‘Easy enough,’ declared Lioba. ‘Anyway, perhaps tonight might have oversalted the dish.’
‘Very well,’ came Higbald’s voice again. ‘I will return to the abbey and make my excuses. We’ll see if this old man, Sigeric, is as astute as he is reputed to be. We will meet tomorrow evening in the chapel.’
‘Is that wise?’
‘No one is suspicious. Let us give the pot one more stir and then I am sure King Ealdwulf will be forced to march against Aldhere.’
The band of horsemen moved on, sliding rapidly into a canter and disappearing down the track towards the abbey.
Eadulf rose to his feet and helped Fidelma up.
‘What do you make of that? This grows more mysterious by the hour.’
‘On the contrary, Eadulf, I am beginning to see some light for the first time. We have another call to make before going back to the abbey. How far is Mul’s farmhouse from here?’
‘Mul’s farmhouse?’ Eadulf was surprised. ‘Why …?’ He paused. Although he could not see Fidelma’s face in the darkness he realised that it would be registering irritation at hishalf-finished question. ‘It is under an hour’s ride. Less, if those clouds pull away from the moon and we are able to see the path more clearly. I know the way to Frig’s Tun well from here.’
‘That is good,’ said Fidelma. ‘Do you think Mul would know the paths through Hob’s Mire well enough to guide us in daylight?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose that he would know ways through the mire. Why do you want him to guide you?’
‘I have already told you. I want to examine the area where we saw the ignis fatuus. I am beginning to piece things together and if I am right about that particular piece … well, I think that I will have the whole picture of what is happening in this place.’
‘Truly?’ Eadulf was astounded.
‘Truly,’ Fidelma responded firmly. ‘But first we will have to persuade Mul to give us hospitality for one more night.’
‘Mul can probably be persuaded to do anything for a coin,’ replied Eadulf cynically. ‘So you do not plan to go on to the abbey and speak with Sigeric?’
‘Not yet. I think what has happened here in the last hour or so has given a new dimension to this problem and I need that final piece of information before I can present a believable case to Sigeric.’
‘Should we not discuss it first?’ Eadulf sounded almost petulant at her mystifying pronouncement.
‘When would I not discuss any matter with you?’ she countered irritably. ‘Of course we’ll discuss it. But let us start out for Mul’s farmhouse rather than stand here wasting time.’
Although dawn had come an hour before, the day was grey and gloomy, almost like dusk. White clouds edged with grey hung low and almost motionless in the sky. There was no hope that the pale winter sun would ever penetrate the overcast that seemed at one with the grey snow-covering that spread across the landscape. It was a melancholy vista.
Mul was leading the way on one of his mules, sitting easily astride it without benefit of saddle. Behind him came Fidelma and Eadulf on their borrowed ponies. The countryside through which they moved was like some fantastic dream landscape. The snow-covered panorama was mainly flat with little dark patchesof evergreen woodland here and there and a distant grey, jagged rock summit poking sharply up in the evenness of the place, like a huge stone thrown down in the middle of the plain by the giant hand of some god. It was a bleak and wild vista and the only movement was the gush of an occasional stream across their tracks, fed by gently melting snow. The gaunt leafless trees were almost sinister as they rose in the gloomy landscape. There seemed little to distinguish the flat stretch of marshland. Apart from the occasional dark shadow of a flitting unidentifiable bird in the sky, there seemed no other animals abroad, nor any sound to distinguish them.
Mul halted his mule and swung round to watch Fidelma and Eadulf come up to him and halt.
‘Well, there is Hob’s Mire.’ He gestured with an outstretched arm. ‘You can see the lines of trees ahead. Those run by the river. That is the River Alde ahead and about a mile over there, beyond that tree-covered hill, is Aldred’s Abbey.’
Eadulf frowned slightly.
‘We are approaching the mire from the wrong direction,’ he complained. ‘I cannot estimate where the ignis fatuus was situated.’
Mul grimaced cynically. ‘I am taking you the safest way into the mire, gerefa. If you want to kill yourselves, then that is your concern. You asked me to show you into the mire and that I will, but do not ask me to put myself in danger.’
Fidelma smiled in reassurance. ‘We would not ask you to do that. However, we do need to get our bearings. It is important that we find the exact place.’
Mul sniffed in disgust and pointed with his finger towards a bank of trees in the distance.
‘See that line? That is where a track runs which would lead you to the river bank and then along to the wooden bridge across the Alde and to the abbey. I think that is the road you say you were on last night.’
Eadulf screwed up his eyes to examine the distant terrain.
‘I think I have the position now,’ he admitted slowly. ‘See that small hill covered in trees? That is where we were last night.’
Fidelma followed his gaze.
‘So we must aim our steps in that direction. Mul, is there a path from here which would cross towards that point?’
‘Not directly, but I can take you across. It will be a tight path, though. Only room for one horse at a time. Are you willing to try it?’
She inclined her head in confirmation.
‘That, after all, is why we came to you,’ she answered gravely.
The farmer pulled a face. He glanced to Eadulf.
‘Are you ready, gerefa?’
‘Of course,’ Eadulf almost snapped.
‘Then follow me in single file and do not stray from where I lead with my horse. One false step and you and the horse will disappear in these treacherous mud flats. Do you understand?’
He turned his mount and set off into the white landscape. Fidelma realised that under that coating of snow lay the soft green sedges and bog holes that waited eagerly to clutch their victims and drag them down to oblivion. She leaned forward over her pony’s shoulder and kept a careful eye on the pathway which the farmer’s mule picked out for them.
Here and there, poking through the snow, were thin spikes of dying rushes, and now and then there was a strange plopping sound as a bubble of air burst through the mud from some indescribable depth, pushing upwards perhaps from the rotting remains of some animal that had been dragged under.
There was a sudden movement and something took off from a clump of reeds in front of her. She thought for a moment that it was an owl, but then she saw the brown and black streaked plumage and the green legs which were usually an effective means of camouflage to eyes less sharp than Fidelma’s. Then came a resonant booming sound.
‘A bittern!’ she exclaimed.
‘You have a good eye, Sister,’ called Mul appreciatively.
‘Do you know anything about ignis fatuus, Mul?’ she called back.
‘What?’
‘She means firedrake,’ called Eadulf.
‘Oh, that.’ Mul shrugged carelessly. ‘You can see firedrake quite regularly in these marshlands. Corpse fire, it is calledin these parts. It’s a pale flickering light that appears on the marshland. A lot of people don’t like it but I’ve grown up on the marshes. There’s no call to be alarmed by it. You saw it last night?’
‘We did indeed,’ replied Fidelma.
‘You should have told me. If you wanted to know what it is I could have told you. No need to come all the way out here into the marsh.’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘No, it was not just the ignis fatuus that I wanted to see-’
Mul interrupted her. ‘You really only see it in the dark because the name is too light to see in daylight. This will be a wasted journey.’