Fidelma and Eadulf glanced round in the direction he was looking.
‘Where away?’ asked the merchant, his eyes not moving from the bow as he was engaged in swinging the ship on to a new course.
‘Due north of us. It’s bearing down from Seanach’s Island.’
‘Ah, it is probably a Corco Duibhne trading vessel from the religious community going back to the mainland.’
Conri was shading his eyes.
‘I think not. The cut of that vessel is more of a laech-lestar than a merchant vessel…’
Fidelma had scrambled to her feet to get a better look.
Mugron, too, having completed his manoeuvre, was peering northward to the oncoming sail.
‘A laech-lestar? What is that?’ demanded Eadulf.
‘It’s a warship,’ Fidelma said shortly.
‘She has the wind full behind her, whoever she is, and will be on us shortly.’
Fidelma was concerned.
‘Ui Neill?’ she asked. There had been several wars with the expansionist northern Ui Neill of Ulaidh.
Mugron shook his head in disagreement.
‘We are too far south. The Ui Neill don’t raid these waters in midwinter.’
‘She’s really straining under full sail,’ observed Conri. ‘Her captain means to cross our bow or…’
He fell silent.
‘What is it?’ demanded Fidelma.
‘Can you see her meirge — her war banner?’
Fidelma glanced to the topmast from which a long banner was streaming. It looked like white satin, blown forward of the mast because the wind was behind the ship. It snapped and fluttered.
‘I can’t quite see the design,’ she called. ‘It looks like a tree
…’
Her gaze had fallen to the deck of the ship. She could see men lined along the rails behind round shields. She could see the glint of polished metal.
‘It is a tree,’ confirmed Conri. There was a strange catch to his voice. ‘It’s an oak tree being defended by a champion.’
‘Do you recognise it, then?’ asked Eadulf.
Conri laughed harshly.
‘I do. It’s the battle flag of Eoganan of the Ui Fidgente.’
Fidelma was staring at the banner in disbelief.
It was now apparent that the warship was racing down to intercept them. It was also apparent that her crew did not have any good intentions. The distance between the vessels was being closed at an alarming rate. The aim of the captain of the warship was suddenly clear. To the south they were crossing the mouth of a moderately sized bay.
‘Should we not run for cover and put in there?’ called Fidelma.
No one answered her because a couple of ranging arrows soared from the bow of the oncoming vessel and came curving through the sky, only to fall well short of Mugron’s ship, slapping harmlessly on the sea.
‘It won’t be long before they have our range,’ muttered Conri. He turned and called to his two warriors. ‘Break out your bows and show them we will not be taken without a fight.’
Mugron was disapproving.
‘You and two warriors mean to hold back the thirty or forty men that must be in that ship? Do you want us all killed because you will not be taken without a fight?’
‘Rather be killed fighting than killed after we surrender,’ snapped Conri.
‘Surrender to whom?’ demanded a bewildered Eadulf. ‘I thought Eoganan was dead?’
‘So he is,’ replied Conri, his voice angry. ‘And that means those flying his flag are rebels, outlaws, men without honour who have rejected the peace between the Ui Fidgente and Cashel. They will not spare our lives.’
Mugron was looking undecided.
‘This has never happened before,’ he began. ‘There have been no raids along this coast since-’
Suddenly there was a soft thud. An arrow embedded itself in the bow rail of the boat.
‘They’ve found our range,’ exclaimed Conri unnecessarily.
He had barely let out the words, when three or four arrows were shot from the nearing vessel. This time they carried a thin trail of smoke behind them.
‘Fire arrows!’ Mugron shouted.
The arrows fell near but extinguished themselves in the sea.
‘What about running for shelter in that bay?’ demanded Fidelma again, pointing to the bay to the south.
‘A trap,’ snapped Mugron. ‘Once in that bay there is no room to come out. We would be caught like rats in a trap.’
‘But we must do something,’ Conri. said.
Half a dozen more fire arrows were loosed from the warship. Two hit on the foredeck and two of Mugron’s crew ran forward to tear them loose and throw them overboard. The ships were very close now. They could hear the warriors banging their swords against their shields in exultation. The streaming silk banner was clearly visible now. Conri was right. It depicted an oak tree and before it a warrior with sword and shield. Eadulf
Mugron was yelling to his crew to take cover behind the bales of trade goods.
‘There is an island coming up ahead,’ warned Fidelma but Mugron had seen it and seemed to be steering straight for it. She stood calmly by the merchant as he bent over the tiller. ‘Mugron, the island!’ she snapped again.
‘I know it,’ he muttered.
There came another hissing flight of arrows.
‘Take cover, Fidelma!’ Eadulf groaned, crouching by the side of the vessel, not feeling his sea legs strong enough to stand upright to protect her.
‘He’s right, lady,’ cried Conri. ‘Best get down into the well of the ship.’ There was a sudden squeal of pain as one of Mugron’s crew was hit by an arrow. Someone rushed to help him.
Reluctantly Fidelma crouched to sit by Eadulf.
They could all see the island approaching dead ahead and Mugron was swinging the tiller so that it seemed he intended to pass along its northern coast. It was a tiny island, no more than a grassy knoll with rocks along its northern side. Even Fidelma could see that if Mugron took that course, the warship would be upon them and intercept them in no time.
The captain of the warship realised this as did his men because they heard a wild cheer go up from them.
‘Do your warriors have the means to make fire arrows?’ snapped Murgron to Conri, eyes on the strange vessel.
‘What do you mean to do?’ demanded the warlord as he confirmed they had. ‘Ram her? We are no match for such a vessel.’
‘Get them to do so now and wait until I give the word.’
Conri ran forward to where his two warriors had already used some of their arrows in a futile attempt to hit the steersman on the warship.
Mugron was now yelling at his crew to prepare to take in sail.
Eadulf exchanged a bewildered glance with Fidelma.
The warship was now turning to bring it in broadside to the point where it would intercept Mugron’s vessel at the north side of the islet. The islet was approaching rapidly. On this course, Fidelma could only presume, as Conri had, that Mugron was going to ram into the side of the warship and then try to fight his way out.
It would be a futile gesture.
Then, with a sudden harsh cry, Mugron pushed his tiller sharply over so that the vessel almost went over on its side. It sheered away from its course and shot suddenly along the sandy south side of the islet.
Mugron’s cry had sent his men pulling on the ropes and taking the wind out of the sails.
Abruptly, they were in slack water.
Eadulf could scarcely believe what had happened.
They were now on the southern side of the islet, alongside a sandy stretch of shore, while the warship had raced down on the northern side thinking to catch the merchant ship hemmed in against that rocky shore.
For the moment the barrier of the islet protected them.
Mugron’s crew were well trained for they had oars out and pushing back so that the vessel did not continue its forward momentum, allowing it to remain in the shelter of the southern shore.
Conri and his two warriors had prepared their arrows.
Mugron was already untying the small hide-covered dinghy, a currach, which trailed behind the vessel.
‘The archers will come with me!’ he cried, motioning them aft.