Peter Tremayne - The Council of the Cursed

There was a whistling sound and Brother Budnouen gave a startled cry. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Brother Budnouen was still sitting on the driver’s box in absolute stillness, like a statue. Then blood began trickling from his mouth and down his chin and, as Fidelma’s gaze followed the stream of blood, she saw that an arrow head and part of a shaft were sticking out from where Budnouen’s Adam’s apple would have been, while the remainder of the arrow protruded from the back of his neck.

Then, with the reins dropping from his nerveless hands, Brother Budnouen slipped slowly sideways and pitched from the bouncing wagon.

The way Eadulf seized the reins and recovered the momentum, moving into the seat that the unfortunate Brother Budnouen had occupied only a split second before, startled even Fidelma. He had moved so quickly that he had grasped the reins even before the Gaul had fallen from the wagon.

‘Keep down!’ cried Clotaire. ‘Damn them to hell! Someone will pay for this outrage!’

Fidelma pushed down into the wagon to try to make herself as small a target for the bowman as possible.

‘Let us hope we survive to see it,’ she muttered.

Clotaire gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Well said, Sister.’

He glanced up at Eadulf, who had slid down in the driver’s seat so that he had the backboard as a protection, nodded his approval and said grimly, ‘Damned thieves. They will pay.’

Two more arrows whistled in the air and thudded in the board of the driver’s seat just above them.

Once more, Clotaire blew several urgent blasts on his hunting horn.

Fidelma could not help but say: ‘Thieves they might be, but that bowman is exceptional. To deliver those shots from a galloping horse is not a skill you will find in most robber bands.’

Clotaire stared at her, a thoughtful look coming over his features.

‘You know something of these things, Sister?’

‘I know a little,’ confessed Fidelma.

The horsemen were getting close now, and within a few more seconds would overtake the straining mule team.

Then Eadulf gave a sudden shout. ‘Riders in front of us!’ he cried.

Fidelma saw the leading pursuers suddenly hauling their horses to a standstill and trying to turn back. There were a few moments of confusion before they were galloping away.

Clotaire stood up in the wagon as nearly fifty riders streamed around.

‘Brother,’ he shouted to Eadulf. ‘You can halt now.’ Then he turned to the leader of the newcomers, shouting instructions in his own language.

The leader raised a hand and waved to his followers, after which they set off in pursuit of the robbers, leaving a group of twenty warriors behind as guards.

The young man next addressed three warriors that he had picked out. As they moved off in turn, Clotaire turned to Fidelma and Eadulf, a sombre look on his face.

‘I have sent them along the path to find your companion. I’ve told them to see what can be done for him. If nothing, to bring his body back here and with all reverence. He gave his life in saving mine. Now, I thank you for your timely assistance. I am sorry that it has caused the loss of your companion, Sister…? You are a Sister of the Faith, are you not?’ He continued to speak in a fluent Latin.

Fidelma bowed her head with gravity.

‘I am Sister Fidelma of Hibernia. This is Brother Eadulf. The man who was slain, for I have little hope that he lives from such a wound, was a Gaul named Brother Budnouen.’

The names had a surprising effect on the young king. A look of incredulity formed on his face.

‘Fidelma of Hibernia? Fidelma of Cashel? Eadulf her companion? Are you Fidelma the famous lawyer and sister to the King of Mew-in?’ It was a good attempt to try to pronounce the name of Muman.

Fidelma exchanged a surprised glance with Eadulf.

‘I am of Cashel, which is the capital of my brother, Colgú, the king. And I am a dálaigh , that is an advocate of the law of my country,’ she replied.

The young man seemed pleased. ‘Then your reputation precedes you at my court, where many of your countrymen have come as teachers and advisers to my people. They speak highly of your deeds.’

Fidelma was almost lost for words. ‘They flatter me. But it is providential that we happened to be passing through this forest.’

‘Were you on your way to Autun?’

‘We were returning there from Guntram’s fortress.’

The young King sighed. ‘We have been hunting in the south and were on our way to pay an unexpected call on Lord Guntram. Then I must make an appearance at this council in Autun. Are you also attending the council? I didn’t think that old Bishop Leodegar approved of women expressing their views.’ He grinned broadly at her.

‘You have not been told that the council has not yet begun its deliberations?’ Fidelma asked. ‘Or of the murders there?’

Clotaire frowned. ‘I have learned that a foreign abbot was killed-but that was a week ago. Is there still danger there?’

‘I would certainly advise caution,’ confirmed Fidelma.

The three warriors now returned with the body of Brother Budnouen. As Fidelma had surmised, with such a wound he had probably been dead before his body hit the ground.

Clotaire stared down compassionately at the man.

‘If there is anything I can do,’ he said, ‘anyone to notify…?’

‘We barely knew him,’ Fidelma confessed. ‘He transported us from Nebirnum on our journey to Autun. And then from Autun to see Lord Guntram. I think we will have to leave this matter in the hands of Bishop Leodegar who will probably have information on Budnouen and his family.’

The young King gave a half-nod and ordered the body to be placed in the back of the wagon. Then he said: ‘My men and I were planning to take advantage of Guntram’s hospitality for this night at least before coming to the city. Do you think that is a wise course?’

She was about to reply when they were interrupted by the sound of more horses. It was the main body of warriors returning. Their leader, an elderly man, rode at their head. He called out something.

Clotaire translated. ‘They have all been killed.’

‘All dead?’ she demanded. ‘No one spared? A pity.’

The elderly leader stared at her for a moment, startled.

‘A pity that robbers are dead?’ he retorted in Latin. ‘You cry pity for those who would kill our King? Do you know in whose company you are, woman?’

‘I say it is a pity, because dead men cannot give us information,’ replied Fidelma coldly.

Clotaire grinned at the irritated man on horseback.

‘She has a good point, Ebroin. By the way, this is Fidelma, sister of King Colgú of Cashel,’ he explained. ‘She is the famous lawyer of Hibernia. Fidelma. this is Ebroin, my adviser and chancellor. Oh, and this is Brother Eadulf, of whom you may also have heard in connection with the deeds of Fidelma of Cashel.’

Ebroin looked slightly less irritated.

‘Your pardon, Lady Fidelma. However, I am at a loss to understand your meaning. Why would highway robbers have anything useful to tell us?’

‘She does not think that they were robbers at all but professional warriors,’ Clotaire said slyly. ‘Am I right?’

Ebroin regarded Fidelma with a frown.

‘I confess that they were well armed and defended themselves with the bearing of trained men, but there is nothing of significance to say they are not robbers. Many former warriors turn to robbery on the highways. My men are searching the bodies now to see if there is anything that might identify them.’

‘Is this something to do with the affair at the abbey?’ Clotaire asked.

‘Perhaps we could rest somewhere more comfortable and then discuss what we must do next, Imperator,’ Fidelma suggested, using the respectful form of address for the King.