claw that was the hand that held the small bell.
‘I am,’ came the response. ‘I think that you know me, Nessán of Gabhlán.’
Nessán hesitated. A cold fear seized him as he realised who the leper was. Who had not heard of the Lord of the Passes, whose very name was a byword for terror and horror among the surrounding valleys?
‘I know you, lord,’ he whispered, ‘but how do you know my name?’
This time the curious sound that came back through the mist was definitely a chuckle.
‘I know many things, for are these not my lands and are you not of my people? Do I not know, Nessán, shepherd of Gabhlán, why you have been up to the Top of the Three Hollows? Do I not know why you have called on the dark lady of the waterfall even though it is forbidden by those who preach the New Faith?’
Nessán swallowed hard. ‘How do you know these things?’ He tried to sound defensive and demanding but only succeeded in sounding frightened.
‘That is not for you to understand, Nessán.’
‘What do you want of me, lord? I have done you no harm.’
This question brought another convulsion of mirth from the seated figure.
Nessán drew himself up. ‘How do I know that you have the knowledge you claim?’ He suddenly found a degree of defensive courage. ‘You say that you know why I have been in the mountains. Anyone may guess reasons when they see a man descend from these peaks.’
The hand bell jangled again, as if to silence him.
‘I have been sitting waiting for your return along this path, shepherd.’ The voice had taken on a menacing tone. ‘Why did you go and sacrifice a rabbit to the dark lady of the waterfall? I will tell you. A decade has passed since you wed your wife Muirgen. One child has recently been born to you and that stillborn. The midwife has told you that you will never be blessed with a child. Your wife Muirgen still has the milk destined for your dead infant. Muirgen is desperate in her desire for a child and, seeing her longing, witnessing her desperation, you in your turn have become desperate.’
Nessán stood rooted to the spot, listening to the recital with growing fear. The seated figure seemed to be penetrating his very thoughts.
‘Last week, shepherd, you went to pray with Muirgen at the little chapel at the ford of the Imigh. You asked the visiting priest to intercede with the Christ and His Holy Mother. You knew that your supplications and prayers would go unanswered. That is why you have returned to the old ways, the Old Faith. You went to ask Dub Essa to grant that Muirgen would, by some miracle, have a child.’
Nessán’s head lowered on his chest and his shoulders sagged. He felt like a boy who had been discovered in the act of some misdemeanour and now awaited the inevitable punishment.
‘How … how do you know all this?’ It was one last whispered attempt at regaining some self-respect.
‘I have said, shepherd, that is not for you to understand. I am lord of these dark valleys and brooding peaks. I am here to tell you what you need to know. Return to your home. You will find that your supplication has fallen on favourable ears. The wish of Muirgen is now granted.’
Nessán raised his head sharply.
‘You mean…?
‘Go home. Go back to Gabhlán. You will find a boy child on your doorstep. Do not ask from where or why he has come to you. Let no one know the way he came. Henceforth he shall be your child and you will name him Díoltas. You will raise him as a shepherd on these mountains.’
Nessán frowned, puzzled.
‘Díoltas? Why should an innocent child be named “vengeance”?’
‘Do not ask from where or why he has come to you,’ repeated the figure with heavy emphasis. ‘You will be observed and any transgression of these conditions shall be punished. Is this clear in your mind, shepherd?’
Nessán thought for a moment and then bowed his head again in acceptance. Who was he to argue with the ancient gods, who must surely have heard his prayers and sent this awesome leper as their messenger?
It is clear,’ he agreed quietly.
Then go, but tell no one of our meeting. Forget that it was I who answered your prayers. Forget that it was I who bestowed this gift on you but simply remember that you owe me a debt. I may ask you to repay it by some favour one day that may or may not be forthcoming. Until then — go! Go swiftly!’
Nessán hesitated but a moment more and the figure raised an arm. He saw the dead white flesh and a skeletal finger that pointed into the gloom of the path before him. The shepherd uttered no further word but strode away from the seated figure. He went three or four paces and then some instinct made him glance back into the swirling mist. A breeze had come up and soon the vapour would be dispelled.
The tree was discernible to his eye but there was no one sitting under it. His mouth agape, Nessán glanced swiftly round. It seemed that he was alone on the track. A cold feeling tingled at the base of his neck. Turning, he began to move hurriedly along the path towards his home, his mouth dry, his face hot and sweaty with the fear that had come over him.
Chapter Two
‘Brother Eadulf, the king is expecting you.’
Capa, the warrior who commanded the king of Muman’s bodyguard, greeted the Saxon monk as he entered the antechamber to the king’s apartments in the ancient palace of Cashel. He was a tall, handsome man with fair hair and blue eyes and wore his golden necklet of office with an unconscious pride. But he did not smile in greeting as the sad-faced religieux made his way across the reception room. Neither did the several dignitaries who stood waiting in ones and twos to be called into the king’s presence. They all knew Brother Eadulf but now they dropped their eyes and no one made any attempt to greet him. Eadulf seemed too preoccupied to notice them.
Capa moved to a tall oak door, tapped discreetly on it and then, without waiting for a response, threw it open.
‘Go straight in, Brother Eadulf,’ he instructed in a soft tone, as if he were issuing a condolence.
Brother Eadulf crossed the threshold and the door closed silently behind him.
Colgú, king of Muman, a young man with red, burnished hair, was standing before a great hearth in which a log fire crackled. He stood, feet apart, hands behind his back. His face was grave. As Brother Eadulf entered the room, the young man came forward with hands outstretched to greet him. There was anxiety on his features and his green eyes, which usually danced with merriment, appeared pale and dead.
‘Come in, Eadulf,’ he said, gripping the Saxon’s hand in both his own. ‘Come in, be seated. Do not stand on ceremony. How is my sister?’ The words came out all in one breathless rush.
Brother Eadulf gestured a little helplessly by letting his shoulders slump as he took the seat indicated by the king.
‘Thanks be to God, she is taking the first proper sleep that she has had in days,’ he said. ‘In truth, I feared for her health. She had not closed her eyes since we returned from Rath Raithlen and met your messenger outside the monastery of Finan the Leper.’
Colgú sighed deeply as he sank into a chair opposite.
‘I worry for her. She is of a disposition that keeps a tight rein on her emotions. She tries to suppress them because she thinks it unseemly to allow others to see her real feelings. It is unnatural to do so.’
‘Have no fear of that,’ Eadulf said. ‘Between ourselves, she has sobbed her heart out these last few nights until I believe she is unable to conjure up any more tears. Do not mention this to her for, as you say, she would prefer others to think she is in control.’
‘Even her own brother?’ Colgú grimaced. ‘Well, at least she has displayed the emotion to you.’ He paused for a moment and then said moodily: ‘I feel that I am to blame for this grave misfortune which has fallen on our house.’
Eadulf raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘What blame can attach itself to you?’
‘Did I not persuade Fidelma to go to Rath Raithlen, leaving her son in the care of the nurse Sárait?
