Badger's Moon

‘But Fidelma-’ Eadulf protested.

‘Exactly so!’ snapped Accobrán. ‘I want you to ride back to the rath and tell Becc what has happened. Our people need to prepare just in case this raid turns into a major onslaught on the Cinél na Áeda. I would not put it past the Uí Fidgente to begin an undeclared war. If they are only a small raiding party, then we have a chance to overtake them and rescue the women. If not, then our people need time to prepare. Go back and tell Becc!’

Eadulf sat uncertainly on his horse but Accobrán ignored him and waved Menma and the others forward, following the tracks leading towards the north-west.

Eadulf realised that the tanist was right. Dusk had already given way to night. Someone had to warn the chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda about the possibility of an incursion by the Uí Fidgente. The chase of the raiding party was best left to the warriors of Accobrán.

He turned his horse and began to gallop quickly along the track towards the dark hill of Rath Raithlen, hoping his horsemanship was good enough to cover the distance without mishap.

A short time before, Fidelma had been drowsing comfortably. Her headache was gone and so was the intense feeling of cold. She felt warm and comfortable.

A hand suddenly clutched at her wrist, bringing her wide awake. She was staring into the pale face of Suanach.

‘What’s the matter?’ She blinked rapidly as she struggled up. Her senses informed her that there was fear in the eyes of the wife of Menma.

‘I went to the well for water. Several riders are coming this way. They carry an Uí Fidgente standard. The Uí Fidgente are not well intentioned towards our people.’

At the name, Fidelma had already sprung out of the bed and was hauling on her robe.

‘We must hide,’ she whispered.

‘Truly,’ agreed the woman. ‘If you fell into their hands, lady…’ Her eyes rolled at the idea for a moment.

There came the sounds of horses halting before the bothán and a voice calling harshly for the occupants to come forth.

‘Too late!’ cried Suanach. ‘I must go and see what they want. You must hide.’

She knelt on the floor and removed the rug, revealing a wooden trapdoor. She pulled it up and pointed down.

‘It is our uaimh talún — the sousterrain where we store food. Crawl along the tunnel as far as you can. It’s a safe place to hide.’

They heard the door of the bothán crash open abruptly.

Fidelma did not waste time by trying to persuade Suanach to come with her. She dropped down into the tunnel and was immediately engulfed in darkness as the trapdoor was lowered and the hunter’s wife replaced the rug.

‘I’m coming!’ Fidelma heard the woman call out to the intruder in the other room. She heard her footsteps cross the floor and then she decided to move further along the darkened tunnel just in case anyone found and lifted the trapdoor.

The tunnel was merely a crawl way. One could not stand in it but could progress only on hands and knees. It seemed to go on for ever, but then she reminded herself that space and time became meaningless when you were plunged into utter darkness. At least it was insulated with stone — she could feel the hard, smooth surfaces — and, above all, the tunnel was dry. She moved carefully along and soon aromatic smells came to her nostrils. She realised that this was where Suanach stored her herbs and mysterious items of food in bottles and boxes.

She sat with her back against what seemed to be a box and relaxed for a moment or two wondering whether Suanach had been right. The Uí Fidgente would surely not dare to raid this far south? And yet Fidelma knew just how brutal and rapacious they were. She sniffed in deprecation and, as she did so, caught a whiff of an acrid smell. It was a moment or so later that she realised just what it was.

Smoke!

She fought a moment’s panic. Smoke was permeating along the tunnel. That had to mean that the bothán was alight. The raiders had set fire to the place. She could feel the smoke growing thicker as she began to breathe with difficulty. There was no chance of crawling back down the tunnel. There was no escape.

She turned and began to feel around her. Something that squeaked brushed by, then another and another. Mice! Mice were escaping the burning building. Again she almost panicked and then she realised that the mice were heading in one direction, away from the trapdoor through which she had come. She sought to control herself and move further along the tunnel.

It was not so much a light as a thin glowing line in the roof of the tunnel. Another trapdoor? Sometimes sousterrains had two entrances. Could Menma have built one that had an outside entrance? Would it be far enough away from the bothán to escape detection? Well, there was no other course but to find out. The smoke was growing thicker and she fancied she could feel an increasing heat blowing down the tunnel. Fear lent her strength as she scrambled over the boxes that lay in her path towards the chink of glowing light.

She pushed at the dark roof above her. It was wood! A trapdoor, indeed. But it did not move. Was it secured from the outside? She positioned herself under it, her back against it, and began to straighten up. It seemed immovable. But then…did it give a little? She pushed again with her back and felt it loosen. Something snapped. Then she heaved and found herself above the soil line.

She scrambled out with the quickness of a cat, crouching on all fours and looking round. She had emerged more than fifteen feet behind the bothán, from which smoke and flames were curling upwards. Fortunately, the raiders were all at the front of the building. She could hear shouting and laughter and the whinnies of their horses mingling in the commotion of the raid. She hoped that Suanach was not harmed, but her immediate need was to find shelter in case the raiders should venture around the back of the building. She remembered to push the trapdoor back into place and examined her escape route.

There was a distance of perhaps twenty or twenty-five feet from the place where she had emerged to the line of the surrounding forest. She rose to her feet and, crouching low, she ran headlong towards its shelter, praying that she was fully hidden from the raiders by the angle of the building and the heavy, swirling smoke.

No warning shout reached her ears before she plunged into the undergrowth, flinging herself flat beneath some bushes, and recovering her breath before she crawled to a vantage position where she could peer back to the bothán of Menma and Suanach. It was firmly alight and the smoke was rising in a tall spiralling column. Surely, she thought, the smoke would rouse those at the fortress and bring riders racing to investigate?

She had not escaped a moment too soon, for just then two horsemen came trotting their mounts round the corner of the building as if examining it.

‘No sign of her husband. She must have told the truth when she said that he was away in the woods,’ one man was saying in a loud, almost raucous tone.

His companion had a reed-like but sharp voice. He was waving his hand towards the cabin.

‘The smoke will bring our enemies down on us soon. We should rejoin our companions before we are discovered.’

‘And with our purpose unresolved?’

‘What do we tell our chieftain?’ demanded the second man.

‘There is no need to tell Conrí anything.’

‘Let us hope you are right and this hunter, Menma, follows his wife,’ the other went on.

‘He’ll follow the bait sure enough. Suanach will lure him to us.’

‘If we wanted to find him, surely all we had to do was wait here. I still fail to see why Menma is so important. There are others among the Cinél na Áeda who could supply the information.’

‘The old merchant said that Menma knew all there is to know about the Thicket of Pigs. He would know what has been discovered there. If what the merchant said is right, then we would be able to avenge our defeat at Cnoc Áine by that usurping upstart Colgú.’