‘You are a man and men often have weapons no matter what clothes they wear,’ came back the uncompromising tone. ‘Stand aside but keep your arms out, hands well away from your body.’
Fidelma was called forward next.
‘I have no weapons either,’ she called.
There was no answer and then half a dozen men, all with drawn bows, each aimed at Fidelma and her companions, emerged from behind trees
‘Who are you?’ snapped Conri.
The burly man, who was obviously the leader, smiled beneath his beard showing blackened teeth.
‘You will know soon enough. Now, all of you will turn and march before us down this path. Try no tricks and no one will come to harm. And no talking… you’ll be given an opportunity to sing your hearts out soon enough.’
Eadulf had time to give their captors a quick scrutiny. He had an idea that he had seen the burly man before but could not place him. The others appeared an ill-assorted group; he would not really equate them with well- muscled warriors like Conri and his men. They seemed ill fed and more like field hands than military men.
They all moved on in silence, swinging along the path that ran along the hillside through the valley until it came round into an open area with the river flowing along it. Eadulf suddenly knew where he was. There was the standing stone with the ancient writing on it, the ford across the rushing river and the buildings making up the small hamlet. This was the little settlement where he, with Basil Nestorios and the warrior Gorman, had come after the destruction of the fortress of Uaman the Leper.
For a moment his heart leapt and then it plummeted as he realised the buildings were blackened, their stones knocked askew and some pulled down. Many of the wooden buildings no longer existed except for the remains of burnt timbers. It looked as if the place had been overwhelmed by some catastrophe. Were these men responsible? Were they responsible for the death of Abbess Faife?
They were being marched through the buildings from which people were emerging, quiet but angry, some staring at them with hatred. Yet no one made any sound but stared tight-mouthed as they went by.
They were halted before a half-burnt barn, which it was apparent someone had been trying to repair by putting a new roof on it.
Out of the building came an elderly man with parchment-coloured skin and a shock of white hair. His bright eyes were of indeterminate colour as he surveyed the group.
Eadulf recognised him immediately.
‘Ganicca!’ he called.
The old man frowned. ‘Who speaks my name?’
Eadulf moved a step forward. ‘It is I. Don’t you recognise me?’
The old man stared and then his thin features broke into a slow smile of recognition.
‘Why, it is the Saxon Brother. How come you here again?’
‘A story that is long in the telling, Ganicca. But this is Fidelma.’
Ganicca’s eyes widened and he asked quickly. ‘Fidelma of Cashel?’
Fidelma was looking puzzled.
‘Ganicca was the man who helped us when we fled from Uaman’s fortress,’ explained Eadulf. ‘It was he who pointed us to the home of Nessan and Muirgen and so was responsible for the eventual recovery of our child.’
Fidelma moved forward with both hands outstretched to the old man in greeting. ‘Then this is a blessed meeting, Ganicca. You have my unending gratitude
The old man waved his hand in deprecation.
‘You are welcome here, lady, but I wish I could greet you in happier circumstances.’
‘What has happened here?’ she demanded, encompassing the ruined village with a wave of her arm.
‘And who are these men who threaten us with their arrows?’ added Eadulf.
Ganicca held up a hand, palm outward, to stay further questions and then turned to the burly man.
‘No harm will come from these travellers. I know them. Release them.’ Their captors seemed a little reluctant but they put down their weapons and slowly dispersed. Ganicca pointed at the barn behind him.
‘It is a harsh winter, so come in. I fear the best we can offer is some corma and a rude shelter from the mountain winds. Enter and I will tell you what has befallen my people and why you have been treated with such scant hospitality.’
The young boys handed Conri and his men back their weapons. Others led their horses to a paddock out of the wind. Their erstwhile captors reluctantly dispersed.
‘Seat yourselves.’ The old man pointed to sacking on the floor. ‘I regret that we have been left with no luxuries.’
One of the young boys had followed them inside and now poured corma for everyone as Ganicca was introduced to each member of the party.
‘Now first,’ began Ganicca, ‘I heard that Nessan and Muirgen had decided to stay in Cashel after you left here, Brother Saxon. Are they well? And what news of your child, Fidelma of Cashel, does he prosper?’
Fidelma smiled and nodded.
‘He does, thanks be to God. Muirgen continues as nurse to him. Nessan tends the flocks of sheep on the hills south of Cashel. They are both well and happy.’
‘And how is the stranger from the East called Basil Nestorios? Do the Fates deal well with him?’
‘When we last saw him he was well and continuing in his travels, collecting knowledge of this land, Ganicca,’ Eadulf replied solemnly.
‘And the young warrior, what was his name?’
‘Gorman.’
‘Gorman, indeed. How fares it with him?’
‘He is now deputy commander of my brother’s bodyguard,’ Fidelma replied.
‘And your brother, the noble Colgu, is all well with him?’
‘My brother is, as ever, concerned for the peoples of his kingdom and worries when ill befalls them.’ Fidelma paused and then added: ‘He will be concerned at the ill that has befallen you in this place.’
‘What has happened since I was here?’ Eadulf joined in. ‘Why were we ambushed and brought here in such a fashion?’
Ganicca sighed deeply.
‘It happened some weeks ago. Until then, we had long dwelt here in an open community without fear. Even in the bad days, so long as we paid tribute to the Lord of the Passes, Uaman, we were never harmed.’
He paused, as if gathering his thoughts.
‘It was one afternoon when a band of warriors came along the track just as you have done. They were on horseback. Between them, marching on foot and at swordpoint, was a band of religious… they were prisoners.’
Conri leant forward excitedly.
‘Six young females?’ he demanded.
‘And a foreign Brother of the Faith.’
Fidelma frowned. ‘I had no information about a foreign brother.’
‘He was a rough-looking young man,’ continued Ganicca. ‘He appeared more suited to a life spent outdoors than among the pale creatures that
‘But he was a prisoner and a religieux as well?’ queried Eadulf.
‘He was.’
‘What happened when these warriors and their prisoners came to your village?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘We offered hospitality, as is the custom. The warriors took corma and demanded food. They dismayed us by ill treating their prisoners, allowing them only water and some bread.’
‘Did anyone question the religious as to why they were prisoners or what manner of warriors their captors were?’ asked Fidelma.
Ganicca made a negative gesture.
‘The warriors discouraged contact with the prisoners and when our smith, the man who captured you, asked what was happening, he received a slap across the face. The lesson was reinforced by the tip of a sword to deter him from pressing further.’