of it.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Yesterday morning your father awakened you before first light. Then what?’
Muirecht sniffed painfully at the memory.
‘He was red-eyed. He had been crying. He told me to dress and be ready for a long journey. I asked him what journey. He would not answer. I trusted my father. He brought me out of the cabin. There was no sign of my mother nor of my young brother to bid me goodbye. But outside was a man with a cart.’
She hesitated, contemplating the scene in her memory.
Eadulf waited patiently.
‘The same happened to me,’ muttered the second girl, Conna. ‘My father is a
Muirecht grimaced and the younger girl fell silent.
‘Once out of the cabin, my father …’ began Muirecht again and then she paused, tears in her eyes. ‘He held me by the arms. The other man bound and gagged me and threw me in his cart. I saw, through a chink in the wood of the cart, my father receive a small bag with chinking metal in it. He grabbed it to his chest and hurried inside the cabin. Then the man climbed on his cart, threw brushwood over me and drove off.’
She suddenly began to sob long and loudly. Eadulf did not know how to comfort the girl.
‘It was the same with me,’ affirmed the younger girl. ‘I was thrown into the cart and found this girl already there. We could not speak as we were both bound and gagged. And we have neither eaten nor had a drink since yesterday morning.’
Eadulf stared at them blankly, hardly able to take in the enormity of their story.
‘What you are telling me is that both your fathers have actually sold you to the man with the cart?’
Muirecht had managed to control her sobbing and she nodded dismally.
‘What else is there to believe? I have heard tell of poor families who sell their children to be taken to other lands to …’ she fought for the words.
‘To be a slave,’ muttered Eadulf sadly. He knew the practice existed in many countries. Now he realised the sort of trade Gabrán must have been running along the river. He bought young girls from their families and transported them down to Loch Garman on the coast where they were sold as slaves to the Saxon kingdoms or to the land of the Franks. Poor people, to alleviate their impoverished circumstances, often resorted to selling one of their female children. He, personally, had never encountered such a trade among the people of the five kingdoms of Éireann because the law system seemed designed to keep anyone from utter destitution and the concept of one man holding another in complete servile bondage was alien. The revelation of the two girls came as a shock to Eadulf.
The sudden screech of a rook, taking off from a nearby high tree, caused Eadulf to start and glance up nervously, remembering that one of Gabrán’s men was supposed to be coming into the hills to collect these girls.
‘We must leave this place before these bad men come for you,’ he said, bending forward and taking out his knife. He cut at the bindings that held the girls’ ankles together and then released their hands. ‘We ought to move on now.’
Muirecht was rubbing her wrists and ankles.
‘We need a moment or two,’ she protested. ‘My hands and feet are numb from lack of blood.’
Conna was following her example in an attempt to restore the circulation.
‘But we must hurry,’ Eadulf urged, now that he had realised what dangers were involved.
‘But to go where?’ protested Muirecht. ‘We can’t go back to our fathers … not after what has happened.’
‘No,’ agreed Eadulf, helping them both to their feet. They stood and stamped their feet awhile to restore their circulation. Eadulf’s brows were drawn together in perplexity. He could hardly take the two girlsback with him to Fearna. Then he suddenly remembered that Dalbach had told him of the community on the Yellow Mountain. ‘Do either of you know this area?’ he asked the girls.
They shook their heads negatively.
‘I have not been so far south ever,’ Muirecht told him.
‘There is a mountain called the Yellow Mountain,’ Eadulf said. ‘It lies to the west of here, overlooking Fearna. I am told that there is a church there dedicated to the Blessed Brigid. You will be given sanctuary there until it is decided what is for the best. Do you agree to accompany me there?’
The two exchanged another glance. Muirecht shrugged almost indifferently.
‘There is nothing else that we can do. We will go with you. What is your name, stranger?’
‘My name is Eadulf. Brother Eadulf.’
‘Then I was right. You
Eadulf smiled wryly. ‘A traveller passing through this kingdom,’ he added with dry humour.
As a flock of rooks began their cacophony in the valley below, Eadulf glanced down anxiously. Something was disturbing the birds; something or someone. It would not do to delay any longer.
‘I think the man whom your captor was waiting for might be approaching. Let us move on as quickly as we can.’
Chapter Seventeen
Fidelma had left Abbess Fainder, with Enda in attendance, sitting on the hatch cover of the boat while she returned to Gabrán’s cabin. She took a stand just inside the door, forcing her gaze on the scene of carnage within. The river-boat captain had been stabbed at least half a dozen times in the chest and arms. There was little doubt that it had been a wildly ferocious attack. Trying to avoid getting any blood on her clothing, she picked her way gingerly to the side of the body and began a careful examination.
The worst wound was a tear across the man’s throat, as if his assailant had thrust the knife upwards, ripping it across the throat, using the entire length of the blade. The other wounds over the chest and arms seemed randomly thrust with the point of the knife. There was no pattern to them; they did not seem to have been aimed at any vital spot. The slashing of the throat had, however, been enough to bring about death for the rip was across the jugular vein. Every other blow seemed an expression of angry violence.
Could Abbess Fainder be capable of such an act? Well, everyone was capable of violence given the right circumstances, Fidelma knew that much. But what fury had driven Fainder? It was while she was contemplating this point that she realised she was staring at something without really seeing it. She concentrated. The slash across the throat had not been made by a knife. Certainly not with the same small blade that the abbess had dropped to the floor.
Fidelma forced herself closer. The slash had been made by a sword. She had no doubt of it, for the upward slash had not only ripped the flesh but shattered the jawbone and dislodged some teeth in the lower jaw by the power of its impact. To create such a wound would need a vigorous stroke.
Mentally reproving herself for initially missing the obvious, Fidelma glanced round but could see no weapon that might have made that terrible and mortal wound. She picked up the small knife which the abbess had held and compared its blade to the half dozen puncturemarks over the man’s chest and arms. It needed but a moment to confirm that the weapon could have made the more insignificant wounds but not the fatal one.
While she was bending down, another item caught her attention which, had she not bent close, she might have missed. It was a small clump of hairs. She realised that they were hairs from the head of Gabrán, for she compared them. It seemed that someone had grabbed a tuft of his hair and pulled it out by the roots, before dropping it to the floor. There were particles of blood still on the roots.
She replaced the knife and stood up but as she stepped back, her foot knocked against a jangling piece of metal causing it to scrape on the boards. She looked down and her eyes widened. The metal consisted of a pair of manacles. They were small and looked like wrist restraints. They had been lying discarded on the floor. The manacles were open and there was a key still in the lock which secured them.
She was about to turn away when something else caught her eye. There were some strands of material
