‘The rock face here has been worked,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘What have we come into? Some sort of mine?’
Fidelma was about to make a rejoinder that this fact was obvious but she held back. She was aware of the fault of her waspish tongue. Eadulf did not deserve to be made the object of it so often. It occurred to her that she had been thinking a lot about her relationship with Eadulf of late. She had, particularly this last month, been growing increasingly irritated by his faults. These last nine months they had always been together. They had shared many dangers. Yet she was dissatisfied with the friendship and she could not understand why. She seemed to be constantly watching for his faults and reacting to them. What was the old saying? Reckoning up is an end to friendship?
She tried to bring her mind back to the present.
‘The rock here seems to be more granite than limestone. Unusual. Ah, see this, traversing the granite … argentite.’
Eadulf frowned and peered over her shoulder.
‘Silver? Is this a working silver mine?’
‘Someone has certainly been working here — and recently.’ She pointed to a broken tool on the floor. The wooden haft of a pick had recently been smashed. Judging from the newness of the splintered wood it was obvious that the handle had not lain on the floor for more than a few days.
Eadulf, in the meantime, had picked up a lump of ore and rubbed it. In the lamplight he could see the veins of white, ductile metal.
‘Let us move on,’ Fidelma instructed. ‘Perhaps we will learn something up ahead.’
Almost at once the chamber narrowed back into a passageway which only one person could proceed along at a time. It grew smaller until they were soon having to crouch as they moved along it. After a while they could hear water gushing.
‘There is a light up ahead,’ Fidelma called over her shoulder. ‘This time it is daylight. We are nearly at the entrance.’
They had to go on hands and knees before, finally, they emerged into a sheltered area filled with the sound of rushing water. One side of the enclosure was fully open to the elements. It was not so much a cave but an open area covered by a large rock overhang. This consisted of a great protruding limestone rock. As they rose to their feet they saw a pool being fed by waters which emanated from the rocks, gushing quite strongly.
‘An underground well stream,’ Fidelma explained, having to raise her voice above the sound.
They climbed out of the half cave and looked around the countryside. They seemed to have gone in a semi- circle, for the oratory and its well had been to the north of the abbey and now they had emerged on the south side of the ecclesiastical complex. In fact, they were not far from the abbey’s southern extremity. Fidelma estimated that they were no more than four hundred yards away. The abbey walls were secluded from view by a copse consisting of lines of tall spruce. Only the towers could be seen rising behind them.
‘Would Brother Bardan have come all this way when he could easily have left the abbey and walked across a field or two to come to this spot?’ asked Eadulf. ‘And for what? Do you think he has some connection with that silver working?’
Fidelma did not answer. It was pointless speculating.
It was Eadulf who caught sight of some object on the ground just beyond the mouth of the opening. He reached for it and held it up.
It was a torn piece of brown woollen cloth. There were fresh bloodstains on it.
‘Do you think this belongs to Samradán’s driver? Could the wolves have brought it here?’
He suppressed a shudder of revulsion as he conjured the vision of what must have been the fate of the driver’s body. Memory of the encounter with the wolves caused him to feel a chill in his spine. He glanced round quickly to see if he could spot the signs of a wolves’ lair in the cave entrance.
Fidelma took the piece of woollen cloth from him and examined it. She gave a negative shake of her head. Her expression was grim.
‘Samradán’s driver was not wearing clothing like that. That is the cloth usually worn by religious.’
She gazed round. The ground here was a gentle slope, inclining downward from the cave mouth. The grass was chewed short by grazing animals. Fidelma pointed to the ground.
‘The earth here is soft and muddy underneath. There seems to have been a number of horses here recently and there have been heavy wagons as well. Look at the indentations.’
‘How can you be sure that it was recently?’ asked Eadulf.
Fidelma simply stamped her foot into the ground. It took him a moment to realise that it was not done out of temper.
‘The indentations would not have remained deep for longer than twenty-four hours and …’ She dropped abruptly to one knee. ‘Look at this patch of blood. Not yet dry. We may presume it to be the same as the blood on the cloth.’
Eadulf verified her statement with a nod.
‘A few hours old, no longer. That rules out it being the blood of Samradán’s driver.’
‘Or any of the poor townsfolk who were killed in the raid,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘It looks like some horsemen, probably those driving wagons, picked up the man wearing religious clothing at this point. There are no footprints, so he obviously went off with them. I doubt if he went willingly.’
‘Are we talking about Brother Mochta?’
‘Or our apothecary friend who insisted that Brother Mochta was already dead.’
Fidelma examined the ground for some time as if hoping to find the answers to the questions that came into her mind. All she knew for certain was that there were signs of more than one wagon and several horses. Then she realised that the prints of shod horses overlaid the tracks of the wagons. Well-shod horses usually meant warriors for few others would ride in groups and have horses so carefully tended.
‘After the wagons were here,’ she said slowly, ‘there must have been a group of horsemen who came to this place.’
Eadulf rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. ‘So our search has come to a dead end?’
‘Not necessarily.’ Fidelma carefully wrapped the bloodstained cloth and placed it in her
Eadulf was not enthusiastic. ‘I was afraid that you were going to say that. But surely it is a waste of time? Whatever happened must have happened here.’
Fidelma shot him one of her mischievous grins.
‘Going right is not always right. We will try the left-hand path before returning to the abbey,’ she announced firmly before plunging back into the tunnel.
It did not seem long before they were back in the large damp cave again, with its noisome dripping of water into the central pool. They turned into the second tunnel. This was pretty much like the first one they had entered through the small oratory. Their progress along it was more rapid than the one which had led into the silver workings. Eadulf particularly noticed that the floor was beginning to slope upwards as if they were going up a steep incline. The climb was fairly exhausting and by mutual agreement they paused to rest, squatting on the stony floor which was now dry and covered with dust that seemed to be a combination of shale and ground stone.
‘How can we be going upwards for so long?’ mused Eadulf. ‘Surely, we could not have been so deep below the surface?’
‘I think this passage is leading into one of the hills surrounding the abbey. There is a tall hill called the Hill of the Cairn nearby.
She suddenly snapped her fingers. ‘That’s it. I had forgotten. What was it Brother Tomar said when the abbey was under attack? He had heard of a secret passageway leading to the Hill of the Cairn.’ She frowned in the effort of remembering. ‘That’s it. He had heard the Abbot Ségdae speak of it. He thought it might be a way of allowing the women of the community to escape the attackers.’
‘This must be the same tunnel then?’
