‘An underground well stream,’ Fidelma explained, having to raise her voice above the sound.
They climbed out of the half cave and looked around the countryside. They seemed to have gone in a semi-circle, for the oratory and its well had been to the north of the abbey and now they had emerged on the south side of the ecclesiastical complex. In fact, they were not far from the abbey’s southern extremity. Fidelma estimated that they were no more than four hundred yards away. The abbey walls were secluded from view by a copse consisting of lines of tall spruce. Only the towers could be seen rising behind them.
‘Would Brother Bardan have come all this way when he could easily have left the abbey and walked across a field or two to come to this spot?’ asked Eadulf. ‘And for what? Do you think he has some connection with that silver working?’
Fidelma did not answer. It was pointless speculating.
It was Eadulf who caught sight of some object on the ground just beyond the mouth of the opening. He reached for it and held it up.
It was a torn piece of brown woollen cloth. There were fresh bloodstains on it.
‘Do you think this belongs to Samradán’s driver? Could the wolves have brought it here?’
He suppressed a shudder of revulsion as he conjured the vision of what must have been the fate of the driver’s body. Memory of the encounter with the wolves caused him to feel a chill in his spine. He glanced round quickly to see if he could spot the signs of a wolves’ lair in the cave entrance.
Fidelma took the piece of woollen cloth from him and examined it. She gave a negative shake of her head. Her expression was grim.
‘Samradán’s driver was not wearing clothing like that. That is the cloth usually worn by religious.’
She gazed round. The ground here was a gentle slope, inclining downward from the cave mouth. The grass was chewed short by grazing animals. Fidelma pointed to the ground.
‘The earth here is soft and muddy underneath. There seems to have been a number of horses here recently and there have been heavy wagons as well. Look at the indentations.’
‘How can you be sure that it was recently?’ asked Eadulf.
Fidelma simply stamped her foot into the ground. It took him a moment to realise that it was not done out of temper.
‘The indentations would not have remained deep for longer than twenty-four hours and …’ She dropped abruptly to one knee. ‘Look at this patch of blood. Not yet dry. We may presume it to be the same as the blood on the cloth.’
Eadulf verified her statement with a nod.
‘A few hours old, no longer. That rules out it being the blood of Samradán’s driver.’
‘Or any of the poor townsfolk who were killed in the raid,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘It looks like some horsemen, probably those driving wagons, picked up the man wearing religious clothing at this point. There are no footprints, so he obviously went off with them. I doubt if he went willingly.’
‘Are we talking about Brother Mochta?’
‘Or our apothecary friend who insisted that Brother Mochta was already dead.’
Fidelma examined the ground for some time as if hoping to find the answers to the questions that came into her mind. All she knew for certain was that there were signs of more than one wagon and several horses. Then she realised that the prints of shod horses overlaid the tracks of the wagons. Well-shod horses usually meant warriors for few others would ride in groups and have horses so carefully tended.
‘After the wagons were here,’ she said slowly, ‘there must have been a group of horsemen who came to this place.’
Eadulf rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. ‘So our search has come to a dead end?’
‘Not necessarily.’ Fidelma carefully wrapped the bloodstained cloth and placed it in her marsupium. ‘I think we should go back into the cave and take the other tunnel to see where it leads before we quit.’
Eadulf was not enthusiastic. ‘I was afraid that you were going to say that. But surely it is a waste of time? Whatever happened must have happened here.’
Fidelma shot him one of her mischievous grins.
‘Going right is not always right. We will try the left-hand path before returning to the abbey,’ she announced firmly before plunging back into the tunnel.
It did not seem long before they were back in the large damp cave again, with its noisome dripping of water into the central pool. They turned into the second tunnel. This was pretty much like the first one they had entered through the small oratory. Their progress along it was more rapid than the one which had led into the silver workings. Eadulf particularly noticed that the floor was beginning to slope upwards as if they were going up a steep incline. The climb was fairly exhausting and by mutual agreement they paused to rest, squatting on the stony floor which was now dry and covered with dust that seemed to be a combination of shale and ground stone.
‘How can we be going upwards for so long?’ mused Eadulf. ‘Surely, we could not have been so deep below the surface?’
‘I think this passage is leading into one of the hills surrounding the abbey. There is a tall hill called the Hill of the Cairn nearby.
She suddenly snapped her fingers. ‘That’s it. I had forgotten. What was it Brother Tomar said when the abbey was under attack? He had heard of a secret passageway leading to the Hill of the Cairn.’ She frowned in the effort of remembering. ‘That’s it. He had heard the Abbot Ségdae speak of it. He thought it might be a way of allowing the women of the community to escape the attackers.’
‘This must be the same tunnel then?’
‘It seems so. Unless these hills are riddled with such passageways. That is possible, of course. I have heard of several cave complexes within this countryside, many with underground streams and lakes. That is why there is shale here. Shale is ground shell.’
‘Are you saying that we are going into the hill?’ Eadulf appeared worried. He never liked being underground for lengthy periods. ‘We have only a stub of candle to lead us wherever it emerges. If, hopefully, it does emerge into daylight.’
Fidelma glanced down to the flickering light in her hand. It was true that there was only an inch left. In her enthusiasm to follow the tunnel she had forgotten about the light.
‘Then we had better continue on as fast as we can,’ she replied. ‘I’ve noticed that the strange phosphorescent matter no longer exists in this section of the tunnel.’
The idea of being caught below the ground in total darkness now leant a new speed to their efforts as they continued to move upwards through the tunnel. Its uneven course confirmed Fidelma in her belief that once upon a time this had been an underground stream which must have started at the hill top and moved into the valley to feed the wells, most of which no longer existed or were fed by some other source.
Abruptly the flickering candle blazed brightly for a moment and died. They were plunged into darkness.
Eadulf shivered and stood still. He hoped that his eyes would grow accustomed to the lack of light. They did not. It remained totally dark.
‘Eadulf-’ it was Fidelma’s voice somewhere nearby — ‘stretch out your hand.’
He did so. He felt something brush it. A moment later he felt Fidelma’s warm clasp.
‘Good. We mustn’t let go of each other. I am going to move on slowly ahead.’
‘How will you see where to go?’
‘I will feel with one hand. I can reach to the top of the roof and feel my way forward.’
They moved on, inching their way through the blackness.
‘Well, one thing is for sure,’ Fidelma’s voice echoed cheerfully.
‘What is it?’
‘We will not be able to return this way … not unless we find a lantern at the other end.’
It was a poor attempt to be cheerful and they soon fell back on silence. Once or twice, Fidelma grazed her arm and Eadulf cracked his toes on a rock. Yet slowly they moved forward, still up the incline, inch by inch. Then Fidelma halted.