There was a distance of perhaps twenty or twenty-five feet from the place where she had emerged to the line of the surrounding forest. She rose to her feet and, crouching low, she ran headlong towards its shelter, praying that she was fully hidden from the raiders by the angle of the building and the heavy, swirling smoke.
No warning shout reached her ears before she plunged into the undergrowth, flinging herself flat beneath some bushes, and recovering her breath before she crawled to a vantage position where she could peer back to the bothán of Menma and Suanach. It was firmly alight and the smoke was rising in a tall spiralling column. Surely, she thought, the smoke would rouse those at the fortress and bring riders racing to investigate?
She had not escaped a moment too soon, for just then two horsemen came trotting their mounts round the corner of the building as if examining it.
‘No sign of her husband. She must have told the truth when she said that he was away in the woods,’ one man was saying in a loud, almost raucous tone.
His companion had a reed-like but sharp voice. He was waving his hand towards the cabin.
‘The smoke will bring our enemies down on us soon. We should rejoin our companions before we are discovered.’
‘And with our purpose unresolved?’
‘What do we tell our chieftain?’ demanded the second man.
‘There is no need to tell Conrí anything.’
‘Let us hope you are right and this hunter, Menma, follows his wife,’ the other went on.
‘He’ll follow the bait sure enough. Suanach will lure him to us.’
‘If we wanted to find him, surely all we had to do was wait here. I still fail to see why Menma is so important. There are others among the Cinél na Áeda who could supply the information.’
‘The old merchant said that Menma knew all there is to know about the Thicket of Pigs. He would know what has been discovered there. If what the merchant said is right, then we would be able to avenge our defeat at Cnoc Áine by that usurping upstart Colgú.’
‘We will not be able to avenge anything unless we leave this place before the warriors from Rath Raithlen arrive,’ retorted the other.
The two riders turned and rode back to join their companions, leaving Fidelma trying to understand the meaning of their conversation. At least it seemed that Suanach was safe and merely taken hostage rather than perishing in the flames. But what was the mystery discovery at the Thicket of Pigs? Why would it bring the Uí Fidgente raiding deep into Eóghanacht territory? Who was the old merchant and what could Menma know?
There was no time to ponder more on the questions that assailed her. The only thing for her to do was to hurry back to Rath Raithlen and inform Becc. He would have to send warriors in pursuit to rescue Suanach if he had not seen the flames and done so already. Then she and Eadulf would have to go in search of Menma and find out more about this Thicket of Pigs. She was sure that the answer probably lay in the cave that she had wanted to explore. She was thankful that she had told Eadulf to go back to the safety of Rath Raithlen that afternoon. His life would be worth nothing to the Uí Fidgente.
She heard the horsemen leaving. There was nothing she could do to put out the flames of Menma and Suanach’s home. The bothán had become a burning pyre. She rose and began to move through the woods, turning eastward at a tangent that she felt would intersect the main track to the fortress. She would probably meet Becc’s warriors on the way.
Dusk was beginning to settle now. There was hardly any discernible path in the undergrowth and she had to twist and turn to find a way through. After a while she began to feel sorry that she had not gone by way of the main path from the bothán to the track. After all, the raiders had ridden in the opposite direction. But it was better to be safe than sorry, although her safety was a matter of speculation at the moment. She realised that she had become a little disorientated and she looked about, trying to figure out if she were going in the wrong direction. The darkness made such observation futile and the tall oaks and alders stretched skyward, blotting out the residual light which might have revealed the path.
When all seemed utterly hopeless, she realised that a natural path, perhaps a track used by generations of wild boar, had opened up to give an easier trail through the trees and undergrowth. She saw, even in the twilight, that several of the trees were dark on one side and stopped to reach out a hand to touch this shadow. It was damp moss.
Fidelma smiled.
That side of the tree was facing north. It was an old woodsman’s trick to establish direction. She placed her back to the dry side of the tree and held her two arms straight at right angles to her body. Her left arm would indicate the easterly direction, the direction of the track.
She turned in that direction and nearly tripped over a long, slender branch. It was like a staff and perhaps someone had begun to shape it as such. She picked it up and realised it was a handy weapon. Feeling more secure, she began to push her way along another narrow path and it was not too long before she saw the open space of the track before her. She felt better. Although it was now dark, the moon and stars were out in a cloudless sky and there was some light along the road.
She estimated it would take about an hour certainly no more, of good walking to reach the fortress of Becc. She set out at a quick steady pace.
Barely ten minutes had passed when she heard a horse coming at a gallop. She moved quickly into the nearby bushes and held her staff ready. The moon gave light to a long stretch of the road behind her and she saw the black shadow of a horse emerge. Its rider seemed to be crouched in an awkward position over the beast’s neck. Was it one of the Uí Fidgente who had discovered her flight and was trying to cut her off before she reached Rath Raithlen? Well, little time to debate the point. And she could use the horse.
As the beast drew near she leapt out screaming like a bean sidh — a woman of the fairy folk. The horse reared up on his hindquarters, lashing out with his forelegs at the air. The rider tumbled backwards and hit the road, lying still. Fidelma dashed towards the figure with upraised staff ready to strike.
The figure groaned and swore — a strange Saxon oath. Fidelma dropped her staff and stared down.
‘Nar lige Dia! God look down on us!’ she cried. ‘Is it you, Eadulf?’
Eadulf groaned and shook his head, which he was holding in both hands.
‘I don’t think I ever will be me again,’ he muttered. ‘I am surely broken in two.’
‘I am sorry. I thought you were one of the Uí Fidgente,’ cried Fidelma. She was aghast as she bent forward and tried to raise him into a sitting position.
Eadulf blinked and attempted to focus in the darkness. Her saw her shadowy form, heard her voice, and realisation suddenly hit him. His senses returned in a rush. He struggled up.
‘You were not captured by them?’ he demanded incredulously, reaching out a hand to touch her cheek.
She shook her head with a brief smile, which he could not see in the darkness.
‘As you can surely tell, Eadulf,’ she replied waspishly to hide her relief. ‘Otherwise I would not be here.’
‘Accobrán and Menma with some men from Rath Raithlen have gone in pursuit of the Uí Fidgente,’ he said, managing to scramble to his feet. ‘We thought that you and Suanach were captured.’