‘There are a lot of islands out there,’ Bleidbara said heavily. ‘It’s an impossible task to search them all.’
‘If they were taken on board this sea raider — let’s call it the Koulm ar Maro — from Brilhag, why did no one notice the ship in the bay?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘Surely you have lookouts on the Morvran who would have noticed such a large ship come into the inlet below the fortress — even at dead of night?’
Bleidbara was defensive.
‘The Morvran was anchored in the bay under the fortress walls,’ he said. ‘They would not see anything if the Koulm ar Maro came to anchor on the other side of the headland.’
Eadulf flushed a little at the rebuke because he had no sooner made his comment than he realised the answer.
‘The question is — what now?’ Bleidbara went on. ‘I have sent men around the island to ensure that there is nowhere we have overlooked — caves or undergrowth, for instance. We have searched the villa, so there seems no way forward.’
Fidelma suddenly gave an exclamation of surprise.
She pointed downwards at the rocky coast below them. A little boat was bobbing on the water and a tiny figure was desperately trying to make it to shore. The surging waves brought the little boat tantalisingly close, but then pulled it back. The figure seemed to have no oar to guide the boat in. Then a larger wave than the rest suddenly propelled the boat right up the beach, and when the water receded, the boat remained there, held fast by the pebbles and rocks. The figure seemed to fall over the side of the boat into the still-frothing water and crawl using only one arm for a short distance before collapsing face down.
All those present on the clifftop shared the same thought: there was something very familiar about this lone sailor.
Chapter Seventeen
When Fidelma turned to speak to the others, she found Bleidbara and Eadulf already running down the grassy knoll which led to the shoreline below.
By the time they all reached the spot, one of Bleidbara’s men was approaching, hurrying from the other direction. He, too, had seen the boat and its occupant.
Iarnbud lay face down in the shallows where he had fallen from the boat, trying to drag himself up above the tidemark. The shaft of an arrow was still embedded in him, close to his spine.
Bleidbara and his companion waded into the shallows, reached forward and dragged the bretat up beyond the clawing waves.
Iarnbud let out a pitiful groan.
‘Mercy! He still lives,’ muttered Eadulf, bending down to the man. But after examining the wounds, he rose and shook his head at his companions. The man was beyond help.
Iarnbud opened his glazing eyes, peered round and tried to focus on Bleidbara. His mouth moved, but all that came from it was a dry rasping cough and a trickle of blood.
‘What is it, Iarnbud?’ Bleidbara encouraged softly.
The man spoke incoherently. They could discern the name ‘Heraclius’ repeated several times clearly, but the rest they could not understand.
‘He wants the apothecary,’ said Bleidbara. ‘He asks for Heraclius.’
Then, with an apparent summoning of strength, Iarnbud grabbed hold of Bleidbara’s shirt and dragged his head nearer. Of the words that poured forth from the thin, bloodstained lips, all they could distinguish were ‘Koulm ar Maro’.
‘The ship?’ demanded Fidelma quickly. ‘What does he say about it?’
The warrior bent his ear to the man’s lips. They moved feebly, whispering softly and then, without warning, in the middle of a word, Iarnbud’s head fell back and he was dead.
Bleidbara gazed down at him for a long time and then exhaled softly.
‘Well, he won’t need Heraclius now.’
‘What is it?’ Fidelma asked urgently. ‘What did he say?’
Bleidbara lowered the dead man’s shoulders to the ground and looked at them. His expression seemed torn between sorrow and triumph.
‘He found the ship, the Koulm ar Maro. He managed to overhear their plans. Apparently, those plans will come to fruition tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow? What happens then?’ Fidelma wanted to know.
‘The Koulm ar Maro is due to sail out into the Big Sea, using the morning tide. It will then make a rendezvous off the coast near the abbey, by which time the success of their plan will be complete.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Eadulf said.
Bleidbara shrugged. ‘That’s all he said. Apart from something about food and Heraclius, which made no sense at all.’
‘Trifina said that Iarnbud was working for both of you. Is that right?’
Bleidbara nodded, saying, ‘He was loyal to the family of Brilhag. During these last few weeks, he travelled around, trying to pick up news of this Koulm ar Maro. Now he’s given his life for the little news that he could garner for us.’
‘If only he could have told us what the completion of their plan meant,’ muttered Eadulf. Suddenly noticing that the small boat was drifting, he waded into the sea to grab hold of the gunwale and draw it back up on shore. As he did so, he glanced inside and let out an exclamation.
‘Quickly! I thought it was just a pile of cloth, a discarded sail there — but look!’
Bleidbara tore aside the canvas.
The still figure of Iuna lay there. Her face was white and she lay very still, as if in death.
Bleidbara reached into the boat and, with ease, the tall warrior lifted the body of the girl in his arms. He walked the few paces up the beach and laid her gently on the ground beyond the waves.
Eadulf at once knelt to examine her.
‘Still alive,’ he said. ‘Still alive, but unconscious and very cold.’
He explored the girl’s skull with his fingertips, and then he bent as if to smell her breath. ‘She has not been hit on the head, but from the blue of the lips, I think she has taken a poison of some kind. I can smell it on her breath. But I’m afraid such a poison is beyond my powers to diagnose. We do need Heraclius, after all.’
Bleidbara swore softly under his breath and then, turning to his companion, issued a quick order. The man trotted away.
They stood anxiously round the unconscious form of Iuna, not knowing what to do, until the young apothecary arrived and made a swift examination.
‘She has been poisoned,’ Eadulf offered, feeling helpless. ‘But I do not know with what substance.’
‘You are right, Brother Eadulf,’ Heraclius said, peering at the girl’s blue lips. ‘She has been poisoned. I believe that she has eaten the Death Cap fungi.’ The seriousness of the situation showed in his features.
‘Well? Can you help her?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘I cannot hold out any great chance of recovery. It depends when she ingested the poison. It is a potent one, usually fatal; just one of the fungi is enough to ensure that a full-grown man can suffer a painful death. It is usually terminal in two days.’
‘You mean there is no antidote?’ Fidelma said, shocked.
‘No full antidote for the toxins. However, we will take her into the villa and give her an extract made from the ripe seeds of the Milk Thistle. There is hope, but only if she has not long ingested these toxins. If she is going to survive then we will know by tomorrow morning.’
He signalled to Bleidbara’s man to lift the girl and carry her up to the villa. Glancing at the body of Iarnbud, he said, ‘I must tend to the living and leave the dead,’ and turned after the warrior carrying the girl in his arms.
‘I didn’t warm to the man overmuch,’ sighed Eadulf, ‘but we can’t let him give his life in vain.’
‘Well, there is only one thing for me to do,’ Bleidbara said determinedly. ‘I will attempt to intercept the Koulm ar Maro as it makes a run for the Big Sea at dawn tomorrow.’