Peter Tremayne - Penance of the Damned

The young religieux moved forward. At that precise moment, the sound of urgent trumpet blasts shook the hall. A warrior burst in, saw Ceit and spoke urgently to him. Ceit rapped out some orders and sent the man running off. The guard commander then turned to them with an expression of dismay.

‘You will have to delay this matter. Glaed’s ravening wolves are gathered at the opposite side of the river. They are ready to cross the bridge; lined up for an assault. I’ve ordered the fortress gates to be shut and our warriors to turn out.’

Prince Donennach’s warriors were gathered along the walkways at the top of the walls that fronted the fortress, each armed with bows and quivers of arrows. The main gates had been shut and barred. Prince Donennach had climbed to the walkway above the gates with Conri and Ceit at his side. Whatever weakness he had displayed in handling his kinsman, there was no doubting the young man’s courage in battle. He was a fighting prince who preferred to lead his men. Brehon Faolchair had nervously taken shelter nearby. Fidelma and Eadulf, having sent word to Enda to continue to guard Aibell, had decided to take their positions with Donennach. Brother Tuaman and Brother Mac Raith had also joined them to observe the threatening marauders. Only Prior Cuan remained below in the courtyard for it was difficult for him to climb up to the walls with his disabled leg.

Conri had ordered some of his warriors to confine Abbot Nannid and Brother Cuineain in the great hall to await the outcome of what was about to happen.

Fidelma viewed the scene with some foreboding. There was no way of defending the township or the walled community of Nechta. Already there was panic and confusion as men, women and children ran hither and thither to find shelter. Mothers were screaming at their wandering children, others seemed to be standing, paralysed in despair. There would be nowhere to hide once the marauders crossed the bridge. It was obvious that the township would be attacked first.

The question of how the marauders had managed to get so close to the town was answered as they scrutinised the lines of mounted raiders on the far side of the bridge across the river. A line of nine men with arms bound behind them were being marched in front of a couple of horsemen across the bridge and into the main square. They were made to turn in a line facing the fortress and halted. Ceit viewed them bitterly. ‘My sentinels, each one surprised and caught. That is why we had no warning. Glaed is obviously mocking us by bringing them here to slaughter them in front of our eyes before he attacks.’

It became clear that the marauders intended no surprise attack, for three riders now detached themselves from the main body and trotted their horses across the bridge, swinging round to the path that led up to the fortress gates. One of the three riders was a techtaire , a herald, who rode in front of the others. He carried a long blue silk banner dancing in the wind from its staff – and on the blue silk they could make out the figure of a raven. Behind him rode a second man carrying a bronze war trumpet which he now blew several times as they approached. The third rider was obviously their leader.

‘That’s unusual,’ Conri muttered. ‘The ravening wolves of Sliabh Luachra don’t usually announce their presence before they strike.’

‘What are they doing?’ Prince Donennach asked, licking at his dry lips.

‘I think they want to speak to us,’ replied Conri in surprise.

‘Keep the gates closed.’ Prince Donennach was suspicious. ‘They can talk from below.’

The three horsemen halted as they came abreast of the tall pillar stone with its ancient Ogham inscription naming Dun Eochair Mhaigh as the ‘house of kings’. The riders positioned themselves before the tall wooden gates.

‘The leader seems familiar,’ Fidelma started to say when her words were interrupted by another blast on the war trumpet.

Conri leaned over the parapet to call down: ‘We can see you. We do not recognise your standard although you proclaim on it the Goddess of Death and Battles; clearly you are men of Sliabh Luachra. What do you seek here?’

‘My lord wishes to speak with Prince Donennach of the Ui Fidgente,’ called the trumpet-bearer.

Prince Donennach moved to Conri’s side after the warlord made a careful sweep to identify any hidden bowmen; there were none.

‘I am he,’ called Prince Donennach.

The leader moved his horse forward a little. He wore a bright, multi-coloured cloak. He removed his polished metal war helmet, revealing a mass of long black hair which had a shimmer of blue in the early morning sun. The man was handsome, with pale skin, bright blue eyes which stared up, fathomless like the restless blue of a summer sea.

Fidelma let out a gasp, followed by an exclamation from Eadulf, for it was Deogaire, the nephew of Fidelma’s old mentor Brother Conchobhar. It was Deogaire who had once rescued Aibell from the fortress of Fidaig, father of Glaed of the Sliabh Luachra. But Fidelma knew enough not to intervene in the ritual that was unfolding.

‘Who are you, who threatens my fortress?’ called Prince Donennach.

The young man sat back on his horse and chuckled. ‘I am no threat to you or to your fortress, nor to the township behind me, Donennach, Prince of the Ui Fidgente. I am Deogaire, lord of the people of the Sliabh Luachra.’

They saw that he held a sack in his left hand, and this he abruptly tossed to the ground so that something bloody and gruesome rolled out of it to lie in the dust of the track before the fortress gates. Heads strained to see what it was.

‘In life, my friends,’ Deogaire called up, ‘that was Glaed, brigand chief of the Sliabh Luachra. I bring you his head, Donennach, to show that he is no longer a threat to you.’

‘How did Glaed meet his end, and for what cause did he perish?’ questioned the prince.

‘He died because he was a usurper; a murderer of his own father and his own brother. He raided, raped and murdered, and led his people into suffering and slaughter. He died because I recently returned to Sliabh Luachra seeking justice for myself and all those he had wronged. I wished to seek account of the effusion of blood that he had caused and the lives made wretched by him. When I caught up with him at the Hill of Truth, I challenged him to the fir comlainn , the truth of combat. One man and one sword pitted against another. The gods were on my side.’

‘The gods?’ exclaimed Brother Tuaman with an exaggerated expression of shock. ‘ Deus salva nos ! This man is not a Christian! We cannot trust him.’

‘I do not hold to the New Faith,’ Deogaire called back, overhearing the steward’s exclamation. ‘I adhere to the ancient Faith and am possessed of the imbas foronsai , the gift of prophecy which sustains and comforts me.’

Fidelma grimaced at Eadulf. ‘At least that is the Deogaire we know of old,’ she whispered.

‘So why do you approach this fortress with the ravening wolves of Sliabh Luachra?’ demanded Prince Donennach.

‘To show you that these are now my ravening wolves and they will return to their lairs. The gods helped me defeat the pretensions of Glaed in token of which, I bring you his head to dispose of as you will, in respect or contempt. If you have memory of our old religion, it is believed that the soul resides in the head. Thus our ancestors, when they slew their enemies, cut off the head so that the soul might freely speed to the Otherworld and no longer haunt the living.’

‘I have heard of the custom, Deogaire of Sliabh Luachra, and so we accept your token,’ replied the prince. ‘But I see you hold nine of my warriors bound in the square behind you. What is your intention with them?’