face. ‘That I cannot say…’

The rumble of many horses approaching caused Eadulf to swing round and Menma to run for his weapons.

A dozen horsemen broke through the surrounding trees, weapons in hand, and halted. Accobrán was at their head.

He caught sight of Eadulf and Menma. Even by the glow from the fire, which made a distorted reflection on his face, Accobrán was clearly surprised.

‘We saw the smoke from the fortress and came to investigate. What’s caused this? What are you doing here, Brother Eadulf?’

Menma took a step forward. ‘Uí Fidgente! They have taken my wife and Sister Fidelma as hostages.’

‘What?’ Accobrán looked startled.

Menma quickly explained the evidence, the Uí Fidgente arrow and shield and the signs of horses.

‘We must ride after them. How much start do you think they have, Menma?’

‘A good half an hour, no more.’

‘Then we may yet catch up with them. This is the first time they have raided our territory for years. Why now?’

Eadulf was mounting his horse and preparing to join Accobrán’s men.

‘Not you, Brother,’ the tanist said sharply. ‘I cannot risk you being slain or taken as a hostage. It is bad enough that the Uí Fidgente have taken the sister of King Colgú. For that, someone will surely pay a price.’

‘But Fidelma-’ Eadulf protested.

‘Exactly so!’ snapped Accobrán. ‘I want you to ride back to the rath and tell Becc what has happened. Our people need to prepare just in case this raid turns into a major onslaught on the Cinél na Áeda. I would not put it past the Uí Fidgente to begin an undeclared war. If they are only a small raiding party, then we have a chance to overtake them and rescue the women. If not, then our people need time to prepare. Go back and tell Becc!’

Eadulf sat uncertainly on his horse but Accobrán ignored him and waved Menma and the others forward, following the tracks leading towards the north-west.

Eadulf realised that the tanist was right. Dusk had already given way to night. Someone had to warn the chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda about the possibility of an incursion by the Uí Fidgente. The chase of the raiding party was best left to the warriors of Accobrán.

He turned his horse and began to gallop quickly along the track towards the dark hill of Rath Raithlen, hoping his horsemanship was good enough to cover the distance without mishap.

A short time before, Fidelma had been drowsing comfortably. Her headache was gone and so was the intense feeling of cold. She felt warm and comfortable.

A hand suddenly clutched at her wrist, bringing her wide awake. She was staring into the pale face of Suanach.

‘What’s the matter?’ She blinked rapidly as she struggled up. Her senses informed her that there was fear in the eyes of the wife of Menma.

‘I went to the well for water. Several riders are coming this way. They carry an Uí Fidgente standard. The Uí Fidgente are not well intentioned towards our people.’

At the name, Fidelma had already sprung out of the bed and was hauling on her robe.

‘We must hide,’ she whispered.

‘Truly,’ agreed the woman. ‘If you fell into their hands, lady…’ Her eyes rolled at the idea for a moment.

There came the sounds of horses halting before the bothán and a voice calling harshly for the occupants to come forth.

‘Too late!’ cried Suanach. ‘I must go and see what they want. You must hide.’

She knelt on the floor and removed the rug, revealing a wooden trapdoor. She pulled it up and pointed down.

‘It is our uaimh talún — the sousterrain where we store food. Crawl along the tunnel as far as you can. It’s a safe place to hide.’

They heard the door of the bothán crash open abruptly.

Fidelma did not waste time by trying to persuade Suanach to come with her. She dropped down into the tunnel and was immediately engulfed in darkness as the trapdoor was lowered and the hunter’s wife replaced the rug.

‘I’m coming!’ Fidelma heard the woman call out to the intruder in the other room. She heard her footsteps cross the floor and then she decided to move further along the darkened tunnel just in case anyone found and lifted the trapdoor.

The tunnel was merely a crawl way. One could not stand in it but could progress only on hands and knees. It seemed to go on for ever, but then she reminded herself that space and time became meaningless when you were plunged into utter darkness. At least it was insulated with stone — she could feel the hard, smooth surfaces — and, above all, the tunnel was dry. She moved carefully along and soon aromatic smells came to her nostrils. She realised that this was where Suanach stored her herbs and mysterious items of food in bottles and boxes.

She sat with her back against what seemed to be a box and relaxed for a moment or two wondering whether Suanach had been right. The Uí Fidgente would surely not dare to raid this far south? And yet Fidelma knew just how brutal and rapacious they were. She sniffed in deprecation and, as she did so, caught a whiff of an acrid smell. It was a moment or so later that she realised just what it was.

Smoke!

She fought a moment’s panic. Smoke was permeating along the tunnel. That had to mean that the bothán was alight. The raiders had set fire to the place. She could feel the smoke growing thicker as she began to breathe with difficulty. There was no chance of crawling back down the tunnel. There was no escape.

She turned and began to feel around her. Something that squeaked brushed by, then another and another. Mice! Mice were escaping the burning building. Again she almost panicked and then she realised that the mice were heading in one direction, away from the trapdoor through which she had come. She sought to control herself and move further along the tunnel.

It was not so much a light as a thin glowing line in the roof of the tunnel. Another trapdoor? Sometimes sousterrains had two entrances. Could Menma have built one that had an outside entrance? Would it be far enough away from the bothán to escape detection? Well, there was no other course but to find out. The smoke was growing thicker and she fancied she could feel an increasing heat blowing down the tunnel. Fear lent her strength as she scrambled over the boxes that lay in her path towards the chink of glowing light.

She pushed at the dark roof above her. It was wood! A trapdoor, indeed. But it did not move. Was it secured from the outside? She positioned herself under it, her back against it, and began to straighten up. It seemed immovable. But then…did it give a little? She pushed again with her back and felt it loosen. Something snapped. Then she heaved and found herself above the soil line.

She scrambled out with the quickness of a cat, crouching on all fours and looking round. She had emerged more than fifteen feet behind the bothán, from which smoke and flames were curling upwards. Fortunately, the raiders were all at the front of the building. She could hear shouting and laughter and the whinnies of their horses mingling in the commotion of the raid. She hoped that Suanach was not harmed, but her immediate need was to find shelter in case the raiders should venture around the back of the building. She remembered to push the trapdoor back into place and examined her escape route.

There was a distance of perhaps twenty or twenty-five feet from the place where she had emerged to the line of the surrounding forest. She rose to her feet and, crouching low, she ran headlong towards its shelter, praying that she was fully hidden from the raiders by the angle of the building and the heavy, swirling smoke.

No warning shout reached her ears before she plunged into the undergrowth, flinging herself flat beneath some bushes, and recovering her breath before she crawled to a vantage position where she could peer back to the bothán of Menma and Suanach. It was firmly alight and the smoke was rising in a tall spiralling column. Surely, she thought, the smoke would rouse those at the fortress and bring riders racing to investigate?

She had not escaped a moment too soon, for just then two horsemen came trotting their mounts round the corner of the building as if examining it.

‘No sign of her husband. She must have told the truth when she said that he was away in the woods,’ one man was saying in a loud, almost raucous tone.

His companion had a reed-like but sharp voice. He was waving his hand towards the cabin.

‘The smoke will bring our enemies down on us soon. We should rejoin our companions before we are discovered.’

‘And with our purpose unresolved?’

‘What do we tell our chieftain?’ demanded the second man.

‘There is no need to tell Conrí anything.’

‘Let us hope you are right and this hunter, Menma, follows his wife,’ the other went on.

‘He’ll follow the bait sure enough. Suanach will lure him to us.’

‘If we wanted to find him, surely all we had to do was wait here. I still fail to see why Menma is so important. There are others among the Cinél na Áeda who could supply the information.’

‘The old merchant said that Menma knew all there is to know about the Thicket of Pigs. He would know what has been discovered there. If what the merchant said is right, then we would be able to avenge our defeat at Cnoc Áine by that usurping upstart Colgú.’

‘We will not be able to avenge anything unless we leave this place before the warriors from Rath Raithlen arrive,’ retorted the other.

The two riders turned and rode back to join their companions, leaving Fidelma trying to understand the meaning of their conversation. At least it seemed that Suanach was safe and merely taken hostage rather than perishing in the flames. But what was the mystery discovery at the Thicket of Pigs? Why would it bring the Uí Fidgente raiding deep into Eóghanacht territory? Who was the old merchant and what could Menma know?

There was no time to ponder more on the questions that assailed her. The only thing for her to do was to hurry back to Rath Raithlen and inform Becc. He would have to send warriors in pursuit to rescue Suanach if he had not seen the flames and done so already. Then she and Eadulf would have to go in search of Menma and find out more about this Thicket of Pigs. She was sure that the answer probably lay in the cave that she had wanted to explore. She was thankful that she had told Eadulf to go back to the safety of Rath Raithlen that afternoon. His life would be worth nothing to the Uí Fidgente.

She heard the horsemen leaving. There was nothing she could do to put out the flames of Menma and Suanach’s home. The bothán had become a burning pyre. She rose and began to move through the woods, turning eastward at a tangent that she felt would intersect the main track to the fortress. She would probably meet Becc’s warriors on the way.

Dusk was beginning to settle now. There was hardly any discernible path in the undergrowth and she had to twist and turn to find a way through. After a while she began to feel sorry that she had not gone by way of the main path from the bothán to the track. After all, the raiders had ridden in the opposite direction. But it was better to be safe than sorry, although her safety was a matter of speculation at the moment. She realised that she had become a little disorientated and she looked about, trying to figure out if she were going in the wrong direction. The darkness made such observation futile and the tall oaks and alders stretched skyward, blotting out the residual light which might have revealed the path.

When all seemed utterly hopeless, she realised that a natural path, perhaps a track used by generations of wild boar, had opened up to give an easier trail through the trees and undergrowth. She saw, even in the twilight, that several of the trees were dark on one side and stopped to reach out a hand to touch this shadow. It was damp moss.

Fidelma smiled.

That side of the tree was facing north. It was an old woodsman’s trick to establish direction. She placed her back to the dry side of the tree and held her two arms straight at right angles to her body. Her left arm would indicate the easterly direction, the direction of the track.

She turned in that direction and nearly tripped over a long, slender branch. It was like a staff and perhaps someone had begun to shape it as such. She picked it up and realised it was a handy weapon. Feeling more secure, she began to push her way along another narrow path and it was not too long before she saw the open space of the track before her. She felt better. Although it was now dark, the moon and stars were out in a cloudless sky and there was some light along the road.

She estimated it would take about an hour certainly no more, of good walking to reach the fortress of Becc. She set out at a quick steady pace.

Barely ten minutes had passed when she heard a horse coming at a gallop. She moved quickly into the nearby bushes and held her staff ready. The moon gave light to a long stretch of the road behind her and she saw the black shadow of a horse emerge. Its rider seemed to be crouched in an awkward position over the beast’s neck. Was it one of the Uí Fidgente who had discovered her flight and was trying to cut her off before she reached Rath Raithlen? Well, little time to debate the point. And she could use the horse.

As the beast drew near she leapt out screaming like a bean sidh — a woman of the fairy folk. The horse reared up on his hindquarters, lashing out with his forelegs at the air. The rider tumbled backwards and hit the road, lying still. Fidelma dashed towards the figure with upraised staff ready to strike.

The figure groaned and swore — a strange Saxon oath. Fidelma dropped her staff and stared down.

‘Nar lige Dia! God look down on us!’ she cried. ‘Is it you, Eadulf?’

Eadulf groaned and shook his head, which he was holding in both hands.

‘I don’t think I ever will be me again,’ he muttered. ‘I am surely broken in two.’

‘I am sorry. I thought you were one of the Uí Fidgente,’ cried Fidelma. She was aghast as she bent forward and tried to raise him into a sitting position.

Eadulf blinked and attempted to focus in the darkness. Her saw her shadowy form, heard her voice, and realisation suddenly hit him. His senses returned in a rush. He struggled up.

‘You were not captured by them?’ he demanded incredulously, reaching out a hand to touch her cheek.

She shook her head with a brief smile, which he could not see in the darkness.

‘As you can surely tell, Eadulf,’ she replied waspishly to hide her relief. ‘Otherwise I would not be here.’

‘Accobrán and Menma with some men from Rath Raithlen have gone in pursuit of the Uí Fidgente,’ he said, managing to scramble to his feet. ‘We thought that you and Suanach were captured.’

‘Suanach is their prisoner,’ she confirmed regretfully. ‘The Uí Fidgente were hoping to lure Menma after them.’

Eadulf seemed to have recovered his senses if not the feeling of his bruised body. He was puzzled.

‘Lure Menma? I don’t understand.’

‘No more do I. But I overheard two of the Uí Fidgente speaking. It seemed that the purpose of their raid was to get information out of Menma. Information about some discovery on the Thicket of Pigs.’

‘It seems a bit extreme to conduct a raid as far south from their territory as this in search of information. What sort of information?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine, Eadulf. My immediate concern is for Suanach. She hid me in the sousterrain of the house while she went to confront the Uí Fidgente. That is how I managed to escape.’

Eadulf spoke with all seriousness. ‘Let’s hope Accobrán is as good a warrior as we have heard. Anyway, I think Menma is an excellent tracker and he will be able to follow the trail of the raiders.’

‘In this darkness, I doubt whether he will be able to track them. Why are you not riding with them?’

‘Accobrán told me to go back to the fortress and tell Becc just in case this is not a small raiding party but part of some larger attack on the Cinél na Áeda. Accobrán said that they saw the smoke from Rath Raithlen and he and his warriors rode to investigate. No one realised it was the Uí Fidgente. I was to inform Becc of the fact.’

‘Accobrán said…?’ Fidelma suddenly realised the implication. ‘Were you not at the fortress. then?’

‘I went with Menma this afternoon to investigate the cave that you were so concerned with,’ admitted Eadulf. ‘We were returning to the bothán when we saw it in flames. We were there when Accobrán arrived.’

‘You did what?’ came Fidelma’s sharp tone. ‘You went back to the cave?’

‘You were so keen to explore it that I felt I could save you the trouble. If there was anything of interest there, I felt that I could find it without you endangering yourself again.’

There was a pause while Fidelma digested the information. ‘And did you find anything of interest?’

‘Dei gratia!’ Eadulf confirmed.

‘Then you must tell me all as we ride.’

Fidelma looked round. The horse that Eadulf had been riding had trotted on a few yards and now stood nibbling at some bushes by the roadside. She started for the horse, felt for the reins in the darkness, and then turned to Eadulf.

‘You mount first and I’ll get up behind you.’ Then she paused. ‘You are sure that you are not hurt by your fall?’

‘As you know, I have a thick hide.’

She imagined that Eadulf was grinning in the darkness and she nodded.

Eadulf had just finished his story as they came within sight of the gates of Rath Raithlen. Fidelma had been mostly silent during his recital, only intervening once or twice to clarify points.

Eadulf waited a while and then said: ‘Quid nunc?’

‘Well might you ask what now,’ Fidelma mused.

There came some shouting from the gates ahead as the lookouts spotted them in the darkness.

‘Now,’ she reflected on the question, ‘now we shall tell Becc what has happened at Menma’s bothán and then I must think awhile.’

In fact, Becc was waiting at the fortress gates for them with his steward Adag.

‘Fidelma!’ He came forward with arms outstretched. ‘I am thankful to see you, cousin. When we saw smoke rising in the forest we were concerned. When Adag told me that you had not been in the fortress since this morning — you and Brother Eadulf,’ he nodded quickly to Fidelma’s companion, ‘we grew very concerned.’

‘Your concern should be for the wife of Menma the hunter,’ responded Fidelma and quickly told him about the raid of the Uí Fidgente.

Becc was shocked. ‘The Uí Fidgente raiding this far south? Adag,’ he turned to his steward, ‘send someone to spread word of this to the abbey and to the surrounding raths so that they may be warned and keep a careful watch.’

All was commotion within the fortress as the chieftain’s orders were camed out. Meanwhile, Becc, having ordered that their horse be cared for, guided Fidelma and Eadulf back to his great hall and summoned a servant to bring wine and mead.

‘How dangerous do you think the Uí Fidgente threat is?’ he demanded of Fidelma after wine had been brought to them.

‘The Uí Fidgente are always to be considered dangerous, Becc,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Since their defeat at Cnoc Áine, they have been waiting for another chance to rise up. Yet, somehow, I believe that this is a small raiding party in search of something specific. I don’t think they were a war party. Merely scouts.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘They want some information. If they came in strength towards your territory, they would rouse the countryside. Someone would have seen the passage of their army. They could not take the easterly route because the Eóghanacht Áine stand in their path. If they came directly south they would encounter the Eóghanacht Glendamnac and if they tried to swing westwards and approach from that direction they would have to come through the Eóghanacht Loch Léin. No large army could come from the lands of the Uí Fidgente without an alarm being given by their very passage. Where an army cannot pass without being seen, a small raiding party can move with stealth and concealment. I think that this band is just such a party.’

Becc leant back looking relieved at her assessment. ‘Still, even a small raiding party presents problems to me at this time. We do not have many young men trained and under arms at present. However, what do you think…what exactly are they after?’

Fidelma raised one shoulder and let it fall expressively. ‘That I am unable to say.’

‘You said that they were a scouting party. But what were they seeking?’

‘Hopefully, Accobrán will overtake them and bring back prisoners so that we may question them. Only then will we know for certain.’

Becc was clearly worried.

‘There is nothing else to do until the return of Accobrán,’ Fidelma gently assured him.

Becc sighed in resignation.

‘You will want to retire and refresh yourselves,’ he said, rising. ‘The evening meal will be ready in an hour’s time.’

Fidelma and Eadulf rose with him. She was turning to the door when she swung back to look at the chieftain.

‘I have a question, Becc. Do you have a senchae, an historian, in the fortress?’

‘Several. It depends on what history you wish to know. There is the genealogist, the custodian of the history of my house; there is the teller of the ancient tales…’

Fidelma held up her hand. ‘I am rather more interested in the history of the Thicket of Pigs.’

Becc raised his brows. ‘I am afraid there is only one person who has stored that history in his mind. He might take some persuading to part with his knowledge.’

‘Old Liag, the apothecary?’

Becc gazed at her in surprise. ‘How did you know?’

‘A guess, that is all,’ she replied softly. ‘We will join you for the meal within the hour.’