Valley of the Shadow

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Deo gloria!’ he intoned piously.

  ‘A quiet evening is called for, I think. Our business should be concluded tomorrow and then we can leave to search the plain and see what we may find out about the slaughtered young men.’

  Eadulf was not enthusiastic.

  ‘I thought we were waiting for Colla?’ he objected.

  ‘He has already arrived back,’ Fidelma explained shortly. ‘He has discovered no more than we already knew.’

  Eadulf raised his head and contrived to look interested in spite of his condition.

  ‘Did he follow the tracks?’

  ‘He said that he lost them in the hills to the north.’

  ‘But you don’t believe him?’

  Fidelma sat down and poured herself a beaker of cold water from Eadulf’s pitcher.

  ‘I do not know. He might be telling the truth. It is stony ground in that valley. Why come back with such news so soon? If it were some conspiracy to keep us occupied for a while, he could certainly have spent a few days pretending to search before returning.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Eadulf conceded.

  Brother Dianach entered. He bade them a polite good evening.

  ‘Are you going to the feasting tonight?’ he inquired with an air of innocence, looking directly at the suffering Eadulf.

  ‘No,’ Fidelma replied shortly.

  ‘If you forgive me, then, I am going to bathe before the feasting.’

  They ignored him and he delayed only a moment before going into the bath house.

  ‘There is another guest come to the ráth,’ Fidelma told Eadulf after they heard the splashing of water from the next room.

  ‘Yes? Who?’ Eadulf wondered at her confidential tone.

  ‘A young man from Ulaidh?’

  ‘Another visitor from Ulaidh?’ Eadulf was surprised.

  ‘Exactly my reaction. He calls himself Ibor of Muirthemne and says he is a cennaige or trader in horses.’

  ‘You sound as if you do not believe it?’

  Fidelma nodded.

  ‘He does not know his law of dealing in horses from overseas.’

  ‘Should he do so?’

  ‘Any competent trader would know the basic laws.’

  ‘So he is not a trader in horses. So who is he and why is he here?’

  ‘I wish I knew. He does have the bearing of a man used to arms. And remember that we found a warrior’s torc near the bodies of the young men and that torc was of northern workmanship? I feel …’

  The door opened boisterously and the corpulent figure of Cruinn entered.

  ‘I hear there is another feasting tonight,’ she greeted them. ‘However, I thought I would see if you required anything from me beforehand.’

  ‘Brother Eadulf and I will not be going to the feasting,’ Fidelma informed her.

  The eyes of Cruinn showed surprise in her fleshy face.

  ‘Not going?’ she repeated as if it were an unheard-of thing. ‘But it is Laisre who is hosting the feast.’

  ‘We will not tax your services too much,’ Fidelma informed her, ignoring her disapproval. ‘If you could prepare a dish of cold meats and some bread that will be food enough.’

  Cruinn glanced at Eadulf’s haggard features.

  ‘I could also prepare a hot broth. A broth of leeks and oats with herbs added.’

  Eadulf’s tongue flickered over his lips with anticipation.

  ‘It sounds the very thing that is needed to settle a rebellious stomach,’ he observed.

  The pudgy woman bustled off to prepare the food while Fidelma and Eadulf remained seated at the table.

  ‘I presume the others – Solin and the young man – are going to the feast?’ Cruinn called over her shoulder as she set about her task.

  ‘Young Brother Dianach is in the bath house. But he has said that he is going,’ Fidelma volunteered. ‘We have not seen Brother Solin this evening. I am sure he will be going as well.’

  Fidelma rose and went to Cruinn’s side, watching the large woman’s dexterous hands preparing the meal.

  ‘Have you always lived in Gleann Geis, Cruinn?’ she asked abruptly. Then: ‘I have heard that there are many newcomers to the valley.’

  ‘I have always lived here,’ the woman confirmed. ‘Those you speak of are the Christian wives and some husbands from the surrounding areas who have married among the original settlers in this valley.’

  ‘Do you approve of Christians?’

  The fleshy woman chuckled.

  ‘You might just as well ask whether I approve of the mountains. They are there. What else to do but live with them?’

  ‘You are wise,’ Fidelma smiled. ‘Are all the people of the valley as philosophical as you?’

  The big woman did not understand the word.

  Fidelma sought for another means of explaining her question.

  ‘Do all the others in the valley feel as you do? Or do they feel an insecurity about the Christians?’

  ‘We are very secure in this valley for there are only two ways in and two ways out,’ Cruinn said, misinterpreting her.

  Fidelma was about to explain that she had not meant physical fear when she realised what Cruinn had said.

  ‘Two ways? I thought that there was only one path through the ravine?’

  ‘Oh, no. There is the river path.’

  ‘But I was told that the river is unnavigable through the rapids.’

  ‘That is so but there is a small footpath that runs beside the river. Difficult and hidden in places because it goes through caves. A sure-footed person can manage it. It emerges into the valley beyond. As children most of us explored it. But no one could …’

  The woman paused and then her eyes narrowed. It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps she was speaking too freely. Her embarrassment was covered when Brother Dianach emerged and confirmed that he would be going to the feasting. When questioned about Brother Solin’s intentions he replied that he had not seen the cleric for a while but would presume that he was going too.

  Fidelma announced that she would take a short walk before having her evening bath. Promising to be back soon, she left the hostel leaving Cruinn preparing the evening meal.

  It was with some reluctance that Eadulf decided to also use the facilities of the second chamber to have an evening bathe. He decided that a cold bath might relieve him of the sweaty alcohol-induced discomfiture from his body. He felt a shame that he had succumbed to the excess of drink. Even though everyone had told him the wine had been bad, he felt it no excuse. He felt more humiliation since Fidelma had not been as reproving as she might have been.

  Fidelma had actually left the ráth. She knew exactly where she was going. It took fifteen minutes or so to walk down to Ronan’s hamlet, having first ascertained from the sentinel at the gate that both Ibor of Muirthemne and Murgal had returned to the ráth for the evening’s festivities. She spotted her goal when she saw two horses grazing in the field next to Ronan’s farmstead.

  She made directly into the field by climbing over the low stone wall which surrounded it.

  Fidelma was not without knowledge when it came to equestrian matters. She had been raised on a horse almost before she could walk. If the truth were known, her name was still spoken of in awe at the famous Cuirrech where a great annual race gathering had been held since time immemorial. A few years had passed since she had solved the mystery of the slaughter of the king of Laighin’s prize race-horse and his jockey. She knew much about horses.

  There were two horses in the field. A black stallion and a white mare. The mare was skittish but the stallion stood docilely enough as Fidelma ran her hands over his shoulders and fetlocks. She stroked him gently on the muzzle until he allowed her to open his mouth and examine his teeth. The mare was more difficult to examine but after a while she managed to calm her sufficiently to inspect her also.

  ‘What are you doing?’ cried a harsh voice.

  Bairsech, the wife of Ronan, stood regarding her with a sour expression fr
om the doorway of the farm building.

  ‘Just examining these horses, Bairsech,’ replied Fidelma unruffled. ‘Are they the horses that belong to Ibor of Muirthemne?’

  The woman recognised Fidelma but scowled even more.

  ‘Yes; they are his.’ It was said ungraciously.

  Fidelma pursed her lips reflectively as she gazed at the animals.

  ‘Has he no other horses with him?’

  ‘Why do you ask? Do you want to buy them for he is not here but up at the ráth.’

  ‘Indulge me,’ replied Fidelma patiently. ‘Did he bring any other animals with him?’

  ‘No, just those two beasts.’ Bairsech was wary. ‘What does that have to do with you?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Nothing at all. I shall doubtless see him at the ráth later.’

  She left the field and began to climb back towards Laisre’s fortress.

  By the time she reached it, Eadulf had finished his bath. Cruinn was placing the food on the table and there was no sign of Brother Dianach. Eadulf told her that Dianach had gone to the feast but Brother Solin had not returned to the guests’ hostel. Fidelma debated with herself for a moment as to whether she should have her evening bath and decided not to allow the soup to chill but to eat first and bathe later.

  Cruinn, asking if they needed anything else and ascertaining that they did not, bade them have a good evening and left them to the meal.

  Fidelma gave herself to the meal in silence while Eadulf ate moderately and stuck to water as Fidelma sipped at a beaker of mead.

  ‘What are you puzzling over, Fidelma?’ Eadulf finally broke the quiet that had fallen between them. ‘I know when your mind is active for you have that far-away look in your eyes.’

  She brought her gaze from the middle distance to focus on Eadulf.

  ‘I have no other thoughts but to conclude the matter with Laisre tomorrow morning, providing we have no more prevarications from Murgal and Solin. After that, as I told you, we must follow up the mystery of the slaughtered young men.’

  ‘Do you really think that you can find some clue that Colla has missed?’

  ‘I will not think anything before I have examined the evidence. There is some ominous, oppressive mystery – something which is staring me in the face and yet I am not recognising it. However, one thing I have just confirmed about that strange young man who claims to be a horse trader.’

  Eadulf looked up with interest.

  ‘Apart from the fact that he does not know his law of trading?’ he asked brightly.

  ‘Not only does he not know about the law of trading but the so-called thoroughbred horse from Britain he says that he has brought to sell at such a grand price … it is no thoroughbred at all.’

  ‘You saw it?’

  ‘I went to Ronan’s farm where Ibor is lodging. I saw the two horses he has brought with him. One is a mare and the other a stallion. They are not young horses, either of them, but they are good working horses. Certainly they are trained, too well trained, as war horses. Both of them have scars and it seems they have seen service in battle before now.’

  ‘Are you saying that he is a complete impostor?’

  ‘I am saying that neither horse is what he has claimed it to be. He said that he had brought a thoroughbred from the kingdom of the Britons, from Gwynedd. All such horses are short-legged and broad-chested, they have thick, wiry coats and a dense undercoat that insulates the body against the hard winters. But the horses that he has brought are not pure bred at all. They are long-legged and of the sort imported from Gaul for racing or bred for battle. His horses are too old to be worth anything that would justify him journeying all the way from Ulaidh to this remote part of our kingdom. In other words – Ibor of Muirthemne is a liar!’

  Eadulf felt helpless for he could offer her no advice or even begin to think of anything which might be of help in solving the mystery.

  They finished their meal in meditative silence. Faintly, they could hear the sounds of merry-making from the feasting hall of Laisre. It was Fidelma’s suggestion that, if Eadulf was feeling up to it, they take another turn around the walls of the ráth before turning in. Eadulf would have preferred to retire immediately to bed for he had still not entirely recovered from the swimming feeling in his head. Yet guilt made him accede to Fidelma’s suggestion. At least they had a rapport in which they did not have to talk but still retained a closeness of thought as if knowing what was passing through each other’s minds as it did so.

  They walked from the hostel to the steps leading up to the battlement walkway.

  A shadow moved at the top of the stairs. They could hear an embarrassed giggle and the slight, small figure of a young girl disappeared into the darkness. A second shadow emerged and a harsh male voice challenged them. When they identified themselves the figure of Rudgal emerged into the flickering light of a burning brand torch.

  ‘You are not at Laisre’s feast, then?’ The wagon maker and part-time warrior seemed embarrassed by their appearance.

  ‘One of Laisre’s feasts is enough for me,’ Eadulf confessed plaintively.

  Rudgal’s features seemed to be sympathetic.

  ‘Bad wine,’ was his verdict. ‘It happens sometimes.’ Then he turned to Fidelma, changing the subject rapidly. ‘I heard from Artgal that there was nothing to be found on the plain where you discovered the bodies; nothing which would explain how that terrible event came to happen.’

  Fidelma leant against the battlement and gazed out into the gloom of the evening.

  ‘You are a Christian, Rudgal. What would you make of this slaughter?’

  Rudgal coughed nervously, and cast a look about. He lowered his voice conspiratorially.

  ‘As you say, Sister, I am of the Faith. Life has been difficult for those of us who follow such a path in Gleann Geis. Then it became obvious that we are becoming a substantial portion of the population in this valley and we began to press the chieftain and his assembly to make recognition of our existence. For years now we have been blocked by the chieftain and his council. Then, suddenly, the chieftain seemed to reach enlightenment for he over-ruled his council and sent to Cashel. I never thought I would see the day. However, there are still many here who cling to the old ways. I will say this about this matter …’ He paused. ‘This ritual slaughter, as you claim it to be. There are many people who would like to see those of the Faith demoralised and the old ways triumph again.’

  Fidelma turned and tried to read any hidden message in the features of Rudgal’s face in the gloom.

  ‘Do you think this act was done as a means of intimidating the Christian community here?’

  ‘Why else would it be done? It serves no other purpose.’

  ‘But who were the victims? Laisre says that no one in Gleann Geis is missing.’

  ‘This is true. We would soon know if any of our people were missing. Perhaps the victims were travellers who were waylaid and slaughtered? Who killed them? I think the answer lies not far from where you hear that laughter emanating.’

  A burst of rowdy laughter had just echoed from the feasting hall.

  ‘Who do you accuse? Laisre? Or Murgal?’ prompted Eadulf. ‘Or is there someone else?’

  Rudgal glanced briefly at Eadulf.

  ‘It is not my place to point a finger of accusation. Just ask yourself this – whose interest does this action serve? Laisre was the one who decided to allow the Faith some freedom against the wishes of his council. Examine who opposes Laisre. I can say no more. Goodnight.’

  Rudgal made off into the shadowy darkness.

  ‘There is a logic in what he says,’ offered Eadulf after a moment or two of silence.

  ‘Cui bono? “Who stands to gain?” is an ancient precept of the law. Cicero demanded it of a judge in Rome. It is logical but is it too logical?’

  Eadulf shook his head, puzzled.

  ‘That is too clever for me. Logic is surely the art of making truth prevail?’

  ‘Yet logic can often d
isguise truth from us. Logic can often ruin the spirit, the creative side of our mind, so that we go running along a straight track when our answers lie in the shadows of the forest glades beside those tracks. Logic alone confines us.’

  ‘Do you think there can be some other explanation then?’

  ‘One thing occurs to me – if this slaughter was done merely to frighten and coerce the Christians of Gleann Geis, why not slaughter some of the Christians of this valley? Why enact this ritual in the valley outside and use the bodies of strangers? Why not give more forceful strength to the message of menace? That logical deduction, as you see, has its faults.’

  ‘Well, turning the same facts over and over without anything new to add makes the mind sterile,’ Eadulf observed.

  Fidelma chuckled.

  ‘At times I need your wisdom, Eadulf,’ she said. ‘Let us complete our circuit of the walls and return to a restful slumber.’

  Eadulf hesitated.

  ‘Perhaps Rudgal was trying to put us off the scent? Who was he conspiring with up here just now?’

  ‘Conspiring is hardly the term,’ Fidelma said in amusement. ‘Even you must have recognised Orla’s daughter.’

  They circuited the walls and returned down the steps. They passed across the courtyard, listening to the sounds of merry-making and music echoing from the feasting hall. There came a moment of comparative quiet, a brief lull in the noise, during which the sound of an angry voice and a slamming door could be plainly heard. The sound was unexpected and Fidelma seized Eadulf s sleeve and drew him back into the shadows of the wall.

  ‘What is it?’ whispered the Saxon perplexed by her action.

  Fidelma shook her head and placed a finger against her lips.

  Across the courtyard the door of the building where Murgal’s apartment and library were housed was opening and there was no disguising the thick-set figure of Brother Solin as he came out and slammed it shut. He had one hand against the side of his face as if nursing it. He paused for a moment in the light of an oil lamp which hung outside the door, illuminating his angry features. He looked up and down, as if to ensure he had not been observed. The way he carried himself demonstrated his tense attitude and anger. Then he seemed to smooth his clothing and run a hand through his dishevelled hair. He straightened his shoulders and began to walk across the flag stones with a purposeful tread towards the feasting hall.