Then he fell face down on the ground. Eadulf reached forward to pull the woman to safety but the attacker reached her first. His sword swung again and she gave a shriek as it smashed into the back of her head. The momentum still carried her forward and she stumbled into the abbey courtyard.
The forward motion of the charging horse of the pursuer also carried the warrior forward through the gates, the horse clattering into the paved courtyard. What happened next took place so quickly that no one had time to draw breath before it was over.
The momentum of the horse had knocked the wounded womanaside so that she spun forward, crashing against a wall, and fell onto the ground. Eadulf himself only had time to turn sideways to avoid being knocked down by the horse. As he swung round, some instinct had caused him to grab the leg of the rider and heave with all his might. The rider, already precariously balanced by the effort of his swinging sword arm, came unseated and, as Eadulf fell, he was dragged down from his saddle. The man fell hard but on top of Eadulf, driving the breath from him so that Eadulf lay stunned and unable to move.
The warrior was a professional. His fall cushioned by Eadulf, he half rolled over and sprung to his feet, coming up in a fighting crouch, sword in hand, ready to face any attack.
He was stocky but well-muscled. Thus much could be seen of him but he was clad in black dyed linen with an iron coat of chainmail, the
His shield was still on his horse which had clattered to a halt on the paved courtyard a short distance away, blowing and snorting from its strenuous run.
The warrior crouched, the sword, which he now held in both hands, swinging round to ascertain what dangers lurked around him. He momentarily relaxed when he saw only half a dozen clearly frightened religious huddling behind the gates and a solitary female religieuse who stood facing him.
The man straightened up and bellowed with laughter before raising his sword in a threatening gesture at the religious. They cowered back, causing him even more merriment. Then he realised that the female religieuse stood unmoved, regarding him, hands folded demurely in front of her. He relaxed in her tall, well-proportioned figure and pleasantly attractive features.
‘Who are you, warrior?’ Fidelma demanded.
The man blinked at the quiet authority in her voice. Then he smirked.
‘A man, a man compared with these eunuchs which you have surrounded yourself with, woman. Come with me and let me show you what a man can do.’
Fidelma’s eyes had flickered anxiously to Eadulf, who was still lying winded. Beyond the gate, Brother Madagan was probably dead. The woman also lay crumpled and inert. She let her eyes return to the warrior with open scorn.
‘You have already shown me what you can do,’ replied Fidelma in a quiet tone, without a hint of fear. ‘You have the murders of a Brother of the Faith and a defenceless woman on your hands. That makes you no man at all but something I scrape off the heel of my shoe with a stick after I have walked through a bog land.’
Her tone was so even that the warrior still stood smirking some moments after she had spoken. It took him a while to realise just what she had said.
He drew his thin mouth into an expression of rage.
‘You can come with me or die now!’
He made a threatening gesture with his sword.
One of the Brothers, it was the youthful Brother Daig, his face red with mortification at his earlier moment of cowardice, came forward as if to protect her. He did not even have time to speak but his movement caused the warrior to turn, sinking the metal point of his sword into Daig’s chest. The young man gave a grunt of pain and dropped to his knees, the blood gushing over his habit. He stared down at the wound as if he could not believe his eyes.
‘You are brave against unarmed boys and women,’ snapped Fidelma, who took a step forward but was halted as the point of the sword swung towards her. ‘Have you a name? Or are you ashamed of it?’
The warrior gasped at her audacity.
‘My name is not for the likes of you, wench. Do not think that because you are a woman you can insult me with impunity!’
Fidelma glanced down to where young Daig was trying to staunch the blood from his wound, his hand pressed over it.
‘You have already proved your branch of courage. As I am also unarmed, doubtless you will feel brave enough to show how despicable you really are.’
Brother Daig look up painfully. There were tears in his eyes. He glanced towards the group of frightened brethren and tried several times to speak before succeeding. ‘The gate, Brothers … the gate must be shut before others of this man’s tribe enter the abbey.’
Indeed, it was something that Fidelma had just realised. The longer the gate stood open, eventually other attackers would. notice it and enter the abbey. Then there would be nothing to prevent them from the wholesale slaughter of the community.
‘Do not try it, wench,’ grunted the warrior as he saw her anxious glance towards the gate. ‘You will be dead before you reach it. My comrades will be here in a few moments.’
Brother Daig gave a groan of pain as he tried to move forward. ‘Heis only one man, Brothers. He cannot kill you all. Shut the gate and disarm him!’
The warrior gave a hiss of anger and the steel of his sword struck the young Brother full in the neck.
Brother Daig fell backwards. There was no need to check whether he was dead or not. That much was obvious.
It was now that Eadulf finally began to recover his wind. He took several deep breaths and began to scramble to his feet, only to find himself pinned by the point of the raider’s sword.
‘The gate!’ cried Fidelma determinedly to the cowering religious. ‘Your Brother’s dying command must be accomplished!’
‘Move and this one dies,’ snapped the warrior, pricking Eadulf s shoulder with his sword.
‘Do it!’ cried Eadulf loudly, anger overcoming his personal fear.
The warrior’s gaze was distracted momentarily as he glanced to the religious to see if they were obeying Eadulf. It was a moment that Eadulf had hoped would come. He suddenly rolled away from the reach of the warrior’s sword point, diving towards the gate.
The warrior turned back to him, sword raised, but it was too late.
With a scream of rage he hurled himself forward as Eadulf began to push against the gate. Suddenly Fidelma was in his way. He turned his sword to strike her. Then he was flying through the air, he knew not how.
Only Eadulf, out of the corner of his eye, saw Fidelma spring forward. His heart lurched as he saw her but somewhere, dim in his memory, he recognised the stance she had taken with her body. He had seen her perform the feat a few times now. The first time had been in Rome. She was poised as if to take the blow from the descending sword on her unprotected head. Then it seemed as if she merely reached forward, caught the arm of the man and heaved her assailant into the air, over her hip, and sent him cannoning into the stone wall of the abbey wall. There was a strange thudding sound and, without even a grunt, the warrior fell to the ground, unconscious.
Fidelma had once told Eadulf that in ancient Ireland there had been a class of learned men who taught the time-honoured philosophies of her people. They journeyed far and wide and did not believe in carrying arms to defend themselves because they did not believe in killing people. But they had to protect themselves from attacks by thieves and bandits on the highways. Thus they were forced to develop a technique called
‘Come on! Help Brother Eadulf!’ cried Fidelma. ‘Get those gates closed.’
