‘You are a herbalist, an apothecary?’ queried Eadulf, who had studied the healing arts in the great medical school in Brefni, a petty kingdom north of Fidelma’s own country.
Brother Metellus denied any medical interest.
‘I used to collect and try to catalogue the plants, drawing their leaves and flowers as best I could and noting their healing qualities. But I have little time now to do so.’
‘Then tell me what those flowers are.’ Eadulf pointed to green shrubs with an amazing assortment of coloured flowers on them. ‘I have not seen the like of these before. Those ones with flowers that are red, pink and crimson.’
Brother Metellus’ smile was almost proprietorial.
‘I think those are a long way from home. Maybe they were brought here by the legions or by merchants. Even I don’t know their proper name. The various colours belong to different plants while the bushes they grow from remain evergreen. They are known as ruz, the local word for red.’
‘And isn’t that the name of this peninsula?’ queried Eadulf.
‘A similar sound, although I am not sure whether the name derives from the same word.’
They had proceeded some way down the track by this time and now Brother Metellus halted and turned, lowering his voice.
‘Perhaps we should tread carefully from here on, as I believe we are not far from the spot where this attack took place. If the thieves are still in the area, it is best not to give them warning of our approach.’
They moved on in silence.
They had gone no more than 100 paces before Fidelma caught at Eadulf’s arm and pointed while with her other hand she placed a finger to her lips. Eadulf saw at once what she meant and he similarly warned Brother Metellus. Ahead there were signs of bent grass and broken shrubbery, and then a man’s body, stretched on the path, became visible. He lay sprawled on his face, two arrows protruding from his back. There was no doubt that he was dead.
They walked on further.
There were three more bodies lying along the path. Arrows indicated how two of the others were killed while the third man was covered in congealing blood, the result of several sword cuts.
They halted and stood still, listening.
The sounds of the woodland were still all-pervasive. The warning call of a merlin, the soft cooing of wood pigeons and the collared dove high in the conifer trees, joined with others too numerous to distinguish, all in one background noise. There were several rustles in the undergrowth, though none so clumsy and loud that it would foretell the careless foot of man.
Fidelma relaxed a little and nodded to Eadulf.
Watched by his companions, Eadulf swiftly went to each body and, bending down, felt for a pulse in the neck. Then he stood up and shook his head.
‘They are all beyond help.’
Fidelma turned to Brother Metellus. ‘Do you recognise them?’
‘I do. The man with the arrows in his back is the merchant, Biscam. Those two are his brothers. I presume the other is the drover mentioned by Berran.’
Fidelma examined the trampled soil carefully. ‘There are certainly signs that heavily loaded animals have been halted here and were startled.’
Brother Metellus looked at her in surprise. ‘How do you tell, or is that deduced from Berran’s description?’
Fidelma gave him a pitying look. She had been brought up from childhood to be aware of the signs of nature and man’s disturbance of it. If one did not know such basic rules, one did not survive in the countryside for long.
‘You see the hoofmarks of the animals? Even in the dry earth they are deep. That means that they were heavily loaded. And at this point there is a confusion of prints, as if the animals did not know which way to go and were stamping and trying to turn. There are signs of some horses, shod and quite clear.’
Fidelma walked carefully around the site looking at the marks on the ground.
‘A few imprints of human feet, tramping over the hoofs of the beasts,’ she said. Then she gave a soft exclamation. ‘They were led in that direction! North, I think, through there,’ she pointed. ‘The path is quite clear. Come on, let us see where it leads.’
‘Shouldn’t we wait?’ protested Eadulf nervously. ‘They might still be close by.’
‘I hope they are,’ replied Fidelma grimly, turning and striding along the small path, following the tracks of the donkeys.
Eadulf hurried after her with an appealing glance at Brother Metellus, who sighed, and followed.
After a while, they burst out of the trees and undergrowth and were confronted by a little stream that gushed frothy white over a bed of shingle and large stones. Fidelma was staring at it in disgust.
‘What is it?’ demanded Brother Metellus.
Fidelma pointed as if the explanation was self-evident. ‘They drove the animals into this stream.’
‘So?’
‘It means we cannot track them, for a stream with a stony bottom leaves no trace.’
‘They would have to turn downstream if they wanted to go any way,’ offered Brother Metellus. ‘I know that upstream from here is a rocky hill and no way to pass round it. Not for donkeys.’
‘And downstream? Where does that lead?’
‘I think it flows into some marshland. There is an area that the local people avoid for there are mudflats in which a man can be swallowed up before he has time to cry for help. There are one or two such areas here, even quicksand. However, if they know the way and can follow the stream, they could come to the shore of Morbihan.’
Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘In that case, these robbers might know the country well, or they do not know it at all.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Brother Metellus replied with a frown.
It was Eadulf who answered him.
‘If they took the donkeys and headed downstream to these marshes, they either did so knowingly or out of ignorance. If in ignorance, in so short a distance they would be in trouble and have returned. We would have encountered some signs. If they had knowledge, they must have used it as a means to prevent any pursuit of them, using the marsh for protection. They could have reached the sea by now.’
Fidelma smiled her approval of his reasoning.
‘Whatever the explanation,’ she said, ‘we will follow. But first, I want to examine the bodies of the merchants, which I have neglected to do.’
‘What can you learn from them?’ demanded Brother Metellus.
Fidelma did not bother to respond. Again it fell to Eadulf to explain.
‘Much may be learned from a body, my friend,’ he said confidently. He knew that Fidelma was skilled in such matters.
Back at the site of the attack, Fidelma examined each body, not to see the manner of how they met their deaths but to study the arrows.
‘The arrows are practically all the same,’ she said, after a short while. ‘Now here is an interesting thing — the man who made these arrows uses goose feathers and cuts the three flights with a sharp knife. That is the sign of a fletcher who is an adept at his art. They are of a high standard and, indeed, the same hand made all these flights.’
‘But does it help us?’ asked Eadulf.
‘Not of itself, but it may well be useful later.’
She had risen to her feet when Eadulf noticed that the man whom Brother Metellus had identified as the merchant Biscam was lying face down, one arm flung out before him, while the other arm was hidden underneath his body. He had apparently fallen on it. But Eadulf had noticed a wisp of white cloth poking out from underneath the body. He bent down and turned the corpse over on its back. It was only then that he saw that the arrows had not been the immediate cause of death. There was a cut mark in Biscam’s chest, above the heart. Eadulf had seen enough sword wounds to know that the man had been stabbed with a broad-bladed weapon.