For a moment both the abbess and Fidelma froze with uncertainty. The shriek, a shrill feminine scream, echoed once more.
Fidelma turned towards the bank, where she could see a small figure running through the trees. It seemed to be running blindly for it burst onto the bank and came to an abrupt halt, as if realising that the river barred the way. Then it twisted like a snipe, weaving and ducking and was away as fast as it could go.
‘Enda! Quick!’ cried Fidelma, running forward to the shore.
She had recognised the figure as a wisp of a girl, bedraggled and barefooted.
Enda plunged forward from his vantage position, which had been near to the spot where the girl had emerged out of the bushes; he was able to overtake her with ease. Within a few strides he was able to grab the girl by one of her thin arms and twist her around, sobbing, crying and beating vainly at him with her free hand.
Fidelma had already leapt onto the wooden jetty and she ran to Enda’s aid.
As she reached his side she was aware of horses breaking through the trees and bushes along the pathway behind. She turned and found herself staring up at the surprised faces of Bishop Forbassach and Mel, the warrior, as they pulled rein on their snorting mounts.
She turned back to the dishevelled form in front of her.
‘They’ve been after me! Don’t let them kill me! Oh please, don’t let them kill me!’ screamed the girl. She was not much more than thirteen years old.
‘Don’t struggle then,’ Fidelma said soothingly. ‘We will not hurt you.’
‘They’ll kill me!’ the girl was sobbing. ‘They want to kill me!’
Fidelma was aware that Abbess Fainder had joined her for she felt her presence at her shoulder.
The abbess’s voice was shocked. ‘It is Sister Fial,’ she breathed. ‘We have been looking for you, Sister.’
Fidelma took in the bedraggled appearance of the young girl.
‘Your dress is soaked,’ she observed. ‘Have you been swimming in the river?’
It had taken Eadulf and his two charges a considerable time to cross the hills; it was perhaps too generous to call them mountains for only a couple of them rose above four hundred metres. The problem was not the height but the bare, rocky countryside and the fact that the young girls were weak from their ordeal. Eadulf himself, after weeks of incarceration in a cell, and in spite of his attempts to keep fit, was also not in the best physical condition. They had to pause frequently for rest on their upward journey.
They had journeyed north, heading to the north-east end of the mountain range and then turned to continue their journey south-west. Eadulf could see the tall shadow of the Yellow Mountain in the distance and was confirmed in his plan that the main hope of passing the night in any degree of comfort and without inviting exposure was to follow Dalbach’s advice and find sanctuary in the small religious settlement dedicated to the Blessed Brigid of Kildare, on the southern slopes. But the afternoon hours were speeding. It would be a long trek and one which would not be accomplished before nightfall.
Chapter Eighteen
Dego arrived back at the boat, in the company of Coba and several of his warriors, within minutes of the surprise emergence of Fial and her pursuers. Coba suggested that everyone should return to the comfort of his fortress at Cam Eolaing to discuss events. Fidelma had not been able to extract any sense from the still hysterical Fial nor from Bishop Forbassach and Mel, who suddenly seemed disinclined to explain themselves. The abbess had likewise grown quiet. Fidelma was undecided but Dego pointed out that the day was drawing on and it would soon be dark. The decision seemed to have been made for her.
Among Coba’s men were warriors who knew the river well and they volunteered to bring Gabrán’s boat downstream to the jetty below the fortress of Cam Eolaing. Two of the chieftain’s men, together with Enda, took charge of the horses and rode back with them while Fidelma, with the others, took her place on the boat.
‘When we reach your fortress, Coba,’ Fidelma told the chieftain, ‘I will examine these people in an attempt to find out what has happened. As a magistrate of the country, I think it would be fitting that you sat with me as the local representative.’
Bishop Forbassach, overhearing, immediately raised objections.
‘Coba is no longer qualified to sit as a magistrate,’ he complained tersely. ‘In helping your Saxon friend escape, he lost his authority. You were there at the inn when I told him so.’
‘Loss of rank must be pronounced and confirmed by the King,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘Has Fianamail formally stripped Coba of his rank as
Bishop Forbassach seemed irritated.
‘The King had gone hunting with Abbot Noé in the northern hills when I went to see him about the matter of Coba’s abuse of the law over the Saxon.’
‘So, at this time, until Fianamail returns from hunting, Coba remains the
Bishop Forbassach’s look was contemptuous.
‘Not in my eyes. I am Brehon of Laigin.’
‘In the eyes of the law, Coba is still magistrate while you are too closely involved in this matter, Forbassach. He will sit with me while I make my examination.’
Coba’s glance at Forbassach and the abbess contained not a little triumph in it.
‘I shall do so willingly, Sister. There seems some collusion here.’
‘We will discuss it at Cam Eolaing,’ Fidelma assured him.
It was growing dark when the boat nudged against the wooden jetty below the fortress of Cam Eolaing. Torches had to be lit to illuminate the way up the track from the river to the gates of Coba’s fortress. A small group of the chieftain’s retainers had gathered once they heard that he was returning and that a body was being carried among his party. They grouped anxiously around the gates, concerned that someone from Coba’s household had been killed.
Coba, leading the party to the fortress, halted briefly to identify the dead man to them. There was a murmur of surprise when they learnt it was Gabrán.
‘Back to your duties now,’ called their chieftain. ‘Light the hall fires for my guests and prepare refreshments,’ he instructed the house steward. Then, to the stable lads: ‘Take the horses and see to their needs.’ To those carrying Gabrán’s body: ‘Put that in the chapel.’
With half-a-dozen concise orders, Coba had organised an adequate reception for his guests, unwilling and willing. It was only after they had been washed, fed and rested, that they were called into the hall of Coba, where a fire blazed in the hearth and brand torches illuminated all the dark recesses.
Coba took his chair of office while Fidelma was offered a chair at his side.
She looked down at the expectant faces of Abbess Fainder, Mel, Enda and Dego, and the sullen, huddled figure of the girl named Fial. Then she frowned and glanced quickly round.
‘Bishop Forbassach? Where is he?’ She caught a gleam in Abbess Fainder’s eyes.
Coba had turned to his chief warrior and the man hurriedly left the room.
Fidelma fixed Abbess Fainder with a cold stare.
‘It would be easier for all of us if you told us where Forbassach has gone.’
‘You presume that I know?’ sneered the abbess.
‘I know that you do,’ replied Fidelma confidently.
‘I have done nothing wrong,’ replied Abbess Fainder, her jaw coming up aggressively. ‘I refuse to accept the lawfulness of being held here and being questioned by you or the
Fidelma saw from the set of her features that she was not going to get anywhere with the abbess.
‘My men will search the fortress, Sister,’ Coba assured her. ‘We will find him.’
