right side while on her left a longer scabbard was balanced with the intricately worked handle of a sword protruding from it.
The face was slightly rounded, almost heart-shaped and not unattractive. The skin was pale although there was a slight blush on the cheeks. The lips were well shaped but a trifle pale. The eyes cold and sparkling like ice. A cursory glance would have made one think the woman was young and innocently attractive but a second glance might cause one to dwell on the hardness of the mouth and the curious menacing glint in the fathomless eyes. The corner of her mouth twisted slightly as she saw the huntsmen and their dogs threatening the figure of the young man on the ground.
The leader of the huntsmen glanced over his shoulder and smiled with satisfaction as the woman walked her horse across to them.
‘We have him, lady,’ he called, stating the obvious with satisfaction.
‘That you do,’ agreed the woman in an almost pleasant tone which made her voice sound the more menacing.
The young man had recovered some of his breath now. His right hand was twisting nervously at the silver crucifix which he wore around his neck.
‘For pity’s sake …’ he began but the woman held up a hand in a gesture calling for silence.
‘Pity? Why do you expect pity, priest?’ she demanded in a hectoring tone. ‘I have enough pain of my own to cry for another’s pity.’
‘I am not responsible for your pain,’ returned the young man defensively.
The woman gave a sharp bark of staccato laughter which caused even the straining hounds to turn their heads momentarily at the unexpected discordant noise.
‘Are you not a priest of the Faith of Christ?’ she sneered.
‘I am a servant of the True Faith,’ the young man agreed, almost defiantly.
‘Then there is no mercy for you in my heart,’ the woman replied sourly. ‘On your feet, priest of Christ. Or do you wish to begin your journey to the Otherworld laying down? It makes little difference to me.’
‘Mercy, lady. Let me depart in peace from these lands and, I swear, you will never see my face again!’
The young man scrambled to his feet and would have rushed to her stirrup to plead at her foot had he not been held back by the threatening hounds.
‘By the sun and the moon,’ the woman smiled cynically, ‘you almost persuade me that I should not pour water on a drowning mouse! Enough! Nothing emboldens wrong doing more than mercy. Bind him!’
The last order was directed to her huntsmen. One of them handed the leash of his dog to another, drew a large dagger-like knife and moved to the nearest clump of blackthorn, cutting a stout pole some five feet in length. He returned, taking a rope, which he had carried wound around his shoulder, and motioned the young man to come forward. Reluctantly he did so. The pole was placed behind his back, between it and his elbows, and then the arms were tied so that the wood acted almost in the manner of a painful halter.
The woman looked on approvingly. When the binding was completed, by the expedient of another piece of rope tied loosely around the neck of the young man with the other end held in the hand of a huntsman, the woman nodded in satisfaction. She glanced up at the sky and then back to the group before her. The hounds had quieted, the excitement of the hunt having receded.
‘Come, we have a long journey before us,’ she said, turning her horse and moving off at a walking pace back towards the forest path.
The huntsman leading the prisoner advanced after her with the other two and the hounds bringing up the rear.
Stumbling, the young priest cried out once more.
‘For the love of God, have you no mercy?’
The huntsman jerked quickly on the rope, tightening it around the hapless young man’s neck. He turned to his charge with a black-toothed grin.
‘You’ll survive longer, Christian, if you save your breath.’
Ahead of them, the mounted figure of the woman continued on without concern. She stared straight ahead with a fixed expression. She rode as if she were alone, ignoring those who came behind her.
High up on the hillside, the feral goat stood, watching theirdisappearance back into the wood, with the same indifference that it had displayed throughout the encounter.
And eventually the circling curlew returned downwards to the lakeside in search of its interrupted meal.
Chapter Two
The religieux sat on a small boulder by the side of the gushing mountain stream, soaking his feet in the crisp cold water with an expression of bliss on his upturned face. He had his homespun brown wool habit hitched to his knees and his sleeves were rolled up as he sat in the hot summer sunshine, allowing the water to gurgle and froth around his ankles. He was young, and thick-set and wore the
He suddenly opened his eyes and gazed reprovingly at a second figure standing on the bank of the stream.
‘I believe that you disapprove, Fidelma,’ he said chidingly to the tall, red-haired religieuse who was watching him. The young, attractive woman regarded him with eyes of indiscernible colour, perhaps blue, perhaps green, it was difficult to say. The downward droop of her mouth indicated her displeasure.
‘We are so near our journey’s end that I merely feel we should be moving on instead of indulging ourselves in pampering our bodies as if we had all the time in the world.’
The young man smiled wryly.
‘
Sister Fidelma sniffed in annoyance.
‘Perhaps the indulgence is rare and thereby the pleasure is increased,’ she admitted, ‘nevertheless, Eadulf, we should not delay our journey longer than is necessary.’
Brother Eadulf rose from his perch with a sigh of reluctance and waded to the bank. His face, however, wore an expression of satisfaction.
‘And if everything were thus,’ rejoined Fidelma waspishly, ‘we would have no progress in life because it would be one long indulgence in bodily pleasure. Thank God that winter was created as well as summer to balance our sensitivities.’
Eadulf dried his feet roughly on the hem of his habit and slipped on his leather sandals.
They had paused in this spot to take a midday meal and fodder their horses on the green grass along the bank of the stream. Fidelma had tidied away the remains of their meal and repacked the saddle bags. It had been the strong midday summer sun that had persuaded Eadulf to cool his feet in the cold stream. He knew, however, that it was not his indulgence that really perturbed Fidelma. He had observed her growing anxiety these last twenty-four hours even though she did her best to keep her apprehension hidden from him.
‘Are we really so near?’ he asked.
Fidelma replied by pointing to the tall peaks of the mountains whose foothills they had entered that morning.
‘Those are the Cruacha Dubha, the black ricks. This is the border of the lands of the clan of Duibhne. By mid-afternoon we should be in the country of Laisre. It is an almost hidden valley up there by that high peak which is reputed to be the highest mountain in this land.’
Brother Eadulf stared upwards at the bald peak which towered among the surrounding heights.
‘Are you regretting that you rejected your brother’s offer to send warriors to accompany us?’ he asked gently.
Fidelma’s eyes flashed a moment and then she shook her head as she realised that Eadulf meant well.
‘What point is there in this entire journey if warriors have to protect us? If we have to spread our teachings
