22- Behold a Pale Horse by Peter Tremayne

Author:Peter Tremayne [Tremayne, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: _NB_fixed, _rt_yes, blt, Clerical Sleuth, Crime Fiction, Fiction, Literature & Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Medieval Ireland
ISBN: 9780755377497
Google: a9kbkIi4la4C
Amazon: B00GW4O2I4
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2011-07-07T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T

he head of the woman had been almost severed from her body by several blows to the neck from a sharp-edged implement such as a sword.

Fidelma almost retched at the mangled form and she fought for a moment to control herself. At her side Brother Eolann was offering up a prayer in a horrified voice.

Once Fidelma recovered her equilibrium, she glanced intently at the area surrounding the remains.

‘What is it?’ Brother Eolann asked. ‘Do you think that her killers are hiding nearby?’

‘She has been dead for over a day,’ Fidelma replied quietly. ‘They would not delay here so long. But she left the abbey yesterday with the boy, the young Prince Romuald. Do you see any sign of … of his body?’

Brother Eolann, still pale, joined Fidelma in searching the surrounding shrubland. There were no obvious signs of another body nearby, so she returned her attention to the corpse; wrinkling her nose in distaste, she bent down and checked through the clothing, searching for any personal items. Surprisingly, there were none. It seemed that the Lady Gunora had not even been carrying the customary bag for toilet articles, which most women of her rank carried tied at her waist. Or had she already been searched and the items taken?

‘Do you think this might be the work of Perctarit and his men?’ the scriptor asked, glancing at the corpse. ‘They might have seized the prince when they killed Lady Gunora.’

‘At the moment, Brother Eolann, we do not have sufficient knowledge to think anything. However, we shall learn nothing more here. Is there a spare blanket in the hut here?’

‘I think so,’ Brother Eolann replied, puzzled.

‘Since we cannot do anything here, I suggest that we get a blanket and use it to carry the corpse to the chapel where it will be safe from those,’ she indicated the circling buzzards, ‘or any other wild beast.’

The scriptor did not look happy but he made no demur. It took them quite a while to transport the body to the chapel and place it inside, covered by the blanket.

It had been such a warm, pleasant day when Fidelma had awoken with the vast panorama of the hills. Now the day seemed to have turned cold and unpleasant.

‘Is it time that we started back down?’ she suggested.

‘We have time enough,’ returned Brother Eolann. ‘I’d rather let the fire die down a bit so that it will be safe to leave it.’

‘I thought you had stacked it rather high this morning,’ Fidelma replied and went into the hut to brush herself down. She finished packing her bag, which she slung on her back, and re-emerged into the sunlight.

Facing her were three warriors with swords drawn and glistening threateningly in the sunlight. A fourth man stood by Brother Eolann. His sword was resting lightly with its point against the scriptor’s chest.

No one spoke or moved for a moment until Fidelma recovered from her surprise and demanded: ‘Who are these men?’

Brother Eolann cleared his throat and spoke in the local language to them.

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