Peter Tremayne - Dancing With Demons

Fidelma dismounted quickly from her horse. ‘Where is Eadulf?’ she demanded without preamble. ‘Has he gone on to Tara yet?’

Brother Céin looked astonished. ‘Gone on …? I haven’t seen Brother Eadulf since he left with you for Ardgal’s country. Is he not with you?’

Fidelma went cold. ‘Has not Eadulf and a Brother Manchán from Baile Fobhair come here, reporting destruction and death at the abbey?’

‘He has not.’ Brother Céin looked shocked. ‘You say that the abbey of Baile Fobhair has been attacked?’

Fidelma groaned inwardly. ‘Eadulf should have arrived here yesterday afternoon with Brother Manchán. He was to warn you that the raiders were overheard discussing an attack on Delbna Mór, and pass on my instructions that you should defend yourselves as best you could while he rode on to Tara to bring Irél and some warriors to help.’

Brother Céin was shaking his head. ‘There has been no sign of him, sister. Nor of this Brother Manchán. I know him. Perhaps Eadulf missed the road and … but, surely, Brother Manchán of Baile Fobhair would know the road here very well. They would not get lost unless … ’

‘Unless he encountered some of the raiders,’ Ardgal said grimly. ‘Let me send out two of my best trackers to see if they can pick up their route along the road.’

Fidelma tried to hide her fear as the chief turned to give instructions.

‘I think that we should also send to Irél at Tara immediately,’ she added quietly, determined to be practical instead of giving way to the anxiety that beset her mind.

‘I have a good lad with a fresh horse who can reach Tara quickly,’ suggested Brother Céin.

‘Let him do so then,’ agreed Fidelma.

‘We can remain here in readiness and wait for the Fianna to arrive.’ Ardgal had returned from giving orders to his men.

The steward was solemn-faced, clearly worried at their news.

‘That is good, because the dibergach could attack at any time. We need to be ready to defend ourselves.’

Eadulf came awake with a start. Bishop Luachan was already sitting up and peering down the passage that led out to the wicker gate.

‘What is it?’ whispered Eadulf,

‘The guards are talking to someone outside,’ replied the old bishop.

Eadulf shuddered. ‘Is it time? Do they intend …?’

‘No. It is several days yet to the equinox, my friend. They will not do anything before then.’

Suddenly there was a commotion at the entrance and a voice called: ‘Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham! Come forth — quickly!’

Eadulf started a little. The voice called in Saxon without accent. He glanced at the old bishop and explained: ‘I am being summoned outside.’

‘Come forth, Eadulf. I mean you no harm,’ repeated the voice.

There was no alternative but to obey. Eadulf began to move towards the tunnel.

‘God go with you, my son,’ the old bishop blessed him.

Eadulf pasued, smiled back in thanks, and then made his way down the tunnel. Outside, dawn’s light was flooding the sky and it was fairly cold. There were two guards waiting for him with a third man. Eadulf rose out of the passageway and stood up, studying the man. He was tall, with long blond hair, a beard, drooping moustaches and angular features. It was the warrior whose features had appeared familiar to him when he was being questioned by the woman called the ceannard.

‘Come with me, Eadulf,’ he said in faultless Saxon.

‘Do I know you?’ Eadulf asked, as the tall man turned and motioned him forward. ‘You are Saxon by your speech.’

The man smiled but said nothing. Instead, he led the way to one of the tents pitched in the shelter of the ancient stone buildings and entered. There was no one else inside. The man motioned to a chair and then went to a cask, took two mugs and filled them with ale. He handed one to Eadulf before sitting down opposite him.

‘You do know me, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham,’ the Saxon said, with an amused expression on his features.

Eadulf shook his head with a frown. ‘I can’t recall … ’

‘I grant you that it was many years ago. We were scarcely more than boys gathered at the feet of a new teacher named Fursa; Fursa a man of Éireann who tried to convert us to the New Faith.’

Eadulf closed his eyes for a moment, casting his memory back to the lad of sixteen summers that he had been when he had left the old gods and goddesses of his people and converted to the New Faith. A time when the missionaries of Éireann had come converting the South Folk to follow the path of the Christ. He suddenly saw an image of youths sitting in a circle at the feet of the elderly teacher.

‘You are Beorhtric of Aeschild’s Ham,’ he said suddenly.

The blond-haired warrior smiled broadly now. ‘Your memory does not play you false, Eadulf. I am, indeed, Beorhtric from the land of the East Saxons.’

Eadulf regarded him with astonishment as the memory flooded back. ‘But what are you doing here? Why are you dressed as a warrior, Brother? I thought you went to join Fursa’s abbey at Burgh in the land of the North Folk.’

Beorhtric laughed in good humour and took a sip of his ale. ‘I am no Brother of the Christian Faith. After you left to study here I wandered with Fursa for a while. Then I realised my mistake and returned to the kingdom of Sigehere. I saw the devastation left by the Yellow Plague. Our new god had not protected us from the evil and so I supported Sigehere when he returned to the Old Faith and called on Woden to drive out the evil. I was with Sigehere when he destroyed the new Christian churches and re-opened the old temples.’

Eadulf grimaced. ‘I had heard that the East Saxons had returned to the old ways. I am sad to find that you are one of them.’ He frowned. ‘Yet Iheard that Sigehere had, with the guidance of Bishop Jaruman, returned to the Faith of Christ.’

‘Sigehere was a fool,’ snapped Beorhtric. ‘He was not swayed by argument but because Wulfhere of Mercia, who fancied himself as a Christian overlord, promised him his niece, Osyth, in marriage. They now have a Christian brat called Offa. Sigehere is a weak king. He runs with the hare and tries to hunt with the hounds. He allowed Wulfhere to drive out those who remained true to Woden.’

‘Is that why you are here?’

Beorhtric smiled thinly. ‘With all the Saxon kingdoms falling to this Christian teaching, I and some companions decided to take service with those who would pay for our swordhands. We found ourselves coming to this land and by chance we fell in with this band who are fighting for the restitution of their old gods against the Christians.’

‘Do you really hope to change the tide of the New Faith?’

‘The tide is with us, Eadulf,’ Beorhtric said. ‘Soon this army will spread through the country and the few generations that separate the people from their old gods will be but a curious moment in time, a pause in the march forward to a new golden age.’

‘You cannot believe that?’ Eadulf looked aghast at the Saxon.

‘And you are too intelligent not to consider it, my friend. Remember your youth when you worshipped at the grove of Woden? Are we not all descended from Woden’s seven sons? How can you turn your back on him whose divine blood is in all of us?’

Eadulf shivered slightly.

It was true that, having accepted the New Faith with his intellect when he was seventeen, Eadulf’s emotions still felt the power of Tyr, Woden, Thunor and Freya. Every time he spoke against them, he felt their lurking presence, waiting to seize him and consign him to the flames of Hel. Deliberately he raised the mug of ale and took a swallow in order to disguise his emotions.

‘What is the purpose of this conversation, Beorhtric?’ he asked coldly. ‘Are you trying to reconvert me to the old ways?’