Within a few moments they had reached the bank of a moderate-sized stream, bubbling and hissing over stones and pebbles, and the woods suddenly gave way to strips of undulating cultivated farmland. There was the distant glimpse of the sea some way beyond to be had from the elevation on which they emerged.
Not far away, in the cleft of the hills, was a curl of smoke and soon they could see the roofs of buildings.
‘That’s the farm,’ called Eadulf.
Suddenly the sound of people shouting came to their ears and figures began to run here and there.
‘What’s up?’ demanded Fidelma.
Eadulf pulled a face.
‘They have seen us, that is all,’ he replied. ‘We are near the coast and if the East Saxons do raid the land from time to time, then these people are right to be wary of approaching strangers.’
A thick-set man was striding down the path towards them.
‘Halt, strangers, and identify yourselves!’ demanded a gravel voice as the man suddenly stopped and stood, feet apart, hands on hips, although one of the gigantic hands gripped a long-hafted hammer.
‘Peace, my friend,’ cried Eadulf, pulling up his pony. ‘I am Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, travelling with my companion. We bring you blessings of Christ on this holy day.’
Fidelma noticed that Eadulf did not identify her. Maybe it was best not to let on that she was a foreigner.
The attitude of the man seemed to unbend a little.
‘Of Seaxmund’s Ham, you say?’
‘I do.’
‘Whither do you go now?’
‘We come merely to ask for some hot drink to refresh ourselves this winter day and then we will be on our way north again.’
The burly man’s eyes glanced from Eadulf to Fidelma and back again.
‘Then we return your blessings on this feast of our Saviour. Forgive us our wariness, Brother Eadulf, but, as you know, we live in troubled times.’
‘You mean raids from Sigehere?’
‘That I do. There are constant rumours that his warbands raid along the coast. But, come. Come and betake yourselves of our hospitality and welcome.’
The man turned and waved to the group of people who had gathered some way off and, at his signal, they seemed to break up and go in different directions. The man led the way to the farmhouse.
‘Wife,’ he called to the large, homely woman who stood at the door, ‘two religious, on their journey back to Seaxmund’s Ham. A beaker of mulled mead will refresh and help them on their way.’
‘That it will,’ agreed Eadulf, dismounting. ‘My companion has lost her voice and the mead will help ease her throat.’
Fidelma realised that he had said this so that she would arouse no suspicion by speaking in an accent that they would identify as foreign. She merely smiled and nodded at the farmer while the farmer’s wife, clucking a little like a mother hen, came bustling forward to help her from her horse.
‘Ah, poor dear. We shall soon see what we can do about that. A bad throat? Poor dear. Come into the house and I’ll heat a beaker of mead for you right away. It is auspicious to have religious call at our door on this day of all days.’
Fidelma grunted and nodded and dutifully followed the woman into the kitchen.
The farmer ushered Eadulf after them.
‘Are you heading to Seaxmund’s Ham now, Brother?’ he asked.
Eadulf nodded.
‘Why do you ask?’ he said, watching the farmer’s wife pour two beakers of mead and then, taking a red hot poker from the fire, plunge it first in one beaker and then the other, causing the mead to sizzle and bubble.
‘Have you noticed the sky from the west, Brother?’
Eadulf might have confessed that, riding through the forest, he had seen precious little of the sky in any direction. He answered, however, with a simple negative.
‘There are heavy grey clouds bunching up from the west. I fear that we will be having another blanketing of snow within the next few hours. Certainly before dusk.’
‘We should be able to make it across the Aide by then.’
‘Aye, if you do not tarry long.’
Eadulf lifted his beaker and took a swallow.
‘Then as soon as we have downed this delicious nectar and said a blessing on this house we shall be on our way.’
The farmer grinned appreciatively.
‘God grant a clear road to you, Brother. May He keep you safe from the outlaws who dwell in the marshes and from Sigehere’s raiders.’
‘Amen to that,’ Eadulf replied fervently.
Chapter Thirteen
It had been snowing for more than an hour and it was very cold and damp. In spite of her double cloaks, Fidelma was still feeling the chill and her chest and throat were hurting again. The snow was slanting downwards once again like hard ice pellets, thick and heavy, almost obscuring Eadulf and his pony even though they were only a few yards ahead of her.
Half an hour ago they had crossed a river which Eadulf had told her was the Aide. Upstream lay Aldred’s Abbey where the crossing was made by the bridge but here there was a ford which, although it was deep, was shallow enough to allow them to make it on horseback to the northern bank without wetting more than their lower legs.
Fidelma coughed wheezily and shivered.
‘Eadulf?’ she called uncertainly into the snow blanket that separated them.
His figure suddenly emerged out of the snow for he had halted his pony and waited for her to come alongside him.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked in concern.
‘I think I need a rest. Is there any shelter along this path?’
Eadulf shook his head.
‘It will take us some time to reach Aldhere’s encampment,’ he said. ‘I doubt if I can find it until this snow lifts. We will find some place to shelter until it passes.’
She coughed again and the worried lines deepened in Eadulf’s forehead. He had to admit to himself, if not to Fidelma, that he had no idea where they might rest.
‘Don’t worry. I will find a place,’ he assured her. He urged his pony onwards and, automatically, she followed. Her illness was debilitating her, she knew. She was probably a fool to have insisted on leaving Tunstall before she had fully recovered. But she also knew that other lives hung in the balance. She could not help herself. Unsolved mysteries were like some terrible narcoticto her. She could not let go while there were still questions which needed answers.
Eadulf suddenly exclaimed out of the white gloom.
‘What is it?’ she called anxiously.
‘It is all right,’ he called back. His voice mirrored his relief. ‘I’ve discovered exactly where we are.’
‘I thought you already knew that?’ she observed with scarcely veiled sarcasm.
‘I think so. We are at Frig’s Tun.’
‘What is that?’
‘Remember our mad farmer? The one who took us to the abbey on that first night? Well, that is his farm.’
