Badger's Moon (25 page)

He walked to the edge of the pool and stood staring at the point where Fidelma had tumbled in. There were many times when he wished Fidelma was more open with her thoughts. What was the significance of the piece of silver chain?

Menma stood quietly behind, waiting patiently.

Then, moving around the dark pool, Eadulf suddenly realised that there were several tunnels leading off from this cave. He raised the lamp so that the light fell on their entrances and he saw that they appeared to be manmade.

‘When was this mine worked out, Menma?’ he asked.

The hunter shrugged. ‘In my grandfather’s day, or so I was told. Apparently, this was a rich mine once but like all mines it was eventually exhausted.’

Eadulf was frowning, trying to remember what it was that Fidelma had said about mining in the area. He was moving round the pool to examine the tunnels. One in particular caught his eye.

‘I would have thought that this had been worked fairly recently,’ he observed, pointing to the markings on the wall.

Menma came forward to examine it and whistled slightly in surprise.

‘It does looks new,’ he admitted. ‘But I should imagine that down here things are better preserved than in the open.’

‘Perhaps,’ Eadulf replied, not convinced. He bent to examine the marks in more detail, holding the lamp close. ‘Let’s explore this one further,’ he suggested, moving off without waiting for Menma’s assent.

Unlike the cavern with the pool, the tunnel seemed extraordinarily dry and it was clearly hewn by men. It seemed to move upwards at a gentle angle and as it did so it narrowed and the roof grew lower so that soon they were crouching.

‘We must be coming to a work face,’ Menma hazarded. ‘It will just lead into a dead end.’

Eadulf determined to press on to the end of the tunnel in spite of Menma’s conviction that it was a waste of time.

Before the tunnel ended it opened into a small area six feet in width by six feet high and nine feet long. There were tools stacked in this manmade cave and lamps ready for lighting. Even Menma was forced to blink at the sight.

‘This has not been deserted for any length of time,’ Eadulf pointed out unnecessarily. ‘Men have been mining here and recently.’

Something glinting on the rock face caught his eye. He moved forward, holding the lamp high. Then he took his knife from his belt and scratched at it.

‘Fool’s gold?’ he queried.

Menma, at his side, shook his head wonderingly.

‘I swear that is the real thing,’ he said. ‘My grandfather worked the mines before they were abandoned. I know something of this metal.’

He reached up a hand to touch it. Then, to Eadulf’s surprise, he rubbed his finger on the glinting surface and placed the finger to his tongue. Finally, he nodded vigorously.

‘It is a taste that you do not forget easily, Brother Eadulf,’ the hunter sighed. ‘It is genuine. You are right. It looks as if someone has been working the seam recently.’

Eadulf was deep in thought.

Could the boy – what had been his name? Síoda? – could the boy have taken his gold from here? But then Gobnuid had told Fidelma it was fool’s gold. Not genuine. Fidelma had not believed it. And what had this to do with the deaths of the three girls? He shook his head. The conundrum was too much for him. He did not have enough knowledge even to consider the questions that now presented themselves.

‘Is this what the lady Fidelma was looking for?’ asked Menma, interrupting his thoughts.

‘I believe so,’ Eadulf replied. But why, he thought to himself. What possible connection could this working have to do with the investigation into the murders of the three girls?

‘Are you absolutely sure that this is genuine gold?’ he pressed Menma.

For an answer the young hunter reached for one of the tools that had been stacked at the side of the cave.

‘It is easy enough to demonstrate,’ he said. ‘We will take a piece with us and show it to a smith. But I am positive it is real gold.’

He set to work on the rock face and within a short time had isolated a small round nugget, which he handed to Eadulf. Eadulf regarded it dubiously for a moment and then placed it in his
marsupium
.

‘Now let us return to the daylight, while there is daylight,’ he said, and noted the relief with which Menma accepted the suggestion.

It was not long before they were blinking in the pale autumn sunlight.

They had started to move down towards the tree line when Menma suddenly halted, laid a restraining hand on Eadulfs arm and placed a finger to his lips.

‘What is it?’ whispered Eadulf.

‘A sound, a stone falling…’ Menma whispered back. He turned, as if looking for something, and then pointed towards a clump of nearby trees and bushes. He hurried towards them with Eadulf on his heels. Eadulf allowed himself to be led into the cover of the undergrowth and followed Menma’s example in crouching down for better concealment.

Menma was holding his head to one side in a listening attitude.

‘Someone is coming up on the far side of the hill, from the direction of the abbey. I thought you might not want them to see us before you have seen them.’

Eadulf was just about to reply when the figure of a man came scrambling quickly over the rocks around the shoulder of the hill. He was moving swiftly, glancing behind him every so often almost as if he were being pursued. He reached the open area before the cave and stood hesitating for a moment. Then he turned. For a second or so Eadulf thought that he was going to make a beeline towards the undergrowth in which they were concealed. Then the man seemed to make up his mind and hurried towards a group of rocks that also gave cover at the side of the cave entrance. To Eadulf’s amazement the man concealed himself behind them, but not before Eadulf had realised who it was.

It was Goll, the woodcutter, father of Gabrán.

Eadulf turned to Menma with a frown but the hunter placed a finger to his lips. He did not move from his crouching position but peered with a frown of concentration on his face in the direction from which Goll had first emerged.

Then Eadulf heard the sound of new movement.

A youth came into view. Eadulf was astounded as he recognised him. It was Gabrán. The father was hiding and observing his own son. Eadulf glanced at Menma and shrugged in order to display his bewilderment. The young man sauntered along the path and did not seem at all interested in the cave. He went quickly on and disappeared into the encompassing thicket of oaks and alders. They saw Goll begin to rise to his feet as soon as the boy passed out of sight. Then a strange thing happened. Goll dropped behind the rocks again.

Eadulf was about to say something to Menma but the hunter put a finger to his lips and pointed again.

A tall man came into view and it was clear that his objective was the cave from which Eadulf and Menma had recently emerged.

Eadulf’s face fell in astonishment.

There was no mistaking the man – he was one of the strangers from the abbey. The tall figure of Brother Dangila, striding along with a comfortable, dignified gait, was unmistakable. He carried a bag of tools over one shoulder.

There was no hesitation until he reached the cave mouth. There he stopped and appeared to be doing something. It was soon obvious that he was lighting a lamp before moving inside.

After he had vanished, Eadulf glanced across to where Goll had concealed himself. There was no movement there. He turned to Menma and shrugged to indicate that he had no idea what was going on. He realised that Fidelma would want to know what was happening and it was obvious that neither Goll nor the stranger would be disposed to tell him, so there was nothing to do but sit and wait. He whispered his intention to his companion.

In fact, they did not have to wait long before there occurred a new development. It was clear that whoever was coming was not concealing themselves. Even Eadulf could hear the slap of leather on the rocks and the breaking of twigs as someone approached in a great hurry.

Again, the figure, when it came into sight, was familiar.

‘It’s Gobnuid, the smith from Rath Raithlen,’ whispered Menma only a split second before Eadulf himself realiaed who the burly man was.

Eadulf stared at the man but nothing now surprised him. He just wished Fidelma had confided in him about her suspicions concerning the cave. Perhaps the matter had nothing at all to do with the deaths of the girls. They watched as the thick-set figure of the blacksmith approached the cave entrance. He did so quickly, surely footed as if he knew exactly where he was going. At the cave entrance he halted and gave a sharp call, apparently announcing his presence. Then he disappeared inside.

Eadulf glanced across to the rocks where Goll still lay hidden. He noticed a movement behind the rocks that indicated the woodsman’s presence and gave a quiet sigh of exasperation. He wished he had listened more carefully to what Fidelma had said about the mine. He could not see how it was at all relevant to the moonlight killings of the girls except that the bodies had been found in the vicinity. And what had Goll to do with it? He could not even think what questions to ask, let alone seek answers.

Menma gave a tug on his sleeve. The dark stranger, Brother Dangila, and Gobnuid were coming out of the cave mouth. Gobnuid was waving his hands in the air as if to help him explain something to the stranger. Brother Dangila extinguished his lamp and they both began walking slowly back down the hill in the direction of the abbey. Gobnuid was talking loudly but not loud enough for Eadulf to understand what he was saying. As soon as they were out of sight, Goll rose from his hiding place and began to follow them in a stealthy manner.

When they had all disappeared Menma rose. ‘What now, Brother? Do we follow them?’

‘We do not,’ Eadulf replied. ‘I need to report this to Sister Fidelma. Following them will not tell us anything. The stranger and Gobnuid seem to be heading back to the abbey. Goll appears to be merely watching them. The question that must be resolved is why?’

‘That is true,’ agreed Menma. He glanced up at the sky. ‘Anyway, within the hour it will be dark. Let’s get back to the horses.’

The horses were waiting patiently, tethered where they had left them. Menma led the way back down the winding track through the hilly woodland. They had progressed about halfway down the trail when they came to a fairly open stretch of hillside. Eadulf, lost in his thoughts, almost let his horse run into that of Menma, who had sharply halted.

‘What—’ he began, startled.

‘Look!’ Menma held out a hand.

Eadulf followed the line he was indicating to the woods at the bottom of the hill. Dusk was coming down, obscuring the clarity of his vision, but even so he could make out a rising plume of white smoke.

‘It’s coming from my cabin!’ Menma suddenly yelled. ‘My cabin is on fire!’

Without another word, he thumped his ankles into the sides of his mount. With a startled whinny, the horse leapt forward and began to canter down the hill. A sudden fear for Fidelma clutching at his breast, Eadulf followed swiftly in the other’s tracks.

It seemed to take an interminable age to get down the hill. They had to slow their speed several times because of the steep descent in places, which threatened to precipitate both horses and riders in tumbling heaps down the hillside. They reached the main track to Rath Raithlen and crossed it, plunging on into the woods. As they neared the hunter’s home they realised that the entire cabin was one gigantic bonfire. It was blazing from wall to wall, and as they rode up the roof fell in with a cascade of sparks and burning debris.

‘Suanach!’ yelled Menma, peering round in desperation for his wife. ‘Suanach!’ He flung himself from his horse and, for a moment, looked as though he was going to dash forward into the burning building.

Eadulf had dismounted and ran forward to grasp his arm. ‘You cannot go in there!’ He had to yell to make his voice heard above the crackling of the flames as they ate hungrily into the wood.

Menma halted, his eyes wide and staring.

Eadulf, too, was gazing in horror at the burning building. If Fidelma and Suanach had been inside then there was no hope for them. He moved backward and his heel hit something hard and metallic. He dragged his gaze away from the burning cabin and glanced down, finding, to his surprise, a discarded shield on the ground. He raised his eyes and began to look around.

There was something about the scene that did not seem right. The carcass of a dog was lying a short distance away, an arrow projecting from behind its shoulder. It was Luchóc. And now Eadulf saw there were boxes and garments strewn about, as if discarded in hurried fashion. He tugged at Menma’s arm and pointed silently.

The young hunter stared, visibly shaken. Then he dropped to his knee by his dog and examined the arrow. He saw the shield that Eadulf had found, and swore vehemently.

‘What is it?’ demanded Eadulf.

‘Uí Fidgente!’ snapped Menma.

Eadulf shivered slightly. He was well aware of the rebellious clan of north Muman. He had had dealings with them before.
^*
He also knew that they were a constant threat, challenging the authority of Fidelma’s brother at Cashel and sometimes raiding his territory.

‘You mean it is an Uí Fidgente raid?’ he demanded.

There was no need for Menma to confirm the obvious. The hunter was examining the area, using his tracking skills.

‘Probably about twenty men. At least, there were enough horses here to carry that amount.’

He was looking down at an area of churned-up earth. All Eadulf could see was a number of hoofprints.

‘But Fidelma and your wife…?’ he began.

‘I think they have been taken as prisoners. Look, a woman’s footprint over the hoofprints.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘A woman was made to mount the horse here.’

‘Both of them? Or one of them?’ demanded Eadulf.

Menma pulled a face. ‘That I cannot say…’

The rumble of many horses approaching caused Eadulf to swing round and Menma to run for his weapons.

A dozen horsemen broke through the surrounding trees, weapons in hand, and halted. Accobrán was at their head.

He caught sight of Eadulf and Menma. Even by the glow from the fire, which made a distorted reflection on his face, Accobrán was clearly surprised.

‘We saw the smoke from the fortress and came to investigate. What’s caused this? What are you doing here, Brother Eadulf?’

Menma took a step forward. ‘Uí Fidgente! They have taken my wife and Sister Fidelma as hostages.’

‘What?’ Accobrán looked startled.

Menma quickly explained the evidence, the Uí Fidgente arrow and shield and the signs of horses.

‘We must ride after them. How much start do you think they have, Menma?’

‘A good half an hour, no more.’

‘Then we may yet catch up with them. This is the first time they have raided our territory for years. Why now?’

Eadulf was mounting his horse and preparing to join Accobrán’s men.

‘Not you, Brother,’ the tanist said sharply. ‘I cannot risk you being slain or taken as a hostage. It is bad enough that the Uí Fidgente have taken the sister of King Colgú. For that, someone will surely pay a price.’

‘But Fidelma—’ Eadulf protested.

‘Exactly so!’ snapped Accobrán. ‘I want you to ride back to the rath and tell Becc what has happened. Our people need to prepare just in case this raid turns into a major onslaught on the Cinél na Áeda. I would not put it past the Uí Fidgente to begin an undeclared war. If they are only a small raiding party, then we have a chance to overtake them and rescue the women. If not, then our people need time to prepare. Go back and tell Becc!’

Eadulf sat uncertainly on his horse but Accobrán ignored him and waved Menma and the others forward, following the tracks leading towards the north-west.

Eadulf realised that the tanist was right. Dusk had already given way to night. Someone had to warn the chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda about the possibility of an incursion by the Uí Fidgente. The chase of the raiding party was best left to the warriors of Accobrán.

He turned his horse and began to gallop quickly along the track towards the dark hill of Rath Raithlen, hoping his horsemanship was good enough to cover the distance without mishap.

A short time before, Fidelma had been drowsing comfortably. Her headache was gone and so was the intense feeling of cold. She felt warm and comfortable.

A hand suddenly clutched at her wrist, bringing her wide awake. She was staring into the pale face of Suanach.

‘What’s the matter?’ She blinked rapidly as she struggled up. Her senses informed her that there was fear in the eyes of the wife of Menma.

‘I went to the well for water. Several riders are coming this way. They carry an Uí Fidgente standard. The Uí Fidgente are not well intentioned towards our people.’

At the name, Fidelma had already sprung out of the bed and was hauling on her robe.

‘We must hide,’ she whispered.

‘Truly,’ agreed the woman. ‘If you fell into their hands, lady…’ Her eyes rolled at the idea for a moment.

There came the sounds of horses halting before the
bothán
and a voice calling harshly for the occupants to come forth.

‘Too late!’ cried Suanach. ‘I must go and see what they want. You must hide.’

She knelt on the floor and removed the rug, revealing a wooden trapdoor. She pulled it up and pointed down.

‘It is our
uaimh talún
– the sousterrain where we store food. Crawl along the tunnel as far as you can. It’s a safe place to hide.’

They heard the door of the
bothán
crash open abruptly.

Fidelma did not waste time by trying to persuade Suanach to come with her. She dropped down into the tunnel and was immediately engulfed in darkness as the trapdoor was lowered and the hunter’s wife replaced the rug.

‘I’m coming!’ Fidelma heard the woman call out to the intruder in the other room. She heard her footsteps cross the floor and then she decided to move further along the darkened tunnel just in case anyone found and lifted the trapdoor.

The tunnel was merely a crawl way. One could not stand in it but could progress only on hands and knees. It seemed to go on for ever, but then she reminded herself that space and time became meaningless when you were plunged into utter darkness. At least it was insulated with stone – she could feel the hard, smooth surfaces – and, above all, the tunnel was dry. She moved carefully along and soon aromatic smells came to her nostrils. She realised that this was where Suanach stored her herbs and mysterious items of food in bottles and boxes.

She sat with her back against what seemed to be a box and relaxed for a moment or two wondering whether Suanach had been right. The Uí Fidgente would surely not dare to raid this far south? And yet Fidelma knew just how brutal and rapacious they were. She sniffed in deprecation and, as she did so, caught a whiff of an acrid smell. It was a moment or so later that she realised just what it was.

Smoke!

She fought a moment’s panic. Smoke was permeating along the tunnel. That had to mean that the
bothán
was alight. The raiders had set fire to the place. She could feel the smoke growing thicker as she began to breathe with difficulty. There was no chance of crawling back down the tunnel. There was no escape.

She turned and began to feel around her. Something that squeaked brushed by, then another and another. Mice! Mice were escaping the burning building. Again she almost panicked and then she realised that the mice were heading in one direction, away from the trapdoor through which she had come. She sought to control herself and move further along the tunnel.

It was not so much a light as a thin glowing line in the roof of the tunnel. Another trapdoor? Sometimes sousterrains had two entrances. Could Menma have built one that had an outside entrance? Would it be far enough away from the
bothán
to escape detection? Well, there was no other course but to find out. The smoke was growing thicker and she fancied she could feel an increasing heat blowing down the tunnel. Fear lent her strength as she scrambled over the boxes that lay in her path towards the chink of glowing light.

She pushed at the dark roof above her. It was wood! A trapdoor, indeed. But it did not move. Was it secured from the outside? She positioned herself under it, her back against it, and began to straighten up. It seemed immovable. But then…did it give a little? She pushed again with her back and felt it loosen. Something snapped. Then she heaved and found herself above the soil line.

She scrambled out with the quickness of a cat, crouching on all fours and looking round. She had emerged more than fifteen feet behind the
bothán
, from which smoke and flames were curling upwards. Fortunately, the raiders were all at the front of the building. She could hear shouting and laughter and the whinnies of their horses mingling in the commotion of the raid. She hoped that Suanach was not harmed, but her immediate need was to find shelter in case the raiders should venture around the back of the building. She remembered to push the trapdoor back into place and examined her escape route.

There was a distance of perhaps twenty or twenty-five feet from the place where she had emerged to the line of the surrounding forest. She rose to her feet and, crouching low, she ran headlong towards its shelter, praying that she was fully hidden from the raiders by the angle of the building and the heavy, swirling smoke.

No warning shout reached her ears before she plunged into the undergrowth, flinging herself flat beneath some bushes, and recovering her breath before she crawled to a vantage position where she could peer back to the
bothán
of Menma and Suanach. It was firmly alight and the smoke was rising in a tall spiralling column. Surely, she thought, the smoke would rouse those at the fortress and bring riders racing to investigate?

She had not escaped a moment too soon, for just then two horsemen came trotting their mounts round the corner of the building as if examining it.

‘No sign of her husband. She must have told the truth when she said that he was away in the woods,’ one man was saying in a loud, almost raucous tone.

His companion had a reed-like but sharp voice. He was waving his hand towards the cabin.