‘It seems so. Unless these hills are riddled with such passageways. That is possible, of course. I have heard of several cave complexes within this countryside, many with underground streams and lakes. That is why there is shale here. Shale is ground shell.’
‘Are you saying that we are going into the hill?’ Eadulf appeared worried. He never liked being underground for lengthy periods. ‘We have only a stub of candle to lead us wherever it emerges. If, hopefully, it does emerge into daylight.’
Fidelma glanced down to the flickering light in her hand. It was true that there was only an inch left. In her enthusiasm to follow the tunnel she had forgotten about the light.
‘Then we had better continue on as fast as we can,’ she replied. ‘I’ve noticed that the strange phosphorescent matter no longer exists in this section of the tunnel.’
The idea of being caught below the ground in total darkness now leant a new speed to their efforts as they continued to move upwards through the tunnel. Its uneven course confirmed Fidelma in her belief that once upon a time this had been an underground stream which must have started at the hill top and moved into the valley to feed the wells, most of which no longer existed or were fed by some other source.
Abruptly the flickering candle blazed brightly for a moment and died. They were plunged into darkness.
Eadulf shivered and stood still. He hoped that his eyes would grow accustomed to the lack of light. They did not. It remained totally dark.
‘Eadulf-’ it was Fidelma’s voice somewhere nearby — ‘stretch out your hand.’
He did so. He felt something brush it. A moment later he felt Fidelma’s warm clasp.
‘Good. We mustn’t let go of each other. I am going to move on slowly ahead.’
‘How will you see where to go?’
‘I will feel with one hand. I can reach to the top of the roof and feel my way forward.’
They moved on, inching their way through the blackness.
‘Well, one thing is for sure,’ Fidelma’s voice echoed cheerfully.
‘What is it?’
‘We will not be able to return this way … not unless we find a lantern at the other end.’
It was a poor attempt to be cheerful and they soon fell back on silence. Once or twice, Fidelma grazed her arm and Eadulf cracked his toes on a rock. Yet slowly they moved forward, still up the incline, inch by inch. Then Fidelma halted.
‘What now?’ demanded Eadulf.
‘Don’t you see it?’ she whispered in excitement.
Eadulf squinted forward and then he realised what it was.
‘A light ahead,’ she confirmed. ‘Natural light. But there is something else as well.’
They moved forward a little, turning round a bend in the passage. The light became clearer; a grim, grey light filtering along the tunnel. And in the silence they could hear the sound of a crackling fire.
Fidelma put her head close to Eadulf ear in the gloom. He felt her lips brush against his cheek.
‘Not a sound,’ she whispered. ‘Someone is in the cave ahead of us.’
She began to move forward, almost imperceptibly. After a while, as the light grew stronger and brighter, she halted and disengaged her hand from his. There was no longer any need for they could see each other plainly. In front of them stretched a fair-sized cave with an entrance which seemed blocked by a wooden barrier, over the top of which was an expanse of azure sky. Rays of sunlight filled the cave.
The cave was large and dry except for a small trickling stream that ran to one side of it. A fire was crackling in the centre. There were various items strewn around the cave. Near the fire, stretched on a palliasse, lay the figure of an elderly, rotund man. He was clad in the habit of a religieux. His left arm was bandaged and so was his left foot. A staff, laying near to his hand, obviously served him as a crutch. There was no one else in the cave.
Eadulf and Fidelma stared at the figure in growing amazement.
It was Eadulf who moved into the cave first, causing the figure to start, half raise himself on an elbow, and reach for his staff as if he would defend himself. He paused as his eyes took in Eadulf’s religious clothing.
‘Who are you?’ he cried, his voice cracking with fear.
Eadulf halted with an expression of utter amazement on his features.
Fidelma pushed by Eadulf and fought to find her voice. ‘Have no fear, Brother Mochta. I am Fidelma of Cashel.’
The rotund religieux visibly relaxed and, with a sigh, fell back on his palliasse.
Eadulf continued to stare at the recumbent form in fearful astonishment. ‘But you are dead!’ he blurted.
The round-faced man raised himself again on one elbow. Although there was pain on his face, he was clearly amused.
‘I would disagree with you, Brother Saxon,’ he replied. His tone was droll. ‘But if you can prove it, I will accept your judgement. God’s truth, I feel near enough to death not to argue.’
Eadulf moved forward and stared down, examining the man’s features carefully.
It was true. There could be no doubt about it. The man lying before him, perched on one elbow, grinning up at him, was the same moon-faced man whom he had last seen dead in the mortuary of Cashel. It was the same man, even to the tattoo of the bird which Eadulf now identified on the injured man’s left forearm.
Chapter Eighteen
Fidelma seated herself by the man on the palliasse. She did not seem unduly surprised at the appearance of the moon-faced religieux who had, apparently, last been seen by them dead in the apothecary of Brother Conchobar of Cashel.
‘How bad are your wounds, Brother Mochta?’ she inquired with some solicitude.
‘Painful still but I am told they will heal,’ replied the man.
‘Told by Brother Bardán, of course?’
The man grimaced in an affirmative gesture.
Eadulf could not take his eyes from the man whose features did not deviate in one jot from the dead assassin, except … Eadulf could not quite place it. There was something else, of course. This man still wore the Irish tonsure of St John, his forehead shaved back to a line from ear to ear. But there was another indefinable difference.
‘I presume that Brother Bardan has been treating your injuries while you have been hiding here? You trusted no one?’
‘It is hard to trust anyone, especially if you have been betrayed by someone whom you have known all your life; flesh and blood that you have grown up with. Once betrayed by your own kin, how can you trust anyone else?’
Fidelma motioned to Eadulf to sit down. Reluctantly, Eadulf did so, still unable to take his eyes from the portly monk.
‘You are referring to your twin brother, of course?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Of course.’
Eadulf surprise became apparent on his features. ‘His twin brother?’ He echoed stupidly.
Brother Mochta nodded sadly. ‘My twin brother! You do not have to mince words with me, Sister. Brother Bardan told me how he was killed in Cashel. Yes, he was my twin brother, Baoill.’
‘I had begun to suspect as much,’ Fidelma said with little satisfaction in her voice. ‘One person cannot be in two places nor wear two distinctive tonsures. The answer to that conundrum could only be that there must be two people. How can two people look so exactly alike?It can only be that they are related, siblings, no less. And, even further, it can only be that they are twins.’
Brother Mochta nodded morosely. ‘Identical twins,’ he agreed. ‘How did you find me here? I suppose Bardan told you where I was? We talked about it yesterday, after the attack. He was beginning to be confident that we could trust you. But then he saw you being friendly with the Uí Fidgente lawyer, Solam. Solam has been keen to discover my whereabouts.’
