Peter Tremayne - Chalice of Blood

Then suddenly the leader of the warriors raised his arm in a signal and, as one, the band turned and disappeared over the shoulder of the distant hill.

Cumscrad sniffed derisively. ‘Cowards!’

‘Are you sure that they were Uí Liatháin?’ asked Fidelma, frowning at the place where the warriors had disappeared.

‘You saw their battle standard,’ Cumscrad replied. ‘It was white with the head of a grey fox on it. That is their emblem.’

‘My eyes are not as good as yours, Cumscrad,’ Fidelma admitted. ‘I saw only a white flag. But I accept that the odds are that they were Uí Liatháin. Whoever they were, I am concerned about the direction they were coming from.’

For a moment Cumscrad did not understand what she meant and then he looked to where the men had first appeared. An oath fell from his lips.

‘Forward!’ he shouted. ‘Forward to Fhear Maighe!’

Abruptly, they were racing forward along the track into the straddling woods. As they rode through the woodland, the cries of birds seemed unusually loud. Even Eadulf raised his eyes to the dark canopy of branches spread above them. Something was exciting the birds, that much was obvious. They suddenly emerged on to the edge of some cultivated fields, which overlooked Cumscrad’s main township of Fhear Maighe. It lay below themalong the south bank of The Great River. Cumscrad let out a great shout.

It was but a fraction of a second before they saw what had caused it. Below them, near the bank of the river on the edge of the town, a building was on fire. They could see smoke billowing. Borne into the air on a southerly breeze, it was black and ominous. Even from this distance they could all see the red and yellow tongues of flame leaping into the air.

‘The library!’ cried Cumscrad, digging his heels into his horse. ‘The library is on fire!’

Eadulf barely had time to catch his breath before they were racing down the track towards the inferno. Fhear Maighe was a large collection of buildings that clustered on both banks of The Great River. On the south bank, on an elevated section of land that was not really high enough to be called a hill, stood the fortress of Cumscrad. It was in no way as imposing nor as threatening as An Dún, the fortress of Lady Eithne. Not far away from this, the blaze was devouring a large building that rose almost on the edge of the settlement. It was a construction of both stone and timber with a curious tower at one end. It was rectangular, like a monastic hall. The tower seemed to be the centre of the fire. Great flames leaped around it and inside it, as if its very structure made it a natural chimney. But the flames were also racing eagerly along the exterior walls of the main building.

As they hurtled down the hill towards it, Eadulf was briefly aware that they passed a riderless horse in a field and, nearby, a prone body with an arrow in its back. There was no time to investigate. They swept on into the township. It seemed that the entire population, men and women and even children, had gathered in a vain attempt to combat the flames. Several young men were rushing back and forth through a door in the main building,emerging with armfuls of scrolls, manuscripts, books and tiaga lebar , the book satchels. Here and there someone would stagger out with a metal box called a lebor-chomet , or book holder, in which very valuable books were stored.

The people were so intent on rescuing the contents of the building from the hungry flames that items were simply dropped on the ground. Several of the precious books were trodden into the earth as people passed buckets of water from hand to hand in a line from the river. Alongside the human chain, Eadulf noticed a curious construction of wooden troughs, along which water from the river was being pumped by a strange mechanical contraption.

Fidelma and Eadulf could see that the people were fighting a losing battle against the flames. Cumscrad and his warriors had dismounted and were assisting but it seemed there was little they could do. Suddenly, there was a great roaring noise and sparks and flames shot into the late afternoon sky as the main roof collapsed, followed, moments later by the tower section imploding. The fire, having satiated itself, was beginning to die rapidly away to a collection of blackened, smouldering timbers. The implosion seemed to have stopped its spread more than the water that had been poured into the building. Only some of the walls and a large grey stone arch, blackened with smoke, remained standing.

Fidelma pointed to where Cumscard and a group of people were standing looking down at what appeared to be a body that had been dragged clear of the building.

‘Can I help?’ offered Eadulf. ‘I have some training in the healing arts.’

‘It’s too late, Brother Eadulf,’ replied Cumscard with bitterness in his voice. ‘Dubhagan is dead.’

‘Dubhagan?’ Fidelma asked quickly. ‘This was your leabhar coimedech , your librarian?’

A young man with a blackened smoke-stained face came forward.

‘We were too late to save him,’ he announced flatly, staring down. He seemed dazed and uncertain.

Cumscrad gazed at the young man for a moment and then asked sympathetically, ‘How was he caught in the fire, Cunán?’

The young man shook his head. ‘He was dead of a sword thrust before the fire started.’

Anger began to harden Cumscrad’s features. Fidelma laid a hand on his arm.

‘Let me ask this young man some questions.’

Cumscrad hesitated before saying, ‘This is my youngest son, Cunán. He was training as an assistant to Dubhagan the librarian.’

‘Cunán.’ Fidelma spoke gently, for she could see that the young man was in a state of shock. ‘Tell me what you know of this.’

Cunán ran a hand over his forehead as if to gather his thoughts. ‘It was a short time ago. We were working in the copying section of the library. I suddenly smelt smoke and heard the crackle of flames. I raised the alarm and ran to find Dubhagan-’

‘Where was he?’

‘In his chamber in the tower.’

‘And where is the copying section?’

‘The twelve copyists work in the main hall, at the opposite end of the main library building to the tower. The tower is where Dubhagan kept his place of study and special books that are considered valuable.’

‘Very well, you say you smelt smoke and raised the alarm. Then you hurried to find Dubhagan. Is that correct?’

‘I rushed into his chamber, for it was no time to stand on protocol. The books and manuscripts in that room were already burning, the smoke was choking, but I saw our leabhar coimedech lying face down on the floor. He was already dead. There were two wounds, one in his chest and one in his neck.I knew it to be useless, but I seized him by the wrists and dragged him out of the building.’

Cunán paused and licked his parched lips. He nodded at the body of the librarian.

‘By the time I turned back, the flames were already in control. They were leaping from the tower across to the main library room. One of the copyists was ringing the alarm bell and people were coming to our aid. But the flames were too strong. They seized and swallowed the books — they were just fuel to the fire. We formed a chain, trying to bring out the books, while others formed chains to bring water to douse the fire, but there was little we could save. All the priceless works consumed … irreplaceable!’ He broke off with an uncontrollable sob.

‘Are you saying that the place where the fire started was in Dubhagan’s chamber? That he had been killed and then the place set on fire?’ pressed Fidelma.

Cumscrad scowled and before his son could speak retorted, ‘I clearly understood that is what he said. And we saw the culprits themselves riding away — the Uí Liatháin!’