Suffer Little Children

any weakness before the sister of the heir-apparent. She felt a reluctant sympathy with the young man and when, every now and then in an unguarded moment, she saw him shiver from the damp chill, she felt herself more compassionately disposed toward him.

The path twisted over the shoulder of the mountain and a blast of cold air from the south-west hit them in the face as they emerged from the sheltering outcrop of rocks. Fidelma became aware of the subtle tang of salt in the air, the unmistakable odor of the nearness of the ocean.

Cass reined in his mount and allowed Fidelma to edge her horse alongside his. Then he pointed across the tree-strewn hills and undulating plain which seemed to disappear in the direction of the southern horizon. Yet the clouds hung above the plain in such a fashion that she could not see where land ended and sky began.

'We should be at the abbey of Ros Ailithir before nightfall,' Cass announced. 'Before you are the lands of the Corco Lofgde.'

Fidelma screwed her eyes against the cold wind and stared forward. She had not made the connection, when her brother had told her that the kings of Osraige came from Corco Loigde. She had not realized that the abbey of Ros Ailithir was in their clan lands. Could this be merely a coincidence? She knew little about them except that they were one of the great clans which made up the kingdom of Muman and that they were a proud people.

'What is this hill called?' she asked, suppressing a shiver.

'They call this mountain the 'Long Rock,' ' replied Cass. 'It is the highest point before we reach the sea. Have you visited the abbey before?'

Fidelma shook her head.

'I have not been in this part of the kingdom before but I am told that the abbey stands at the head of a narrow inlet on the seashore.'

The warrior nodded in confirmation.

'Ros Ailithir is due south from here.' He indicated the direction with a wave of his hand. Then he winced as a sudden cold wind caught him full in the face. 'But let us descend out of this wind, sister.'

He urged his horse forward and Fidelma allowed him a moment to get a length ahead before she followed.

In addition to the intemperate weather, which had made their journey so unpleasant, Fidelma found that Cass was no easy traveling companion. He had only a little fund of small talk and Fidelma kept rebuking herself for the way she kept comparing him to Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund's Ham, her companion at Whitby and Rome. To her annoyance, she found that she felt a curious kind of isolation, the feeling that she had experienced when she had left Eadulf in Rome to return to her native land. She did not want to admit that she missed the company of the Saxon monk. And it was wrong of her to keep comparing Cass with Eadulf and yet…

She had managed to learn from the taciturn warrior that he had been in the service of Cathal of Cashel ever since he had reached the 'age of choice' and left his father's house to take service at the court of the king. Fidelma found that he had only a slight general knowledge. He had studied at one of Muman's military academies before becoming a professional warrior or tren-flier. He had distinguished himself in two campaigns, becoming the commander of a catha, a battalion of three thousand men, in the king's army in time of war. Yet Cass was not one to boast of his prowess in arms. At least that was a saving grace. Fidelma had made inquiries about him before they had set out from Cashel. She discovered that he had successfully fought seven single combats in Muman's service to become a member of the Order of the Golden Collar and champion of the king.

She nudged her horse down the steep path behind him, twisting and turning sometimes into the wind and sometimes in thankful shelter from it. By the time they reached the foot of the mountain, the blustery squall had begun to ease a little and Fidelma saw the bright line of light along the horizon of the western sky.

Cass smiled as he followed her glance.

'The clouds will be gone by tomorrow,' he predicted confidently. 'The wind was bringing the storm from the south-west. Now it will bring fine weather.'

Fidelma did not reply. Something had caught her attention among the foothills to the south-east. At first she had thought that it was merely a reflection from the light of the sun breaking through the heavy clouds. But what could it be reflecting against? It took her a moment or two to realize what it was.

'That's a fire over there, Cass!' she cried, indicating the direction. 'And a big one, if I am not mistaken.'

Cass followed her outstretched hand with keen eyes.

'A big fire, indeed, sister. There is a village that lies in that direction. A poor place with a single religious cell and a dozen houses. I stayed there six months ago when I was in this country. It is called Rae na Serine, the holy shrine at the level spot. What could be causing such a fire there? Perhaps we should investigate?'

Fidelma delayed, compressing her lips a moment in thought. Her task was to get to Ros Ailithir as quickly as possible.

Cass frowned at her hesitation.

'It is on our path to Ros Ailithir, sister, and the religious cell is occupied by a young religieuse named Sister Eisten. She may be in trouble.' His tone was one of rebuke.

Fidelma flushed, for she knew her duty. Only her greater obligation to the kingdom of Muman had caused her to falter.

Instead of answering him, she dug her heels into the sides of her horse and urged it forward in annoyance at Cass's gentle tone of reproval at her indecision.

It took them some time to reach a spot in the road which was the brow of a small, thickly wooded hillock, overlooking the hamlet of Rae na Serine. From their position on the roadway, they could see that the buildings of the village appeared to be all on fire. Great consuming flames leapt skyward and debris and smoke spiraled upward in a black column above the buildings. Fidelma dragged her horse to a halt with Cass nearly colliding into her. The reason for her sudden concern was that there were a dozen men running among the flames with swords and burning brand torches in their hands. It was clear that they were the incendiaries. Before she could react further, a wild shout told them that they had been spotted.

Fidelma turned to warn Cass and suggest they withdraw in case the men be hostile, but she saw a movement behind them by the trees that lined the road.

Two more men had emerged onto the road with bows strung and aimed. They said nothing. There was nothing to be said. Cass exchanged a glance with Fidelma and simply shrugged. They turned and waited patiently while two or three of the men, who had obviously been putting the village to the torch, came running up the hillock to halt before them.

'Who are you?' demanded their leader, a large, red-faced individual, soot and mud staining his face. He carried a sword in his hand but no longer held the brand torch in the other. He had a steel war bonnet on his head, a woollen cloak edged in fur and wore a gold chain of office. His pale eyes were ablaze as if with a battle fever.

'Who are you?' he shouted again. 'What do you seek here?'

Fidelma gazed down at his threatening figure as if she were unperturbed. Her artificial disdain hid her fears.

'I am Fidelma of Kildare; Fidelma of the Eoganachta of Cashel,' she added. 'And who are you to halt travelers on a highway?'

The big man's eyes widened a fraction. He took a step forward and examined her closely without answering. Then he turned to examine Cass with equal attention.

'And you? Who are you?' He asked the question with a brusqueness that implied he had not been impressed to learn that Fidelma was related to the kings at Cashel.

The young warrior eased his cloak so that the man might look on his golden tore.

'I am Cass, champion of the king of Cashel,' he said, putting all the cold arrogance he could muster into his voice.

The red-faced man stood back and gestured to the others to lower their weapons.