Peter Tremayne - Master of Souls

Ganicca glanced at her with interest.

‘You know the old saying then, lady?’

‘It was a saying of my mentor, the Brehon Morann.’

Eadulf was now frowning in annoyance.

‘I have said before that I saw him in the quicksand as it pulled him down. Then a great wave descended and he was gone. No one could have survived that.’

‘Then it is a wraith who rides out from the Otherworld and instructs his warriors to destroy my people,’ replied Ganicca calmly.

Eadulf made to say something but then remembered the words of the boy Iobcar. He had said something similar.

‘So this attack happened some weeks ago?’ interposed Conri. When Ganicca nodded emphatically, he turned to Fidelma. ‘Then it is easy to

Fidelma was thoughtful.

‘I am trying to understand what purpose all this would serve? Why wreck the merchant ship? Why kill the abbess but then take her companions prisoner? Who is the male religieux who is with them? A foreigner? Perhaps a Gaul, perhaps a survivor from the wreck?’

Conri, however, was excited as he interpreted the events. He turned to Ganicca.

‘Tell my companions where this road leads?’

The old man looked puzzled.

‘Why, it leads northwards out of this valley.’

‘But tell them where.’

‘Well, if you cross out of the valley by the eastern route over the mountains you can join the road that leads along the coast to the lands of the Ui Fidgente and north again to Ard Fhearta. But if you cross to the west then you will come to the seashore and the road takes you across a low-lying thrust of land called the Machaire peninsula with the great bay of Breanainn to the west and the Machaire Islands to the northern tip.’

Conri was nodding eagerly.

‘The Machaire Islands,’ he said meaningfully.

Ganicca was perplexed.

‘They are nothing except a group of small uninhabited islands… well, apart for one that is occupied by hermits. Seanach’s Island.’

Conri turned to face Fidelma with a smile of satisfaction.

‘The Machaire Islands,’ he said again with emphasis.

Eadulf, recovering from Ganicca’s claim that he was mistaken in his belief that Uaman was dead, was regarding the warlord seriously.

‘Are you claiming that the wreckage on Uaman’s island, the killing of the Abbess Faife and the disappearance of the religieuse and the attack by the mysterious warship are now all connected?’

‘I say that they must be. And if Uaman is involved, it makes perfect sense.’

Eadulf pursed his lips sceptically.

‘Ganicca is the only one who has positively identified Uaman as part of this affair,’ he pointed out.

‘The boy also did so,’ replied Conri softly.

‘But the boy didn’t know Uaman. He was repeating something he had heard adults say.’

‘And I know who I saw, Brother Saxon,’ Ganicca intervened sharply.

‘We must follow the path these people took,’ Fidelma interrupted to silence them. She recognised that this exchange might soon lead to an argument. ‘I think the answer will be found on those islands that you called the Machaire.’

‘It is nearly noon, lady, and we have little hospitality to offer now,’ Ganicca said as he realised why Fidelma had stopped the conversation. ‘What we have, you are most welcome to.’

Fidelma shook her head and thanked the old man.

‘We will move on immediately, my friend.’

‘Yet there is no hurry,’ the old man pointed out. ‘It is now three weeks since this happened and the chances of catching up with these men…’ He shook his head.

‘Nevertheless, we will ride on,’ Fidelma insisted firmly. ‘Whether the leader is Uaman or not, we must find those who have been abducted.’

‘Then may God be on all the paths you travel, lady. It is a dangerous game that you hunt.’

‘Thank you, Ganicca. I promise in my brother’s name to ensure that your village is compensated for the outrage you have suffered.’

The old man smiled sadly.

‘The Brehons have a list of honour-prices for each one of us. But how do you really judge the value of lives, lady? It is not easy. But we will survive, some of us at least. And while the names of our dead are still spoken, then their lives will have meant something in this sad world in which we live.’

A short time later they were climbing their horses along the mountain track and keeping on the west side of the river which ran rapidly through the valley below them. They were almost turning east, paralleling the course of the river, when Conri pointed to a narrow pass through the hills by a number of ancient stones that had apparently been set up by their ancestors in the dim distant past.

Taking the pass, they found they were now following a smaller stream that rose on the mountain behind them, tumbling northwards. They

‘We’ll have to think about stopping soon, lady,’ Conri suggested, ‘otherwise it will be dark before we know it and we haven’t eaten since last night.’

‘I thought I glimpsed a farmstead on the plain ahead of us,’ Fidelma replied. ‘We’ll seek hospitality there.’

Indeed, when they approached the series of wooden buildings, half hidden in the shelter of a copse of some sturdy oaks, a farmer and his son appeared to be waiting for them. They looked nervous and held some farming implements defensively in their hands.

Fidelma called out a friendly greeting and the two men began to look slightly relieved.

‘We saw you coming down the hill road, Sister,’ said the elder man, recognising her robes. ‘We saw some strange riders only and wondered who you were.’

‘No one who means harm to you and yours, my friend. We are just weary travellers who need a shelter for the night,’ replied Fidelma, dismounting.

‘My wife would be pleased to offer you a bed, Sister,‘replied the farmer, rubbing his jaw and seeming to mentally count them. ‘But your companions will have to shelter in the barn. We have little room in the house.’

‘That will suit us fine, farmer,’ Conri assured him. ‘A place out of the wind and warm straw will suit us well.’

‘There is the spring in which to wash but plenty of venison to eat and bread to take away your hunger.’

‘You hospitality is generous,’ Fidelma replied warmly. ‘Yet you still seem nervous. Have there been other travellers on this road?’

The farmer exchanged a brief glance with his son. Fidelma was right. They were nervous.

‘In truth, there have, Sister. Travellers that I would not like to play host to. It was several weeks ago but, thanks be to God, they passed on without stopping. They went across the top meadow in the direction of the sea.’

‘You appear fearful of them. Why so?’

‘They were warriors on horseback but we saw them herding a group of prisoners. They were religieuse, poor young women, with a male prisoner.’

‘Herding is an odd choice of word,’ Conri pointed out.

Herding is the only word that comes to mind, my friend,’ the farmer replied almost defensively. ‘They passed by and we prayed for their souls.’

‘You were looking to the north-west,’ Fidelma observed. ‘Is that the direction in which they went?’

‘Indeed they did. Towards the Machaire peninsula.’

Fidelma’s expression was one of satisfaction.

‘If you can tell us where we might tether our horses…?’

The farmer glanced round and pointed.

‘You can put them in the enclosure at the back. We have some sheep there but I doubt whether they will be bothered. It will keep them out of the cold winds. The spring is over there, and the barn where you may sleep. Sister, come to the house. The food will be ready after you have washed.’

The food was good and the hay was warm and, for the first time in several days, Eadulf slept a deep comfortable sleep without waking once during the night. He did not begrudge Fidelma her more civilised abode. By the time he woke and washed, everyone else was sitting down to a breakfast. Gifts were given by Conri, who had the foresight to travel with such items, to the farmer, his wife and their son in exchange for their hospitality. Socht and his companion had saddled their horses and after an exchange of farewells they rode on again.