before turning down a side alley between the buildings towards the surrounding fields. She had plotted her route carefully in her mind as she wanted no prying eyes to follow her.
She rode firstly in a direction away from the edge of the town, away from the Hill of the Cairn, where she was due to meet with Eadulf and Mochta. If anyone from the abbey or township observed her, she thought that they would presume that she would continue in that direction. There was enough open grassland between the town and the skirting woodland through which she planned to ride, and only after she had reached the cover of the trees would she swing in a semi-circle towards the pre-arranged rendezvous.
Indeed, once in the shelter of the woods, along the small woodland track, she nudged her mount into a canter again, with Eadulf’s colt following patiently behind. She was not sure if she had been seen. It took a full ten minutes or so before she decided to slow the pace to a walk. Only then did she allow herself a glance behind. She could still see the edge of the township between the trees and shrubbery. From this distance, the township, and the abbey behind it, seemed almost deserted. There was no sign of movement anywhere. Fidelma gave a small sigh of relief. The way should be easy now.
She continued along the track and altered her direction, swinging round in the start of the semi-circle which she had planned would lead her to the Hill of the Cairn. It was cold and dank within the woods. She wondered whether it was here that the wolves had their lairs and she shivered slightly. She did not want to be reminded of the dangers of that night.
She was aware of constant movement within the woods. The passage of its denizens, varying from the stealthy tread of smaller mammals to the crack of twigs that marked the passage of a deer. There was also the cacophony of nesting birds from the higher branches.
She moved as fast as safety allowed through the woods, crossing a shallow stream here and there, before coming on a brief stretch of meadowland. She had almost exited from the woods into the meadow when she became conscious of a new sound rising above the other noises of the forest. It was the sound made by hooves. Shod hooves. They were moving rapidly. Swiftly she turned the horsesback into the forest, her eyes searching for thick cover away from the track.
There was a suitable thicket nearby and she slid from the saddle of her horse, gathered the reins of both animals, looping them securely to a branch. Then, keeping low, she edged forward.
Half a dozen horsemen appeared along the side of the woodland and came to a halt near the entrance to the track from which she had been proceeding.
She stared in unbelief at the leading horsemen.
One was the Uí Fidgente
‘Well?’ she heard Solam’s high-pitched, querulous tones. ‘Have we lost the tracks or not?’
She heard her cousin’s voice, tight and also irritable. ‘Do not concern yourself. I know this country. There is little choice in the places where they can hide. We shall find them.’
Fidelma found herself growing cold.
To whom were they referring? What was Finguine doing with Solam when he claimed to be suspicious of him; when he blamed the Uí Fidgente for the raid against Imleach? Had Finguine been riding only with his men, she would have undoubtedly contacted him and explained all about Brother Mochta. But why was he with Solam?
‘Well, the sooner we find this monk — what’s his name? — Mochta? — the sooner we shall resolve this business,’ snapped Solam. ‘The key is the Holy Relics, of that I have no doubt at all.’
Fidelma’s eyes rounded.
Her cousin was responding. ‘We will try the southern caves first. Then there is a cave on the Hill of the Cairn to the north.’
He raised his hand and motioned the body of horsemen forward.
For a few moments Fidelma remained where she was, trying to make sense of what she had heard.
Then she rose and hurried back to the horses. Whatever it meant, it seemed that her own cousin, the Prince of Cnoc Aine, was searching for Brother Mochta. She wondered if Eadulf had begun to move Mochta down the hill to the safety of the forest cover along the banks of the River Ara. She must not let Finguine and Solam reach the cave on the Hill of the Cairn first. She was thankful that Finguine had suggested going to the southern caves first, wherever they were. It gave her time to reach Mochta and Eadulf before they did.
Pressing her heels into the flanks of her horse, Fidelma set off at a canter across the meadowland, swinging around the edge of the forest towards the hill. She was thinking about Finguine, aboutBrother Mochta and his bitter betrayal by his brother. What was it he had said? Unity is not cemented by blood. She skirted the broad base of the hill and came round to the eastern side, where a new tract of forest began to stretch along the valley which eventually led towards the Well of Ara.
As she rode across the shoulder of the hill, she saw the small figures of Eadulf and Mochta on the hill above her. Eadulf was carrying the reliquary under one arm while the other supported Brother Mochta, who had his arm around the Saxon’s shoulders and was struggling to keep his footing.
Fidelma gave a cry to attract their attention. The pair halted, then recognised her. They began to struggle downwards again.
Fidelma urged the horses upwards, as far as the steep slope would allow, then waited for them to come to her, dismounting and holding the horses steady. It took a while for Eadulf and Mochta to struggle down the hill to her.
‘Phew!’ Eadulf gasped as they came up. ‘I could do with a rest.’
He was about to ease Brother Mochta into a sitting position when Fidelma shook her head swiftly.
‘Not here. We must get to the shelter of the woods down there as soon as possible.’
‘Why?’ demanded Eadulf, puzzled by her sharpness.
‘Because horsemen are coming and they are searching for Brother Mochta and the Holy Relics.’
Brother Mochta blinked. ‘Uí Fidgente?’ he gasped.
‘One of them is,’ acknowledged Fidelma. ‘Solam.’
Eadulf pursed his lips as he caught her inflection. ‘Who are the others?’
‘My cousin rides with Solam.’
Eadulf was about to make a further comment when Fidelma swung up on her horse.
‘Give me the reliquary,’ she instructed. ‘I’ll carry that. Brother Mochta will have to mount in front of you, Eadulf. That way you can give him support. We can continue this conversation when we are safely away from this exposed place.’
Eadulf did not say anything further. Instead he handed up the reliquary box to Fidelma and then helped Brother Mochta into the saddle of his horse before he scrambled up behind him. Eadulf was no skilful horseman and he did not use the most elegant method of mounting his patient colt. And it was a very ungainly rider who directed the young horse down from the hillside in the wake of Fidelma and trotted towards the cover of the forest through which the river ran. However it sufficed.
Fidelma did not stop immediately once they were under the canopy of the trees but continued on for a while. After a mile or so, they came to a clearing by the banks of the river and it was here that Fidelma slid from the saddle and led her mare to the water. Then she turned to help Eadulf assist Brother Mochta down for a rest.
The monk sank thankfully to the grass.
‘Are you claiming that the Prince is part of this conspiracy?’ he gasped immediately, while massaging his leg.
‘I am not saying anything of the sort,’ Fidelma replied quietly. ‘I am merely saying that he and Solam, with some of his men, appeared to be searching for you and the Holy Relics. They were searching the caves.’
Eadulf gestured in annoyance. ‘But that means he is in league with the Uí Fidgente, with Armagh, with the Uí Néill! Your own cousin has betrayed his King’
‘It means that he and Solam were searching for Brother Mochta,’ replied Fidelma waspishly. ‘Make no judgements until you have all the facts. Remember my principles?’
Eadulf raised his head defiantly. ‘You may not wish to see your cousin guilty of such treason. However, what other interpretation can be put on what you say?’
‘There are several’interpretations but it is pointless speculating about them. It is the worst thing that can be
