‘It is your last night here. Tomorrow, before first light, you will be transported south.’
There arose an immediate chorus of protests from the women. The warrior called a sharp warning to quiet them.
‘Where are we being transported to?’ demanded one woman. ‘And why?’
‘To the slave markets to which your unChristian marriages and liaisons have condemned you.’
Several women cried out in anguish.
‘Under what law does it say our marriages are unChristian? By what right do you hold us prisoners?’ entreated another one of the women.
‘This is the law now.’ The warrior tapped his sword in a significant manner. ‘Resign yourselves to it. Be ready to commence your journey. You are being placed in good hands.’
Another figure appeared at his shoulder-a tall man, richly clad, swarthy but clean shaven. He was examining the women captives in speculation. Fidelma had no sooner looked at him than she turned her face and drew the hood over her hair. In the darkness of the cellar she hoped to avoid identification by this man. She herself had no difficulty in recognising Verbas of Peqini, the slave owner, with whom she had had the confrontation at Tara. She prayed that he had not seen her.
‘This merchant is your new master until you are disposed of,’ the warrior said. ‘Be obedient and you will be well treated. Create trouble and you will be punished.’
A woman, one of the older ones, had taken a pace towards him.
‘Shame on you! And shame on your mistress, Beretrude! We recognise you, warrior, and who you serve. We are freeborn women of this city. We have no masters. We freely entered the calling of the Faith and joined with our husbands to work in its service. By what right do you do this heinous act…?’
Her words ended with a scream as the warrior moved down the few stone steps, raised his hand and struck her across the face, sending her spinning to the floor. A low, ominous sound came from the women and the man drew his sword.
‘Back, you whores!’ he snarled. ‘It is your choice whether you wish to leave here alive or dead. I will not speak to you again. You made the choice to have liaisons with male clerics and religious. Councils in many lands have now ordained that this is an affront to the Faith. All wives of the religious are to be rounded up and sold as slaves for the greater good of the Faith. That is your Fate. Accept it.’
Verbas of Peqini turned and left, although the warrior, still with his sword at the ready, backed slowly up the steps after the merchant-and then the door swung shut and was bolted behind him.
Many of the women, joined by the children, had burst into tears, uttering piteous cries of lamentation.
Valretrade turned to Fidelma. ‘Why did you not want that merchant to see you?’ she asked.
‘Verbas of Peqini? I encountered him some months ago in my own land, bested him in argument, managed to free one of his slaves and sent him without compensation from our kingdom. He would be delighted to see me again, for his last words to me were a promise of revenge. I believe, if he saw me, he would enjoy fulfilling his promise.’
‘Then he will doubtless have his revenge tomorrow. Once it is daylight and we leave this gloomy cellar, you will not be able to hide for ever, not with that red hair.’
Fidelma compressed her lips. ‘Then I must ensure that I am not here tomorrow.’
‘Escape?’ Sister Valretrade laughed without humour. ‘Do you think that I have not been looking for a means of escape during this last week?’
‘What happens when they take you for the ablutions?’ Fidelma asked. ‘What are the possibilities there?’
Valretrade looked wearied. ‘None, because there is a bucket in that corner which is what we have to use. They also bring us buckets of water for our washing. I have not been allowed out in a week. The others have been in here since their incarceration.’
Fidelma was aghast. ‘This is inhuman.’
‘Not for slaves, it is not.’
Fidelma rose carefully to her feet, steadying herself on the arm of Valretrade.
‘Help me walk around the chamber to get my balance,’ she said.
A slow walk around convinced Fidelma that it was hopeless to even waste time contemplating the idea of trying to seek ways to escape from the cellar. However, the walk had helped to make her feel normal again. The ache in her head had eased and her confusion was gone.
‘Perhaps there will be a chance on the journey,’ suggested her new companion.
‘Every moment it is daylight there is a chance Verbas will recognise me,’ replied Fidelma. Her mind was working rapidly. ‘From Beretrude’s villa, he will probably want to transport us through the streets of the city before daylight,’ she said, thinking aloud. ‘That is why they have ordered us to be ready to leave before dawn. It may mean that they do not want anyone in the city knowing what they are doing. That might be a weakness that we can exploit.’
Valretrade was looking at her in puzzlement. ‘What weakness?’
Fidelma glanced around at the others. One or two of the women were looking at them with curiosity.
‘Keep your voice low, Valretrade, for we need to discuss this between ourselves before we can involve anyone else.’
‘Very well,’ whispered the girl. ‘What weakness?’
‘Consider. What would be their intention? To take us to the river and transport us from there? If so, there are two possibilities. They may pile us into a wagon or they may force us to walk through the city streets. Escape from the wagon would be difficult, but if we are on foot there might well be a chance.’
Valretrade was not convinced.
‘They will probably bind us together-perhaps use manacles,’ she said. ‘I have seen it done in the slave markets.’
‘If they want us to walk, they will not bind our legs,’ Fidelma asserted. ‘The narrow streets of the city in the darkness before dawn…it would be our only chance…How well do you know this area of the city?’
‘I know it well,’ replied Valretrade. ‘I was born and grew up here. But even if there was a possibility of escape-what then? Where would we go? Certainly not back to the abbey, for how would one know friend from foe?’
‘I have friends at the abbey who will help. There is also Brother Sigeric. But first things first. Let us think about escape, before we think of where to escape to.’
‘If it is of any help, I have a sister who still lives close by and I am sure, if we can reach her house, she will shelter us until we can contact your friends. Her husband is a local blacksmith.’
Fidelma nodded absently. ‘Much will depend on the route we take. Verbas of Peqini comes from the east. I suspect he will want to go south to the Mediterranean Sea.’
‘Then the journey will be a long one. Most merchants travel by boat. I am sure we will be taken to the river.’
‘Do the rivers go right through this land?’ asked Fidelma. ‘I thought they rose on mountains in the centre?’
‘We would go along the Liger, which means a journey against the flow of the river. Mules usually pull boats as far south as a town called Rod-Onna-a Gaulish name. The Liger is navigable south to this trading centre. After that, there are narrow gorges and the river winds up at its source on the Massif Central. No large boat can navigate it.’
‘And is that near to the southern sea?’
Valretrade shook her head. ‘No, but from there some tributaries and waterways can be crossed from the Liger to a city called Lugdunum.’
‘And from Lugdunum?’
‘There is a great river called Rhodanus that runs from it and, going with the tide, a boat can reach the open sea within days.’
‘Rhodanus?’ Fidelma smiled. ‘That is a good omen for it means Great Danu. Danus was the mother of all the pagan gods of our land.’
Valretrade said nothing, waiting as she saw Fidelma had relapsed into thought.
‘Once out to the southern sea, we shall be lost,’ Fidelma finally said. ‘It seems that the weakest part of the journey is leaving this city to get to the Liger.’