Night of the Lightbringer Read online

  Eadulf was not convinced but Fidelma was already moving off along the track and so he tagged reluctantly along.

  ‘Aren’t you worried about her going around freely?’ he demanded.

  ‘Why so? For what purpose should she be confined?’ Fidelma replied.

  ‘Because of her threats,’ Eadulf said. ‘She claims to be of the Old Faith and Spelán suffered the threefold death and …’

  Fidelma silenced him with a glance. ‘Her threats were open to interpretation even if I called them a breach of law. She merely claimed to interpret the circling of ravens; it was not about threatening specific individuals. She is more to be pitied than feared. But she obviously did have some kind of a connection with Spelán. I think we should wait for a more appropriate moment, when we are armed with more knowledge, to revisit our conversation with her.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Eadulf agreed. ‘If she is involved with something sinister, then leaving her to her own devices at this stage will allow her to have a false sense of security. I suppose there is something to the saying “Let the wicked fall into their own nets” – as a Psalm of David has it.’

  They rode on in silence, and although Aidan was constantly twisting round in his saddle to ensure there was no sign of the woman following them, nothing interrupted them as they trotted under the brow of the hill, came to a rise and saw the circle of standing stones. In fact, now they were close, Fidelma saw that it was more an ellipse than a circle, some nine metres at its widest point. There were nine stones, some of which had toppled, either through soil erosion or by the efforts of man. In the centre was a stone of some dark quartz, which looked like an altar. It was a barren place, and now a cold wind had arisen and was whipping at them and whispering harshly across the rocky fingers.

  Fidelma dismounted and the two men followed her example. While Aidan held the patient horses, Fidelma strode into the centre of the ancient stone monument and climbed onto the quartz altar.

  ‘What are you doing?’ demanded Eadulf in some concern. The stone circle was a sacred place; it must surely have been built to venerate the old deities and should either be shunned or treated with more respect. Coming in the wake of the threefold death of the murdered shepherd and then the appearance of the woman, Brancheó, he felt rattled and vulnerable.

  Fidelma was standing peering round the countryside from her vantage-point.

  ‘I am trying to see if there is any building resembling a shepherd’s cabin or, indeed, any other building in the vicinity,’ she answered impatiently.

  ‘Be careful. That’s probably an ancient pagan altar that you are standing on.’

  ‘Doubtless,’ she replied grimly. ‘Strange, that this site is so close to Cashel and I did not know of it. I know more about distant places than this. I wonder why it was constructed in such an isolated area?’

  ‘In that may lie the reason,’ Eadulf said nervously. ‘These circles are best constructed away from the sight of ordinary folk.’

  Fidelma smiled. ‘Sometimes, Eadulf, you make the most enlightening points.’

  He regarded her with suspicion but she was not being sarcastic. She acknowledged that isolation was sometimes necessary in the pursuit of worshipping the old gods and goddesses. Anyway, she had completed her survey of the surrounding countryside and was focusing on one particular area.

  ‘Can you see the shepherd’s cabin?’ he asked.

  ‘I cannot,’ she said slowly, ‘but I can see the dark outlines of the top of what must be Ráth Cuáin, the abbey, on the next hill.’

  Eadulf had also been examining the countryside around them. ‘There is one thing that has been puzzling me,’ he said.

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘If this was the area where Spelán allegedly grazed his flock of sheep, I wonder why we have seen no sign of them? Even if they have been taken to another pasture, there are no snatches of wool on the gorse and thorns, and no droppings scattered around.’

  ‘I was wondering if you had noticed that,’ was all Fidelma said, turning to survey the countryside again.

  Eadulf felt disappointed when she made no further comment. It would not be the first time that Fidelma had disappeared into her own thoughts and speculations and failed to share them with him. But then she suddenly gave a sharp inward breath.

  ‘I think I can see where it must be!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘The cabin?’

  ‘Yes. It’s quite a way down the slope towards the valley forest. Come up and I’ll show you.’

  Reluctantly, Eadulf clambered on to the sacred stone altar and followed the line of her outstretched hand.

  ‘See? There is a small copse which would be the ideal place for a cabin to be built. It is sheltered from the winds, and it looks as if there is a stream running through it as well. For want of anything else more promising in the surrounding country, we shall try there.’

  The place she pointed out was some distance down the hill, well below the gloomy silhouette of the Abbey of Ráth Cuáin. Eadulf could see a small area of dark evergreens that still had the appearance of summer in spite of the imminence of autumn.

  ‘Yet there are no sheep around there either,’ he noted, ‘nor any sign of smoke from a fire to indicate habitation. As it is overlooked by the building that you say must be the abbey, perhaps we should go there first to make our inquiries?’

  ‘No, let us find the cabin first,’ Fidelma decided. She jumped down from the stone and hastened back to where Aidan was holding the horses.

  ‘Come on, Eadulf,’ she called impatiently.

  But Eadulf remained on the top of the flat rock, his eyes screwed up in an attempt to improve his vision.

  ‘Someone’s going towards it,’ he called back, when he was sure his eyes had not deceived him. ‘They are climbing up from the valley towards that copse.’

  ‘Is it Brancheó?’ Fidelma asked, swinging back up to him.

  ‘No, it’s a man … ah, even from this distance I can see he’s a woodsman by the clothes he wears and the axe he carries. I can see a wagon further down the hill, abandoned on a lower path.’

  ‘From what direction is he coming?’

  ‘From the forest in the valley below,’ repeated Eadulf. ‘I thought you said this was an isolated spot? What with that strange woman and now a woodcutter …’

  The oncoming figure was ascending the hill at great speed but clearly with some physical exertion.

  ‘That’s interesting. He does seem to be heading towards the copse,’ Fidelma agreed. Then she suddenly exclaimed, ‘It’s Curnan!’

  ‘The woodsman responsible for the bonfire in Cashel?’ asked Eadulf in surprise. ‘We left him in Cashel. How did he get here?’

  ‘That is what we shall go and find out,’ Fidelma replied, turning to mount her horse.

  By the time Eadulf had left the stone circle and reached his cob, Fidelma was already riding down the precipitous southern slope with all the skill she had as a horsewoman. Thankfully, there was another, less challenging zig-zag track down the hill, and Aidan had waited behind to help Eadulf in case he came into difficulty. Now he was beginning to catch up with her.

  ‘I see a track below the hill, lady,’ called Aidan. ‘That must be another easier track from Cashel. He has a mule and a cart, so he must have driven here and left it to climb up to the copse on foot.’

  The woodsman had been ascending the incline with his head down, a stout axe slung across his shoulders. So he did not see or hear them until they were almost on top of him.

  ‘Greetings again, Curnan!’ Fidelma called loudly.

  The woodsman stopped dead and peered upwards, his eyes wide in surprise as he saw the three riders. He stopped his ascent and stood waiting for them to approach.

  ‘You’ve chosen a hard climb, my friend,’ Fidelma said by way of greeting. ‘What are you after – not more wood for your bonfire?’

  Curnan seemed to recover himself.

  ‘True, it’s a difficult way if you have a cart and an ass, lady,’ he r
eplied, as they halted before him and dismounted.

  ‘There is an easier track for horses and carts further over there,’ Fidelma said. Her eye had missed little when examining the area from the ancient stone circle. ‘Why didn’t you bring your cart up that way?’

  ‘Because it leads to the abbey and one can be observed from its walls.’

  ‘Why would you want to avoid being seen from the abbey? In fact, what are you doing here, Curnan? I thought you had to finish preparing the great Samhain fire for tomorrow night.’

  ‘This is the territory of the Sítae, lady. My territory, lady – I told you so before. I was born in those same woods below here. The great fire needs logs and that is why I am out and about with my cart.’

  Fidelma smiled sceptically. ‘I can understand you collecting wood from the forest below, but up on these bare stretches of hill there is not much to be gathered, especially by a man who has left his cart below.’

  Curnan looked uncertain for a moment and then he shrugged. ‘I was just … just scouring the hillside to see what I could see.’

  ‘There’s not much to see – apart from that little copse along the path here. The few trees there look like evergreens, so they wouldn’t be any use for the bonfire, even if you could cut them down and get them single-handedly to your cart down there.’

  This time, Curnan was at a loss for words.

  ‘I don’t suppose that copse disguises the location of Spelán’s cabin?’ Fidelma pressed. ‘Is that why you didn’t want to be observed from the abbey, approaching it with your cart and mule?’

  ‘Spelán’s cabin?’ Curnan echoed stupidly, and only succeeded in sounding guilty.

  ‘You told me that you grew up here. Spelán is dead – and you also told me that Caoimhe, his wife, is dead.’

  ‘Then why would I be going there?’ blustered the woodsman.

  Fidelma gave a thoughtful sigh. ‘Oh, there might be many reasons. Perhaps you wanted something from the cabin?’

  ‘Why would I want anything from the cabin? I was not a friend of Spelán.’

  ‘But you knew his wife, Caoimhe, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes – but as I told you, Caoimhe died before the summer months,’ the man almost snarled.

  ‘So perhaps you came to look at what might be salvaged if the place was empty?’

  ‘That is not true!’ the man said heatedly.

  ‘I am sorry if I have misconstrued your presence here, Curnan,’ Fidelma said in a pleasant tone. ‘But you must admit that your explanation is hard to believe.’

  ‘It is the only one I have,’ he returned sourly.

  ‘How well did you really know Caoimhe and Spelán?’ Her voice became stern.

  ‘As told you, I was raised in the woods below. When Spélan came to the territory he managed to ingratiate himself with Caoimhe. She was a local girl and he took to herding her sheep. I would see him from time to time, especially when he went to Cashel to get drunk. I had no reason to like him but none to kill him. Caoimhe possessed little, but she did have sheep. That was good enough for Spelán.’ Curnan cleared his throat before admitting, ‘All right, I did come here to see what I could scavenge before the news spread and others came.’

  ‘Then it is fortunate that we met you before you reached his cabin, Curnan,’ Fidelma said coldly. ‘Had you scavenged anything, as you said was your intent, then you might have been facing serious charges of theft. I suggest that you return to your cart and be on your way. Your duty is to the bonfire in Cashel.’

  Curnan hesitated, as if he would argue, but he caught the fiery glint in Fidelma’s eye and turned to begin to make his way back down the hill towards his cart and ass.

  Aidan was about to say something but Fidelma shook her head at him.

  ‘Leave him. We can question him later after we have gained a better knowledge of this Spelán, his wife Caoimhe, and his habits.’

  ‘Then we had best continue to examine Spelán’s cabin before night catches up with us,’ Eadulf agreed, glancing up at the sky.

  ‘You are right, Eadulf,’ she said briefly. ‘At least we now know that the cabin is in that copse. Let us hope that we will find some answers to this mystery.’

  Aidan did not look happy at allowing Curnan to depart unhindered but he remounted his horse and moved off, insisting on leading the way.

  It must have been the angle of the hill and the way the path twisted because Eadulf, looking back up the hill, now saw the abbey building perched on the summit towering above them. It rose, as forbidding as a fortress. The building bore not the slightest resemblance to an abbey. As he stared up, he realised how uneven the slopes of the hill were as, when they moved further south, he saw little areas that were like stretches of cliff.

  He called Fidelma’s attention to it.

  ‘Well, we were told that Ráth Cuáin was originally the fortress of the local chieftain,’ she replied. ‘It certainly looks as if it is still more fortress than abbey.’

  ‘It is strange that we could not see it from the vantage point we had from the east,’ Aidan said.

  ‘It is to do with the geography of the hills,’ Fidelma explained. ‘A good way to keep it hidden until you are almost on top of it. Curnan must have known the geography well, to be able to keep out of sight. Also, that position protects it from any incursion from the great river. Well, it is not our concern now. Let’s find out about this cabin.’

  ‘Speaking of curiosities, I have said it before and will repeat myself now: I find it strange that there are still no signs of a sheep flock,’ Eadulf said.

  They were now entering the small grove, where the evergreens produced both shelter and darkness.

  ‘Look!’ Aidan pointed. ‘You were right, lady. There is a cabin among the trees.’

  ‘But no sign of smoke or animals in the vicinity,’ Eadulf said.

  ‘Which is to be expected, if both occupants are dead,’ Fidelma replied.

  They reined in their horses and examined the surroundings. Everything was quiet except for the soft gurgling of a small brook easing its way across the pebbles as it meandered down the hill, and the chatter of birds among the trees. They could also hear the soughing of a chill wind fluttering through the branches, picking up the few remaining autumnal leaves, sending them spinning this way and that way, eventually to the ground.

  ‘This is too quiet, lady,’ Aidan said apprehensively. ‘I have a bad feeling about it.’

  ‘If this is where Spelán and his wife dwelled, then it is certainly deserted now, and I would have said it has been so for some time,’ Eadulf said.

  ‘Let us dismount,’ Fidelma ordered. ‘Aidan, you stay here with the horses. Eadulf and I will go into the cabin to see if it is deserted.’

  Immediately Aidan began to protest but she quickly waved him to silence, so he slid from his mount, taking the proffered reins from her and Eadulf.

  The cabin did not lie far among the shelter of the trees. What surprised Eadulf was the fact that it was constructed mainly of stone. He had expected to find a typical wooden logger’s construction. It was a squat affair, covered with a heavy rotting thatch that should have been repaired many seasons before. Indeed, the entire appearance of the place was one of neglect and abandonment; it was dirty and unloved. There were a few rusty tools lying around the place. There was but one aperture that served as a window; a single board, usually closed to shut out the chill of the night, hung lopsidedly from a loose hinge. They noticed that the once stout wooden door, now decaying with the inclement weather, was standing ajar.

  As they approached more closely, Eadulf suddenly pointed. Lying partway across the threshold was the carcass of a dog.

  ‘That’s been freshly killed,’ he declared.

  Fidelma agreed that he was right. Although the blood was dry there was no sign yet of the animal decomposing nor that any scavengers had, as yet, begun to mutilate it. Fidelma estimated that it had probably lain there for no more than a day or two. Had it been there longer then it would have
attracted the attention of wolves or foxes or even the crows or ravens in search of an easy meal.

  ‘I presume this was Spelán’s sheepdog,’ Fidelma said grimly.

  ‘Do you think that whoever killed him and his dog made off with the flock of sheep? Is that why we have seen nothing of them?’ Eadulf asked.

  Fidelma was looking grave. ‘I am now more concerned with finding out more about Spelán and the wife who is reported to be dead. We will search inside the cabin.’

  Before Eadulf could protest or bid her be wary, she had pushed open the door and stepped over the slaughtered animal.

  SIX

  The stench that met them as they entered was so strong that it caused Fidelma to catch her breath and cough. There was little light in the place but enough for Eadulf to notice a candle lying on a side table. A small box lay obligingly nearby and proved to be ready with flint and steel, constituting the tenlach-teined or kindling gear as the tinder box was called. Eadulf set to work but he was no expert and, after a few moments, Fidelma took it from his hands and quickly achieved a spark, causing the small cluster of dried leaves and tinder to catch and from that she was able to light the candle.

  The couple turned to survey the interior of the cabin. Its shadowy interior revealed little out of the ordinary except that it was barely furnished. There was only one room with a hearth at one end where dusty cooking pots and a spit seemed long abandoned. A wooden bed was at the other end of the room, along with a rotting chest. A shepherd’s crook was balanced against one wall. It, too, looked long abandoned.

  Fidelma stood in one spot, holding the candle high and turning in a full circle, her eyes searching into every corner.

  Eadulf was shaking his head sadly. ‘Well, if this was Spelán’s cabin, there is certainly no trace of a woman having lived here,’ he said. ‘At least, not recently. That would confirm that his wife has been dead some time.’

  ‘You are right, Eadulf. It is as if this place was used by an old homeless itinerant who has long since abandoned any pretence to domesticity.’