The girl spoke rapidly to the old woman.
‘My aunt says that there is no payment since you are helping to find a friend of mine. She will keep your own clothes here until your return.’
Fidelma thanked them both and left the shop, proceeding with a leisurely gait, head bent forward a little, as she had seen the women in the city do, and headed down the street in the direction of Lady Beretrude’s villa.
Two or three people passed with a nod or called out a greeting in the local tongue that Fidelma could now recognise and could respond to. She began to feel easy in her disguise.
At the Square of Benignus, she looked beyond the splashing fountain to the gates of the villa. The symbol on the stone pillars on each side of the gates reinforced her suspicion. The single sentinel stood there as usual. Fidelma walked slowly across the square, trying to maintain her leisurely pace as if she were heading for the side street that skirted the high wall of the villa.
The street seemed deserted-but then she heard the sound of running footsteps across the square. A man’s voice called out in challenge. Then the gate was opened and some voices were raised. She stood still for a few moments but no one appeared, no one followed her. After a while she began to walk along the entire length of the villa’s outer wall. At one point she noticed an iron-barred gate, set in an arched entrance in the wall. It must have been through here that Verbas brought his charges when they disturbed Eadulf. Glancing round quickly, she tested that it was locked, before continuing on. With the gate locked, there seemed no way through or over the outer wall into the grounds of the villa without being seen.
She was beginning to think that her plan to reconnoitre the villa was not going to be a success-certainly not unless she could get inside. There was no way to sneak into the villa, and even if she could persuade one of the servants to let her in, what language could she use to communicate with them? Having decided to walk round the villa and return along the other side, she soon reached the narrow alley at the back. Here she hoped to find another means of entrance, so that she could double back to the place where Eadulf had seen Verbas taking his prisoners. However, there was nothing-no gate, not even a place where one might scale the wall.
As she came to the end of the path, she was aware of menacing shadows on either side of the exit. Several men suddenly launched themselves at her. As she turned to attempt to flee, there was a moment of pain at the back of her skull and then everything went black.
Eadulf was pacing the calefactorium, pausing every now and then to glance up at the darkening sky.
Abbot Ségdae had been talking to one of his delegation and now finally turned to address Eadulf.
‘Brother Eadulf, is something troubling you? I swear that if you continue to pace with such vigour, you will wear a groove in the stones beneath your feet.’
Eadulf paused in mid-stride.
‘It is Fidelma,’ he said in a low voice. ‘The hour is growing late and she has not returned to the abbey.’
‘She has a will of her own, as you well know, my son,’ Abbot Ségdae pointed out. ‘Is there a reason why she should have returned at this time?’
‘I fear that something might have happened to her,’ Eadulf murmured, leaning forward. ‘She left the abbey this afternoon to go to see the Lady Beretrude. Well, not exactly to see her but to look over her villa without being observed.’
The abbot looked astonished. ‘Why should she do that?’
Eadulf wondered how much he should confide in the abbot. However, he realised that he needed an ally if Fidelma had been incapacitated.
‘The fact is, she believes that Beretrude is somehow connected with these deaths here and with some other matters affecting this abbey.’
Abbot Ségdae continued to look astounded.
‘I do not understand. How could Lady Beretrude have been responsible for the death of Abbot Dabhóc when…’
Eadulf himself was uncertain of Fidelma’s logic so he decided to use the facts that the abbot would appreciate.
‘Do you recall how we had an encounter at Tara with a foreign merchant named Verbas of Peqini, a slave owner? Well, that man is here and at Lady Beretrude’s villa. He swore that he would have revenge on Fidelma one day. If he has encountered her…’
Abbot Ségdae knew Eadulf well enough to know that he was not given to unnecessary alarms.
‘When was Fidelma supposed to return here?’
‘She said her visit would not take long and that she would be back before nightfall.’
‘The sky is only just darkening,’ Abbot Ségdae said.
‘I am still fearful. The sun is below the rooftops and she has not returned.’
‘We must not act precipitately,’ advised the abbot. ‘I think it very unwise of Fidelma to have gone out alone.’ His voice held a tone of accusation in it.
‘Do you not think that I am accusing myself of folly in letting her go?’ Eadulf cried. ‘I should have insisted on going with her.’
Abbot Ségdae laid a hand on Eadulf’s shoulder.
‘Aequam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem,’ he said kindly, advising Eadulf to keep calm in the difficulty.
‘We must act,’ Eadulf fretted. ‘I promised her that I would remain in the abbey so that I could summon help from a friend, if need be. But I don’t want to leave here without someone knowing what is happening.’
‘Let us wait until the sky has fully darkened, my son. Then you must do what you have to, but I will go to Bishop Leodegar and demand that he accompany me to Lady Beretrude’s villa.’
‘Every moment that passes I feel she is in danger,’ protested Eadulf in anguish.
‘Calmly, Brother. We will succeed with calmness,’ replied the abbot gently.
Chapter Twenty
When Fidelma swam through the black mist that had engulfed her into consciousness, she found a young woman bending over her. There was a concerned look in her pale blue eyes. She had apparently been dabbing at Fidelma’s forehead with a damp cloth. Fidelma blinked and felt an ache on the back of her head. Her mouth was almost painfully dry. She tried to sit up and groaned immediately, feeling nauseous.
The young woman held out a cup and spoke in the local language. Fidelma could guess what she was saying and took a sip or two, resisting the urge to swallow mouthfuls. The water was cold and almost sweet. She closed her eyes in appreciation for a moment.
Glancing round, she found she was lying on straw in a corner of a gloomy, vault-like room. There was only one exit, a door approached by four broad stone steps. There was a small window at one side, high up in the wall, but outside it was dark. A few candles provided a flickering, shadowy light. Becoming conscious of murmurs and the higher-pitched tones of children, she tried to struggle up and the young woman bent forward to place an arm behind her shoulders to help her sit. She spoke again but Fidelma could not understand what she said.
‘Latin,’ Fidelma muttered. ‘Do you speak Latin?’
‘Of course,’ was the immediate reply. ‘I asked you how you felt?’
‘My mouth is dry and my head hurts.’
The cup was again placed against her lips. Fidelma took another swallow and then the cup was withdrawn. Fidelma whimpered and sank back on the straw.
‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘Where am I?’
‘You were carried in here a few hours ago. I became worried when you did not recover quickly.’
Fidelma raised a hand to her head. It had been bandaged. The girl followed the motion.
‘I dressed your wound. It was bleeding, but the cut was superficial. There is a little swelling. I would rest awhile. How did it happen?’
‘I think someone hit me from behind. Where am I?’
The girl’s expression was serious as she said, ‘A cellar. I have been here a week, some of us as long as three weeks.’