Master of Souls (2 page)

Read Master of Souls Online

Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #blt, #Clerical Sleuth, #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery, #Medieval Ireland

BOOK: Master of Souls
13.58Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Gasping, spluttering, moaning involuntarily in his fear, Esumaro clambered to his knees, peering round to get his bearings and then scrambling
forward towards the beach again. He was among rocks, crawling upwards. He could hear the next wave coming in but then he was on sand and then grass. Even then he did not stop but went lumbering forward until a thorny bush prevented his progress by tearing at him and he collapsed face down in its midst and passed out.
It was still dark when he came to but the wind seemed to be dying away. He could hear the rumble of thunder in the distance and lightning silhouetted the tops of nearby mountains. Esumaro raised his head cautiously. He had been lying face down, where he had fallen, in the middle of an area of some undergrowth. He could hear voices in the distance and he blinked once or twice to clear his eyes. Then he made to get up but found he was quite weak with exhaustion.
He levered himself up on his elbows and manoeuvred himself round to face the dark blustery sea. He was on a grassy knoll above a wide stretch of shoreline that faintly gleamed white with sand. Men were walking along with lanterns held high to illuminate the scene. The stretch of sand was littered with wreckage and bodies. To his right, where he had come ashore, the land rose up and was protected by a rocky coastline against which the
Sumerli
had been driven aground.
He shook his head to clear it and was about to call out to the men below to announce his presence. Another second and he would have done so. But then he heard a voice calling out in the language of the Éireannach, which he had learnt well during his years of trading with them.
‘This one’s alive, Olcán.’
Esumaro actually saw a man begin to raise a heavy wooden cudgel in the lantern light.
‘Wait!’ Another figure appeared holding a lantern in one hand. ‘Stand him up!’
Figures bent down and dragged a man up into the light. From this position Esumaro could not see the features but it was clear that the figure must be one of his crewmen.
‘Do you understand my language?’ came the voice of the man who had been addressed as Olcán.
The sailor who had survived coughed and tried to find his voice. Obviously he had indicated that he understood for Olcán’s voice came again.
‘What ship?’
There was a pause and the question was asked again more sharply.
‘The
Sumerli,
from Gaul.’
Esumaro, watching the scene with confusion, recognised Coros’s voice.
‘Gaul? A merchantman?’
‘Aye, sailing out of An Naoned.’
‘What cargo?’
‘Wine, and some gold and silver for the artisans of the abbeys.’
Olcán gave a curious chuckle that sent a shiver through Esumaro’s body.
‘Excellent. Kill him!’
The heavy cudgel descended and the figure of Coros dropped to the beach without another sound.
‘We’ll start salvaging at first light and stack the booty in the tower. Gold and silver, eh? We might have struck lucky.’
One of the men called: ‘Shall I take the lantern off the horse?’
‘That you may. The beast has served us well in luring this ship ashore.’
‘How did you learn that trick?’ The man who had killed poor Coros seemed to be cleaning the blood off his cudgel by wiping it in the sand.
‘Trick? That a lantern fixed to a horse’s head, bobbing up and down, can easily be mistaken in darkness for the light of a ship? Indeed, it is a good enough trick. The master taught me that. Make sure the men stack everything they find in the old tower. We have to be ready to leave soon after first light. We can return for the booty later.’
‘I don’t understand why we cannot stay and make a better job of it, Olcán,’ protested one of the men.
‘Are you questioning the orders of the master?’ snapped the leader.
The man shook his head. ‘But why … ?’
‘Because we have an appointment on the coast road. And the master will be here soon to make sure we keep it. Now let’s get this spoil back to the fortress and get some rest. First light is not far off and it will be a long ride over the mountains tomorrow.’
He made to move away but his companion stayed him.
‘Shouldn’t we make a thorough search for any survivors?’
Olcán gave his humourless chuckle again.
‘Anyone who survived would have made for this stretch of friendly sand. It’s the only place there’s a chance to land. The waves will have dashed most of them to their deaths on the rocks there. There’ll be no survivors. If there are, we can make sure of them when it’s light.’
Horrified, Esumaro pushed himself back into the undergrowth, not even
noticing the pricking of the brambles. He tried to make himself smaller, wishing he could vanish into the ground. Then he glanced at the sky. He would have to get away from this place before dawn when those men, whoever they were, came searching for survivors. They would surely kill him as they had killed poor Coros in cold blood.
It was beginning to get light when Esumaro came to his senses. He had a vague remembrance of walking in the darkness, of hiding behind clumps of reed and bushes, of crossing a stretch of waterlogged sand, of being propelled by fear: fear of those who had killed his first mate Coros and been responsible for the deaths of all his crew. He was trying to come to terms with the realisation that his ship had been purposely wrecked. Wrecked for its cargo. What kind of barbarians dwelt in this godforsaken place? Outrage, but predominantly fear, combined to propel him to place as much distance as he could between him and that awful shore before first light. He had no wish to suffer the same fate as Coros. When the fear had subsided, he told himself, he would find help to seek revenge on the wicked miscreants who had done this terrible deed.
He blinked his eyes in the morning light. It was so bright. He groaned, for he realised he was frozen. It was a moment before he understood what was causing the brightness. He lay in a great expanse of snow. Even the trees bent their branches under its weight. He felt weak and chill and groaned again. He was trying to move when there came the sound of a woman’s nervous cry.
‘I think he is alive, Reverend Mother.’
Esumaro blinked again and tried to focus his eyes. It was painful.
He realised that a young woman was bending over him. Under a heavy fur cloak, she wore the brown woollen robes of a religieuse with a metal cross hung from a leather thong round her neck.
A few yards away six other women, similarly clad, were standing watching with nervous expressions. They were mostly young.
The one who stood by him turned and called again more cheerfully: ‘He is alive.’
Esumaro tried to ease himself up on one elbow. One of the watchers, a tall, handsome woman of middle age, came to her young companion’s side and stood looking down. She wore a more ornate cross. She smiled and bent down.
‘We thought you were dead,’ she said simply. ‘Are you ill? What has
brought you to lie out here in the open in the middle of a snowstorm? Your clothes are soaked and torn. Have robbers attacked you?’
Esumaro strained as he tried to follow. Her speech was quick and accented.
‘I … I am cold,’ he managed to say.
The woman frowned.
‘Your speech is strange. You are not from this land?’
‘I am … am of Gaul, lady,’ he stammered.
‘You are far from Gaul. You seem to be wearing the clothing of a seaman.’
‘I am …’ Esumaro clenched his jaw suddenly. He realised that everyone in this land was a potential enemy until they proved otherwise.
‘What are you doing here?’ continued the woman. ‘You could freeze to death in this winter snow.’
‘I was walking when I was overcome with fatigue.’
‘Walking?’ The woman looked at his feet with an inquisitive smile.
Esumaro glanced down and saw that he was wearing only one of his seaman’s boots. He had no memory of losing the other. He was unsure whether it was lost during his escape from the wreck or later.
He asked quickly: ‘What are you doing here, lady? Who are you?’
‘I am the Abbess Faife from the abbey of Ard Fhearta. We are all from Ard Fhearta. We are journeying on the annual pilgrimage to the oratory of the founder of our abbey on Bréanainn’s mount.’
Esumaro regarded her with some suspicion.
‘But Ard Fhearta is to the north across these mountains. I have seen Bréanainn’s mount from the sea and that also lies on the north side of this peninsula. This is the southern shore.’
Abbess Faife frowned but replied easily: ‘You seem well acquainted with this area for a Gaulish sailor, for that is what I presume you are. But you seem distrustful, my friend. We have spent two nights at the abbey of Colman, where we had business to conduct. Having passed two days there, we are now on our journey westward to Bréanainn’s mount. Why are you so suspicious?’
Esumaro felt slightly reassured.
‘I am sorry, lady,’ he said, deflecting her question. ‘I am cold and hungry and very fatigued. I beg your pardon for my churlish questions. Is there some dry shelter nearby where I can rest?’
‘There is a shelter a short distance behind us. We can spare some food
and a dry cloak - even shoes. The fire will still be warm for we have just paused to break our journey. We left the abbey of Colman well before dawn. Do you think you can walk?’
The Abbess Faife bent forward to help him as Esumaro rose painfully to his feet. He staggered for a moment and then managed to regain his balance. The young woman who stood by him came forward to help.
‘And in what direction is the abbey of Colman?’ he grunted.
‘Not far along there to the east, but you have to walk round the bay.’ She indicated the direction by inclining her head. ‘You cannot walk far in your condition.’
‘Thank you. I will rest awhile and then make my way to the abbey.’
‘First you must get warm, put on some dry clothes and have some food. Come, let us get you to the shelter and you may change out of those sodden garments.’
Esumaro looked alarmed and the religieuse smiled.
‘Have no fear. We are taking a bundle of clothing and shoes to Brother Maidíu who keeps the oratory on Bréanainn’s mount. He is about your size, and if you have no objection to wearing the robes of a religieux for a while, his robes will fit you exactly.’
Abbess Faife turned and together with her younger companion helped Esumaro stumble a short distance across the snow. It was not far before he saw they were leading him to a small, conical, beehive-shaped hut of stone. He remembered that it was what people in these parts called a
coirceogach,
a very ancient stone dwelling. It stood back among the trees, hardly noticeable from the main track on which they had found him. Only the disturbed snow showed that people had used it recently. As they climbed towards it, he saw a wisp of smoke rising from it. Abbess Faife had been right.
There was soon a fire blazing. By its warmth he stripped off his sodden remnants of clothing and was given dry woollen robes from some of the bundles carried by the young Sisters of the Faith. The abbess had been correct when she had judged that the robes would fit him. They were warm enough and he did not complain. By the time he had changed, the young woman who had helped him was pressing on him a drink of some distilled spirit, and there was bread, cheese and cold meat laid out for him. Esumaro received them with expressions of gratitude but his eyelids were dropping and he could not hold back the wave of sleep engulfing him.
It was one of those short sleeps that, as captain, he had grown used to taking on board ship. It was deep but lasted only an hour before he raised his head, blinking and feeling refreshed. To his surprise, the group of religieuse were still seated by the fire.
The young woman who had discovered him was by his side and smiled softly.
‘We thought it better to remain until you awoke,’ she explained. ‘There are wolves in the woods along here.’
The abbess moved over to them as he rubbed his eyes and sat up.
‘I am rested,’ he assured her before she had a chance to ask the question already forming on her lips.
‘Are you sure that you will be all right now?’ she asked. ‘Rest a while further if you must, but do not fall asleep unless you can be sure of waking immediately. Wolves abide in these forests, as Sister Easdan has explained. But your journey to the abbey will be easy now. As for us, we must press on to the west, otherwise we will not reach our destination before sundown.’
‘I am very well now,’ Esumaro asserted solemnly. ‘I am invigorated already and can never repay you for your kindness. Perhaps I will be able to pick up a Gaulish ship at the abbey of Colman?’
Abbess Faife shrugged.
‘We saw no large ships when we were there and the steward of the abbey told us it has been several weeks since any arrived. It seemed to worry him. The abbey relies on the sea trade,’ she added, not realising that Esumaro knew that fact well.

Other books

Riding the Red Horse by Christopher Nuttall, Chris Kennedy, Jerry Pournelle, Thomas Mays, Rolf Nelson, James F. Dunnigan, William S. Lind, Brad Torgersen
World War III by Heath Jannusch
Grave Intent by Deborah LeBlanc
House of Skin by Curran, Tim
Bill Gates by Jonathan Gatlin
Fantasy Inc by Lorraine Kennedy
The Wings of Morning by Murray Pura
Secret Catch by Cassie Mae, Jessica Salyer
Total Recall by Piers Anthony