Peter Tremayne - The Subtle Serpent

Before he could protest further, Fidelma had remounted and was trotting off down the track towards the flickering lights. As they approached closer to the buildings, a dog started to yelp. A raucous voice cursed the animal, thinking — or so Fidelma judged by the sense of what was shouted — that the poor beast was yapping at the wolves on the mountainside. She held up her hand and motioned her companions towards the shelter of the surrounding trees and undergrowth where they dismounted out of sight of the settlement. Without a word she handed her reins to Ross and shook her head vehemently when he began to open his mouth in protest.

She drew her cloak more firmly over her shoulders and moved off, across the slushy approach to the settlement. It was not an enclosed settlement, as some were, but the buildings seemed to be placed in a haphazard fashion. Shehad no idea where she was actually going or what she was going to do. She just walked firmly into the shadows cast by the buildings as if she had every right to be there. Someone actually emerged between two of the cabins, carrying a lantern, and began to walk by her without a second glance. He was a thick-set warrior, with shield and spear slung on his back.

With heart beating, Fidelma turned after him.

‘Warrior!’ she called, her voice filled with as much authority as she could muster.

The man paused and turned. He did not seem surprised to see a stranger accosting him in the dark and she made a point of letting the light of his lantern fall on her crucifix around her neck.

‘Yes, sister?’ There was no suspicion in his voice only a curiosity and respect. She could not see his features and hoped that they mirrored his tone. She decided to chance everything on a bold move.

‘Among the prisoners is a Saxon religieux. I need to question him. Do you know where he has been held?’

‘A Saxon?’ The man thought for a moment. ‘Oh, yes. He is being kept with the other religieuses. Do you see that second cabin across there, by the edge of those trees? You’ll find him there.’

‘Thank you, warrior.’

The warrior raised a hand in salutation and swung away.

Fidelma could hardly believe that it was so easy. She found herself recalling the line from Phormio by Terence: audentes fortuna juvat — fortune favours the daring. Her mentor, the Brehon Morann of Tara had frequently repeated that and added his own maxim. Unless one entered the wolfs lair, one could not take the cubs. Fortune had certainly smiled on her and she had entered the lair easily enough.

She hurried towards the cabin which the warrior had indicated. It was a large, isolated cabin, standing at the veryedge of the settlement by the border of the woods that served as protection from the mountains. The next building was about thirty yards away. The place appeared to be in darkness, although she saw a window across which a sackcloth hung. A faint glow of a lantern seemed to be flickering behind it. She moved up to the window and listened carefully. She could hear no sound at first. Then there came a strange, scratching noise, like metal on metal. Raising herself on tiptoe, she tugged gently at the sackcloth and peered cautiously in.

The cabin seemed divided into two rooms. The window gave entrance to one of these rooms. It was bare, except for a lamp hung from the rafters giving out a faint light. There were several poles supporting the roof. A figure sat at the foot of one of these poles. It was a male, clad in brown robes, sitting with his body bent towards his feet. He appeared to be working away at something. Fidelma breathed sharply. The figure wore the tonsure of Peter of Rome. She peered around, ensuring that there was no one else in the room. The window was impossible to get through as wooden bars prevented ingress. She went to the door and found a heavy bar locking it from the outside. Fidelma looked swiftly around and, ensuring no one was in sight, she heaved at the bar, managing to slide it from its iron mountings so that she could pull the door open.

She moved hurriedly inside and closed the door behind her. For a moment she stood with her back to it and gazed into the room.

The figure on the floor had stopped his attentions to his feet and was slumped against the pole as if in an attitude of repose. Eyes fast shut.

Fidelma took a step forward and smiled with satisfaction.

‘It is no time to be sleeping, Brother Eadulf,’ she whispered.

It was as if a cold stream of water had suddenly hit the figure. He jerked his head upwards, his body going tense andstiff. His mouth hung open as he gazed at the shadowy figure above him.

She took another step forward and the meagre light from the lamp fell across her face.

‘My God! Can be it you?’ came the incredulous voice of the Saxon monk.

Impulsively, Fidelma bent forward, stretching forth both hands and grasped those that Eadulf held out to her. His hands were free but she noticed that he was shackled by one ankle to the wooden pole against which he was squatting. He looked dirty and careworn and appeared as if he had not eaten or slept for a week. The Saxon monk apparently could not believe his eyes and hung on to her hands fiercely as though afraid that she was a vision which would abruptly vanish.

‘Fidelma!’

For several moments neither of them were able to speak. Then it was Fidelma who finally broke the silence.

‘Of all people, Eadulf,’ Fidelma said, forcing a tone of rebuke, though there was a slight catch to her voice. ‘Brother Eadulf, you are the last person I have been expecting to see in this land of mine.’

‘If the truth be known,’ replied Eadulf, the corners of his mouth twitching in a dry grimace, ‘if the truth be known, I will admit that I never hoped to see anyone I knew ever again. But how have you come here? You are surely not a friend of these people …?’

‘There is much to explain,’ Fidelma replied with a shake of her head. ‘But we must hurry and get you away from this place before we are discovered. How are you bound?’

Eadulf bit back the hundred and one questions that were obviously flooding into his mind and gestured to the iron manacle on his ankle.

‘I have been trying to work it loose but I do not have the right tool.’

Fidelma examined the lock, frowning slightly in concentration. It was a simple mechanism but needed somethinglong and thin to prise it open. She reached into her crumena and drew out the knife she carried and attempted to insert the point into the opening of the padlock. It was too broad.

Eadulf watched her glumly as she peered around the room obviously searching for a long piece of metal to prise the lock open.

‘There is nothing within my reach. I have looked.’

She did not reply but rose and examined the lantern which was hanging on the wooden pole. She reached forward, removing it and examining the iron nail on which it had been hooked. Then she put down the lamp and using her knife began to dig at the nail. It took a few moments to remove sufficient wood around it to start to loosen it and a few moments more to wiggle it up and down so that she could extract it with ease. Then she returned to her task.

‘I still do not understand how you came here, Fidelma,’ Eadulf said as he watched her twist the nail in the lock.

‘It will take some time to explain. More important than that is the question of how you came here.’

‘I was a passenger on a Gaulish merchant ship. The captain put into this port to trade and suddenly we were all captured.’

‘Where are the rest of the captives?’

‘Mostly held in the mines to work. There are some copper mines here …’

‘I know. Ah! That’s it.’

There was a click of the mechanism as it turned. She unloosened the fetter from his ankle.