‘You were saying that you heard there were outlaws in the woods, my friend.’ Eadulf suddenly addressed the driver, Dagobert. ‘Have you heard stories of an outlaw called Aldhere?’
Dagobert inclined his head but it was his companion Dado who answered.
‘We met with many who talked of this bandit, Aldhere,’ he said. ‘Thanks be to the Almighty that we did not encounter him, otherwise we would be returning home even poorer than we are at the moment — that is, if we had been in a condition to return home.’
‘A fierce outlaw, then?’ Eadulf pressed.
‘Not so,’ interrupted Dagobert before his companion could speak. ‘My friend Dado neglects to tell you that we heard much talk but little bad said of him.’
‘Little bad?’ queried Eadulf. ‘That is unusual, isn’t it? Outlaws tend to be cursed by the local population.’
‘Not this man,’ said Dagobert.
‘It seems that most people think he is a man unjustly outlawed,’ Dado explained. ‘The story goes that he was a brave warrior unjustly accused of cowardice who had to take to the marshes nearby to save his own life.’
‘Was anything said about a brother of this outlaw?’ Eadulf asked innocently.
‘A brother?’ Dado looked at his companion and shrugged.
‘No brother was ever mentioned. Do you know some more of the story then, my friend?’ inquired Dagobert.
Eadulf shook his head. ‘I heard the same story as you have recounted but I thought I heard mention of a brother who played a role in ensuring that Aldhere fell under the King’s displeasure.’
Dado sniffed. ‘We did not hear that. In truth, we were onlyconcerned that we did not fall foul of the outlaw and his band. There are many stories to pick up along the road. I suppose this is one of the pleasures of travelling. Every traveller has a fascinating tale to tell.’ Dado suddenly looked at them with a sly smile. ‘Take yourselves. A Saxon religieux and a woman from the land of Éireann travelling in this wild place on foot. Now you must have a story to tell, surely?’
Eadulf immediately shook his head but Fidelma gave a low laugh and entered into the spirit of the moment.
‘There is a story, indeed, Dado of Frankia,’ she said. ‘But our journey needs must be a long one in order to accomplish the telling of it.’
The man’s face was full of disappointment.
‘Surely you can give us some idea of the nature of this tale?’
Fidelma dropped her voice to a confidential tone.
‘It is a story of a king’s sister and her lover who run away to seek happiness in a strange and frightening land …’
The man’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened a little.
‘Go on, go on,’ he whispered. ‘It sounds a good tale and great in the telling of it.’
‘Indeed, for they are pursued in this strange land by both men and phantoms, and they travel quickly under constant threat …’
‘A tale, indeed,’ rejoiced Dado, who was clearly a romantic as well as a gossip. ‘Tell us more …’
‘Well …’
‘Well,’ intervened Eadulf in harsh disapproval, ‘it must be left to your imaginings for this is where we must alight. God’s blessing on your charity, my friends; our thanks for giving us the comfort of your wagon for part of our journey. It would have taken some hours to reach this spot on foot in these treacherous snowbound conditions.’
Dagobert halted the wagon and looked around with surprise.
‘There is nothing but thick forest in all directions here, Brother. Are you sure that this is where you want to be left? You have but an hour of daylight left and we mean to halt and make camp for the night soon.’
‘Aye, stay and continue your story,’ urged Dado.
Eadulf shook his head firmly. ‘Our destination is not far from here and we must reach it before darkness falls.’
Dado looked disappointed. ‘If you are sure …?’
Eadulf was already out of the wagon, having thrown down the travelling bags, and turned to help Fidelma alight from the vehicle.
After thanking their Frankish hosts, they stood by the side of the track watching the wagon swaying through the tree-lined path, disappearing out of sight between the wintry evergreens.
Fidelma looked around at the darkening woods and shivered slightly.
‘I hope that you are right, Eadulf, when you say we have not far to go. Are you sure that this is where you want to be?’ she asked. ‘You were not making an excuse to leave our inquisitive friends? I could have spun a story to keep them amused.’
Eadulf looked hurt. ‘I do not doubt that you could have told them some story. However, this is Tunstall Wood and this is where Aldhere says that there is a community of religious from the five kingdoms of Éireann, still hiding out after the edict from Whitby. If anyone knows where Garb and his family are hidden, I am sure we will find them here.’
‘Let us hope so, for as our friend Dado said, it will soon be dark and darkness brings a weakness upon me. I probably should have rested for another full day to complete my recovery.’
Eadulf was painfully aware of the fact and was trying his best not to show his concern for Fidelma because he realised that she would disapprove of it.
‘If I remember the old place, it is less than a mile in that direction,’ he said, pointing along the track.
The woods were so thick that little snow had lain on the paths that crisscrossed them. Some memory, some instinct, drew Eadulf along the track, crossing paths that might have tempted them in other directions and maintaining a south-easterly course through the woods.
They stopped now and then, for Fidelma was growing increasingly uncomfortable in the night chill. The journey through the woods was not easy. They could hear animals scuttling around them and now and again came the staccato bark of foxes. The path came upon a stream and led along its bank, around a large hillockon which stood the overgrown earthworks of some ancient fort. It was almost concealed, with brush and trees growing over it.
Abruptly they came to the edge of a clearing. In the clearing were several wooden buildings and smoke was rising from a number of them.
Eadulf turned to Fidelma with triumph, although a closer observer might have noticed a predominance of relief in his eyes.
‘Tunstall. This is Tunstall. We have reached safety.’
Fidelma, her breath almost gone in the icy cold dusk of early evening, simply nodded.
There came a warning shout across the clearing. They had been spotted. Several men emerged from the buildings, most clad in the robes of religious and most wearing the tonsure of the Blessed John.
As Eadulf and Fidelma began to walk across the clearing towards what Eadulf presumed was the main building of the settlement, Eadulf noticed a small group of warriors. They were clearly not Saxons and Eadulf felt a surge of relief as he realised that he had been right. He did not doubt that these were Garb’s men. He felt a quickening of his pulse as he thought that soon the mystery of the death of his friend Botulf might be explained.
He halted, for one of the warriors had given a cry and was running towards him with an upraised sword.
A religious was also running forward as if to intercept the warrior, who skidded to a halt a sword’s length away. To his surprise, Eadulf saw that his antagonist was Garb himself.
‘Stand back, Brother,’ Garb cried in Irish to the religieux, who had come to a halt next to him and was looking bewildered. ‘This man is one of Cild’s evil brood. I recognise him. He was in Cild’s abbey when I delivered the ultimatum. It means that murdering abbot has tracked us down. Stand back while I kill them, and then we must be prepared to abandon this place.’
