‘It depends which way they go. If towards Delbna Mór, then I think we should try to warn Brother Céin. Also, we should warn Irél and bring the Fianna to capture them. They are pressing close to Tara now and need to have their raiding curbed. Let’s pack up and get ready to ride as soon as Caol gives us the word.’
In fact, it was not long at all before they heard movement through the undergrowth. Gormán sprang forward with drawn sword in a defensive position. Then came Caol’s voice.
‘It’s me,’ he called softly. ‘They have mounted and headed off.’
‘Which way?’ demanded Fidelma.
‘In the same direction as we are taking … towards the north-west.’
‘Towards the country of the Cinél Cairpre?’ Eadulf asked.
‘It would be logical if they were men who held allegiance to Dubh Duin,’ Caol suggested.
‘In that case,’ Fidelma made up her mind quickly, ‘we must follow them and see if they are, indeed, of the Cinél Cairpre.’
‘But I thought … ’began Eadulf.
She turned to him. ‘I do not like to split up but I fear that you must carry the news back. Take Brother Manchán behind you on your horse and leave him at Delbna Mór for Brother Céin to look after. Tell Brother Céin what we have found. Then ride straightway to Tara and tell Irél.’
‘Why me?’ Eadulf demanded a little petulantly at being asked to go back.
‘Because, if these are
‘I remember,’ asserted Eadulf, suppressing his irritation.
‘I am counting on you, Eadulf. I need warriors with me so you are the logical choice to go back. Bring Irél and his warriors here and we will leave signs along the track to show you where we have gone.’
Hiding his disapproval of her plan but accepting the logic of it, Eadulf watched Fidelma and the others ride away with some anxiety. He wished that they had accepted Irél’s initial offer to accompany them with his warriors, but it was pointless to lament the fact now. Hindsight was always a good philosopher. He turned to Brother Manchán.
‘Well, Brother, we must be away then. The sooner we set out, the sooner we can reach Delbna Mór and I can continue with my task.’
The religieux nodded unhappily.
Eadulf swung up onto his horse and, using one of the stone slabs as a mounting block, Brother Manchán clambered on the horse behind him. Eadulf turned the animal along the forest in the direction they had originally come. He disliked cantering because he was not an accomplished horseman but he felt it best to keep a quick pace. He held on firmly as the horse loped along the forest path. The soot-begrimed religious was clinging tightly around his waist behind him. Now and then he felt the beast begin to flex its powerful muscles as if changing the pace into a gallop but Eadulf tugged firmly on the reins to check it. He had already decided that it was going to be an exhausting journey.
Both Caol and Gormán were competent trackers and Caol decided to send Gormán on a little way ahead. There were two tasks: one was to follow the tracks and the other, to ensure that they would not be led into any ambush.
Waiting until he was out of sight, Caol and Fidelma then followed. The track they were following swung around the wooded hills and then they came to the blackened ruins of what must have been the little abbey that had been built a generation or so ago by the Blessed Feicin who had established many Christian communities in the country.
No one had yet been able to bury the bodies of the religious who had been slaughtered there, and now that the raiders had moved on, the black, scavenging crows had descended. Fidelma averted her eyes and mumbled a prayer for the repose of their souls.
Caol was more philosophical.
‘The scavengers of battlefields,’ he said quietly. ‘The children of the Mórrígán.’
Fidelma did not reply. She knew that after great battles, these black crows and ravens were almost a blessing when it came to cleansing the corpses left to rot when survivors were too weak to bury them. But knowingit and seeing it were different things. She wished they had time to bury the corpses of these poor pious men and prevent them from being desecrated by the scavengers, for she knew that later, after the sun went down, wolves and other animals would be attracted to the leavings of the crows.
They rode on, increasing their pace. Eventually, they came in sight of Gormán who was leaning from his horse intent on examining the trail before him. It split in two. He turned, saw them and gave them a wave to show that he was continuing along the right path. Then he moved on at a quicker pace to put a little extra distance between them and himself.
‘Is the plan to follow these people into the land of the Cinél Cairpre?’ asked Caol after a while.
Fidelma nodded. ‘If that is where they are heading.’
‘I’d feel better if Irél and the Fianna had been with us, lady,’ Caol confessed. ‘After all, two swords against — we do not know how many — are not good odds.’
‘Don’t worry, Caol. I shall not do anything that is rash or precipitate us into an impossible situation. We will keep well back from these raiders. If they lead us to Ardgal, the new chieftain of the Cinél Cairpre now that Dubh Duin is dead, then we might draw conclusions without any confrontation.’
‘I hope so, lady, I hope so,’ rejoined Caol softly.
They rode on without incident for some time before the trees began to thin and they came to the shallow river, gushing over a stony bed. Gormán was waiting for them, leaning forward in his saddle in a resting position.
‘What is the matter?’ Fidelma demanded as they rode up.
Gormán gestured to the river.
‘The riverbed is stony and the path on the far side is almost paved in pebbles and rocks. I have made a search and cannot find the tracks of the raiders’ horses on the far side. I have ridden along the bank in both directions but have seen nothing.’
Caol eased his sword a little in its scabbard and glanced around. ‘A good place for an ambush. Any sign that they have stopped?’
Gormán shook his head. ‘If they were of the number you say and with pack animals, there would be some sign. If they even left a couple of men behind in ambush, there would be some unease among those animals’ — he pointed to where a small herd of deer were grazing serenely on a hill a little distance from the river. A great antlered stag was standing apart, head raised proudly in the air, watching them.
‘We will proceed onwards,’ Fidelma decided. ‘We may pick up their tracks later.’
Gormán nodded, turned his horse and rode off rapidly through the shallow waters to place himself ahead of them again.
As Eadulf rode along he was worried about Fidelma. What if the strange raiders realised that they were being followed and laid an ambush for her? He had every faith in Caol and Gormán as warriors but they were only two against so many. And Fidelma was heading right into the country of the Cinél Cairpre, whose former chieftain had killed the High King. The thought almost made him push the horse into a gallop himself but he knew he was not a good enough equestrian to sustain such a pace through the forest.
The path suddenly swung round a group of boulders that rose in the middle of the forest and before he knew it, he was in the middle of a band of armed riders. He heard Brother Manchán give a shriek of alarm before they closed in with drawn swords. His horse shied nervously and came to a halt of its own volition.
The question that sprang to Eadulf’s lips died before he could utter it. There were about a score of riders and he could see a couple of pack horses. With a feeling of growing fear, he realised that the riders were the very same group that Fidelma had set off to follow. They must somehow have doubled back on their tracks and now he was their helpless captive.
Gormán came trotting back along the track with a frown on his face.
