Valley of the Shadow

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘A weak plan,’ observed Colla, ‘with too many ifs and buts.’

  ‘No. For the plan itself had adherents here in Gleann Geis, people who did not care how many of their clan were killed if it produced the right results because it was a step for them on the road to the greater power which Mael Dúin had promised them should he become High King.’

  Murgal laughed outright in disbelief.

  ‘Are you claiming that some of us in Gleann Geis have been bribed by offers of power or riches from Mael Dúin of Ailech? Are you saying that we, or some of us, are working hand in glove with Mael Dúin of Ailech to destroy our own people in return for crumbs from his table?’

  ‘Precisely. Mael Dúin’s plan could not work without such an ally or allies. The subversion of Muman had to come from within if it stood any chance to work.’

  ‘You’ll have to prove that.’

  Fidelma smiled at Murgal and she turned around the room, gazing on them each in turn as if attempting to read their thoughts. Finally she said: ‘That is what I now propose to do. I am able to do so thanks to something else which happened here which, as I have said, I had actually thought was related but which was not. Yet this unrelated matter led me to the guilty ally of Ailech.’

  ‘Who is it?’ demanded Colla, with tension.

  ‘Firstly, let me do some reconstruction of these events. The plan is set in motion. Mael Dúin has sent a band of warriors with sacrificial hostages to enact the ritual which is to set in motion the wrath of Cashel and Imleach. So far so good. The ally in Gleann Geis has everything arranged. An invitation has been sent to Imleach to ensure that a cleric is on their way to Gleann Geis and will stumble across the ritual killings. Sentinels are set to watch for the arrival of the cleric so that Ailech’s warriors know where and when to perform their despicable crime.’

  She paused for dramatic effect.

  ‘Now Mael Dúin also has a powerful ally in the north. Ultan, the bishop of Armagh, himself. He has promised to give aid to Mael Dúin in his bid for power. How much did Ultan know of the plan? I cannot say. But he sent his secretary and a young scribe to Gleann Geis. It might be that Brother Solin was sent in order to provide a so-called independent witness to Cashel’s awaited march on Gleann Geis who could then report the matter to the other provincial kings so that Armagh could call for the rest of the provincial kings to march on Cashel. Brother Solin however, was certainly in the plot even if Ultan was not.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Murgal asked.

  ‘The fact was that Sechnassuch of Tara surmised that Mael Dúin was ambitious for power and suspected he was plotting something. He also discovered that Ultan was in an alliance with Mael Dúin but to what extent he did not know. So Sechnassuch asked some warriors to keep an eye on Ultan and they discovered Brother Solin’s involvement. They followed Solin and his young scribe Brother Dianach and saw them meet some of Mael Dúin’s warriors. These warriors were marching thirty-three hostages towards Gleann Geis. Thirty-three,’ she added carefully for effect. After a pause she continued.

  ‘The warriors of Sechnassuch witnessed a woman meet with the men of Ailech and with Brother Solin and Dianach at that rendezvous. When one of the prisoners escaped, it was this woman who rode out and hunted him down. The woman escorted Solin and his young scribe to the ravine entrance of Gleann Geis.’

  ‘But Solin and Dianach came into Gleann Geis alone,’ interrupted Orla, with a flushed face. ‘Any of our guards at the ravine will tell you that.’

  ‘I will not argue,’ Fidelma replied evenly, ‘for you are correct. Brother Solin and young Dianach entered Gleann Geis alone … having left the woman. She showed two of Ailech’s warriors the path which the Cashel cleric was likely to come by, the spot where the bodies must be laid out. Then she entered the valley by another way she knew, the secret path along the river where Artgal’s body was found.’

  Orla was about to say something when her husband intervened.

  ‘You say these warriors of Sechnassuch followed these people here? Where are they? What proof do we have of what you say?’

  ‘You ought to have deduced that the warriors who have secured this ráth are the same men. Ibor of Muirthemne is their leader and not a horse dealer. Ibor is commander of the Craobh Rígh of Ulaidh.’

  Ibor took a step forward and bowed stiffly towards Laisre.

  ‘At your command, chieftain of Gleann Geis,’ he said formally but with humour in his voice.

  ‘Not my command,’ replied Laisre with distaste. ‘Get on with this tedious tale, Fidelma.’

  ‘Mael Dúin’s men and their hostages approached Gleann Geis. The men from Ailech, for I will not grace them with the term “warriors” as they were no more than butchers, were watching for the cleric from Cashel. In other words they were watching for me. As soon as Eadulf and I had been spotted, the ritual slaughter began. The bodies were placed in position for me to find. The rest was going to be up to me.

  ‘I hindered their plan, however, because I did not flee in horror from the spot to raise Cashel’s wrath against Gleann Geis and plunge Muman into civil war.’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes! You have made your point, Fidelma of Cashel,’ Murgal said hurriedly. ‘But the fact is that once you knew of this matter, it provided you with the best motive for killing Solin. Better than anyone here.’

  ‘Anyone except the killer. The fact is, I did not know about this plot at the time of Solin’s death nor his involvement in it. The fact of his involvement was only later revealed to me by Ibor of Muirthemne. That was when I realised there were two different affairs taking place. The barbarous, to use Laisre’s well-chosen word, plot against Muman and a simple murder … though murder is never simple.’

  She paused and shrugged.

  ‘Before I go further I should present the evidence of who in Gleann Geis was involved with the terrible plot of the king of Ailech. I would remind you of the woman who met Mael Dúin’s men. Ibor and his warriors saw her …’

  Fidelma turned directly to Orla.

  ‘The person was a woman, a woman of commanding appearance.’

  Orla suppressed a cry of rage.

  ‘Do you see what she is doing? This is the second time that she has accused me of murder. Not content with claiming that I killed Solin of Armagh, she would now accuse me of a heinous crime against my people. I shall destroy you for this, Fidelma of Cashel …’

  She tugged out a knife from her belt and made to spring forward.

  Ibor had moved towards her but Colla already stood in her path, placing himself defensively in front of his wife. He reached forward and took the knife gently but firmly from her hand.

  ‘This is no answer, Orla,’ he said gruffly. ‘No harm will come to you while I defend you.’ He rounded on Fidelma, his eyes blazing in anger. ‘You will have me to deal with, dálaigh,’ he told her menacingly. ‘You will not escape the penalty for your false accusations against my wife.’

  Fidelma spread her arms nonchalantly.

  ‘So far, I do not recall having made any accusations, false or otherwise. I am simply stating facts. You will know when I have made accusations.’

  Colla grew bewildered, he took a step forward but Ibor touched him lightly on the arm with his sword point and shook his head, reaching out a hand for Orla’s dagger. Automatically, Colla handed it to him without thinking or protesting. Ibor then motioned him to resume his place.

  ‘Let us return to what became a weak link in this terrible tragic chain. Brother Solin of Armagh. Brother Solin was a man of ambition. He was ambitious and sly, a worthy plotter in this affair. But he had a weakness. He was, in a word, a lecher. He made a lewd suggestion to you, didn’t he, Orla?’

  The wife of the tanist’s face went crimson.

  ‘I could take care of myself,’ she muttered, ‘especially with such a man.’

  ‘Indeed, you could. You hit him once.’

  ‘I dealt with him,’ replied Orla softly. ‘He did not lay a hand on me. He just made a lewd suggestion.
A thing he swiftly regretted. He learnt his lesson.’

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ contradicted Fidelma. ‘He was an incurable lecher. He lusted after someone else. Someone else not only slapped him but threw wine over him. You will recall, Orla, that I asked if you had thrown wine over Solin?’

  Orla was still suspicious.

  ‘I told you I did not and I did not.’

  ‘True. You see, there is another attractive woman in the ráth, isn’t there, Murgal? In fact, a woman who has some resemblance to Orla, tall and with a commanding appearance.’

  The Druid frowned, trying to understand her path of thought.

  ‘You found out that she was unappreciative of your own advances, didn’t you? At the feast, Marga the apothecary slapped you across the face.’

  Murgal blinked with embarrassment.

  ‘Everyone saw it,’ he muttered uncomfortably. ‘Why should I deny it? But I do not understand where you are leading us.’

  Fidelma now faced Marga. The apothecary’s face was an interesting study of emotions.

  ‘Brother Solin had not only made a lewd suggestion to you … he came to your chambers and tried to force himself on you.’

  Marga raised her chin aggressively.

  ‘I threw wine over him to quell his ardour. I slapped him. He did not bother me again. I did not kill the man.’

  ‘But he had made advances to you, Marga,’ insisted Fidelma quietly. ‘And for that reason Brother Solin was murdered.’

  There was a sudden quiet in the chamber broken only by a sob of denial from the apothecary. Everyone was staring at Marga. The pudgy figure of Cruinn moved forward and put an arm around the girl.

  ‘Are you telling us that Marga killed Solin?’ gasped Murgal.

  ‘No,’ Fidelma replied immediately. ‘What I said was that Solin’s attack on Marga was the triggering point for his murder.’

  ‘Are you also claiming now that it was not Orla but Marga whom you saw at the stables?’ pressed Colla.

  Fidelma shook her head negatively.

  ‘It was someone who looked exactly like Orla, and that misled me. They were clad in a cloak and hood so that I saw only the top part of their face as the light fell on them.’

  She turned to Laisre.

  ‘It was not until I saw the top part of your face above the wooden screen last night, Laisre, in just such a light, that I realised the mistake I had made. It was you, Laisre of Gleann Geis, who came out of the stable, not your twin sister, Orla.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Laisre sat back in his chair as if he had been struck a blow. He stared in open-mouthed dismay.

  There was no mercy in Fidelma’s eyes as she made her accusation.

  He swallowed and then, curiously, the chieftain of Gleann Geis seemed to hunch in his chair and throw out his hands in a curious gesture halfway between defence and surrender.

  ‘I will not deny that you saw me,’ he quietly confessed to an audible gasp of astonishment from those assembled. ‘What I will deny is that I was the one who killed Solin of Armagh.’

  They waited for Fidelma to make a further accusation but she merely turned away and said: ‘I know that you did not kill him. Even if Brother Solin had raped Marga, whom you profess love for, you would have tried to keep him alive because it was in your best interests to do so, wasn’t it?’

  Laisre did not reply. He licked his dry lips, staring in fascination at her as a rabbit might look at a fox before the moment of death.

  ‘You went to the stable that night because you had an assignation with Brother Solin of Armagh, didn’t you?’

  ‘I went there to meet him,’ Laisre agreed quietly.

  ‘But someone else was there before you.’

  ‘I went into the stable from the side door. Solin was already on the floor having been stabbed. I immediately left when I saw that he was dying. I admit that you saw me leave the stable.’

  ‘The mistake I made was thinking that you were your twin sister because you were so well cloaked and disguised that all I saw was the top of your face. No wonder you grew so angry when I accused Orla. Your anger was from fear; you were afraid for yourself. You were afraid that I would eventually realise my mistake. Your fear was what made me suspicious of you for you suddenly switched from friendship to hatred and that was very marked. You were so afraid that, when you heard from Rudgal that I had appointed Eadulf here as my Brehon, you pushed a loose stone from the parapet of the ráth on him as he was walking underneath. God be thanked that you did not kill him.’

  Eadulf swallowed hard as he recalled the incident.

  ‘So it was you?’ Eadulf focussed on Laisre for a moment before turning quickly to Fidelma. ‘But how did you know that it was Laisre, you weren’t there?’

  ‘Rudgal told you who was walking along the wall at that time. Once Laisre was connected with other parts of the puzzle his role became obvious. Do you deny it was you, Laisre?’

  Laisre remained silent.

  ‘Now, do you want to tell us why you chose to meet Brother Solin that night in the stable?’

  The chieftain of Gleann Geis continued to sit as if he had been carved from stone.

  ‘Then I will do so,’ continued Fidelma, after he made no reply. ‘You and he were fellow plotters, or allies, if you like. You were the one who was in league with Mael Dúin of Ailech. You took and destroyed the incriminating vellum message from Ailech. Is that not so?’

  Laisre laughed, perhaps a little too hollowly.

  ‘Are you saying that I would betray my own people? That I would sacrifice them to gain personal power?’

  ‘That is precisely what I am saying. You need not deny it. It occurred to me during that first council meeting, when you were supposed to negotiate with me, that it had been you who had made the decision to send for a religious to come here. I learnt that most of your council had been in opposition to that decision which you had made quite arbitrarily. Now, why would you, who still clung to the old faith, and who, according to Christians like Rudgal there, was so obstinate about recognition of the Church here, suddenly go against the wishes of your council to send such an invitation? The answer becomes obvious. You had to send the invitation to ensure a cleric came here to see the ritual slaughter. No other person at Gleann Geis could have had the authority to make that decision.

  ‘I was confused when I realised that you stood alone against Colla and Murgal and your sister as well as other members of the council in this matter. Why were you putting your chieftainship in jeopardy by refusing to accept their will in council? The reason was because you had your sights on other power. Mael Dúin had obviously promised you better things than the chieftainship of Gleann Geis.’

  Colla, Murgal and Orla were staring at Laisre in horror as they began to follow the irrevocable logic of her accusation. Laisre’s features reformed in an expression of defiance; almost contempt.

  ‘You would have destroyed Gleann Geis for ambition?’ asked Murgal amazed. ‘Deny it and we will believe you. You are our chieftain.’

  ‘You are right. I am your chieftain.’ Laisre rose suddenly, his voice stentorian. ‘Let us make this day ours. There are only a few of them if we act together. Mael Dúin will still succeed with his plan in spite of this woman. Join me, if you want to be on the winning side. Declare for Ailech against Cashel. Take hold of your destiny.’

  Colla stood facing Laisre, his face white and strained with disbelief.

  ‘I will take hold of the only destiny that honour now demands,’ he said quietly. ‘You are no longer chieftain of Gleann Geis and shame is your portion for that which you have tried to do to them.’

  Laisre was momentarily angry.

  ‘Then you will have to live with your shame in denying your lawful chieftain!’

  Even before he had finished speaking he had sprung forward, taking a dagger from his belt. Before anyone could move he had dragged young Esnad from her chair, drawing her in front of him as a shield, placing the blade of the dagger across her throat. She
screamed but the pressure of the sharp blade caused the cry to be stifled. A thin line of blood showed on the whiteness of her throat. The girl’s eyes were wide and staring in fear. Laisre began to back towards the door of the chamber.

  ‘Stay still if you do not wish to see this girl killed,’ he called as Ibor and a couple of his warriors began automatically to move towards them.

  Orla screamed sharply.

  ‘She is your niece, Laisre. She is my daughter! Your own flesh and blood!’

  ‘Keep back,’ warned the chieftain. ‘I am going to leave this ráth in safety. Do not think I will hesitate to use this dagger. The bitch from Cashel will tell you that I was prepared to sacrifice the people of this valley to ensure my ambition and I shall not hesitate to sacrifice even this indolent child – flesh of my flesh or not.’

  Marga then started forward towards him with a joyful cry.

  ‘I am coming with you, Laisre.’

  Laisre gave her a cynical smile.

  ‘I cannot have you as well as my hostage delay me now. I must travel alone. Fend for yourself until I return here with Mael Dúin’s victorious army.’

  The girl stepped back as if she had been slapped in the face.

  ‘But … you promised … after all we have been through … After what I have done for you.’ Her voice became inarticulate as she understood his rejection of her.

  ‘Circumstances alter cases,’ the chieftain replied easily, his eyes still warily watching the warriors of Ibor. ‘Clear the way. The girl dies if anyone tries to follow.’

  Orla was almost in hysterics. Colla tried to comfort her.

  Fidelma, scrutinising him, realised that the chieftain of Gleann Geis was totally insane. She also realised that Esnad would be discarded as soon as he secured a fast horse and reached beyond the gates of the ráth. Not even his own niece meant anything more to him other than a means of gaining what he coveted. Power was his god. Power was a desolating pestilence polluting everything it touched.

  ‘He will do it,’ she warned Ibor who was still edging slowly forward. ‘Do not attempt to detain him.’