Suffer Little Children by Peter Tremayne Page A

Sister Eisten ventured.
    Fidelma groaned inwardly.
    â€˜Well, there is nothing to be done until it is light, sister. Let us concentrate on getting warm and as dry as we can. Food must be a later consideration.’

    It was Cass’s sharp eyes that managed to spot a small clearing among the tall trees where a large bush extended itself almost in the manner of a tent over a fairly dry area of twigs and leaves.
    â€˜Almost made for the task,’ he said brightly. Fidelma could imagine him smiling in the darkness. ‘I’ll tether the horses out here and light a fire. I have a croccán, my kettle, with me and so we may have a hot drink. You and Sister Eisten can get the children under the bush.’ He paused and added with a shrug: ‘It’s the best we can do.’
    Fidelma replied: ‘Yes.’ There was little else to say.
    Within half an hour, Cass had a reasonable fire alight and had set his croccán, filled with water, to boil upon it. It was Fidelma who insisted that they add herbs to the mixture, which she said would help protect them from the night chills. She wondered if Cass or Eisten would realise that an infusion of the leaves and flowers of the herb drémire buí was used as a protective against the scourge of the Yellow Plague. No one commented as the drink was handed around, although the children complained against the bitterness of the mixture. Soon, however, most of them were asleep – more from exhaustion than any other cause.
    The cry of wolves continued to break across the strange nocturnal sounds of the wood.
    Cass squatted before the fire, feeding its hungry flames with salvaged pieces of wood which hissed and spat with their unsuitability but, at least, generated enough heat to burn and send out some sort of warmth.
    â€˜We’ll move on at first light,’ Fidelma told him. ‘If we move at a reasonable pace then we should be at the abbey by mid-morning.’
    â€˜We need to keep a watch tonight,’ Cass observed. ‘If not to make sure that Intat and his men are close by, then merely to ensure the fire is fed. I’ll take the first watch.’
    â€˜Then I’ll take the second,’ Fidelma insisted, drawing her
cloak closer around her shoulders in a vain effort to create more warmth from the garment.
    It was a long, cold night but apart from the baying of distant wolves and the cry of other nocturnal creatures, nothing happened to disturb their uneasy peace.
    When they all awoke in the grey, listless light of the morning, with the ice chill of the new day, it was Sister Eisten who discovered that the baby had died in the night. No one mentioned the yellow hue to the waxy texture of the babe’s skin.
    Cass dug a shallow grave with his sword and, against the bewildered sobbing of the younger children, Sister Fidelma and Sister Eisten uttered up a quiet prayer as they buried the tiny corpse. Sister Eisten had not been able to recall its name.
    By then, the clouds had rolled away and the anaemic autumnal sun was hanging low in the pallid blue sky – bright but without warmth. Cass had been right about the change in the weather.

Chapter Four
    The midday Angelus bell was sounding as Fidelma and her party came within sight of the abbey at Ros Ailithir. The journey had taken longer than she had estimated for, though the day was warm and bright, the road was still sodden and muddy and the passage was difficult.
    The abbey was larger than Fidelma had imagined it would be; a vast complex of grey stone buildings standing, as she had already been informed, on the hillside at the head of a narrow inlet of the sea. It was an inlet too long and narrow to be called a bay. She noticed briefly that there were several ships riding at anchor there before turning her gaze back to the diversity of grey buildings. There were several large structures all contained behind tall dark granite walls which followed a oval course around them. At their centre