Peter Tremayne - Master of Souls

‘Wine, and some gold and silver for the artisans of the abbeys.’

Olcan gave a curious chuckle that sent a shiver through Esumaro’s body.

‘Excellent. Kill him!’

The heavy cudgel descended and the figure of Coros dropped to the beach without another sound.

‘We’ll start salvaging at first light and stack the booty in the tower. Gold and silver, eh? We might have struck lucky.’

One of the men called: ‘Shall I take the lantern off the horse?’

‘That you may. The beast has served us well in luring this ship ashore.’

‘How did you learn that trick?’ The man who had killed poor Coros seemed to be cleaning the blood off his cudgel by wiping it in the sand.

‘Trick? That a lantern fixed to a horse’s head, bobbing up and down, can easily be mistaken in darkness for the light of a ship? Indeed, it is a good enough trick. The master taught me that. Make sure the men stack everything they find in the old tower. We have to be ready to leave soon after first light. We can return for the booty later.’

‘I don’t understand why we cannot stay and make a better job of it, Olcan,’ protested one of the men.

‘Are you questioning the orders of the master?’ snapped the leader.

The man shook his head. ‘But why…?’

‘Because we have an appointment on the coast road. And the master will be here soon to make sure we keep it. Now let’s get this spoil back to the fortress and get some rest. First light is not far off and it will be a long ride over the mountains tomorrow.’

He made to move away but his companion stayed him.

‘Shouldn’t we make a thorough search for any survivors?’

Olcan gave his humourless chuckle again.

‘Anyone who survived would have made for this stretch of friendly sand. It’s the only place there’s a chance to land. The waves will have dashed most of them to their deaths on the rocks there. There’ll be no survivors. If there are, we can make sure of them when it’s light.’

Horrified, Esumaro pushed himself back into the undergrowth, not even

It was beginning to get light when Esumaro came to his senses. He had a vague remembrance of walking in the darkness, of hiding behind clumps of reed and bushes, of crossing a stretch of waterlogged sand, of being propelled by fear: fear of those who had killed his first mate Coros and been responsible for the deaths of all his crew. He was trying to come to terms with the realisation that his ship had been purposely wrecked. Wrecked for its cargo. What kind of barbarians dwelt in this godforsaken place? Outrage, but predominantly fear, combined to propel him to place as much distance as he could between him and that awful shore before first light. He had no wish to suffer the same fate as Coros. When the fear had subsided, he told himself, he would find help to seek revenge on the wicked miscreants who had done this terrible deed.

He blinked his eyes in the morning light. It was so bright. He groaned, for he realised he was frozen. It was a moment before he understood what was causing the brightness. He lay in a great expanse of snow. Even the trees bent their branches under its weight. He felt weak and chill and groaned again. He was trying to move when there came the sound of a woman’s nervous cry.

‘I think he is alive, Reverend Mother.’

Esumaro blinked again and tried to focus his eyes. It was painful.

He realised that a young woman was bending over him. Under a heavy fur cloak, she wore the brown woollen robes of a religieuse with a metal cross hung from a leather thong round her neck.

A few yards away six other women, similarly clad, were standing watching with nervous expressions. They were mostly young.

The one who stood by him turned and called again more cheerfully: ‘He is alive.’

Esumaro tried to ease himself up on one elbow. One of the watchers, a tall, handsome woman of middle age, came to her young companion’s side and stood looking down. She wore a more ornate cross. She smiled and bent down.

‘We thought you were dead,’ she said simply. ‘Are you ill? What has

Esumaro strained as he tried to follow. Her speech was quick and accented.

‘I… I am cold,’ he managed to say.

The woman frowned.

‘Your speech is strange. You are not from this land?’

‘I am… am of Gaul, lady,’ he stammered.

‘You are far from Gaul. You seem to be wearing the clothing of a seaman.’

‘I am…’ Esumaro clenched his jaw suddenly. He realised that everyone in this land was a potential enemy until they proved otherwise.

‘What are you doing here?’ continued the woman. ‘You could freeze to death in this winter snow.’

‘I was walking when I was overcome with fatigue.’

‘Walking?’ The woman looked at his feet with an inquisitive smile.

Esumaro glanced down and saw that he was wearing only one of his seaman’s boots. He had no memory of losing the other. He was unsure whether it was lost during his escape from the wreck or later.

He asked quickly: ‘What are you doing here, lady? Who are you?’

‘I am the Abbess Faife from the abbey of Ard Fhearta. We are all from Ard Fhearta. We are journeying on the annual pilgrimage to the oratory of the founder of our abbey on Breanainn’s mount.’

Esumaro regarded her with some suspicion.

‘But Ard Fhearta is to the north across these mountains. I have seen Breanainn’s mount from the sea and that also lies on the north side of this peninsula. This is the southern shore.’

Abbess Faife frowned but replied easily: ‘You seem well acquainted with this area for a Gaulish sailor, for that is what I presume you are. But you seem distrustful, my friend. We have spent two nights at the abbey of Colman, where we had business to conduct. Having passed two days there, we are now on our journey westward to Breanainn’s mount. Why are you so suspicious?’

Esumaro felt slightly reassured.

‘I am sorry, lady,’ he said, deflecting her question. ‘I am cold and hungry and very fatigued. I beg your pardon for my churlish questions. Is there some dry shelter nearby where I can rest?’

‘There is a shelter a short distance behind us. We can spare some food

The Abbess Faife bent forward to help him as Esumaro rose painfully to his feet. He staggered for a moment and then managed to regain his balance. The young woman who stood by him came forward to help.

‘And in what direction is the abbey of Colman?’ he grunted.

‘Not far along there to the east, but you have to walk round the bay.’ She indicated the direction by inclining her head. ‘You cannot walk far in your condition.’

‘Thank you. I will rest awhile and then make my way to the abbey.’

‘First you must get warm, put on some dry clothes and have some food. Come, let us get you to the shelter and you may change out of those sodden garments.’

Esumaro looked alarmed and the religieuse smiled.

‘Have no fear. We are taking a bundle of clothing and shoes to Brother Maidiu who keeps the oratory on Breanainn’s mount. He is about your size, and if you have no objection to wearing the robes of a religieux for a while, his robes will fit you exactly.’

Abbess Faife turned and together with her younger companion helped Esumaro stumble a short distance across the snow. It was not far before he saw they were leading him to a small, conical, beehive-shaped hut of stone. He remembered that it was what people in these parts called a coirceogach, a very ancient stone dwelling. It stood back among the trees, hardly noticeable from the main track on which they had found him. Only the disturbed snow showed that people had used it recently. As they climbed towards it, he saw a wisp of smoke rising from it. Abbess Faife had been right.