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Cass as he urged his horse to retrace its steps back along the roadway. But as soon as they were beyond the bend in the hills, she reached forward and gripped his arm to stay him.
    â€˜We must go back and see what is happening,’ she said firmly. ‘Fire and sword to deal with a plague village? What manner of chieftain would sanction such a thing? We must go back and see what has happened to the people.’
    Cass looked at her dubiously.
    â€˜It is dangerous, sister. If I had a couple of men or even were I on my own …’
    Fidelma snorted in disgust.
    â€˜Don’t let my sex nor holy order put fear in your heart, Cass. I am willing to share the danger. Or are you afraid of the plague?’
    Cass blinked rapidly. His masculine warrior pride was stung.
    â€˜I am willing to go back,’ he replied distantly. ‘I was but concerned for you and your mission. However, if you demand to return, return we shall. But it would be best not to go directly back. Those warriors might be waiting in case we do. I am more concerned about them than of the plague. We will
ride around the hills a little and then leave our horses to find a vantage point to observe what we can before we return to the village.’
    Fidelma reluctantly agreed. The circuitous route did make sense.
    It was half an hour before they found themselves hiding behind a clump of shrubs on the outskirts of the still-burning buildings. The wooden constructions were crackling in the great fire while some were crashing in on themselves in a shower of sparks and billowing smoke. It would not be long, Fidelma realised, before the village was simply a black, smouldering mess of charcoal. The red-faced man and his followers seemed to have disappeared. There were no sounds of humanity against the crack and occasional roar of the flames.
    Fidelma rose slowly to her feet and eased a piece of her head-dress across her mouth to protect her lungs from the billowing smoke.
    â€˜Where are the people?’ she demanded, not really expecting an answer from Cass, who was staring in incomprehension as he surveyed the flaming wreckage of what had been a dozen homesteads. She had her answer even before the question was out of her mouth. There were several bodies lying between the burning homesteads; men, women and children. Most of them had been struck down before their homes had been set ablaze. They were certainly not victims of plague.
    â€˜Sister Eisten’s cabin was over that way,’ pointed Cass, grimly. ‘She ran a small hostel for travellers and an orphanage. I stayed when I journeyed through here six months ago.’
    He led the way through the smoke and swirling debris to a corner of the village. There was a building by a rock over which water gushed from a natural well spring. The hostel had not been completely destroyed because it had been built mainly of stones, piled one upon another. But the wooden roof, the doors and what contents the building had once had,
were now no more. Now it was a pile of hot, smouldering ashes.
    â€˜Destroyed,’ muttered Cass, hands on hips. ‘People slain and no sign of plague. There is a mystery here.’
    â€˜A feud?’ hazarded Fidelma. ‘Perhaps a reprisal for something this village had done?’
    Cass shrugged eloquently.
    â€˜When we get to Ros Ailithir we must send a message to the chieftain of this area telling him of this deed and demanding an explanation in the name of Cashel.’
    Fidelma was inclined to agree. She glanced reluctantly at the eastern sky. It would not be long before dusk. They had to be on their way to the abbey or night would fall long before they reached it.
    The shrill wail of a baby, at that time and in that place, was totally unexpected.
    Fidelma glanced quickly around to try to locate the origin of the noise. Cass was already ahead of her, scrambling up an incline to the edge of a wood on the fringes of the village behind the burnt-out religious