"As you can see, Intat. Put up your sword. I am a dálaigh of the courts and sister to Colgu, your king. Put up your weapons and come with us to Ros Ailithir."
The red-faced man's eyes widened as if in astonishment. He half turned his head to the men standing behind him outside the cabin.
"Hear this woman?" He laughed sourly. "She tells us to lay down our arms. Have a care, men, for this slip of a girl is a mighty dálaigh of the law as well as a woman of the Faith. Her words will wound and destroy us unless we have a heed."
His men guffawed at the crude wit of their leader.
Intat turned back to Fidelma and gave a humorous grimace which made his face ugly.
"You have disarmed us, lady. We are your prisoners."
He made no effort to lower his sword.
"Do you think that you are not accountable for your deeds, Intat?" she asked quietly.
"I am only accountable to my chieftain," sneered Intat.
"There is a greater authority than your chieftain," snapped Cass.
"None that I recognize," returned Intat, turning to him. "Put down your own weapon, warrior, and you shall not be harmed. That I promise."
"I have seen how you treat those who are defenseless," replied Cass with a sneer. "The people of Rae na Serine and the little children at Molua's farmstead had no weapons. I have no illusions about the value of your promises."
Intat gave another loud chuckle, as if amused by the warrior's defiance.
"Then it seems that you have written your own destiny, whelp of Cashel. You had best consult with the good sister and reflect on your fate. Be killed now or surrender and live a while longer. I will let you discuss the matter for a moment or two."
The red-faced man drew back to his grinning cronies crowding in the doorway.
Cass also moved back a few paces, farther into the cabin, still in the ready position, sword held before him.
"Move back behind me, sister," he instructed quietly, speaking almost out of the side of his mouth in a tone so low that she could hardly hear him. He kept his eyes, gimlet-like, on Intat and his warriors.
"There is no way out," she whispered in reply. "Do we surrender?"
"You saw what this man is capable of. Better to die defending ourselves than be slaughtered like sheep."
"But there are several warriors. I should have listened to you, Cass. We have no means of escaping."
"One has but not two," Cass quietly replied. "Behind me and to the left there is a stair to a loft. There is a window up there. I noticed it a moment or so ago. While I engage them, run for the stairs and get out of the window. Once outside, seize a horse and attempt to reach the sanctuary of the abbey. Intat cannot attack there."
"I can't leave you, Cass," Fidelma protested.
"Someone has to try to make it to Ros Ailithir," Cass replied calmly. "The High King is already there and you can bring his troops. If you do not do so, then we shall have both perished in vain. I can hold them off for a while. This is our only chance."
"Hey!"
Intat took a pace forward, his red face grinning with a smile that caused Fidelma to shiver.
"You have spoken enough. Now do you surrender?"
"No, we do not," replied Cass. Then he suddenly yelled: "Go!"
The latter word was meant for Fidelma. She turned and leapt for the stairs. Most days she spent time practicing the troid-sciathagid, the ancient form of unarmed combat, and this physical discipline had made her body supple and well-muscled beneath the seemingly soft exterior. She reached the top of the stairs with easy strides and launched herself, without pausing, for the window, grasping its ledge and hauling herself upwards in a frenzied motion.
Below her, in the cabin, she could hear metal clashing against metal and the terrible animal cry of men intent on killing each other.
Something struck the wall nearby. She realized it was an arrow. Another shaft grazed her forearm as she hauled herself over the bottom ledge of the window.
She paused a second, fighting an impulse to peer back. Then she hung her full length from the window ledge and dropped onto the soft, muddy ground behind the cabin. She landed almost as agilely as a cat, crouching on all fours. She was up and running in a split second; around the cabin to the front of it where the horses had been left. As well as the horses belonging to her and Cass, there were three other horses belonging to Intat and his men who were crowding in through the door of the cabin from where she could hear the sounds of combat.
She increased her pace for the nearest horse.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of Intat's men disengage himself from the mélée at the door of the cabin and turn in her direction. He saw her and gave a cry of rage. Another man turned as well. Instead of a sword, like his companion, he was armed with a bow and already he was trying to fix an arrow to it. The first man came on towards her with hesitation, his sword raised.
Fidelma realized that she could not reach the horse before her attacker, so she halted, spun around to face his charge, quickly positioning her feet into a firm position.
The last time Fidelma had practiced the troid-sciathagid in earnest had been against a giant of a woman in a Roman brothel. She hoped that she had not lost her skill. She let the man run in upon her, ducking and grabbing at his belt, using his forward momentum to pull the surprised ruffian over her shoulder.
With a cry of astonishment, the man went flailing head first and crashed into a nearby wooden barrel, splitting it with the impact of his head so that the water gushed into a spurt.
Fidelma rose quickly to her feet, ducking as she heard the twang of a bow string and felt the breath of an arrow in its flight past her cheek. Then she was hauling herself up into the saddle and thumping her heels against the horse's belly. With a startled whinny, the beast sprang forward across the clearing and into the woods.
She was aware of renewed cries behind her and she knew that at least one of Intat's men had mounted up and was in pursuit of her. Whether others had joined in, she did not know. She had only identified Intat and three men at the cabin. She did not think that the one she had thrown into the barrel would have been in condition to give chase for a while. And surely Cass was dealing with Intat in person. She had to keep in advance of her pursuer. It would not take her long to reach the abbey.
She took the road for Ros Ailithir through the woodland, praying that the High King would not delay giving the order to his men to accompany her back to the rescue of Cass. She also hoped that her escape would draw Intat away from Cass and give Cass an opportunity to make his own escape as Cass had given her that opportunity.
Now she began to bitterly regret her impetuosity born of rage. She should have taken notice of Cass's advice.
Head low along the neck of her horse, she found herself uttering sharp cries which would have brought a blush to her superior, the Abbess of Kildare, had that pious woman heard her young charge conjuring a rich variety of curses to urge her steed to further efforts.
She glanced back across her shoulder.
There were a couple of riders strung out behind her. She could see the leading pursuer was none other than Intat himself. Her heart went cold. She tried not to think what that signified. There was no question that Intat rode a stronger horse than Fidelma for he was gaining on her with ease.
In desperation, Fidelma turned her horse from the main track, hoping that it might make up across country what it was obviously losing to its pursuers on the straight track. It was a mistake for, not knowing the crisscross forest paths, she found she was unable to keep up even the speed that she had maintained on the straight track. Intat was gaining. She could hear the pounding hooves of his horse and the deep rasping of its breath.