Gormán smiled. ‘I recognise it. That stream will become what is called the River of Ducks: it feeds the River Siúr further across the plain there.’
‘So you know this area?’ Eadulf asked in surprise. In truth, he had become disorientated.
Gormán raised his hand to point to an obscure track across the southern shoulder of the mountains. ‘That is called the track of Maranáin. He was an Uí Fidgente rebel who was trying to escape after the Great Uprising which ended at Cnoc Áine a few years ago. And that is where he is buried.’ The young warrior’s tone was that of grim approval.
‘And it was just by those tracks on the east side of the river that I discovered your companion, Dego,’ interrupted Brother Berrihert.
‘You said that when you found him, there was no sign of my brother not even his horse?’ queried Eadulf.
‘As I have said, there was no other living creature nearby
except
his horse. The signs were that Dego had been fishing there when he was attacked. All I could do was set him on his horse and take him back over the eastern path.’
‘You crossed the mountain with Dego and his horse from here?’ Eadulf asked in astonishment.
Brother Berrihert pointed to the east. ‘I brought you here by the quick route. I took him by a longer route but an easier one. It leads through that area of the forest called the Thicket of Gloiairn and there is a narrow pass between An Starraicín and Sliabh an Aird. It may be longer but far less taxing for a wounded man and his horse.’
‘Well, let us see what we can pick up from the place where you found Dego.’
They reached the site identified by Brother Berrihert. Some bags and what was probably Dego’s fishing tackle were still strewn about near a long-dead campfire. Aidan was already crouching on the ground and examining the area with keen, experienced eyes. He rose and trotted along the bank of the stream a little way before giving a grunt of satisfaction. Then he disappeared off towards a small copse. They waited in silence until he reappeared.
‘Horses,’ the warrior said laconically. ‘Two horses were tied there behind the camp. There are plenty of marks indicating that two people had dismounted here and were making camp. That was Dego and Egric. But then two other horses came from the east and halted in that wood. Two men dismounted. They must have moved quietly. They crept up on the encampment. See the dried blood on that rock? I think that is where Dego was attacked.’
‘And Egric?’ Eadulf asked.
‘There are signs of a struggle, but no blood. I think he was simply overpowered. There are marks on the ground as if he were dragged still struggling to his horse . . . there. Then there are tracks of a horse being led back to the copse where the others had left their mounts. The tracks show that three horses moved off to the east.’
‘Are you saying that Egric was taken as a prisoner?’ Eadulf said, impressed by Aidan’s skill despite his worries. ‘He was not killed?’
‘It would seem that he was taken as a captive, friend Eadulf,’ agreed Aidan. ‘That is how I interpret the signs.’
Gormán pulled thoughtfully at his lower lip. ‘What now? Who could these people be?’
‘We must follow them,’ Eadulf decided. ‘I know the tracks are at least two days old, but we must see if they lead us anywhere. I need to find my brother and those responsible for what happened to Dego.’
It was decided that Brother Berrihert could contribute no more than he had already done. So he departed back on foot across the mountains, leaving the three grimly determined riders to follow the tracks to the east.
Colgú was pacing up and down. Now and then he cast a worried glance at his sister. They were alone in his private chamber and Fidelma was sitting relaxed in a chair before him. Finally, he halted and ran a hand distractedly through his fiery red hair.
‘I have no understanding of these happenings, Fidelma. Is there some personal danger to us? After all, you and Eadulf were attacked and almost killed.’
‘I do not think so,’ she replied with a shake of her head. ‘I believe the attack on us was done merely as a distraction; an attempt to lead us off on a wrong path. I think this affair is far more complicated than a threat to the kingship.’
‘Is this some curious conspiracy of the religious then?’ he demanded.
‘In a way,’ she conceded.
‘A threat from Deogaire and the supporters of the old ways trying to stem the tide of the New Faith?’
‘I am fairly sure that Deogaire was used simply as part of a diversion. I think his role is an innocent one. It is frustrating, however, that Beccan, who was my main suspect, met with his own death before I could confront him. That was a miscalculation on my part.’
‘But Beccan . . . it seems impossible that he was involved! Do you have other suspects?’ asked her brother.
‘A lack of suspects is not the problem,’ she assured him.
‘Then is there any news from Eadulf yet?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Dego was one of my most trustworthy warriors. I pray that his wounds are not grievous. If only Gormán were here to advise me. Should I raise a
catha
of my warriors in case of trouble?’ Colgú seemed distracted. Gormán had recently been promoted to a
cath-mhilidh
, the commander of a battalion of the élite warriors.
A
catha
or battalion of warriors consisted of three thousand men; it was sub-divided into companies of one hundred, platoons of fifty men and squads of nine men. Of these trained warriors, the élite were the order known as the Nasc Niadh, warriors of the Golden Collar and chosen as bodyguards to the King. Usually, only a company was permanently quartered in the place, while the rest were encamped nearby where instruction in military sciences, practice with weapons and other modes of training occupied their time. But they were always close enough to come forward in time of need.
‘I don’t think the danger will come from armies but from something far more dangerous,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Ideologies are far more dangerous to deal with than men with weapons.’
Colgú sat down and reached for a drink. ‘What had Beccan to do with this religious business? I don’t understand.’
‘I have not pieced everything together yet. There is something I am overlooking, a single strand which leads to the centre of the knot.’
‘Does that piece reside with Eadulf’s brother, Egric?’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘I worked out his role some time ago. I have not mentioned this to Eadulf for I think it is going to be difficult for him to accept it. Didn’t Cicero refer to
bellum domesticum
– family strife? It is nothing new, but I do not think that Eadulf was expecting to be confronted by it.’
Colgú looked troubled. ‘For a stranger to this land, Eadulf has given unsparingly of himself to help our people. I hope he is not in any danger?’
‘There is always danger of some sort. That is why I suggested that he take Gormán and Aidan as his companions. They are two warriors in whom I place my greatest trust.’
‘I hope that you will not put yourself in danger,’ Colgú said anxiously. ‘Are you sure that I do not need to increase the guard?’
‘I have told Enda to be vigilant. It was my fault that Beccan was killed for I had fully intended to make sure of a guard at that scaffolding. I just did not think his own partner in this affair would turn on him.’
Colgú stared at her in surprise. ‘So you know that Beccan had a partner?’
‘Oh yes,’ she replied enigmatically. ‘But I am only just beginning to work out the identity of that person.’
It seemed to Eadulf that they had been following the tracks of the three horses for a long time. However, the position of the pale sun in the sky told him that it was not even midday. Aidan rode in front, leaning across the shoulder of his horse from time to time, eyes on the ground to watch the path unfolding.
‘The tracks are still clear – three horses. The tracks are evenly spaced so they are not hurrying themselves.’
‘Where do you think they are heading?’ Eadulf asked, not for the first time.
‘South-east,’ replied Gormán. ‘Towards the River Siúr at any rate.’
‘I don’t suppose there is any chance of overtaking them?’
Gormán could not lie to him. ‘Let’s face it, friend Eadulf,’ he said. ‘Dego was attacked and your brother taken two whole days ago. Even if they make leisurely camp during the nights, then they are still well ahead of us. Our only hope is that they are making for a specific place. If they stop, then we shall overtake them.’
Eadulf fell silent. It had crossed his mind earlier to ask why they themselves were travelling at such an easy pace. Surely if they increased their speed, they would overtake their quarry all the sooner? The answer came to him almost immediately. He could even hear Fidelma explaining that to do so would tire the horses, and a tired horse when they might need its strength and mobility was no use to anyone.
They were heading towards a large wooded area and Eadulf knew the River Siúr must lie beyond it. They had been travelling along a track through this forest for some time. He barely registered the different trees that made the woodland almost impenetrable except for the small path that they were following. Every so often, Aidan paused to check the trail and then signalled them onwards.
It was while Eadulf was almost dozing, so tedious was the journey becoming, and the gentle jogging of his cob allowing him to rock back and forth . . . that a sudden terrible scream shattered the air nearby. Then before the cry died away, it was followed by another.
At once, Gormán and Aidan had their swords in their hands, peering around them to identify the danger. Then, seeing nothing immediately threatening, Gormán made a motion for them to dismount, placing a finger on his lips. He gestured to Aidan who seemed to understand what he wanted, for the warrior took the reins of Gormán’s horse, while Gormán moved forward in a crouching position along the path ahead of them. It twisted and turned out of sight around a bend. He was not gone for long for he soon reappeared, but approached Eadulf and Aidan with his finger once more to his lips.
‘We are in luck,’ he whispered. ‘Those we pursue have made some permanent camp just around the bend in those trees. There seems to be an old disused cattle-pen there and a hut beside it. I presume that this is some hideout.’
The word he used was
fochlach
which Eadulf had not heard before, but supposed it meant a hiding place or den.
‘Was it Egric who cried out?’ he whispered back, fearing the worst.
‘He is a prisoner,’ confirmed the other. ‘Easy, friend,’ he warned as Eadulf began to move. ‘They are questioning him – and none too gently.’
Eadulf stiffened but made an effort to control his emotions. ‘What are we to do?’
‘Egric seems to be tied to an old cattle ring on the wall. There are two captors, no more. I don’t think we will have any trouble. They don’t look much like warriors. We’ll leave the horses here. Aidan,’ he hissed ‘you are good with a bow. Make your way to the far side of the cattle-pen. There is some high ground there, but plenty of cover from trees and bushes. You can see down into the pen. I will approach from this path . . .’
‘I must come with you,’ Eadulf said.
Gormán was about to argue but saw the determined look on his face. ‘Very well, but keep behind me and in cover. I will call on the two men to surrender. Let us hope they do so. If they don’t, Aidan will take care of the one who offers an immediate danger. Understood?’
Aidan took his bow and quiver of arrows from his horse and slid with astonishing quiet and ease into the undergrowth in the direction Gormán indicated.
Gormán waited for a moment, estimating the time it would take for Aidan to get into position and then, unsheathing his sword, he motioned to Eadulf to follow, indicating that he should do so stealthily and quietly. As Gormán had said, it was not far before they rounded a bend which broadened into a clearing, in which there were the remains of a circular, drystone wall cattle-pen. The walls that came up to waist-level were crumbling and almost overgrown with moss and tufts of grasses. To one side was a hut, perhaps where the cattle-drover stayed when tending his herd.
Gormán reached out the flat of his hand, with a backward gesture to Eadulf to keep behind him.
There were two men standing upright in the enclosure. One of them had his sword in his hand and seemed to be staring down at something before him. Eadulf could not see what it was as it lay out of sight below the stone wall. Another man was taking a drink from an earthenware jug. There was no sign of Egric. Close by the hut, three horses were tethered. Smoke rose from a fire before the hut and other indications showed that the men had been encamped there some time.
Gormán glanced across the clearing to where the trees followed the rise of a small hillock. If was as if he were trying to see if Aidan was in place among the green foliage and bushes. His sharp eyes must have seen something that Eadulf could not, for he nodded to Eadulf, rose to his full height and cried: ‘Throw down your weapons! You are surrounded!’
The man with the flagon in his hand threw it away, staring in the direction of Gormán, and shouted to his companion: ‘Finish the bastard!’
The man with the sword was raising it as if to plunge it into something at his feet – but as he did so, he suddenly gave a coughing sound and fell forward. Eadulf just had time to see the arrow in the man’s back.
Gormán was running towards the cattle-pen, sword in hand, as the other man was turning to see what had happened to his companion, while at the same time trying to withdraw his own sword. Gormán took the wall in a gigantic leap. Eadulf was running after him. Gormán had a moment to regain his balance but it was too late to stop the first man thrusting with his sword at a figure that lay on the ground half underneath the body of the man with the arrow in his back. Then the killer wheeled round to defend himself, but the tip of Gormán’s sword had entered under the breastbone. As Gormán removed his weapon, the man gave a choking cry and fell forward.
Eadulf, with a cry of anguish, had recognised the figure on the ground. Egric lay with his back propped against the stone wall. His wrists were tied by rope to an iron cow-ring set in the stone. There was blood staining his garments, covering his face and arms. It was clear that he had suffered torture. The fingers of one hand were broken and bent. Eadulf knelt towards him and one glance was enough to assess his brother’s condition. He pulled the corpse of his erstwhile captor off his brother, drew his knife and severed the cords that bound Egric’s wrists. The young man slumped forward with a groan.