Eadulf was still in a grumpy mood and about to refuse when Fidelma assented. He realised that he had almost broken an essential rule of etiquette, for when hospitality is offered it must never be refused, even if accepted only in token form.
They were sitting at the table in the cabin and the drinks had been poured when the door opened and Luchóc came bounding in, yelping and sniffing suspiciously at them. Menma came in immediately behind the dog and greeted them.
‘I recognised your horses outside. Sit, Luchóc! Sit!’
‘We have come to ask if…’ began Fidelma.
‘…if I can show you the caves on the Thicket of Pigs?’ Menma smiled. ‘I recall our conversation. I will, indeed, escort you there. When will you be ready?’
‘We are ready-’ began Eadulf but was cut short by a surreptitious kick under the table from Fidelma.
‘We are ready after we have finished sampling Suanach’s excellent mead,’ she ended for him. ‘Then we should start with that cave you mentioned which is on the hill above the Ring of Pigs.’
The ritual of hospitality ended, Fidelma and Eadulf followed Menma and his dog on horseback up the forest-covered hill. Menma did not ride, but preferred to jog up the slope, and with such agility and stamina that he was able to keep in front of their horses. The animals had to walk, blowing and snorting as they ascended the rise. Fidelma soon realised that riding was a mistake and eventually, as they came to a clearing not far from the summit, she halted and dismounted. Eadulf, with a little prayer of thanks, followed her example.
‘It is probably best to tether the horses here in this glade and continue on foot with you,’ she said to Menma.
The hunter acknowledged her suggestion with a smile.
‘It is not really the terrain for horses,’ he assented, but that was as close as he came to criticism. He pointed towards the top of the hill, which was still fairly well obscured by the trees. ‘That is what you seek. The old mine has its entrance near the summit.’
‘Why is this place called the Thicket of Pigs?’ Eadulf asked as they began to ascend on foot. He was looking around in bemusement at the oak and alder groves that stretched across the hill on either side. ‘Why would anyone name it so?’
‘Have you not heard the tale of Orc-Triath, the King of Boars?’ asked Menma with a smile.
Eadulf disclaimed knowledge.
‘The boar was one of the prized possessions of the fertility goddess Brigid, daughter of the Dagda, Father of the ancient gods and goddess of Eireann.’
‘According to the old story, this boar represented a powerful Otherworld creature which symbolised plunder and destruction,’ explained Fidelma.
‘And many a huntsman has encountered the animal and not lived to tell the tale,’ added Menma with apparent seriousness.
Eadulf raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You really believe that?’
‘It is not a question of belief but knowledge, Brother Saxon,’ replied the hunter. ‘This was the area, according to legend, where Orc-Triath roamed and ruled.’
‘What is that place?’ demanded Fidelma, pointing to where some grey limestone rocks rose on their right like some curious fortress among the trees. She did not wish to dwell on the ancient legends for she wanted to concentrate on her purpose in coming to this place.
‘That stand directly above the Ring of Pigs? It used to be called Derc Crosda.’
Fidelma examined the great limestone outcrop with sudden interest.
‘The forbidden place of darkness?’ She translated the name. ‘Meaning the cave, I suppose?’
‘I should warn you that the mines are probably in a dangerous condition. They have long been abandoned,’ Menma said earnestly.
‘We will be careful. Let’s see this cave.’
Menma called his dog to him and led the way through the thicket towards the rocky outcrop.
‘This is what you are looking for, lady,’ the hunter said, pointing.
The entrance into the cave was fairly large. It was clear that many people had used it in times past and even widened it with tools, for there were marks on the walls that showed the application of axes and hammers, splitting the rock.
Inside, the light that came into the cave showed the rubble of the entrance levelled onto a floor of sand.
‘The dancing floor of the Síog,’ explained Menma in hushed tones.
‘The what?’ demanded Eadulf.
‘The fairies,’ admitted the hunter. ‘There is a legend that the fairies dance here, and that if you throw a stone onto the floor it will not remain there long, for the fairies clear the floor for their dances.’
Eadulf sniffed in disapproval. ‘It seems this whole hill is riddled with legends.’
Menma did not seem perturbed by his cynicism. ‘Of course it is, Brother Saxon. Each crack and crevice of the land is filled with a thousand years of life and experience. Do not your own people have such a folklore?’
Fidelma had turned impatiently. ‘Can we lay our hands on some torches? I would look further into this place. We should have thought to bring some with us.’
‘I will do my best, lady. I should have brought lamps or a candle. I didn’t think.’
Menma’s best proved good, for it was not long before he returned with two substantial brand torches, which he had cut and made from dry grasses.
The cave revealed itself to be large, with several passages leading off. It was clear that the place had once been a place of work and there were even the remains of a forge and rotting bellows to one side.
‘This was abandoned many generations ago,’ Menma pointed out. ‘I was told that it was once a rich mine.’
Fidelma peered around. A stalagmite with a hollow top stood in one corner. There was a small pool fed by drops from a dripstone on the wall above. A few blocks of stone almost concealed a fissure at the back and she immediately felt drawn to it.
‘Careful, lady,’ called Menma anxiously. ‘There are many loose stones and objects here.’
Fidelma did not acknowledge him. She moved forward and began to squeeze through the fissure.
‘Fidelma!’ cried Eadulf in alarm. ‘For heaven’s sake, be careful!’
‘This leads into another chamber,’ her voice came back in reply, as she and her torch vanished. ‘Come on.’
Eadulf exchanged a glance with Menma, who held the second torch. The hunter motioned him to go first. Gritting his teeth, Eadulf plunged into the darkness, turning sideways and trying to hold his breath as he squeezed through the narrow fissure. But a moment later he was, as Fidelma had said, in another chamber about the size of a wealthy chieftain’s hall, with dripstones on the walls and several stalagmite columns on the floor, while the roof, in parts, was almost obscured by stalactites that were quite spectacular.
Fidelma was already crossing this dramatic chamber when Menma joined them.
‘This way!’ she called and disappeared into another passageway.
They could do nothing but follow.
The passage was not as narrow as the fissure and was tall enough to take a man walking at ease, but it led downwards. Eadulf could feel the incline. He had the impression that this passage was manmade, for it seemed rectangular and even in shape, with the sides of its walls as smooth as the floor.
‘I hope we have enough light to find the fissure again to get back into the original cave,’ he muttered anxiously.
Menma, coming behind him, did not reply but his muttered prayer suggested that he was clearly unhappy with Fidelma’s heedless forward progress.
Suddenly the passageway ended and emerged into a high circular chamber in whose centre was a black pool of what looked like deep water. It was beautiful, with stalactites descending from the roof while stalagmites grew up from the floor at various points for a height of fully eighteen or twenty feet. What made it breathtaking was that the stalagmites and boulders were encrusted with a crystalline deposit which resembled small bunches of grapes.
‘There are several galleries leading off over there,’ Fidelma observed aloud.