‘I am very well now,’ Esumaro asserted solemnly. ‘I am invigorated already and can never repay you for your kindness. Perhaps I will be able to pick up a Gaulish ship at the abbey of Colman?’
Abbess Faife shrugged.
‘We saw no large ships when we were there and the steward of the abbey told us it has been several weeks since any arrived. It seemed to worry him. The abbey relies on the sea trade,’ she added, not realising that Esumaro knew that fact well.
He was about to ask another question when the sound of galloping horses came to his ears. He joined the abbess to peer from the doorway of the stone hut and saw several horsemen riding swiftly along the track just below them. One of the men gave a sudden cry, pointing up towards them. The company changed direction and within a moment a dozen or so rough-looking warriors had surrounded them, their horses stamping and giving out great smoky wreaths of hot breath. The warriors carried their swords in their hands. Esumaro saw that in their midst was a shorter figure swathed from head to foot in grey robes so that no part of the body was visible. The cowl was drawn well down over the head. The figure was slight and the shoulders were rounded.
The Abbess Faife went forward and stood facing them with a frown.
‘What do you seek here?’ she demanded authoritatively.
The leading horseman, a coarse-looking man with a rough black beard, and a scar across his forehead, chuckled. It was not a pleasant sound.
‘Why, we seek you and your religious brood, woman. Our master has need of you. So you are to come with us.’
Esumaro felt himself go cold. He recognised the voice as that of the leader of the wreckers from whom he had escaped. What was his name? Olcan!
‘We serve only one master, that is the Christ, Jesus,’ the abbess was replying. ‘We are on our way to-’
‘I know where you thought you were going, woman,’ snapped the man. ‘But I know where it is that you are now destined for. You will soon serve another master.’ He spoke as if in a dark humour. ‘Come, we have no time to waste.’
The abbess stood resolutely.
‘I am the Abbess Faife of Ard Fhearta. Put up your swords and depart in peace. For we intend to go on to Breanainn’s mount and-’
Esumaro noticed that the black-bearded leader had glanced in the direction of the small grey-robed figure. There was an almost imperceptible movement of the cowled head.
But it happened without warning. It happened quickly.
The bearded leader simply leant forward from his saddle and thrust his sword swiftly into Abbess Faife’s heart.
She was dead before she began sinking to the ground with an expression akin to surprise. As she fell back, the leader of the warriors turned to the abbess’s shocked companions.
‘I presume that no one else wants to argue with me? Gather your bundles and walk ahead of us or you will remain here with your abbess
… and join her in the Otherworld.’
Any cries of distress were silenced by momentary disbelief at what had happened.
Then the young religieuse who had first discovered Esumaro threw herself on her knees by the body of the slain abbess.
‘You have killed her!’ she sobbed, seeking in vain for a pulse. ‘Why did you kill her? What kind of brute are you? Who are you?’
The man raised his sword again in a threatening manner.
‘You ask too many questions, woman. Do you wish to remain here with her?’
Esumaro moved quickly forward, holding up a hand as if to ward off
‘Now is not the time to protest!’ he whispered quickly. ‘Not if you want to live.’
She paused for a fraction, glancing at the threatening warrior, turned her eyes to Esumaro and then nodded quickly, regaining her composure with just a tightening of the mouth to show the effort it took. As she rose, she reached out one hand as if to touch the breast of the abbess. Only Esumaro saw her fingers clutch at the thong that held the abbess’s cross and wrench at it quickly. It came apart in her hold. She turned as if she was allowing Esumaro to help her away from the body and pressed the cross into his hands.
‘You had better become one of us, until we find out what this means,’ she muttered under her breath. Esumaro was surprised at the girl’s quick thinking.
He took the cross. As his fingers closed over it, the voice of the warrior’s leader snapped at him.
‘You! That man there!’
Esumaro turned to him with narrowed eyes.
‘Who are you?’ The leader was looking suspiciously at him. ‘You are not of the community of Ard Fhearta. I had not heard that a Brother of the Faith was accompanying this band.’
Esumaro thought rapidly, glancing towards the still silent figure hidden in the grey robes.
‘Why… I am… Brother Maros, accompanying these Sisters in the Faith to Breanainn’s mount for the vigil.’
‘Yet you do not wear the symbol of the Faith on your robes?’
Esumaro hesitated a moment. Then he held up the crucifix the quick-thinking young religieuse had passed to him.
‘I was adjusting it when you and your men rode down on us. Do I have your permission to finish replacing it round my neck?’
‘You are not from these parts?’ The warrior’s voice was suspicious when he heard Esumaro’s accent.
‘We of the Faith have to travel far and wide in search of souls to save,’ intoned Esumaro with what he hoped was the correct tone of reverence.
The young woman, defiance on her features, came to his help.
‘Brother Maros joined us at the abbey of Colman. He is a noted scholar from Gaul.’
The warrior frowned suspiciously. Again he seemed to glance for instruction to the grey-robed figure.
‘From Gaul? How did you get to the abbey of Colman? There have been no ships reaching there in many months.’
‘I came to the port of Ard Mor in the south and have spent some months travelling through your country. How else would I speak your language so well?’
The warrior thought for a moment, glanced again at the small silent figure and shrugged. He seemed to see logic in the reply but was not completely satisfied.
‘Yet you do not wear a tonsure. All religious wear tonsures.’
It was the young woman who answered for him.
‘Brother Maros is a follower of the Blessed Budoc of Laurea, a learned scholar in his own land. His followers do not wear a tonsure.’
The warrior’s eyes narrowed at her intervention.
‘Can’t he answer for himself?’ he snapped.
Esumaro edged forward protectively in front of the young woman.
‘I can. It is as my Sister in the Faith, Sister Easdan, says. I follow the Blessed Budoc.’ He was glad he remembered the name that Abbess Faife had identified the girl with.
The black-bearded leader grunted, seemed about to say something, and then glanced once more at the robed figure. It was as if some communication passed between them again for he turned away and gestured for the company to move.
‘Forward now and in silence,’ he called. ‘Remember, it is up to you if you wish to live or die. My men will be watchful.’
Esumaro turned his head to the young Sister Easdan with a look that he hoped conveyed his gratitude. He would have to ask her who this Budoc was. But what situation had he landed himself in? God in heaven! What evil had he been plunged into?
