Peter Tremayne - Dancing With Demons

‘I have never heard this story before,’ Fidelma said quietly.

‘No reason why you should. It is simply a local story of how the name of the territory came into being.’

She paused awhile examining and praising the books, and then a bell began to sound for the evening meal. As they walked back towards the praintech, or dining hall, Brother Céin asked anxiously: ‘Do you still intend to go north-west tomorrow?’

‘I do.’

‘To the lands of the Cinél Cairpre?’

‘Yes.’

‘That may be where our enemies are,’ Brother Céin said.

‘Irél and his Fianna already went there. He saw the new chief, Ardgal, and obtained hostages for the clan’s good behaviour after Sechnussach’s assassination. If they meant harm, they would not have succumbed to Irél’s authority.’

‘Even so, it would be remiss of me if I did not counsel you against this journey. If Bishop Luachan were here, he would warn you of the dangers that beset this countryside.’

Fidelma smiled briefly. ‘I think you have already made the dangers clear.’

‘Well, should you return to Tara … when you return to Tara,’ he corrected hastily, ‘and speak to the new High King, tell him of our situation and warn him about the growing power of the dibergach. There is only one other community between here and the land of the Cinél Cairpre and that is the abbey at Baile Fobhair, which you will also pass on your journey. They and we are the only communities of religious in the area who have not been attacked so far, thanks be to God. But we live in daily expectation of it.’

‘Why have you not already sent to the Fianna at Tara for warriors to protect you?’

Brother Céin shrugged. ‘We did not begin to realise the seriousness of the situation until poor Bishop Luachan was taken from us. If they can do that, there is nothing that will stop them perpetrating more serious crimes.’

‘Where is this abbey of which you speak?’

‘Baile Fobhair?’

She nodded.

‘You will ride along the north side of a great loch, Loch Léibhinn. That is where the abbey is situated. But let me warn you again … ’

She paused, turned and looked into his anxious face.

‘Don’t worry, Brother Céin,’ she interrupted. ‘I fully intend to return in safety to Tara and this mystery shall be cleared up. That is a promise.’

It was approaching noon on the next day when Fidelma decided to call a halt in order to rest and water the horses. They had ridden north-west, passing the farmstead identified as Cluain Nionn. Here they had paused briefly while Fidelma questioned the farmer and his wife about the disappearance of Bishop Luachan. But, as Brother Céin had foretold, the couple knew nothing at all. So they had journeyed on, reaching the large lake that the rotund steward of Delbna Mór had told Fidelma was called Loch Léibhinn. For the most part, the countryside seemed deserted. They rode along its northern shore without seeing any sign of the abbey of Baile Fobhair of which she had been told. After a while, north of the lake, they reached more hilly country. Fidelma began to believe that they had missed the abbey and so suggested they rest and attend to their horses’ needs. To save time she decided not to light a fire to prepare a meal, but for them to have some fruit and the bread that the religious of Delbna Mór had given them that morning. As events turned out, it was a wise decision.

They had stopped by a small pool that was fed from a stream that gushed from the hills. It was surrounded by three great stone slabs and shaded by an ash tree. A little distance from the pool were the burned-out ruins of a watermill. The fire had obviously occurred recently, for the stench of the burned timbers still hung in the air. The countryside was heavily wooded, with many brooks and streams. There were plenty of evergreens, interspersed with wych elm, whitebeam and even strawberry trees, and in spite of it being winter the forest looked impenetrable. Both the thick woods and the rising ground were also, in retrospect, a matter of good fortune for them.

They had barely settled to eat when the sound of someone coughing came from the direction of the ruined mill. It sounded as though the person was desperately trying to stifle the cough and thereby only making thesound worse. At once Caol and Gormán were on their feet with drawn swords.

‘Who’s there?’ snapped Caol, moving cautiously towards the blackened ruins.

There was no answer.

With a quick gesture to Gormán to indicate some prearranged tactic, Caol advanced, sword ready to strike, while Gormán made a flanking movement to cover him.

Then, from the blackened timbers, a sooty spectre rose. It was a man in torn and dirty religious robes, his face and hair covered in soot. He raised a hand as if to fend off Caol’s sword.

‘Do not kill me! Let me go in peace! I have done you no hurt.’

The voice was a despairing wail. Caol regarded the vision in some astonishment.

‘Come forward and identify yourself,’ he instructed.

The dishevelled man took a step or two and then he caught sight of Fidelma and Eadulf. A look of hope transformed his features.

‘Are you of the Faith?’ he demanded eagerly. ‘Do you acknowledge the Christ?’

‘Of course,’ Eadulf said irritably. ‘Who are you?’

‘I am Brother Manchán. I am … I was … one of the community here.’ He gestured beyond the trees.

‘Where is here, Brother Manchán?’ asked Fidelma gently. ‘We are strangers in this land.’

‘Just beyond is the abbey of Baile Fobhair, the homestead of the spring. It was founded by the Blessed Feicin who, alas, died from the Yellow Plague a few years ago.’

‘I have heard of that holy man,’ Fidelma reflected after a pause for thought. ‘I am sorry to hear that the plague took him.’

The dishevelled religious sighed deeply. ‘Better to be taken by the Yellow Plague than witness what has happened to his little abbey. Burned and destroyed.’

‘When did it happen?’ Caol wanted to know. ‘Who did it?’

‘Dibergach — raiders. They came riding down with their godless battle standard a few days ago and began to slaughter the brethren. I managed to escape and hide in the forest until they had gone. I did not know what to do — whom to trust. Five of the brethren were slaughtered and I am the only survivor.’

‘Delbna Mór is the next biggest abbey I know of. Why did you not go there?’

‘Does Delbna Mór still stand?’ queried the man, hopefully.

‘It did when we left it this morning.’

‘While I hid, I heard some of the raiders talking about it. I thought they were going to attack it.’

‘Which way did these raiders go?’

Brother Manchán shook his head. ‘I don’t know where they went immediately afterwards. I only know they came back this morning.’

They stared at the man.

‘They came back?’ Eadulf asked. ‘Where are they now?’

‘They are resting just over the rise,’ Brother Manchán replied. ‘That’s why I was hiding in the ruins of the mill.’

Eadulf looked at Fidelma. ‘We’d better move and find cover somewhere.’

‘In which direction did you say they were encamped?’ Fidelma remained calm.

The man indicated with his hand.

Fidelma turned to Caol. ‘Go to the top of the rise, carefully now, and see what the situation is.’

Caol nodded. When he returned, he had an agitated look on his face. He indicated over his shoulder to the woods.

‘This man is right, lady. The ground rises steeply as you see, but suddenly drops into a small defile. There is another track that leads through it. I could see the ruins of what must have been the abbey at one end.’