Dancing With Demons

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

‘There is a farmstead up ahead, lady,’ Gormán called, having ridden back down the trail to rejoin Fidelma and Caol. ‘It would be an ideal place to water and rest the horses and eat something ourselves.’

They had crossed the plain and had been riding through some hilly and thickly wooded country for some hours now. If the truth were known, Fidelma felt a little tired and thirsty herself and so she agreed without protest.

‘We must have reached the borders of the country of the Cinél Cairpre by now,’ she warned. ‘Best have a care if the raiders do come from here, for we may not find a welcome.’

They approached the farmstead cautiously. There was some movement there and they could see a man rounding up cattle in an adjacent field, which was a sure sign of the lateness of the day. In farming terms the day began just before dawn when the cows were milked; it was called am buarach or spancel time, when the cows were led out. The spancel was a stout rope of twisted hair, two lengths of a man’s arm from wrist to elbow, with a loop at one end and a piece of wood providing a knob at the other. The knob was thrust into the loop to bind the hind legs of the cow, should it be fidgety. The farmer or the cowherd doing the milking always carried the buarach, or spancel, when bringing the cows home.

The man in the field stopped when he saw them and then began to hurry towards the farmstead, leaving his cows to their own devices.

Fidelma glanced towards Caol and Gormán, noticing them slide their hands to rest on their swordhilts.

‘Easy,’ she said. ‘The man has a right to be cautious at the sight of strangers.’

They turned their horses through a gate in the stone fence and into the farmyard. The man was now standing before his door, the spancel held almost as a weapon in his hands.

‘That’s far enough!’ he called sharply before they had reached him. ‘Who are you and what do you want?’

‘There is no call for alarm,’ Fidelma said pleasantly. ‘We are travellers looking for the fortress of the chieftain of the Cinél Cairpre. We also need to rest, water our horses and take refreshment for ourselves. The sun is setting and soon it will be dark.’

‘I know the time well enough. Stay still, all of you. I must warn you that there are arrows aimed at you, and if you move you will die. I want the warriors to disarm and get down from their horses.’

They sat still for a moment, hardly believing what the man said, for he continued in a quiet and reasonable tone: ‘You think I am joking? My boys have their hunting bows strung. Ciar, loose a shot at the post behind me!’

A second later, a hunting arrow sped over the man’s head and embedded itself in the post.

‘My boys are good shots, so take heed,’ added the man without bothering to observe how the arrow had landed.

Fidelma said quietly: ‘Do as he says.’

‘Gently now,’ snapped the farmer. ‘Throw down your swords to the right and dismount to the left. You, woman, remain seated.’

Caol and Gormán took off their sword belts and let them drop as instructed before dismounting.

Immediately, a small boy ran from an outhouse, gathered the weapons in one hand and the reins in another, leading the horses away.

‘Now, warriors, move to one side. Remain seated, woman, for there is an arrow still aimed at you. No tricks now.’

As if at a hidden signal, a young man emerged with some rope and expertly tied the hands of Caol and Gormán behind them.

‘Now you may alight, woman,’ instructed the farmer.

Fidelma did so. Once again the small boy ran out to lead her horse away. A second young man now emerged; he was holding a long bow nearly two metres high, with an arrow loosely strung but ready to draw at a moment’s notice.

‘Take the warriors to the shed and make sure they are well bound, Ciar,’ the man commanded.

‘We meant you no harm,’ Fidelma protested, but the man gestured for her to be silent.

‘You think I believe you? Strangers and warriors?’ He turned as the small boy came back. ‘Cuana, saddle your horse and ride for the chief. You’ll be there before dark. Tell him that we have visitors. He’ll know what to do.’

‘I am on my way, Father,’ cried the boy, who was surely no more than twelve years old.

The young man addressed as Ciar came back, still holding his bow.

‘They are secured, Father,’ he reported.

Then the farmer relaxed a little and tossed his spancel to the other young man.

‘You tend to the cows now. We’ll take her inside. We might as well be comfortable while we wait.’

‘Keep a close eye on her,’ replied the young man. ‘These people are full of tricks.’

Fidelma frowned as the farmer prompted her forward to the building. ‘Who do you think I am?’

The man gave a sardonic snort. ‘Try no games with me, woman. I have seen enough of them — from you and your people. Our chieftain will be here soon and then you may try your tricks on him. Now, sit in that chair.’

Fidelma had no sooner sat down than Ciar laid aside his bow, seized her wrists and bound them with a length of rope. Having done so he smiled at his father, who nodded in approval.

‘You can put aside your bow now, Ciar, but keep it handy. There may be others about. Anyway, the chief should not be long.’

Eadulf was being dragged up a steep hill, the cords cutting deeply into his wrists. Even if he had wanted to cry out in pain, the tight gag effectively stopped any sound from emerging. His eyes began to water with the agony and he hoped his captors did not think it was some sign of weakness as, jeering, they pulled and prodded at him with the shafts of their spears. Several times he fell but they continued to pull, dragging him up the rough earth, until he was able to lurch to his feet again.

Earlier, he could not estimate how long, they had ridden before a halt was called and they had dismounted. He had been roughly manhandled from his horse, and forced to climb these steep slopes.

It seemed an age before they reached the top of the hill. It was coldand the wind was sharp, but somehow it gave his bruised and battered body some comfort. Then someone removed his blindfold and the same hand removed his gag. He stood, trying to catch his breath, and glanced around. The lowering sun still lit the land with its wintry soft golden light. He realised that he was on a high hill and noticed some curious structures there — stone-built edifices of the type he had seen elsewhere in the country. People had told him that such buildings were very ancient, constructed by the gods in the time beyond memory. He shivered slightly.

Nearer to where he stood with his captors, there were some rough wooden buildings and cooking fires, around which some women sat. But there were no signs of any children, only adults.

He became aware of one of the women approaching him.

She was tall, and her raven-black hair tumbled down almost to her waist. A silver headband bearing a strange crescent design held the hair in place around her forehead. Her features were angular but striking; the dark eyes flashed with some inner fire. It was a face used to command. It was also a face that he felt he had seen before — but could not think where. Eadulf also saw that around her neck and stretching across her chest was a great semi-circular collar. Then he realised that it was a silver equivalent of the great necklet that Fidelma had shown him in Cashel. The one she had found in the room of the dead guest at Ferloga’s inn; the one she had said was a symbol of the Druids, the priests of the old gods.

His captors thrust him forward to face the woman by the expedient of prodding him with the tip of their swords. They all seemed to treat the woman with reverence.

In spite of the ropes binding him, Eadulf drew himself up, staring at her with his chin thrust forward defensively.

The woman halted before him. She was nearly half a head taller than he was. She looked down at him, and her thin lips parted in a smile without warmth. Her dark eyes seemed to bore deeply into his.

‘Well, a Christian prisoner. You are welcome, my friend, welcome to Sliabh na Caillaigh.’

‘The Mountain of the Hag?’ Eadulf was frowning. He seemed to have heard the name before.

‘You are a Saxon by your accent,’ she observed.

‘I am Eadulf, of Seaxmund’s Ham in the land of the South Folk,’ he replied proudly. ‘Who are you?’

The woman laughed without humour.

‘That is not for strangers to know, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham in the land of the South Folk,’ she replied, mimicking his accent.

The woman was accompanied by several warriors. One of her entourage a fair-haired man, seemed familiar to Eadulf and he struggled to think where he had seen the man before. He found it curious that there were several things here that seemed known to him: the ornament at the woman’s neck, her features — and now the face of this warrior.

Then the leader of his captors moved forward and addressed the woman, but with bowed head.

‘Ceannard, this man claims to be husband to Fidelma of Cashel. We have heard that there was a female and male religious accompanied by two southern warriors at Tara recently.’

‘Is this true?’ demanded the woman, staring at Eadulf with sudden interest.

Eadulf smiled. ‘Perhaps that is not for you to know,’ he replied, with an attempt to mimic her.

The black-bearded warrior at his side struck him with the flat of his sword and Eadulf staggered a pace, biting his lip to stop from uttering a sound at the pain.

The woman turned behind her and called to one of the warriors nearby. ‘Come forth and see if you recognise this man.’

The warrior came forward to examine him.

‘That is the man called Brother Eadulf,’ he confirmed.

Eadulf immediately recognised Cuan, the short, dark warrior of the Fianna who had fled from Tara.

‘He was in the company of Fidelma of Cashel who was sent for to investigate Sechnussach’s death,’ the man continued. ‘They were accompanied by two warriors of the Nasc Niadh, the golden collar, in the service of the King of Muman. I saw them all at Tara.’

‘They will be searching for me even now,’ Eadulf defiantly, ‘as they are searching for you, Cuan. I am told the Fianna dislike deserters and traitors and have ways of dealing with them.’

‘Their search will be in vain,’ snapped Cuan, ‘and you will be dead before they find you.’ He raised his sword threateningly but the woman stayed him with a sharp command.

‘Do not harm him lest you incur my displeasure, Cuan. And do not underestimate this man’s companion,’ she rebuked. ‘I have heard of Fidelma of Cashel. She is very clever and in other circumstances I wouldwelcome her to my homestead. She is a defender of many of the old ways against these pernicious ideas that are being spread through these lands. She is also an advocate of the ancient laws and that makes a worthy enemy.’

Cuan was immediately obeisant.

‘Where is she now?’ demanded the woman of Eadulf.

As Eadulf set his jaw firmly, his black-beareded captor moved forward and said confidently, ‘Ceannard, I will send two of my men to find out.’

The woman smiled thinly at him. ‘You mean that you don’t know already?’ she sneered.

‘We came upon the Saxon on the track to Delbna Mór. He was travelling with a survivor from Fobhair. We killed the other man. They rode with no one else.’

This was greeted with a frown.

‘You allowed someone from Fobhair to survive?’ There was a threat in her voice.

The man’s face paled considerably. ‘But I killed him when I found him.’

‘How many others didn’t you find, who escaped from Fobhair? And he was travelling with this Saxon — travelling to Delbna Mór? Did you not work out what that means!’

The questions were asked in an icy tone.

The leader of the raiders looked confused.

‘I will tell you, you son of a pig. It means that the Saxon had already passed through Fobhair and was returning to Delbna Mór. It may also mean that Fidelma of Cashel was with him and may even now be on her way to Tara to raise the Fianna.’ She turned to Eadulf. ‘Is that so, Saxon? Were you travelling with Fidelma of Cashel?’

Eadulf simply shrugged.

‘I’ll beat the truth out of him, ceannard,’ swore the black-bearded warrior.

‘Oaf! You will never beat anything out of a man like this. You have little judgement of men. You can rip this one apart but he is stubborn. If he does not want to tell you, he will not tell you.’ The woman raised her voice. ‘Ensure that all our lookouts are doubled from now on. You will answer to me later. Meanwhile, take the Saxon and put him with the old man. A Saxon Christian will be a suitable gift for the Great One when the time comes.’

The man turned meekly away with a hand raised to his forehead inacknowledgement. Then he gestured to two of the warriors, who seized Eadulf with rough hands. He was hauled and pushed once more towards a strange, grey stone building which looked like one half of a great scallop shell, lying flat on the ground. There were several other similar constructions in the vicinity, but this was by far the largest. As he was marched towards it, Eadulf noticed some more recent wooden constructions nearby — pens for horses and other animals. He estimated that there must be at least a hundred or more fighting men and their women encamped on the hill and they held a good defensive position.

He gave an inward sigh. What was he thinking about, assessing their defences when there was no one who was going to storm this place to rescue him? He had not reached Delbna Mór to warn Brother Céin, let alone Tara. He wondered whether Fidelma had realised yet that the raiders had doubled back. He had to face the fact that he was on his own.

The two warriors shoved him towards an entrance in the stone construction, which was revealed when a wicker gateway was swung aside. It was a small, narrow passage that seemed to lead into the bowels of the earth like the entrance to a tomb.

One of the men pointed along it. ‘Down there, Saxon!’

Eadulf hung back, warily examining the darkness.

‘Where does it lead?’ he demanded.

The man sniggered and then struck him viciously across the face. Eadulf saw the blow coming and leaned backwards to defuse the force but it stung nevertheless.

‘You do not ask questions. Get down in there.’

Eadulf had no option but to obey. He bent his head and moved along into the passage in a crouching position. The wicker gate swung shut behind him. He paused, expecting to be shrouded in blackness, but there was a flickering light some distance ahead at what was, presumably, the end of the passage. Cautiously he began to crawl forward. The passage was cold but it was dry and the ground easy underfoot. He had the light to guide him and it was not long before he found himself in the interior of the manmade structure.

The first thing he saw was an elderly man squatting on the floor with an oil lamp on one side of him and a clay jug on the other.

The man looked up as Eadulf emerged into the cavern. Despite his white hair and haggard features, he had a striking presence. Even with the shadows, Eadulf saw that he had once been handsome; his eyes werestill dark and his gaze penetrating. The eyes widened a little as he took in Eadulf’s clothing and tonsure.

‘And who might you be?’ he asked, not moving.

‘Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham,’ replied Eadulf, staring around the cavelike room in which he found himself. The light showed the interior of it to be covered in intricate carvings, which seemed vaguely familiar. He realised they were like the carvings he had seen in the man-made cave near the Abbey of Delbna Mór.

‘I welcome you, Brother Saxon. You will overlook the fact that I cannot rise. I feel my ankle was broken or sprained when they captured me.’

At once, Eadulf was concerned and bent to the old man, examining his puffy and swollen ankle by the faint light. He touched it gently.

‘You have some knowledge of the physician’s art?’ asked the old man.

‘I studied at Tuam Brecain,’ replied Eadulf, before asking the man to attempt some movement on the ankle.

He did so, wincing a little. Eadulf observed the movement with an expert eye.

‘When did it happen?’

The old man shrugged. ‘Difficult to be accurate when imprisoned without sight of the sky. Perhaps three or four days ago.’

‘Well, it’s not a break, thanks be to God. I think it is a sprain. You really need some cold compress on it. I will ask the guards.’

The old man laughed and caught him by the arm, shaking his head.

‘I don’t think you’ll find any compassion among them, Brother. They are not Christians.’

Eadulf nodded glumly. ‘That I have already discovered for myself.’

‘What brings you hither, Brother … Brother Eadulf? The name has a familiar ring.’

‘I am husband to Fidelma of Cashel.’

The old man looked at him sharply. ‘Fidelma the dálaigh? Is it so? I had heard that the High King’s Great Assembly had sent for her to attend at Tara and investigate the High King’s death.’

‘Just so,’ agreed Eadulf.

‘Then tell me how you came here?’

‘It is a story that will be long in the telling.’

The old man was amused. ‘So far as I can see, we are not pressed for time.’

Eadulf squatted down beside him. ‘So, first things first. You know who I am. What is your name?’

‘I am Luachan,’ the man replied.

‘Bishop Luachan of Delbna Mór?’ gasped Eadulf.

The man frowned. ‘I am. How do you know of me?’

‘We have been searching for you.’

‘How so?’ The old man was amazed.

‘We had a report of your visit to Sechnussach on the night before he was murdered and of the strange gift you took to him. Fidelma and I set out to speak with you at Delbna Mór, and from Brother Céin we heard that you had gone missing.’

The old man groaned. ‘You were with Fidelma? Don’t tell me that they have captured her, or killed her?’

‘They captured only me. Fidelma was on her way to see the Cinél Cairpre with two of Cashel’s best warriors while I was riding back to Delbna Mór to report that the abbey at Baile Fobhair had been attacked.’

Bishop Luachan’s face was woebegone.

‘Baile Fobhair attacked?’ He gave a deep sigh. Then he brightened a little. ‘But Fidelma is not captured? Then there is some hope for her. But tell me your story in detail.’

‘Before I do so, tell me … who are these people? I know they are raiders and hold no allegiance to the Faith.’

‘They are the cursed of the earth!’ hissed Bishop Luachan with such vehemence that even Eadulf was surprised.

‘I know they are not followers of the Christ,’ he said.

‘They are not even followers of the old religion,’ snorted Luachan. ‘They follow an aberration of the old gods that even the Druids of old had to rise up and destroy many years ago. Worse, these animals believe in sacrificing human life to this idol. I am afraid, my friend, that we are their next intended victims.’

Eadulf shuddered. ‘How long do we have?’ he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

‘Oh, a few days yet. I have heard them talking. It is their intention to perform the sacrifice at the time of the sun-standing, the grien tairisem.’

‘Sun-standing? Oh, the solstice. Well, that gives us some time to plan an escape.’

Bishop Luachan smiled in the gloom. ‘You are optimistic, my brother in Christ.’

Eadulf grinned wryly. ‘Dum spiro, spero,’ he rejoined. The phrase translated as: while I breathe, I hope.

‘A good enough philosophy.’

‘Do you know where they plan to carry out their unholy ritual?’

‘Not here, that is for certain.’

‘Why not? From what I have seen, this seems to be some ancient pagan site.’

Bishop Luachan sniffed. ‘This is an ancient site where those of the old religion gathered and performed their rituals. But this is not part of the evil they worship. The ancients built this very chamber we are in, in order to show them the time of the geiseabhan … ’

‘The sun facing south?’ queried Eadulf, trying to translate the term that he had not heard before.

‘The time of the equal night,’ explained Luachan. ‘The equinox. That is what this complex of buildings were constructed for, not for the solstice. So I think that when the time comes for their ritual, they will have to take us to another site which will show them the appropriate time.’

Eadulf looked round and shuddered. ‘How can a dark man-built cave such as this show the time of anything?’

Brother Luachan smiled. ‘As you came through the entrance and were made to come along the passage into this chamber, you might have noticed all the strange carvings. Above the entrance is a hole through which, on the day of the equinox, at the specific time, a beam of light from the sun comes and spreads along the passage to hit the very stone I am leaning against. It lights certain things, carvings, designs on the stone, and indicates the very time. The ancient astronomers were clever.’

‘So it tells us the time of the equinox but not the time of the solstice?’ Eadulf asked.

‘There are some other constructions in the country which do,’ the bishop replied. ‘That is why I think they will move us before that time.’

‘Then we will have to ensure that we are not here to be moved,’ Eadulf said firmly.

‘That will be difficult, since there is only the one way in and out of this prison — the narrow passage whose entrance is always guarded.’

‘Tell me more about their superstition. You have said that it does not really have much to do with the old beliefs and ideas that were followed before the teachings of Christ came here. Is there something, some weakness about their superstition, that we can use against them?’

‘You have an inventive mind, my friend’, Bishop Luachan said with a sigh. ‘However, there is nothing that will put fear into these people. It is told that in the days of a High King called Tigernmas, which name means Lord of Death, the worship of a great golden idol called Crom Cróich became widespread. The people turned from their old gods and goddesses — the Children of Danú. Tigernmas approved of the worship of the idol and it was placed in Magh Slécht, which means the pain of slaughter, in the sub-kingdom of Breifne. He ordered sacrifices to be offered to the idol from the chief scions of every clan, including the firstborn of every issue. Many worshipped the idol, pouring blood around it, and their worship was frenzied and evil. Some say that Tigernmas and his priests in their worship of Crom slaughtered a third of the population.’

‘How long ago was this?’

Bishop Luachan shrugged. ‘Time beyond measure. According to the old chroniclers, Tigernmas was son of Follach, son of Eithrial, of the race of Eremon, and he held the sovereignty of Éireann for fifty years. They claim he was the seventh ruler after Eremon. According to some, he encouraged the mining of gold and introduced the custom of using colours in dress to denote the clans. He won twenty-seven great battles against the descendants of Eber, but all the good he did was set at naught by the evil religion he introduced.

‘It was recorded that Tigernmas so roused the anger of the Druids that they gathered the people and, on the eve of Samhain, while the King and his fellow worshippers were in their frenzy before the idol on Magh Slécht, they attacked and killed him and three-quarters of his followers. Some say that afterwards the five kingdoms were without a High King for seven years because the Druids feared his legitimate successors. Others say that a High King called Eochaidh succeeded him and ruled the five kingdoms justly.’

Eadulf pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘So there is nothing that is deep in their superstition? They merely worshipped a golden idol and sacrificed people to it — that is all?’

‘All except the slaughter of the innocents,’ replied Bishop Luachan.

‘How can this shallow superstition have survived to this day?’

The old bishop was serious. ‘Consider what has happened in these lands in recent generations, my friend. Countless centuries of belief have been overturned by the New Faith. All in all, it has been a peaceful process, for our true ancient beliefs were not so far from the concepts that werebrought to us from the East. This was not so elsewhere, for I have heard that great wars have been fought and many slaughtered as other peoples refused to accept the truth of Christ. Even in the empire of Rome itself, wars were fought between the rival emperors, Constantine and Licinius, as to whether the new or the old gods should dominate.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘That it is to be wondered at how peaceful the change was among the peoples of the five kingdoms. However, there are many areas where some have clung to the old beliefs. We have done our best to change those beliefs or subvert them to the New Faith … ’

‘It was so in my own land,’ Eadulf nodded. ‘When Gregory of Rome sent Abbot Mellitus to convert the Angles and the Saxons, he told him that it would be easier to convert the people if they were allowed to retain the outward form of their religious traditions, while claiming them in the name of the Christian God.’

‘It was so here,’ agreed Luachan. ‘Holy wells became baptisteries, temples became the new churches and the old festivals were renamed in honour of the Christ. It seemed to work well. Soon people were worshipping Christ and His saints at the holy wells and springs or in certain forest glades without any remembrance of the ancient gods and goddesses. Then, in recent times, there seemed to arise a resistance to the spread of the Faith.’

‘How so?’

‘It happened a generation or two ago when Gregory, the servant of the servants of God, asserted that the papal offices in Rome were the primacy of all the Christian Faith. In the five kingdoms, we cannot yet agree which of our great centres is the primacy of the island, let alone agree that we must obey Rome in all things. Many saw it as the rise of the old empire of Rome in new form, an infringement of our liberties.’

Eadulf pulled a face. He had been at the Council of Witebia when Oswy had decided to follow the rule of Rome. Even recently at Cashel there had been much debate about the claims of Ard Macha as the centre of the Faith in the five kingdoms, at which claims and counter claims were made.

‘Are you saying that those adhering to the Old Religion saw dissension within those holding to the Faith and have used that as a means of overturning it?’

‘Perhaps not that, but they have seen the movement of many of theFaith to uphold the ways of Rome, as you obviously do, judging from your tonsure, my friend. They see Roman-inspired laws, the Penitentials, being used to subvert our ancient law system, and the Brehons set at naught, just as the Druids had been banished into obscurity. They see that the Christianity they had accepted is now being changed yet again into something entirely alien to their beliefs.’

Eadulf smiled thinly in the gloom. ‘I presume from what you say that you do not follow the path of Rome?’

‘I wear the tonsure of the Blessed John, not the corona spina that I observe you wear, my friend. That should say enough.’

‘So, this pagan faith is but a backlash to the growing influence of Rome here?’

‘I cannot make it clearer.

‘But why so extreme? Why not merely support those in the five kingdoms who reject the Penitentials and other matters? Or why not go back to the faith of the Druids? Why would they choose such an aberration as this idol you call Crom?’

‘In times of uncertainty, fear is the unifying force,’ averred the old bishop. ‘Fear binds people together in a way that cannot be achieved by other means. Those who would convert the people back to the old ways need fear, need something that will drive everyone back to the paths of darkness.’

‘Well,’ Eadulf remarked bitterly, ‘I do not intend to become a martyr just yet. We will find a way out of this prison.’

Fidelma had been meditating, practising the old form of the dercad. She did not believe in unnecessary action when it was bound to be futile. She was tightly bound and the farmer and his son were continually present with watchful eyes. As it had grown dark, oil lamps were lit by the old man who then took a lantern outside. She presumed it was to check on Caol and Gormán and hoped they had not been hurt. They must be shackled in the barn outside. The old man came back after a while, and as he refused to answer her questions about her companions, so she returned to her meditation.

After a passage of time, the sound of horses’ hooves aroused her from her trance. There were a fair-sized number of riders — perhaps twenty or more — clattering into the farmyard.

The farmer sprang up. ‘The chief!’ he said in a thankful tone to his son.

A moment later, a muscular young man burst into the room, closely followed by the farmer’s younger son and a couple of other men who carried swords in their hands.

‘Your son reported that you might have raiders,’ began the young man, as his eyes fell on Fidelma. He had a shock of black hair, thick with curls, a full beard and not unpleasant features.

‘She and two warriors came to the farmstead,’ the farmer said respectfully. ‘You told me to beware of strange warriors, so I had them trussed up in the barn and kept the woman here.’

The young warrior turned to Fidelma. ‘You appear to be a Christian?’ he said wonderingly, as his eyes fell on the cross she wore around her neck.

Fidelma regarded him with a thin smile. ‘So far, no one has bothered to ask me who I am. Perhaps there is no courtesy left in this part of the country?’

The young man looked startled for a moment. ‘There is courtesy for those who are courteous,’ he replied. ‘Very well — who are you?’

‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, a dálaigh entrusted with the investigation of the assassination of the High King Sechnussach, by the Great Assembly.’

The young man’s eyes widened and he glanced at the farmer with an interrogatory look in his eyes.

‘I asked no question of her,’ the man replied defensively. ‘People can be deceitful with their tongues. She was with two strange warriors.’

As the young man turned back to her, Fidelma said, before he could ask the question: ‘My companions are Caol, commander of the Nasc Niadh, the bodyguard of my brother, Colgú of Cashel, and Gormán, one of his men.’

‘Fidelma of Cashel? Can you prove it?’ he asked.

‘Does it need proof?’

‘In this time and in this place, it does.’

‘In my saddlebag you will find the hazel wand of office of the High King, given me by Cenn Faelad to assert my authority.’

The young man turned to the farmer’s son. ‘Find the saddlebag and bring it here.’

It was the work of moments and the ornate hazel wand was produced.

The young man exhaled softly and shook his head.

‘Undo her bonds,’ he instructed the farmer. ‘Accept my apologies, lady. These are troubled times. I am Ardgal, chief of the Cinél Cairpre.’

Muttering that he was not to blame, the farmer released Fidelma from her bonds. Ignoring him, for a moment or two, Fidelma sat rubbing her chafed wrists.

‘I trust my companions will also be released now?’ she asked.

Ardgal addressed the farmer. ‘Make it so!’ he snapped. Then, turning back to her: ‘Believe me, I am sorry. But, lady, this land is beset with raiders, burning churches and destroying the homes of any who support the clergy.’

Fidelma looked grim. ‘Of that I am aware, Ardgal. It is part of the reason that I have ridden from Tara with the intention of meeting with you.’

Ardgal was once more surprised. Then he waved a hand to indicate the room.

‘This is not the ideal place for hospitality but it must suffice for the moment.’ He looked at the farmer’s sons. ‘See what you can offer the lady to make amends for this treatment.’

Their faces flushed with embarrassment, the young men went to fulfil the task.

Ardgal drew up a stool and sat down to face Fidelma with a concerned look.

‘Why are you seeking me?’ he asked.

‘That will surely be no surprise when it was your chief who assassinated Sechnussach,’ she said.

Ardgal inclined his head contritely. ‘We are not all the same, lady. Dubh Duin was my cousin and my chief, it is true. A few years ago, we perceived some strange madness possessing him. He had always spoken of the old ways. We are a liberal people, believing in each to his own. We did not mind that he stood firm for the Old Faith and forsook the path of Christ. But when he became an advocate against the New Faith, then his beliefs began splitting the loyalties of our clan. He became a fanatic. In fact, while Dubh Duin was at Tara this last time, attending the Great Assembly, the derbhfine of our clan met and it was decided that he should be ousted under process of the law, and that I be installed as chief in his place.’

‘Why was this?’ demanded Fidelma, accepting a mug of cider from the farmer’s son, and sipping it gently for her throat was very dry.

The farmer had returned, still muttering justifications, with Caol and Gormán. Ardgal took charge, ordering that a meal be prepared for the visitors while his men encamped in the barns outside. Then he turned backto her and repeated, ‘Why? Because of the behaviour that resulted in the deed he carried out.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘It is a tale that can be short in the telling but long in the recitation of its consequences.’

‘Tell it as you see fit.’

Ardgal shrugged. ‘As I said, he had always preferred the Old Faith to the new. No harm in that, for there are many in this land who prefer to offer their prayers to the gods and goddesses who have served our people for thousands of years, rather than to what some consider as a strange god from the East. But Dubh Duin began to change from tolerance to fanaticism. He became obsessed with trying to force the Old Religion on everyone.’

‘And you?’

Ardgal smiled briefly. ‘I am of the New Faith, lady. So are most of my people. But there were others in the clan who supported Dubh Duin. Most of them have now fled to the hills and forests since the assassination of the High King. When Irél came demanding hostages, we were able to provide him with some of Dubh Duin’s followers, and these are now incarcerated at Tara as surety for the clan’s good behaviour. That way, the innocent will not suffer.’

‘But there are these raiders, the dibergach, who have been active,’ Fidelma pointed out.

Ardgal’s expression was serious. ‘Dubh Duin was not their leader. There are others more powerful and influential than he. And what they adhere to is a perverted form of the Old Religion. Our old gods and goddesses were not out for bloodlust. The Tuatha Dé Danaan were deities of light and goodness who defeated the sinister forces of evil before they ruled in this land. Of course, they had their human vices. They experienced all human passion but they loved life. These misguided fools have set up the Crom Cróich, an aberration.’

‘And yet,’ Fidelma put in, ‘this aberration seems to be attracting the allegiance of many.’

Ardgal laughed shortly. ‘Allegiance? It is attracting the fear of many. Only fear sustains this new movement.’

‘Is this why the farmer feared us?’ intervened Caol, having recovered from his bruised dignity, a warrior bested by two farmer’s lads with hunting bows.

‘Yes,’ Ardgal said. ‘The raiders have killed too many people here. Every abbey and church within this area is coming under attack from them.’

‘Do they really expect to overturn the New Faith?’ Caol asked.

‘That is their intention.’

‘Dubh Duin’s slaughter of the High King was part of this?’

‘I believe so.’

‘Well, it has not worked,’ Fidelma stated. Then she suddenly gave a groan and closed her eyes.

‘What is it?’ demanded Ardgal in alarm.

‘The raiders — I had forgotten. We encountered them at Baile Fobhair and thought they were on their way into your country. We now believe they turned back. Where are they now?’

‘We have a series of sentinels who would warn us of their approach, like this farmer when he mistakenly thought you were part of their group.’

‘That certainly means that they have doubled back. We must return immediately to the abbey of Delbna Mór.’

‘Why there?’

‘Because they will attack it next.’ Briefly, Fidelma told him about Eadulf and his mission to warn Brother Céin, the steward of the abbey, and try to bring help from Tara.

‘Little use starting off now that darkness has fallen,’ Ardgal demurred. ‘The road is treacherous in the darkness and there are rivers and marshlands to cross. We must rest here and then move before sun-up.’

‘He’s right, lady,’ Caol agreed practically. ‘We can do little on a strange road in the darkness.’

Fidelma was reluctant but saw the logic of it.

‘Do you have any knowledge of who the leader of the raiders is and where they might be based?’ she asked the young chief.

‘We think they are based somewhere in the northern hills, since people there talk of some of the fanatical Druids who claim that the Tuatha Dé Danaan have betrayed the people. They call on the populace to welcome back the idol Crom Cróich with all the bloodthirsty rituals that Tigernmas demanded.’

‘Bloodthirsty rituals?’

‘Human sacrifice, lady. Woe betide anyone who falls into their hands, for these fanatics will slaughter them.’