'Then be about your business. Ride away from this place, do not look back, and you will not be harmed.'
'What is happening here?' Fidelma demanded, nodding toward the burning habitations.
'The curse of the Yellow Plague sits on this place,' snapped the man. 'We destroy it by flame, that is all. Now, ride off!'
'But what of the people?' protested Fidelma. 'On whose orders do you do this thing? I am a
The red-faced man blinked at the sharp tone in the young woman's voice. He swallowed for a moment, gazing up at her as if he could not believe his ears. Then he said angrily,
'The kings of Cashel have no right to give orders in the land of the Corco Loigde. Only our chieftain, Salbach, has that right.'
'And Salbach has to answer to the king at Cashel, fellow,' Cass pointed out.
'We are a long way from Cashel,' replied the man stubbornly. 'I have warned you that there is Yellow Plague here. Now begone lest I change my mind and order my men to shoot.'
He motioned with his hand to the bowmen. They raised their weapons again and extended the bowstrings. The arrow flights were firm against their cheeks.
Cass's features were taut.
'Let us do as he says, Fidelma,' he muttered. If even a finger slipped, the arrow would find a sure target. 'This man is one who does not reason except with force.'
Reluctantly Fidelma drew away and followed Cass as he urged his horse to retrace its steps back along the roadway. But as soon as they were beyond the bend in the hills, she reached forward and gripped his arm to stay him.
'We must go back and see what is happening,' she said firmly. 'Fire and sword to deal with a plague village? What manner of chieftain would sanction such a thing? We must go back and see what has happened to the people.'
Cass looked at her dubiously.
'It is dangerous, sister. If I had a couple of men or even were I on my own…'
Fidelma snorted in disgust.
'Don't let my sex nor holy order put fear in your heart, Cass. I am willing to share the danger. Or are you afraid of the plague?'
Cass blinked rapidly. His masculine warrior pride was stung.
'I am willing to go back,' he replied distantly. 'I was but concerned for you and your mission. However, if you demand to return, return we shall. But it would be best not to go directly back. Those warriors might be waiting in case we do. I am more concerned about them than of the plague. We will ride around the hills a little and then leave our horses to find a vantage point to observe what we can before we return to the village.'
Fidelma reluctantly agreed. The circuitous route did make sense.
It was half an hour before they found themselves hiding behind a clump of shrubs on the outskirts of the still-burning buildings. The wooden constructions were crackling in the great fire while some were crashing in on themselves in a shower of sparks and billowing smoke. It would not be long, Fidelma realized, before the village was simply a black, smoldering mess of charcoal. The red-faced man and his followers seemed to have disappeared. There were no sounds of humanity against the crack and occasional roar of the flames.
Fidelma rose slowly to her feet and eased a piece of her head-dress across her mouth to protect her lungs from the billowing smoke.
'Where are the people?' she demanded, not really expecting an answer from Cass, who was staring in incomprehension as he surveyed the flaming wreckage of what had been a dozen homesteads. She had her answer even before the question was out of her mouth. There were several bodies lying between the burning homesteads; men, women and children. Most of them had been struck down before their homes had been set ablaze. They were certainly not victims of plague.
'Sister Eisten's cabin was over that way,' pointed Cass, grimly. 'She ran a small hostel for travelers and an orphanage. I stayed when I journeyed through here six months ago.'
He led the way through the smoke and swirling debris to a corner of the village. There was a building by a rock over which water gushed from a natural well spring. The hostel had not been completely destroyed because it had been built mainly of stones, piled one upon another. But the wooden roof, the doors and what contents the building had once had, were now no more. Now it was a pile of hot, smoldering ashes.
'Destroyed,' muttered Cass, hands on hips. 'People slain and no sign of plague. There is a mystery here.'
'A feud?' hazarded Fidelma. 'Perhaps a reprisal for something this village had done?'
Cass shrugged eloquently.
'When we get to Ros Ailithir we must send a message to the chieftain of this area telling him of this deed and demanding an explanation in the name of Cashel.'
Fidelma was inclined to agree. She glanced reluctantly at the eastern sky. It would not be long before dusk. They had to be on their way to the abbey or night would fall long before they reached it.
The shrill wail of a baby, at that time and in that place, was totally unexpected.
Fidelma glanced quickly around to try to locate the origin of the noise. Cass was already ahead of her, scrambling up an incline to the edge of a wood on the fringes of the village behind the burnt-out religious hostel.
Fidelma saw no alternative but to hurry behind him.
There was a movement in the shrubbery and Cass reached forward and caught something which writhed and yelled in his clutch.
'God preserve us!' whispered Fidelma.
It was a child of no more than eight years of age, dirty and disheveled, yelling with fright.
There was another movement farther on among the trees.
A young woman emerged from behind some shrubs; her face was fleshy and white where it was not smeared with soot and dirt. Anxiety was engraved on her features. In her arms she cradled the wailing infant while around her skirts, clutching at their folds, were two little copper-haired girls who were obviously sisters. Behind her stood two dark-haired boys. They all appeared to be in a state of distress.
Fidelma saw that the woman was scarcely out of her teens though dressed in the robes of a religieuse. In spite of the baby's near concealment of it, Fidelma noticed she wore a large and unusual crucifix. It was more in the Roman style than the Irish but it was also elaborate and encrusted with semi-precious stones. In spite of her apparent youthfulness, hers was a plump, round-faced figure which, normally, would have had an air of protective motherliness. Now she seemed to be trembling uncontrollably.
'Sister Eisten!' cried Cass in surprise. 'Have no fear. It is I, Cass of Cashel. I stayed at your hostel six months ago when I was passing through this village. Do you not remember me?'
The young religieuse peered closely at him and shook her head. However, relief began to show in her features as she turned her dark eyes questioningly to Fidelma.
'You are not with Intat? You are not of his band?' she demanded, half fearfully.
'Whoever Intat is, we are not of his band,' Fidelma replied gravely. 'I am Sister Fidelma of Kildare. My companion and I are journeying to the abbey of Ros Ailithir.'
The muscles in the young sister's face, so tightly clenched before, began to relax. She tried to fight back tears of shock and relief.
'Have… have they… gone?' she finally jerked out. Her voice was vibrating in fear.
'They appear to have gone, sister,' Fidelma assured her as best she could, stepping forward and holding her hands out to take the baby. 'Come, you look all in. Give me the child, that you may rest and tell us what happened. Who were they?'
Sister Eisten lurched backward as though she was afraid to be touched. If anything, she clutched the baby tighter to her chest.
'No! Do not touch any of us.'
