Suffer Little Children

Fidelma knew it also, was that, as bo-aire, Intat would appreciate that if word reached Cashel of this terrible deed then he would have to face the consequences. He had only let Fidelma and Cass continue their journey unmolested in the belief they would not find out what had happened. If Intat realized that they had doubled back and come across survivors of his horrendous slaughter then their lives might be forfeit. Best to put distance between this place and themselves.

He admired the way Colgu's young sister did not seem to have any fear of the plague. He would not have associated so freely with these children had it not been for the fact that he did not wish to be shamed in front of Fidelma. So he repressed his fear and did as he was bid by her.

Fidelma chatted gaily in an attempt to keep up the spirits of the shocked and frightened children. She seized on what inconsequential topics she could, asking the young Sister Eisten where she had acquired the remarkable- looking crucifix she wore. After some prompting, Sister Eisten confessed that she had once been on a pilgrimage, which had lasted three years. Fidelma had to interrupt to say she had not thought Eisten old enough to have had such experience, but Eisten was older than her looks, being twenty-two years of age. She had journeyed with a group of religieuse to the Holy Land. She had found herself in the town of Bethlehem and made a pilgrimage to the very birthplace of the Saviour. It had been there she had purchased the ornate crucifix from local craftsmen. So Fidelma encouraged her to talk about her adventures, merely to keep the children occupied and content.

Inwardly Fidelma was far from happy. She was disconsolate, not at the idea of contact with potential plague carriers but at the fact that the conditions of her journey were even worse than they had been when, earlier that day, she had been bemoaning the weather and the cold and damp. At least she had been dryshod on horseback then. Now she was stumbling through the mud and slush of the track, trying to keep a delicate balance with the young baby in her arms. The child was constantly whimpering and trying to twist and turn, which made matters worse. Fidelma did not wish to cause alarm but even in the half light she had observed a tell-tale yellow tint to the child's skin and the fever on its little brow. Now and then, in order to keep the child from wriggling loose in her grip, Fidelma almost lost her footing in the mud which oozed around her ankles.

'How much farther is it to Ros Ailithir?' she allowed herself to ask after they had been walking two hours.

It was Sister Eisten who was specific.

'Seven miles from here, but the road does not get easier.'

Fidelma momentarily clenched her teeth and did not reply.

The gloom of dusk was rapidly spreading from the east, merging with the gloomy low-lying clouds and, almost before she realized it, a thick night fog was obscuring the roadway. The weather had not cleared yet as Cass had predicted.

Fidelma regretfully called a halt.

'We'll never make it to the abbey like this,' she told Cass. 'We'll have to find a place to stay until morning.'

As if to emphasize the dangers of night travel, a wolf pack began to yelp and bay in unison across the hills. One of the little girls began to cry, a plaintive, painful whimpering which twisted Fidelma's heart. She had learned that the copper-haired sisters were named Cera and Ciar. The fair-haired young lad was called Tressach while the other boys, as she had guessed, were brothers—Cetach and Cosrach. This much information had she been able to extract from them during their short journey through the cold woods.

'The first thing is to light some torches,' Cass announced. 'Then we will have to find a shelter.'

He handed the reins of his horse to the elder boy, Cetach, and went to the side of the road where the woods bordered it. Fidelma listened to the snapping of twigs and a soft cursing as Cass searched for tinder dry enough to make and light a brand torch.

'Do you know if there are any dry places near here in which we can shelter?' Fidelma asked Sister Eisten.

The young religieuse shook her head.

'There is only the forest.'

Cass had succeeded in lighting a bundle of twigs, but they would not burn long.

'Best if we kindled a fire,' he muttered as he rejoined Fidelma. 'If there is nothing else, at least the trees might afford some shelter. Perhaps we can find enough bushes to create some protection. But it will be a cold night for the children.'

Fidelma sighed and nodded assent. There was little else to do. Already it was impossible to see more than a few yards. Perhaps she should have insisted that they remain in the village for the night. At least it would have been warm among the smoldering ruins. Still, there was little point in self-reproach now.

'Let's move into the wood, then, and see if we can find a dry spot. Then we'll get what sleep we can.'

'The children haven't eaten since this morning,' Sister Eisten ventured.

Fidelma groaned inwardly.

'Well, there is nothing to be done until it is light, sister. Let us concentrate on getting warm and as dry as we can. Food must be a later consideration.'

It was Cass's sharp eyes that managed to spot a small clearing among the tall trees where a large bush extended itself almost in the manner of a tent over a fairly dry area of twigs and leaves.

'Almost made for the task,' he said brightly. Fidelma could imagine him smiling in the darkness. 'I'll tether the horses out here and light a fire. I have a croccah, my kettle, with me and so we may have a hot drink. You and Sister Eisten can get the children under the bush.' He paused and added with a shrug: 'It's the best we can do.'

Fidelma replied: 'Yes.' There was little else to say.

Within half an hour, Cass had a reasonable fire alight and had set his croccah, filled with water, to boil upon it. It was Fidelma who insisted that they add herbs to the mixture, which she said would help protect them from the night chills. She wondered if Cass or Eisten would realize that an infusion of the leaves and flowers of the herb dremire but was used as a protective against the scourge of the Yellow Plague. No one commented as the drink was handed around, although the children complained against the bitterness of the mixture. Soon, however, most of them were asleep—more from exhaustion than any other cause.

The cry of wolves continued to break across the strange nocturnal sounds of the wood.

Cass squatted before the fire, feeding its hungry flames with salvaged pieces of wood which hissed and spat with their unsuitability but, at least, generated enough heat to burn and send out some sort of warmth.

'We'll move on at first light,' Fidelma told him. 'If we move at a reasonable pace then we should be at the abbey by mid-morning.'

'We need to keep a watch tonight,' Cass observed. 'If not to make sure that Intat and his men are close by, then merely to ensure the fire is fed. I'll take the first watch.'

'Then I'll take the second,' Fidelma insisted, drawing her cloak closer around her shoulders in a vain effort to create more warmth from the garment.

It was a long, cold night but apart from the baying of distant wolves and the cry of other nocturnal creatures, nothing happened to disturb their uneasy peace.

When they all awoke in the gray, listless light of the morning, with the ice chill of the new day, it was Sister Eisten who discovered that the baby had died in the night. No one mentioned the yellow hue to the waxy texture of the babe's skin.

Cass dug a shallow grave with his sword and, against the bewildered sobbing of the younger children, Sister Fidelma and Sister Eisten uttered up a quiet prayer as they buried the tiny corpse. Sister Eisten had not been able to recall its name.

By then, the clouds had rolled away and the anaemic autumnal sun was hanging low in the pallid blue sky— bright but without warmth. Cass had been right about the change in the weather.

Chapter Four

The midday Angelus bell was sounding as Fidelma and her party came within sight of the abbey at Ros Ailithir. The journey had taken longer than she had estimated for, though the day was warm and bright, the road was still sodden and muddy and the passage was difficult.

The abbey was larger than Fidelma had imagined it would be; a vast complex of gray stone buildings