Master of Souls

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘Impossible!’ Eadulf exploded after the brief silence that followed Ganicca’s announcement. The old man sadly shook his head.

‘I wish it was impossible, Brother Saxon. I would know that slight figure of Uaman the Leper anywhere.’

‘You actually saw the face?’ Eadulf pressed.

Ganicca smiled in reprimand.

‘No one looks on the face of Uaman the Leper and lives.’

‘I did,’ retorted Eadulf.

‘You were lucky, my friend. He was not called Master of Souls for nothing.’

Eadulf frowned at the familiar expression.

‘Master of Souls?’

‘He who despises his own life is soon master of another’s — beware for such a man can become master of souls,’ Fidelma quoted quietly.

Ganicca glanced at her with interest.

‘You know the old saying then, lady?’

‘It was a saying of my mentor, the Brehon Morann.’

Eadulf was now frowning in annoyance.

‘I have said before that I saw him in the quicksand as it pulled him down. Then a great wave descended and he was gone. No one could have survived that.’

‘Then it is a wraith who rides out from the Otherworld and instructs his warriors to destroy my people,’ replied Ganicca calmly.

Eadulf made to say something but then remembered the words of the boy Iobcar. He had said something similar.

‘So this attack happened some weeks ago?’ interposed Conri. When Ganicca nodded emphatically, he turned to Fidelma. ‘Then it is easy to

Fidelma was thoughtful.

‘I am trying to understand what purpose all this would serve? Why wreck the merchant ship? Why kill the abbess but then take her companions prisoner? Who is the male religieux who is with them? A foreigner? Perhaps a Gaul, perhaps a survivor from the wreck?’

Conri, however, was excited as he interpreted the events. He turned to Ganicca.

‘Tell my companions where this road leads?’

The old man looked puzzled.

‘Why, it leads northwards out of this valley.’

‘But tell them where.’

‘Well, if you cross out of the valley by the eastern route over the mountains you can join the road that leads along the coast to the lands of the Ui Fidgente and north again to Ard Fhearta. But if you cross to the west then you will come to the seashore and the road takes you across a low-lying thrust of land called the Machaire peninsula with the great bay of Breanainn to the west and the Machaire Islands to the northern tip.’

Conri was nodding eagerly.

‘The Machaire Islands,’ he said meaningfully.

Ganicca was perplexed.

‘They are nothing except a group of small uninhabited islands… well, apart for one that is occupied by hermits. Seanach’s Island.’

Conri turned to face Fidelma with a smile of satisfaction.

‘The Machaire Islands,’ he said again with emphasis.

Eadulf, recovering from Ganicca’s claim that he was mistaken in his belief that Uaman was dead, was regarding the warlord seriously.

‘Are you claiming that the wreckage on Uaman’s island, the killing of the Abbess Faife and the disappearance of the religieuse and the attack by the mysterious warship are now all connected?’

‘I say that they must be. And if Uaman is involved, it makes perfect sense.’

Eadulf pursed his lips sceptically.

‘Ganicca is the only one who has positively identified Uaman as part of this affair,’ he pointed out.

‘The boy also did so,’ replied Conri softly.

‘But the boy didn’t know Uaman. He was repeating something he had heard adults say.’

‘And I know who I saw, Brother Saxon,’ Ganicca intervened sharply.

‘We must follow the path these people took,’ Fidelma interrupted to silence them. She recognised that this exchange might soon lead to an argument. ‘I think the answer will be found on those islands that you called the Machaire.’

‘It is nearly noon, lady, and we have little hospitality to offer now,’ Ganicca said as he realised why Fidelma had stopped the conversation. ‘What we have, you are most welcome to.’

Fidelma shook her head and thanked the old man.

‘We will move on immediately, my friend.’

‘Yet there is no hurry,’ the old man pointed out. ‘It is now three weeks since this happened and the chances of catching up with these men…’ He shook his head.

‘Nevertheless, we will ride on,’ Fidelma insisted firmly. ‘Whether the leader is Uaman or not, we must find those who have been abducted.’

‘Then may God be on all the paths you travel, lady. It is a dangerous game that you hunt.’

‘Thank you, Ganicca. I promise in my brother’s name to ensure that your village is compensated for the outrage you have suffered.’

The old man smiled sadly.

‘The Brehons have a list of honour-prices for each one of us. But how do you really judge the value of lives, lady? It is not easy. But we will survive, some of us at least. And while the names of our dead are still spoken, then their lives will have meant something in this sad world in which we live.’

A short time later they were climbing their horses along the mountain track and keeping on the west side of the river which ran rapidly through the valley below them. They were almost turning east, paralleling the course of the river, when Conri pointed to a narrow pass through the hills by a number of ancient stones that had apparently been set up by their ancestors in the dim distant past.

Taking the pass, they found they were now following a smaller stream that rose on the mountain behind them, tumbling northwards. They

‘We’ll have to think about stopping soon, lady,’ Conri suggested, ‘otherwise it will be dark before we know it and we haven’t eaten since last night.’

‘I thought I glimpsed a farmstead on the plain ahead of us,’ Fidelma replied. ‘We’ll seek hospitality there.’

Indeed, when they approached the series of wooden buildings, half hidden in the shelter of a copse of some sturdy oaks, a farmer and his son appeared to be waiting for them. They looked nervous and held some farming implements defensively in their hands.

Fidelma called out a friendly greeting and the two men began to look slightly relieved.

‘We saw you coming down the hill road, Sister,’ said the elder man, recognising her robes. ‘We saw some strange riders only and wondered who you were.’

‘No one who means harm to you and yours, my friend. We are just weary travellers who need a shelter for the night,’ replied Fidelma, dismounting.

‘My wife would be pleased to offer you a bed, Sister,‘replied the farmer, rubbing his jaw and seeming to mentally count them. ‘But your companions will have to shelter in the barn. We have little room in the house.’

‘That will suit us fine, farmer,’ Conri assured him. ‘A place out of the wind and warm straw will suit us well.’

‘There is the spring in which to wash but plenty of venison to eat and bread to take away your hunger.’

‘You hospitality is generous,’ Fidelma replied warmly. ‘Yet you still seem nervous. Have there been other travellers on this road?’

The farmer exchanged a brief glance with his son. Fidelma was right. They were nervous.

‘In truth, there have, Sister. Travellers that I would not like to play host to. It was several weeks ago but, thanks be to God, they passed on without stopping. They went across the top meadow in the direction of the sea.’

‘You appear fearful of them. Why so?’

‘They were warriors on horseback but we saw them herding a group of prisoners. They were religieuse, poor young women, with a male prisoner.’

‘Herding is an odd choice of word,’ Conri pointed out.

Herding is the only word that comes to mind, my friend,’ the farmer replied almost defensively. ‘They passed by and we prayed for their souls.’

‘You were looking to the north-west,’ Fidelma observed. ‘Is that the direction in which they went?’

‘Indeed they did. Towards the Machaire peninsula.’

Fidelma’s expression was one of satisfaction.

‘If you can tell us where we might tether our horses…?’

The farmer glanced round and pointed.

‘You can put them in the enclosure at the back. We have some sheep there but I doubt whether they will be bothered. It will keep them out of the cold winds. The spring is over there, and the barn where you may sleep. Sister, come to the house. The food will be ready after you have washed.’

The food was good and the hay was warm and, for the first time in several days, Eadulf slept a deep comfortable sleep without waking once during the night. He did not begrudge Fidelma her more civilised abode. By the time he woke and washed, everyone else was sitting down to a breakfast. Gifts were given by Conri, who had the foresight to travel with such items, to the farmer, his wife and their son in exchange for their hospitality. Socht and his companion had saddled their horses and after an exchange of farewells they rode on again.

The salty smell of the sea was never far away on the peninsula of the Corco Duibhne but now it was really strong. The air was filled with the crying of gulls, and these were joined by a few lost-looking greenshanks, wading along the few freshwater pools and lakes that they passed. But it was the noisy gulls that dominated, especially the great black-backed gull with its fierce, heavy, hooked bill. It was a fearsome butcher of a bird, eating refuse and carrion and preying on the chicks of other species like puffins, shearwaters and kittiwakes. In fact, just as the thought entered Eadulf’s mind, there came the strident call of ‘kitti-wa-a-k!’ like the eerie cry of a lost soul. Two adult kittiwakes swooped along the coastline ahead of them, with their soft grey plumage, white heads and yellow bills.

Conri was riding in front with Fidelma and Eadulf and the two warriors behind them.

‘Well,’ Eadulf said, wishing to break the silence that had lasted since they left the hospitality of the farm, ‘we have criss-crossed this peninsula twice now. I should know the place by now.’

Conri glanced across his shoulder.

‘No one can ever really know a country like this.’ He waved a hand across the mountains behind him. ‘I have been through this country before. They call those valleys Gleannta an Easig, the valleys of the waterfall.’

Eadulf could see why. It was a curious land, he thought, where cliffs rose overshadowing lakes and rivers meandered through valleys that were green and tree covered before changing in turn into bleak and rocky areas and then back again into verdant swaths. The land seemed barely populated but as they passed along the white sandy shore leading to the small finger of what they now knew was the Machaire peninsula, Eadulf could see a few isolated farmsteads and buildings almost hidden here and there among trees and rocks.

They passed within sight of a broad lake to their left, a bright loch which seemed swarming with wildfowl. Smoke rose from a point on its shore.

‘It looks like a smith’s forge.’ Conri commented as he followed the direction in which Eadulf was staring. The faint clang of metal on metal came to their ears as if in confirmation of the fact.

They rode on down the narrow green spit of land with the white sands on either side until the reached the end bay with low headlands either side like the claws of a crab, edging in and narrowing at the mouth. It was a rock-clustered, inhospitable shore, not like the broad sandy slopes that had stretched either side of the main strip of land that thrust out into the sea. The only sign that man had been here at all was a tall gallan or standing stone that rose erect at least five metres above the ground.

Beyond the entrance of the bay they could see some of the distant islands of Machaire. But it was the keen-sighted Conri who became aware of something else.

‘Look there!’ he shouted abruptly, causing them to start.

He pointed beyond the rocky eastern headland.

At first, seen against the choppy grey sea, it looked like a dark plank of wood being tossed and thrown about over the waves. Then as it came closer into the bay, heading for the rocky shore, Eadulf realised it was one of the light canoes they used in this part of the world, a wickerwork frame covered with hides stitched together with thongs. There seemed to be only one figure bent to the oars although the light craft must have been eight metres long and a metre or more wide.

‘It’s a naomhog,’ muttered Fidelma, supplying him with the name of the vessel. ‘See, the man has just lost an oar. He is in trouble.’

Already Conri and his two warrior companions were racing their horses on the ground high above the shore, for in this part of the bay the rocks met the waters.

‘He’ll smash the vessel on the rocks,’ Eadulf called unnecessarily, as he and Fidelma followed the others.

‘The man is hurt, I think,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Look, he’s slipped to the bottom of the boat. It’s out of control.’

The long canoe had swung broadside on to the rocks and was suddenly lifted up by one of the racing breakers and thrown on to them. As the sea receded, Conri’s men, jumping from their horses, raced forward, scrambling and slipping over the wet outcrop. One of them, they thought it was the man called Socht, reached the broken vessel while his companion steadied the smashed remains. Apparently the unconscious man was a lightweight for the warrior threw him across his shoulder and, with a shout to his companion, turned and started for the firm earth just as another breaker smashed against the rocks. The force of the water caused Socht to slip and almost lose his balance but his companion was there and steadied him with his unconscious burden. Then they scrambled ashore and were above the watermark where Conri was waiting to help lay the man on the ground.

A moment later Fidelma and Eadulf joined them.

At once they could see that the unconscious man was elderly and deathly pale, with white straggling hair cut into the tonsure of St John. His robes were dirty and torn and there were bloodstains on them. His hands were raw, the flesh torn.

Conri was shaking his head sadly.

‘If he came from the islands, it’s a wonder that he made it this far.’ Eadulf, who knew something of the healing arts, bent down by the man and examined him. As he moved him a little, the man gave forth a groan and his eyes fluttered. Eadulf had seen something in the man’s side.

‘He has been badly wounded by an arrow, I think,’ he muttered. ‘The life is ebbing out of him.’

Conri’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you think that he was the religieux who was taken prisoner with Faife’s companions?’

‘This man is no foreigner and he is elderly, unlike Ganicca’s description,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘But it looks as if he did come from one of the islands.’

‘It’s a long way for an old man to come alone,’ Eadulf remarked.

‘We must speak to him,’ said Fidelma.

Conri passed her the container of corma he carried. Fidelma took it and eased the old man’s head up, allowing a few drops to trickle into his mouth.

There was a paroxysm of coughing and the old man’s eyes opened blearily. They grew wide and fearful as he focused on them.

‘You have no need to kill me. I am dying already,’ he gasped.

Fidelma bent over him and tried to give him a reassuring look. Eadulf had continued his brief examination. The old man was beyond hope. It had not been a sword or spear thrust. Eadulf found the head of an arrow still embedded in the man’s side. It had gone deep and the victim had apparently tried to break off the shaft. The wound was already festering. Fidelma caught Eadulf’s eye and silently asked a question. Eadulf shook his head quickly.

‘Have no fear, my friend. We are not your enemies,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘Who did this to you?’

The old man blinked; already his eyes were glazing.

‘They have destroyed us all…’ He paused, his chest heaving for breath. ‘They came… those they did not kill… they rounded up…’

‘Who are you, who are they?’ pressed Fidelma as gently as she could.

‘I am… Martan… a brother of Seanach’s Island.’ He gave a sudden gasp of pain.

‘Seanach’s Island. So we were right,’ Conri muttered.

At the sound, the old man’s eyes opened wide.

‘Do not go there!’ His voice was suddenly strong. ‘Do not go there, if you value your life.’

‘What has happened to the brethren there?’ Fidelma asked. ‘What of the women from Ard Fhearta?’

‘Dead, dying… I escaped… but… I am dying.’

Fidelma knew the man had not long to live. Part of her wanted to let him die in peace but she had questions that had to be answered.

‘Who was it who attacked the brethren?’ she demanded again.

The old man was racked by a fit of coughing.

‘Who?’ she pressed.

‘Warriors… their leader, they called him the Master. The Master of Souls! I knew him… knew him of old… He…’

There was a sudden deep exhalation of breath and the old man fell back.

Eadulf looked up at Conri and shook his head.

‘It looks as though you were right. There is a link between all these events. But I cannot accept that Uaman is still alive and directing them.’

‘Let us bury this poor soul,’ Fidelma instructed quietly, ‘and then we can decide on what we must do. It is clear that Slebene has not sent a ship to investigate the islands.’ She glanced at the smashed naomhog, the hide canoe, and then shook her head. ‘A pity! That’s beyond repair.’

Eadulf stared at her aghast as he guessed what was passing through her mind.

‘You don’t mean… you weren’t even thinking about going out to the island?’

Fidelma gestured indifferently.

‘There is no other way of ascertaining the situation,’ she said simply.

‘But, as I say, let us bury this poor soul first.’

The two warriors dug a shallow grave for the old man as best they could with their bladed swords. It was shallow but functional and Fidelma said a prayer over it and marked it with a makeshift cross of sticks.

‘I swear this poor soul, Brother Martan, will have a proper memorial. We will return and place a slab of stone over the grave and get a good artist to inscribe a cross upon it.’ Then she turned to Conri. ‘You said that you had passed this way before? Do you know of any settlements along the way, places where we might get a boat?’

Eadulf groaned slightly.

‘I think that it is folly,’ he protested. ‘To go out to the islands-’

‘We would need to find a man who knows this coast,’ Conri pointed out, ignoring his protest. ‘A man who could run us to the island under cover of darkness. These can be dangerous waters, lady. I know of no such place.’

‘We must know what is happening out there,’ Fidelma insisted.

It was Socht who cleared his throat and ventured to make a suggestion. ‘If it please you, lady, you will remember that we did pass a smith’s forge by the lakeside. Perhaps the smith might know of some local fishermen who would take us out?’

‘I remember the spot. Then that is what we will do.’ Fidelma’s tone admitted no questioning and they took to their horses once more. The flat land presented them with an easy ride and soon they came to a little wooded area where a cluster of buildings stood. It was easy to recognise the forge in which a couple of men, stripped to the waist, in spite of the

One of them heard their approach and shouted something to his companion. It sounded like a warning. Then the man grabbed a large hammer in one muscular hand while his companion reached for a sword lying on a nearby bench.

Fidelma drew rein immediately, holding up her hand to halt her companions.

‘What hospitality is this?’ she called, frowning at the aggressive stance of the two smiths.

The one with the hammer, still holding it menacingly ready, examined her carefully. Then his gaze encompassed her companions. He was of middle age, bearded and powerfully built. His comrade was of slighter stature, with the bleak-looking expression of someone who cannot envisage that any human has the right to be happy.

‘No hospitality at all,’ snapped the man with the hammer. ‘What do you want here, strangers?’

‘What most travellers want — hospitality and information.’

‘Most travellers seem to want more than that, especially when they travel with warriors,’ was the roughly spoken response.

‘It is all we want,’ replied Fidelma firmly.

‘Then why have you three warriors behind you with sharpened weapons? Last time we gave hospitality to religious with warriors guarding them, they stole our food and threatened out lives.’

Fidelma leant forward a little at the news.

‘When was this?’ she demanded.

‘A few weeks ago.’

‘And in what manner did this party come?’

‘Half a dozen religieuse and a foreign monk, guarded by a dozen warriors. The person who seemed in charge was a strange figure clad in robes from poll to feet so that none could look on him.’

Fidelma expected as much.

‘We seek these people, for the warriors have taken the religious captive,’ she explained.

‘The strange monk, the one whose face we could not see, was no captive,’ replied the smith.

‘Even so, the others were. They had been abducted and their abbess had been murdered.’

‘And you seek them? Why?’

‘I am Fidelma of Cashel. I am a dalaigh. Let us dismount, my friend, and I will speak further. You may well be able to help us in our quest.’

The smith with the hammer looked at his companion. They still hesitated.

‘I am intent on bringing these killers and abductors to justice,’ Fidelma added with emphasis. ‘These are my companions, Brother Eadulf, Conri, warlord of the Ui Fidgente, whose relative was the abbess who was slain, and his warriors. Now tell us to whom we speak?’

The smith hesitated a moment and then he lowered the hammer with a shrug but did not release his hold.

‘My name is Gaeth and this is my assistant, Gaimredan.’

Fidelma looked at the bleak features of his companion and suddenly smiled broadly.

‘You are well named, my friend.’

Gaeth could not help but chuckle at her jest on the meaning of his assistant’s name.

‘Indeed he is, lady, for never was there a person of more wintry countenance and lack of humour.’

‘May we dismount now?’ asked Fidelma.

The smith gestured his assent and turned to lay aside his hammer.

‘I accept that you mean us no harm, but after the visit of the others…’

Fidelma and her companions dismounted and Socht collected their horses and tethered them.

She glanced around the collection of smithy buildings that stood alongside a gushing stream that emptied into the waters of the lake.

‘You are isolated here, Gaeth.’

‘Yet not too isolated to have unwelcome visitors,’ replied the other philosophically. He indicated one of the buildings that appeared to be the dwelling house. ‘Come inside. We have been left with enough corma to make you welcome on this cold winter’s day.’

The smith’s house was an old-style one-roomed circular house, whose floor was merely the earth made hard over centuries of use. The central hearth gave out a comfortable heat and rush matting on the floor provided their seats.

‘We live a frugal life here, lady,’ Gaeth announced. It became obvious that his comrade Gaimredan never spoke unless he had something important to contribute. ‘I suspect it is unlike the rich palace in which you

Eadulf had been examining the room and had noticed the lack of any Christian icons. But he saw some items that he had seen now and again in his travels and knew the meaning of them.

‘Do I understand that you are not of the Faith?’ he asked brusquely.

Gaeth seemed amused.

‘It all depends what you mean by Faith, Saxon brother. You imply there is one Faith. Well, we are not Christians, if that is what you mean. That is why we dwell apart in order that those who would proselytise us do not bother us. Argument is a tedious thing. We each come to the Dagda, the Good God, along our own path.’

‘It seems that you are also well named, Gaeth,’ Fidelma said, for the name meant clever and wise. ‘But we did not come to discuss the Faith. I presume that you both dwell here as hermits?’

‘It is true that we prefer to dwell in isolation from others. But many know our work and come to us.’

Gaimredan was handing round pottery cups filled with corma. The raw spirit made Eadulf gasp.

‘So you know many people in these parts?’

Gaeth inclined his head in acknowledgement.

‘Well, the strangers who came here were indeed strangers. They were not of these parts. We heard from our neighbours that after they ransacked our storehouse for food they went on to the coast. There is a sandy shore not far from here to the north-west and we heard from a shepherd that these strangers were met there by a warship and taken out to sea. Who knows where they went?’

Fidelma smiled grimly.

‘We think we know where,’ she replied. ‘To those islands you call the Machaire Islands, where they have taken the hermits of Seanach’s Island prisoners or worse.’

‘Are you saying that they have harmed the group of Christian hermits that dwell there?’ The smith frowned.

‘Mortal harm has come to at least one of them,’ Fidelma replied. ‘We found one who had escaped from the island and rowed to this mainland,

Gaeth whistled softly under his breath.

‘Brother Martan was a good man. We differed in our beliefs but he was a holy man and the leader of the hermits there. Who are these people? The warriors, I mean? What do they want?’

‘Have you heard stories of Uaman the Leper?’ Conri asked.

The smith’s eyes flickered, indicating that he had.

‘By the fires of Bel,’ he said softly. ‘Many stories are connected with that one. Thankfully, his raids never reached here for he was content to demand tribute from those who came through the eastern passes into this peninsula. He never ventured further west than the Emlagh and Finglas valleys. But we heard plenty of stories about him.’

‘For hermits, shunning other folk-’ began Eadulf.

‘We prefer to live alone, but we do not shun other folk, as you put it,’ snapped Gaeth. ‘Only you Christians run away and hide from life in your communities. We live here and welcome the visitor as a natural event.’

Eadulf swallowed hard. Fidelma caught his eye and shook her head.

‘It may be,’ she said hurriedly, ‘that it was Uaman and his men who visited you.’

Gaeth’s eyes widened.

‘So far to the west? And what would he be doing with religious prisoners?’

‘That is why we are following them… to find out,’ Conri explained.

‘There was a rumour that Uaman was dead. I wonder if Slebene will finally be forced to do something now.’

Fidelma stared at him for a moment.

‘You speak as if Slebene never did anything to counter Uaman’s activities in his territory. After all, all this land from the abbey of Colman westward is the land of the Corco Duibhne and he is responsible for its protection and well-being.’

‘That may be so, but Slebene believes in Slebene. He was content to leave Uaman to his own devices.’

‘Do you mean that Slebene never made any effort to capture or destroy Uaman?’ asked Eadulf.

Gaeth nodded.

‘But that is not what Slebene told us.’

Gaeth looked pityingly at him.

‘What would you expect the man to say? That he is a gutless warrior? That he is great on talking, on blustering, on threatening, but a coward when it comes down to lifting a sword against equals? I even believe that he left Uaman alone because he received gold from him.’

Conri was staring at the smith. He was thinking about the challenge that Slebene had issued to him over the ‘hero’s portion’.

‘If he is a gutless warrior, what if someone challenged him to a combat? How would he avoid it?’

‘He does not have to avoid it. He is the chief. I have never known him to fight an equal combat in years.’

‘Then how…?’

‘Slebene keeps a tren fher, a strong man, a champion, to answer all challenges to single combat. You must know the system, Conri, for are you not an aire-echta yourself? Even the Blessed Patrick, your so-called Christian man of peace, kept a tren-fher in his household; an attendant to protect him. That was Mac Carthen, whom he made first bishop of Clochar, the stony place.’

‘I know the system,’ Conri said tightly. ‘I did not think a man such as Slebene purports to be would stoop to getting others to fight his battles. How could he last as a chief without being challenged?’

Gaeth chuckled in amusement.

‘That is precisely the sort of blustering man Slebene is, my friend. He does not move without his champion.’

Conri remembered the tall, broad-chested and shaggy-haired man who stood armed behind the chief during the meal.

Eadulf was also looking thoughtful.

‘But can that be legal?’ he asked Fidelma.

She nodded.

‘The laws allow it,’ she replied shortly. She turned to Gaeth. ‘If, as you say, Slebene is all bluster and has not been fulfilling his duties as chief and protecting his people, why has no complaint been sent about him to the king in Cashel? For it is the ultimate duty of the king to ensure that his nobles obey the law.’

Gaeth smiled condescendingly.

‘Cashel is a long way away. And would Cashel really be interested in what happens in a remote corner of the kingdom? So long as a chief does service to Cashel and pay tribute, what more is Cashel interested in?’

‘I will answer for my brother, Colgu, and say that Cashel will be

Gaeth looked impressed in spite his obvious scepticism.

‘It would certainly help all the people of the Corco Duibhne if there was a new chief,’ Gaimredan said abruptly, to the surprise of those who had presumed he never spoke at all.

‘That would surely be up to the derbhfine, the living generations of Slebene’s family meeting to elect a new chief?’ Eadulf pointed out, comfortably aware that he had mastered the successional laws of the country. ‘They can surely throw out a bad chief?’

‘There will be no help there.’ Gaeth smiled grimly. ‘Slebene made sure that any who might challenge him was either killed or chased out of the territory.’

Fidelma could not disguise her astonishment.

‘You seem to know a lot about Slebene,’ she remarked thoughtfully, ‘… for a hermit, that is.’

Gaeth hesitated a moment and then shrugged.

‘I know him better than anyone,’ he announced simply.

They waited for a moment and then Fidelma prompted him.

‘How so?’

‘Because he is my aite, my foster father.’

Eadulf knew that at the age of seven most children were sent away to be educated or instructed by a system of fosterage called altrram. In this way a child was educated and the foster child, the dalta, remained with the foster parents until, in the case of a boy, he was seventeen years old. Fosterage was either for payment or for affection. When a chief was the aite, the child had to be of equivalent rank. Eadulf knew that the laws on fosterage were numerous and intricate. The practice brought about close ties between families and usually such relationships were regarded as something sacred. Fidelma had told him that there were many cases where a man had voluntarily laid down his life for his foster father or foster brother. Had not the great Ui Neill King Domnall, fighting against his rebellious foster son, Congal Claen of Dal Riada, at the battle of Magh Roth, a generation ago, showed anxiety that Congal, although a mortal enemy, was not to be hurt?

‘Were you fostered for affection or for payment?’ Fidelma asked.

‘I was supposed to be fostered for affection for my family was descended from the line of Duibhne. But fosterage never brought the branches of our

‘Did he have many?’

‘None of his natural sons survived. Need I say more? As for those in fosterage — there was another chief’s son from his eastern border as well as myself. Then there was a girl from some eastern noble’s family. Her name suited her-it was Uallach.’

When Eadulf looked puzzled, the smith unbent and explained.

‘It is a name that means proud and arrogant. I think Uallach had a better relationship with Slebene than his male fosterlings. But, as far as I know, they all left him as soon as they were legally entitled to.’

‘Was Slebene ever a great warrior in his youth, as he claims?’ Conri asked, with a swift glance at Fidelma.

‘None of his contemporaries in battle, those fighting on the same side, have lived to tell the tale. Only the bards that he pays sing songs about his fame as a youthful warrior.’

‘I was told that he fought at the right side of my father Failbe Flann.’

‘If he ever did so, lady, then your father was lucky to survive.’

‘There is bitterness in your voice, Gaeth.’

‘A bitterness that was put into my mouth by my foster father,’ replied the smith shortly.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

‘When did you take up the art you now follow?’ asked Fidelma.

‘I suppose I used to watch Slebene’s smith when I was a child. I spent more time with him than with Slebene. Having to listen to the chief’s boastful tales of his prowess in battle was bad enough but to have to put up with being instructed in the use of weapons when a mouse might challenge and defeat him was worse. As soon as I was able, I shook the mud of his fortress from my feet. I prayed to Brigit-’

‘I thought you were a pagan?’ interrupted Eadulf.

‘I do not talk of the Christian Brigit of Kildare,’ responded Gaeth patronisingly. ‘I speak of Brigit the triune daughter of the Dagda, the Good God, Brigit, goddess of wisdom and poetry, Brigit goddess of medicine and Brigit goddess of smiths and smithwork. She led my footsteps through hidden passes under An Cnapan Mor and up to the black lake, high up in the mountains, beside whose shores I found my master, Cosrach the Triumphant. Ten years I spent at his anvil until he pronounced me a flaith-goba — the highest rank of all the smiths. I gave thanks to Brigit

‘Each man must find God in his own way,’ asserted Fidelma quietly.

Eadulf glanced at her in surprise. He had grown up in the pagan religion of his people and had been converted to Christianity by a wandering Irish missionary when he was in his early manhood. He still had the fervour of the converted and felt uncomfortable when confronted by those who held to their old religious beliefs. Nevertheless, Fidelma ignored his disapproving look.

‘So you have been here ever since?’ she went on.

‘I built this forge as soon as I left the forge of Cosrach. Within a week, Gaimredan joined me.’

‘And the old saying is that there are three places where one can gather news — the priest’s house, the tavern and the smith’s forge,’ Conri observed, reminding them of why they had come there.

Gaeth chuckled softly.

‘I thought that you were garnering a lot of information.’

Fidelma responded with a smile.

‘We were talking of what has befallen those on Seanach’s Island.’

‘We were,’ agreed Gaeth.

‘We, my companions and myself, have decided that we should try to reach Seanach’s Island, preferably under cover of darkness to avoid the attentions of the warship that guards the waters. We have to discover what has happened to those prisoners and the hermits who live on the island.’

Gaeth regarded her with a look of admiration.

‘It is an admirable enterprise, lady. One that requires courage.’

‘It merely requires determination,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Moreover, it requires a vessel and a guide.’

Gaeth’s eyes lit with understanding.

‘And that is what you are in search of? A vessel and a guide to take you to the islands?’

Fidelma nodded.

‘It needs to be a swift naomhog.’

Gaeth examined them and his look became doubtful.

‘I presume that your companions have handled a naomhog before? You would be facing the turbulent seas that separate these shores from that island.’

‘My warriors and I can row,’ Conri asserted.

‘Row? But can you row a naomhog? Can you guide it through tempestuous waters to reach the island? And you say that you intend to do this in the hours of darkness?’ He smiled sadly. ‘Give up the idea, lady.’

‘Leave the question of our skills to us,’ replied Fidelma firmly. ‘If you can just tell us where we may find such a vessel that will be sufficient.’

Gaeth gazed thoughtfully at her and then turned to his silent companion.

‘Well, Gaimredan, what do you think?’

The man had been watching Fidelma with his woeful expression. He suddenly leant forward as if peering into her mind.

‘Insight, reason and intellect. Impulsive, hot-tempered but sincere and unbegrudging. Positive, active and dominant, withal almost masculine but a mutable quality. This one is full of fire, searching restlessly for new fields to conquer.’

Gaeth was chuckling at Fidelma’s surprised expression.

‘Do not mind my friend, lady. He has a gift. I presume that you have recently celebrated a birthday?’

Eadulf was staring at the smith and his comrade in astonishment.

The smith glanced at him and his smile broadened.

‘It is no trick, Brother Saxon, merely the ancient knowledge.’ He turned back to Fidelma. ‘You were born when Danu, our mother goddess, was rising in the sky — the constellation of Eridanus. We are forgetting Eridanus, preferring to call it Toxetes as the Greeks do or Sagittarius as do the Latins. Both represent the fiery archer, but did not Danu also have a bow of victory, the fidbac bua?’

Fidelma, who knew something of the astrologer’s art from old Brother Conchobhar, the apothecary at Cashel, was following what he was saying. It did not surprise her that Gaimredan had fathomed such matters. She had seen it done often. But, interested as she was in the old knowledge, she was growing a little impatient.

‘What has this to do with my question?’ she snapped.

Gaeth and Gaimredan exchanged a look and both burst out laughing.

‘Impulsive, hot-tempered and brusque!’ chortled Gaimredan.

Gaeth controlled his mirth, seeing Fidelma’s brows drawing together, and held up a hand, palm outward.

‘Hold, lady, and we will tell you. You are setting out on an honourable course. My partner and I have such a naomhog as you seek. We use it for fishing. Mostly we fish in the lake here, Loch Gile, the bright lake. Sometimes we will take ourselves out into the seas. And we have fished

She was still frowning so he continued.

‘What I am saying is that we will take you out to the islands in our naomhog.’

Fidelma’s frown dissolved into a look of bewilderment.

‘You will do this simply because of the constellation under which I was born?’

Gaeth shook his head.

‘Because of the character that you have revealed to us,’ he replied firmly.

‘And what do you ask in return?’ Eadulf demanded, distrusting the smith and his companion.

‘What are you asking as payment for going to the islands to find out if the hermits are alive and well?’ Gaeth replied quietly.

‘Nothing, of course. We do not do this for payment.’

Gaeth smiled thinly.

‘Then that is what we ask for in return. Nothing.’

For a moment there was silence.

‘It is a very dangerous course that we embark on,’ Fidelma said slowly.

‘Did we not tell you so?’ replied Gaeth. ‘Let us simply say that in doing this we can repay those who have tried to despoil the tranquillity of this land. Now, we have a naomhog that can be rowed by six oarsmen, so it is big enough to accommodate us all. We can use your two warriors there to row with us to compensate for the extra weight in the boat. We can, at least, give them some instruction in the art of naomhog rowing. Is it agreed?’

Fidelma glanced at the warriors for affirmation.

‘Agreed,’ she said.

‘Then I suggest you leave your horses here, in our pen. Our vessel is beached on the shore of Loch Gile, so we will carry it overland from there to the beach in Breanainn’s bay.’

Eadulf stirred uneasily.

‘Carry it? Surely it is a long way?’

Gaeth shook his head.

‘Even the two of us have been known to carry it. It is very light. It is the oars that are heavy and so we keep spare oars in a hiding spot on the beach itself, as well as at the lake. It will take us but a little while.’ He glanced up at the sky. ‘We have time for a cold meal and to prepare

For the first time, Eadulf realised the enormity of what they were doing.

‘Are you sure that you know the waters well enough? When we sailed through those islands a few days ago, I saw so many rocks and tidal currents that I would be unsure of navigating the passage in broad daylight, let alone at night.’

‘My friend,’ Gaeth said reassuringly, ‘all you have to do is be a quiet passenger in the vessel. Leave the navigation to us. But if it reassures you, Gaimredan was born here on this shore and knows these waters so well that he can name each individual rock. The tide and the gods will be with us.’

Gaimredan was already preparing dishes of cold meats, cheeses and bread. A jug of cider was produced.

‘The wind is coming up from the south-east,’ Gaeth was saying, ‘so it will be at our backs and in our favour. It is when there is a westerly blow that we can expect a very rough sea and big swells.’

‘How can we approach Seanach’s Island without being seen?’

Gaeth rubbed his chin.

‘Dark will cover us all the way but there is only one sure place to land in safety. That place is the steep sandy beach on the east side. The landing is easy there and the community have their buildings just south of the landing place.’

‘Is there any other anchorage?’ Conri asked.

Gaeth shook his head.

‘Then that might be a problem,’ went on the warlord. ‘If the warship were already anchored at the island, that would be its natural harbour. It would dominate the landing place.’

‘I understand what you mean,’ agreed the smith. ‘However, it will be dark when we come round the headland and stand into the sandy beach. Unless a watch is being kept on ship and shore we have a good chance of not being seen.’

‘Are you sure that there is no other place to land?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘The rest of the island is protected by fairly steep rocks and to attempt to scramble up them in the darkness is simply to court disaster.’

Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully.

‘I wonder how the old man managed to flee in his little boat without being pursued across the sea?’

Conri shrugged.

‘Whoever shot him with that arrow probably thought that he was already dead. He was as good as dead anyway.’

‘We will have to keep our wits about us,’ Gaeth advised. ‘It will be no journey for the faint-hearted.’

Conri smiled and glanced knowingly at Eadulf, who had seemed oblivious of the conversation. His features were drawn into deep contemplation.

Fidelma followed Conri’s meaningful gaze.

‘Eadulf has been in more dangerous situations than this one,’ she said stoutly in his defence.

Eadulf glanced up at his name and frowned.

‘Sorry, I was thinking of something else. What is it?’

Conri grimaced with amusement.

‘I think that Gaeth may be concerned in case you are over-anxious about the forthcoming trip.’

Realising Conri was doubting his courage, Eadulf’s brows came together in an annoyed expression.

‘It is said that there are only two sorts of people who are fearless-the drunkard and the fool. I am neither.’

‘Fear is worse than fighting,’ replied Conri in a mocking tone.

‘Knowledge is better than ignorance,’ replied Eadulf spiritedly. ‘Ignorance is the real cause of fear. It is better to think out the possibilities before running into a dangerous situation when knowledge might save a life.’

Conri made a barking noise as if containing a laugh.

‘That is the timidity of a mouse.’

Eadulf kept his temper.

‘Mus uni non fidit antro,’ he said softly.

‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

‘A wise person named Plautius pointed out that even a mouse does not rely on one hole.’

Gaeth slapped his knee appreciatively at the intensity of the argument.

Even Gaimredan nodded in appreciation. He peered closely at Eadulf and smiled.

‘This one is silent, almost passive but receptive. Intuitive, just and kind. Reliable but worrying, at one with the spirit of the two natures of man.’

Gaeth looked directly at Conri.

‘Do not concern yourself, warrior. A man who goes into danger without fearing it is a man who is himself to be feared. A man who knows fear and still confronts it is a man to be relied upon who will stand steady.’

Conri flushed in irritation.

‘I have no time for homespun philosophy. Is it not time to set out on this venture?’ he said sharply.

Gaeth’s glance encompassed them all.

‘If you are all ready…? Then we will collect our naomhog and commence this undertaking. May all our gods go with us.’