They cantered swiftly along the path, northwards to the woods, crossing the river at the ford and turning along the bank towards the small cabin in the forest clearing. It did not take them long. Fidelma, this time, made no pretence ofhiding herself. She rode straight towards. the cabin and halted in front of it.
‘Salbach of the Corco Loígde! Are you in there?’ she cried, without dismounting. She did not think that there would be an answer for there was no sign of Salbach’s horse.
A silence greeted them.
Cass swung off his horse and taking out his sword moved cautiously to the cabin. He pushed open the door and disappeared inside.
After a moment he returned, sword in hand.
‘There is no sign of anyone,’ Cass reported in annoyance. ‘What now?’
‘Let us looked around the cabin,’ Fidelma replied. ‘There might be something which may suggest where else we can look for Salbach.’
Fidelma dismounted. They hitched their horses to the rail and went into the cabin.
It was deserted as Cass had said. It was left exactly as it had been when they had taken Grella from it.
‘I doubt that Salbach will be far away,’ muttered Fidelma. ‘If he has reasoned out that we have taken Grella, and he cares that much about her, he may have gone to the abbey to demand her release.’
Cass was about to reply when they heard the clatter of horses’ hooves resounding outside the cabin. Cass started for the door but before he could reach it it had burst open.
A large, red-faced individual, clad in a steel helmet and woollen cloak edged in fur, wearing a gold chain of office and with his sword drawn, stood in the doorway; behind him were half a dozen warriors. His tiny eyes blazed triumphantly as they fell on Cass and Fidelma.
His image had long been burnt into Fidelma’s memory. It was Intat.
‘Well now,’ he chuckled delightedly, ‘if we do not have the mischief-makers. And where is Salbach?’
‘Not here, as you can see,’ replied Cass evenly.
‘Not here?’ Intat looked round as if to confirm his statement. ‘I told him …’ he began and then clamped his jaw shut, standing glowering at them from the threshold of the cabin.
‘So there is no one here but the two of you?’
Fidelma stood quietly, regarding the man with narrowed eyes.
‘As you can see, Intat. Put up your sword. I am a dálaigh of the courts and sister to Colgú, 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 recognise,’ 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 defenceless,’ replied Cass with a sneer. ‘The people of Rae na Scríne 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, further 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 practising 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 itself 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 realised 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 mêlée 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 realised 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 practised 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.