‘You are not with Intat? You are not of his band?’ she demanded, half fearfully.
‘Whoever Intat is, we are not of his band,’ Fidelma replied gravely. ‘I am Sister Fidelma of Kildare. My companion and I are journeying to the abbey of Ros Ailithir.’
The muscles in the young sister’s face, so tightly clenched before, began to relax. She tried to fight back tears of shock and relief.
‘Have … have they … gone?’ she finally jerked out. Her voice was vibrating in fear.
‘They appear to have gone, sister,’ Fidelma assured her as best she could, stepping forward and holding her hands out to take the baby. ‘Come, you look all in. Give me the child, that you may rest and tell us what happened. Who were they?’
Sister Eisten lurched backward as though she was afraid to be touched. If anything, she clutched the baby tighter to her chest.
‘No! Do not touch any of us.’
Fidelma paused in puzzlement.
‘What do you mean? We cannot help you until we know what is happening here.’
Sister Eisten stared at her with wide, expressive eyes.
‘It is the plague, sister,’ she whispered. ‘We had the plague in this village.’
The grip in which Cass absently held the young boy, who was still wriggling, seemed suddenly powerless. His body stiffened. The boy wrenched himself away.
‘Plague?’ whispered Cass, taking an involuntary step backwards. In spite of his previous attitude, faced by confirmation of the presence of the plague, Cass was clearly troubled.
‘So there is plague in the village after all?’ demanded Fidelma.
‘Several in the village have died of it during the last few weeks. It has passed me by, thanks be to God, but others have died.’
‘Is there any among you here who are sick?’ pressed Cass, peering anxiously at the children.
Sister Eisten shook her head.
‘Not that Intat and his men cared. We would have all died had we not hid …’
Fidelma was staring at her in growing horror.
‘You would have been struck down whether you suffered the plague or not? Explain! Who is this Intat?’
Sister Eisten stifled another sob. She had nearly reached breaking point. With some gentle prompting, she explained.
‘Three weeks ago the plague appeared in the village. First one person and then another caught it. It spared neither sex nor age. Now these children and myself are all that remains of the thirty souls who once dwelt in this place.’
Fidelma let her eyes travel from the baby, scarce more than a few months old, to the children. The two copper-haired little girls were no more than nine years old. The young boy, who had fair hair, who had removed himself from the side of Cass to stand defensively behind Sister Eisten, was also about theirage. The two taller boys, scowling faces, black hair, and grey, suspicious eyes, were older. One could not be more than ten years old while the other was perhaps fourteen or fifteen. They seemed to be brothers. She returned her gaze to the plump, trembling young religieuse.
‘You have not fully explained, sister,’ Fidelma cajoled, knowing that the young woman might break down in a flood of tears. ‘You are saying that this man Intat came and killed people, burnt your village, while there were still many healthy people here?’
Sister Eisten sniffed loudly and apparently tried to gather her thoughts together.
‘We had no warriors to protect us. This was a farming settlement. At first I though the attackers were frightened that the plague would spread to neighbouring villages and were trying to drive us into the mountains so that we might not contaminate them. But they began to kill. They seemed to especially delight in slaughtering the young children.’
She gave a low moan at the memory.
‘Had all the menfolk of this village succumbed to the plague, then?’ demanded Cass. ‘Was there no one to defend you when this attack came?’
‘There were only a few men who tried to prevent the slaughter. What could a few farmers do against a dozen armed warriors? They died by the swords of Intat and his men …’
‘Intat?’ queried Fidelma. ‘Again, Intat. Who is this Intat whom you keep mentioning?’
‘He is a local chieftain.’
‘A local chieftain?’ She was scandalised. ‘He dared to put a village to fire and sword?’
‘I managed to get some of the children and take them to safety in the woods,’ repeated Sister Eisten, sobbing as she recalled the scenes of carnage. ‘We hid while Intat did his evil work. He fired the village and …’ She stopped, unable to continue.
Fidelma gave a sharp exhalation of breath.
‘What great crime has been committed here, Cass?’ she asked softly, staring down to the still burning houses.
‘Could someone not have gone to the bó-aire, the local magistrate, and demanded protection?’ demanded Cass, visibly shaken by Sister Eisten’s tale.
The plump sister grimaced bitterly.
‘Intat is the bó-aire of this place!’ she exclaimed with anger. ‘He sits on the council of Salbach, chieftain of the Corco Loígde.’ She seemed about to give way to exhaustion. Then she drew herself up, thrusting out her chin. ‘And now you have heard the worst; now that you know that we have been exposed to the plague, leave us to perish in the mountains and go your way.’
Fidelma shook her head sympathetically.
‘Our way is now your way,’ she said firmly. ‘You will come with us to Ros Ailithir, for I presume that these young children have no other family who will nurture them?’
‘None, sister.’ The young religieuse was staring at Fidelma in wonder. ‘I ran a small house for the orphans of the plague and they are my charges.’
‘Then Ros Ailithir it is,’
Cass was looking slightly worried.
‘It is still a long way to Ros Ailithir,’ he whispered. Then he added more softly: ‘And the abbot may not thank you for exposing the abbey to any contact with the plague.’
Fidelma shook her head.
‘We are all exposed to it. We cannot hide from it nor burn it into non-existence. We have to accept God’s will whether it passes us by or not. Now, it is getting late. Perhaps we should stay here tonight? At least we will be warm.’
The suggestion drew instant protest from Sister Eisten.
‘What if Intat and his men return?’ she wailed.
Cass agreed: ‘She is right, Fidelma. There is that likelihood. It is best not to stay here in case Intat remains close by. If herealises that there are survivors then he may wish to finish this terrible deed.’
Fidelma reluctantly gave in to their objections.
‘The sooner we start out then the sooner we shall arrive. We shall ride as far as we can towards Ros Ailithir.’
‘But Intat has driven off our animals,’ Eisten protested again. ‘Not that there were any horses but there were some asses …’
‘We have two horses and the children can sit two or three together on them,’ Fidelma assured her. ‘We adults will have to walk and we may take turns carrying the baby. Poor thing. What happened to the mother?’
‘She was one of those whom Intat slew.’
Fidelma’s eyes were steely cold.
‘He will answer before the law for this deed. As bó-aire he must realise the consequences of his actions. And answer he shall!’ There was no vain boast in her voice; merely a cold statement of fact.
Cass watched with undisguised respect as Fidelma quietly but firmly took charge, collecting the children and placing them on the horses, taking the baby to give the exhausted young Sister Eisten a chance, so far as she was able, to recover herself. Only the younger of the two black-haired boys seemed reluctant to move from the shelter of the woods, doubtless still terrified of what he had seen. It was his elder brother who finally persuaded him with a few quiet words. The elder boy was disinclined to take the opportunity to ride on the horse but strode alongside it, insisting that as he was approaching the ‘age of choice’ they should regard him as an adult. Fidelma did not argue with the solemn-faced lad. They set off along the track in the direction of the abbey of Ros Ailithir with Cass silently hoping they would not encounter Intat and his band of cut-throats along the way.