Peter Tremayne - The Monk Who Vanished

‘We will be all right,’ Fidelma replied confidently. ‘Wolves don’t attack adult humans unless they are starving.’

‘Who’s to say that these beasts aren’t starving?’ Eadulf grunted.

If the truth were known, Fidelma was thinking the same thought. Eadulf was not sure that he had seen it, so quickly did the shape flit across his gaze. It appeared to be a large dark shadow which moved swiftly across the path about twenty yards ahead. Some instinct caused him to halt.

‘What is it?’ whispered Fidelma, seeing his shoulders suddenly tense. She stood still by his side, peering forward.

‘I am not sure …’ began Eadulf.

The soft growling caused their limbs to feel as if they had suddenly been frozen.

The shadow moved again, a long low, muscular shape and suddenly the pale moonlight reflected on two round pinpoints which seemed to twinkle like points of fire. The growling sound increased.

‘Get behind me, Fidelma,’ hissed Eadulf, raising his staff protectively before him.

The beast took a step nearer, all the while continuing its deep growling sound.

‘I can’t see if it is a wolf or just a watch-dog from a farm,’ Fidelma whispered, squinting into the darkness.

‘Either way, it is a threat,’ replied Eadulf.

Abruptly, with no warning at all, the great animal launched itself forward. Had Eadulf not been possessed of quick reflexes it would have been at his throat. Even as the animal was springing from theground, Eadulf swung his staff and met the creature halfway with a blow, more out of luck than a sound aim, that contacted with its muzzle. He had put what force he could muster into the stroke. With a yelp of pain the animal was knocked to the ground and, whining, it trotted back a few yards. Then it halted, its whimper turning into a snarl of defiance.

When Fidelma spoke, Eadulf heard fear in her voice for the first time since he had known her.

‘It’s no dog, Eadulf. It’s a wolf.’

Eadulf had not taken his eyes from the beast which began to move slowly back and forth before them, continuing to growl, as if watching them for some weak spot. It started to make short little runs up and down but did not approach them. The red, luminescent eyes were constantly fixed on Eadulf as he turned, keeping the staff held before him at all times.

‘We cannot keep this up all night,’ he muttered.

‘There is nowhere to go,’ replied Fidelma.

‘There is a tree a few yards down there … if I keep the animal at bay, perhaps you could make it … scramble up into the branches …?’

‘And what would you do?’ she protested. ‘You would not be able to reach the tree before the beast reached you.’

‘What alternative do we have?’ replied Eadulf, fear giving him an irascible tone. ‘Shall we both be caught here and savaged by the animal? I will try to turn the beast out of the path so that you can slip by it. That will give you a clear field to run. When I call to you … run! Don’t look back and make sure you climb as high as you can.’

There was such determination in his voice that Fidelma realised it was pointless to protest. In any case, logically, Eadulf was correct. They had no other choice.

Eadulf made a few lunges at the growling wolf which caused it to start back in surprise at his audacity. Then it seemed that its fiery eyes narrowed and it showed its great slobbering fangs again. It had turned a little. Eadulf lunged again.

There came a single eerie wail from nearby. The howl sent shivers through them both. It echoed from the direction of the field that they had just left.

The attacking wolf stood and lifted its head to the moonlight, which fell with its soft white rays on the upturned muzzle of the animal. From some point deep down in the throat there rose a sound, faint at first, then welling in strength and volume until the jaws parted and the most unearthly shrill howl rent the air. Never had Eadulf heardanything like it. Once, twice and a third time the cry shattered the evening stillness around them. As the cry subsided, the wolf seemed to pause and listen.

Sure enough, from the field, came an answering cry, an awesome wailing sound.

Without further ado, not even so much as a glance in Eadulf s direction, the attacking wolf turned and loped over the stone boundary wall and away towards the field behind them.

Eadulf found himself still transfixed and the sweat was pouring from his brow. His staff was slippery in the palms of his hands.

It was Fidelma who moved first.

‘Come on, lest there be others of those creatures nearby. Let’s get to the safety of the township.’

When Eadulf did not move, she reached forward and tugged him by the sleeve.

He tried to collect his wits, turned and hurried after her in a rapid trot, now and then casting nervous glances across his shoulders.

‘But they are heading for the field where we left the …’

‘Of course!’ snapped Fidelma. ‘Why do you think the wolf abandoned its attack against us? Its mate — ’ her voice trembled slightly — ‘had found the carcass; found more easy prey than us. That was the meaning of those terrible cries between them. In death that poor man has saved us. Deo gratias !’

A feeling of nausea welled up in him as Eadulf realised what gruesome meal must now be being enjoyed by the well. Yet they could have been that meal. Fidelma could have been … He began to mutter, ‘ Agnus Dei … 0 Lamb of God …’ It was the prayer in the office for the burial of the dead.

‘Save your breath,’ Fidelma interrupted irritably. ‘Honour the man’s sacrifice by being worthy of it and reaching safety.’

Eadulf fell silent, hurt by Fidelma’s curtness. He was, after all, more concerned with her safety than his own. However, he had realised, for the first time since he had known her, that she, too, could be inspired by fear.

They did not speak again until they had reached the edge of the township and went along the main street, quickly passing the glowing lamp of the tavern of Cred. There were a few people on the street but no one seemed to notice them until they came to the blacksmith’s forge.

In spite of the lateness of the hour, the smith was seated near to a glowing brazier which stood by his anvil. He was polishing a metal sword blade. He glanced up and recognised them.

‘I would have a care about being abroad after dark, lady,’ he greeted.

Fidelma halted before him. She had entirely recovered her composure now and returned his gaze evenly. ‘Why so?’

The smith cocked his head to one side in a listening attitude. ‘Have you not heard them, lady?’

In the stillness of the evening the sounds of the baying wolves came faintly to their ears.

‘Yes, we’ve heard them.’ Her voice was tight.

The smith nodded slowly. He did not cease in his polishing. ‘I have never known them nearer to the township,’ he observed. ‘I would hurry back to the abbey, if I were you.’

He bent to his task as if engrossed. Then he raised his head again. ‘I think, as bó-aire of the township, I shall have to call a hunt tomorrow to flush these brutes out from their lairs.’

It was not unusual for a local chieftain, or even a prince or the King himself, to organise a wolf hunt in order to keep the numbers of the savage beasts at an acceptable level. Yet it seemed to Eadulf that there was some other meaning behind the man’s words. He wondered whether he was right or whether he was hearing things which were not there due to the emotion of the evening’s events.

Fidelma left the smith without another word and began to walk towards the tall, dark walls of the abbey, along the path by the great yew-tree. Eadulf hurried after her. Once out of earshot, he articulated his thoughts.