Dancing With Demons

There came another cackle from the crone. ‘Who would sit at Ath na Foraire, the Ford of Watching, but the watcher herself?’ came the reply.

Eadulf noticed that his companion Gormán had shivered slightly but he could not see the features of Fidelma and Caol, whose horses were in front of him and now standing motionless on the bridge. Clearly this meant something to Gormán and he was about to ask for an explanation when Fidelma replied, quietly addressing the old woman: ‘And does the watcher have a name?’

‘Some have called me Badb,’ came the croaking response.

To Eadulf’s ear the name sounded like ‘bave’. It meant nothing to him, but at his side he heard Gormán groan a little.

Fidelma’s voice was light and bantering. ‘Are you claiming to be the hooded raven of battles, old one? The goddess Badb who delights in setting one person against the other, incites armies to fight each other so that she may delight in the slaughter and haunt the battlefields for lost souls? I declare, I never thought to meet so distinguished an entity. So you call yourself Badb?’

‘Your mind is reputed to be sharp, Fidelma of Muman. You clearly heard me say that some have called me so, therefore it is pointless trying to match your wits with mine in an attempt to irritate me.’

Fidelma’s voice was still bantering. ‘Well, old one, why am I not welcome in Midhe?’

‘You come seeking a solution to the death of Sechnussach. You will not find the truth, I tell you. There will be no peace in this land until all you of the New Faith have given up this heresy and returned to the Old Faith and the gods and goddesses of the time before Time began. You must welcome them back into your hearts and lives. When the great Cauldron of Murias is brought to the Hill of Uisnech, the navel of the world, when the sacred stone of Falias, the mighty sword of Gorias and the great RedJavelin of Finias are once more together, then shall the Children of Danú, Mother Goddess, reign supreme again over their people. It will be soon, for the Wheel of Destiny is found. The White One has spoken of these things and she speaks the truth.’

Fidelma and her companions sat spellbound by the old woman’s chanting tones. As she spoke, the crone seemed to rise up so that her hunched back was almost straight, her voice still rasping but powerful.

‘Turn back across the bridge and return to the land which your brother rules and take this message to him: “Return to the Old Faith before it is too late, for the path you are taking leads to the destruction of the peoples of the five kingdoms, and foreign kings will take the place of those who now rule in vanity”. Go back, Fidelma of Cashel!’

Then, with a wild cry, the old woman turned from the riverbank and scuttled away into the woods.

‘Wait!’ Fidelma called to her. Even as she spoke, Caol had slapped his horse forward and was off the bridge and trying to follow the woman through the dense undergrowth.

Fidelma, Eadulf and Gormán walked their mounts slowly forward off the bridge and waited for Caol to return.

Eadulf was bewildered. ‘What was all that about?’ he asked.

Fidelma smiled without humour. ‘I’d say it was a poor demented old woman who is living in the past. There are still some who believe in the old ways and the old superstitions, and she is certainly one of that number.’

Gormán coughed nervously. ‘But, lady, how did she know that you are Fidelma of Cashel and the reason why you have come to Tara?’

The thought had also occurred to Fidelma.

‘It is no use speculating when I do not have information,’ she replied airily. ‘It is not beyond the bounds of possibility that Cenn Faelad’s sending for me has been talked about at Tara so that she acquired such knowledge that way.’

‘Well, I have no understanding of half the things that were said,’ Eadulf commented. ‘What or who is a bave?’

‘Badb.’ Fidelma corrected his pronunciation slightly. ‘She was one of three evil goddesses who presided over death and battles, who loved slaughter and bloodshed, and would often sow baneful thoughts to incite people to commit violence against one another.’

Gormán chimed in: ‘And she is often depicted as an old woman washing the skulls of those slain in battle while sitting at a ford — that is why she is also known as the Washer at the Ford.’

‘Except the old one called herself a watcher at the ford,’ corrected Fidelma, with a smile at the young warrior’s nervous features. ‘The demented one was as human as you or I, Gormán.’

The young warrior grimaced. ‘I fear no human, lady. That you know. But …’ He shrugged.

‘Well, I would like to know what all that meant — the cauldron, sword and spear,’ interrupted Eadulf. ‘I have never heard the like.’

Fidelma turned to him with a soft smile. ‘It is the ancient tales, Eadulf. It was said that in the time before Time, the ancient gods and goddesses of Éireann, who were known as the Children of Danú, the Mother Goddess, came from four great mystic cities. They came to this island bringing with them their greatest treasures, one from each of their lost cities. From Falias they brought with them a sacred stone which was called the Lia Fáil, or the stone of destiny; from Gorias they brought with them a mighty sword called “Retaliator”; from Urias they brought with them the “Red Javelin” which, once cast, would seek out its enemies no matter where they hid; and from Murias, they brought a great cauldron — the Cauldron of Plenty — from which no one went away hungry. Those were the great treasures and symbols of the Old Faith.’

She did not mention the old woman’s reference to the Wheel of Destiny, the Roth Fáil, for it was the only thing that worried her by the coincidence of the reference after what Brother Conchobhar had told her.

Caol suddenly broke cover along the bank and came riding back, looking crestfallen.

‘I lost her,’ he confessed. ‘Either that old woman knows these woods really well, or … or she has the ability to vanish.’

Fidelma chuckled. ‘She doubtless knows the secret paths, my friend, but I doubt if she has learned the art of vanishing. Well, a fascinating encounter, Caol, but we cannot delay. We are but a short distance from Tara.’

Eadulf looked around anxiously. ‘Shouldn’t we take what the old one said more seriously? She did after all threaten us.’

‘A threat from someone clearly demented …’ began Fidelma.

‘Is still a threat,’ interrupted Eadulf.

Caol was also looking gloomy. ‘Eadulf is right, lady. We should be on our guard.’

‘I would hope that is exactly what you are about, you and Gormán,’ Fidelma said airily. ‘As bodyguards and my brother’s elite warriors, you should always be attentive to danger. Come, let’s not delay further.’

CHAPTER FOUR

When their presence at the gates of the royal enclosure was announced, it was Abbot Colmán, the spiritual adviser to the Airlechas or Great Assembly of the High King, who emerged to greet them. He was a thickset, ruddy-faced man in his late fifties. As Fidelma dismounted from her horse, he came forward with both hands outstretched, as if greeting an old friend, but behind his welcoming smile, his features wore an expression of anxiety.

‘Sister Fidelma! It is always good to see you here at Tara. But alas, it is sad that such tragedy brings you hither again.’

He gripped her hands warmly and she returned the greeting with the same warmth. It had been some time since their last meeting, when Fidelma had won the respect of the abbot by her abilities, firstly in solving the riddle of the theft of the High King’s ceremonial sword, and next by discovering the truth that lay behind a haunted tomb in the graveyard of the High Kings.³

‘You are looking well, Colmán, and I swear that the passing years have not changed you,’ she complimented him.

Colmán assumed a solemn countenance. ‘Vanitas vanitatum, omnia vanitas,’ he quoted piously. ‘I would like to think so, but alas, my reflection calls me vain if I do.’ Then