Valley of the Shadow sf-6

by Peter Tremayne

  They returned to find Rudgal struggling with the bonds.

  ‘Stay still,’ instructed Eadulf in a harsh tone, ‘unless you wish for another clout on your skull.’

  Rudgal glowered at him.

  ‘If my hands were free, foreigner …’

  ‘That is why you will continue to be bound,’ interrupted Fidelma. They used more cord and had difficulty in tying Rudgal’s feet together for he flayed around with powerful motions. Even when his feet and hands were secured, Rudgal started to cry out and Eadulf seized a towel and wrapped it around the man’s mouth, silencing him.

  It took a few minutes more for Rudgal to accept that escape from his bondage was impossible and relax on the bed. It was only when he had quietened down that they heard a movement on the lower floor of the guests’ hostel.

  Fidelma and Eadulf exchanged a look of alarm. Then Eadulf seized Rudgal’s discarded sword in one hand and took the oil lamp in the other, moving quietly to the door. Fidelma came behind him, peering over his shoulder. They moved cautiously along the corridor to the landing overlooking the stairs leading to the lower floor of the hostel.

  A figure stood there below them in the darkness.

  Eadulf raised the lamp.

  Colla stood revealed in its rays at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘What do you want here?’ demanded Eadulf, feeling angry that his voice cracked a little with emotion. Here stood the very person whom they had been expecting to attempt to harm them this very night.

  Colla stared up at them in surprise. He blinked as he caught sight of the sword in Eadulf’s hand.

  ‘Is there anything wrong?’ he faltered.

  ‘Wrong? Should there be anything wrong?’ inquired Fidelma quietly.

  ‘I was just passing by when I heard a noise like someone calling for help. So I came in.’

  Fidelma examined the tanist carefully. It was a plausible story for after all Rudgal had made considerable noise before they had gagged him.

  ‘It was Eadulf,’ she lied blandly. ‘He cried out in his sleep and I went to see if he were ill. Then we heard a noise below and thought someone had broken in …’

  Eadulf nodded hurriedly, wondering what penance he would have to pay for the falsehood.

  ‘It is true. A nightmare,’ he added quickly.

  Colla hesitated, then shrugged.

  ‘The door was wide open,’ he said. ‘I’ll shut it as I leave.’

  He stared up at them for a moment and then turned and left the hostel, shutting the door behind him. Outside they heard him greet someone and there was a muttered conversation. Eadulf moved swiftly to the upper window and peered out into the courtyard and listened to the whispered conversation.

  ‘It is Laisre,’ he whispered to Fidelma. ‘He was apparently passing the hostel, saw Colla coming out and asked what was wrong. He and Colla have both left now.’

  Fidelma heaved a deep sigh.

  ‘I do not think anything else will happen before dawn now,’ she observed with a tone of satisfaction. ‘I think our mystery comes finally near a solution.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Fidelma rose from her bed long before the sky began to turn light and was waiting nervously in the main room of the guests’ hostel. She had checked Rudgal and found him still bound and actually sleeping, although his repose did not seem comfortable. Eadulf was also asleep, snoring softly. She listened carefully but could hear nothing stirring outside the hostel. She went to the window and peered anxiously up at the sky as it began to turn grey over the eastern peaks. With a sinking feeling she began to wonder if she had been premature in hazarding all for this dawn rendezvous with Ibor of Muirthemne. What if Cruinn had lied and there had really been no other route into Gleann Geis? Perhaps there was only the one ravine? What if Ibor and his men were not able to get into the valley? What if they had not been able to take over the fortress? What if …?

  She paused and tried to still her rambling thoughts. What was it that her mentor, the Brehon Morann of Tara, had once said? ‘With an “if” you could put the five kingdoms of Éireann into a bottle and carry them with you.’

  She forced herself to sip a beaker of mead and tackle some dry bread and cheese to fortify herself against what she knew would now be an ordeal that morning … one way or another.

  There came a sound nearby and she sprung up nervously. The sound was merely a sleepy yawn and she realised that it was only Eadulf rising. A moment later he came lethargically down the stairs.

  ‘Have you heard anything yet?’ he whispered, becoming more alert when he saw that she was up and waiting. Fidelma shook her head. They listened together for a moment to the silence. It was broken only when a dog barked in the distance.

  Then, shattering the early morning stillness, a cock began to crow nearby.

  It seemed as if it were a signal for at that very moment the door of the hostel swung open. They swung round, filled with misgiving. Ibor of Muirthemne stood framed in the doorway, sword in hand, grinning.

  ‘The ráth is ours, Fidelma. I have rounded up the guards and placed them under the care of some of my warriors in their own dormitory. The gates are now closed and my men are guarding all points, including the council chamber.’

  ‘Was there any bloodshed?’ Fidelma demanded anxiously.

  A grim smile met her question.

  ‘None that would be noticeable. A bruised skull here and there but nothing worse.’

  ‘Good. We shall proceed to rouse the people of the ráth and make them gather in the council chamber.’

  Ibor hesitated.

  ‘There is one thing that you should know, Sister. We found the passageway, exactly as you told us we would. It was a rocky path leading up alongside the turbulent river which exits from this glen. Now and then, the path ran through a complex of caves before emerging into the valley. We were traversing this path, as you instructed. In one of the caves we found Artgal.’

  She showed no emotion.

  ‘He was dead, I presume?’

  ‘He was dead,’ affirmed Ibor. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘In what manner had he met his death?’ she asked, ignoring his question.

  ‘That I cannot tell you. He was lying along the path. He carried a bag with him as if he were going on a long journey. There was no mark of any wound on him at all.’

  Eadulf looked at Ibor in astonishment.

  ‘No wound?’ he demanded. ‘No wound and yet he was dead?’

  ‘Who can say how he died?’ Ibor shrugged. ‘What slays without leaving a wound? When I examined the body I saw a ghastly expression of fear contorting Artgal’s features. The lips were blue and twisted, showing teeth and gums. The eyes were bulging as if he had seen a phantom from hell. I have seen a few such deaths in my time and always among pagans. This is a death inflicted by a Druid. God protect us, Sister. I had to put the fear of my sword into some of my men in order to force them to continue into this accursed valley.’

  Fidelma lowered her eyes and was reflective for a moment or two. Then she raised her head and her features showed a tranquillity.

  ‘I think that the last piece of the puzzle is now complete,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘I am ready. Gather the people of the ráth in the council chamber, leave aside the children. I will be along in fifteen minutes.’

  Ibor was already moving to the door when she called him back.

  ‘Above the stair here, you will find a warrior of this ráth — Rudgal. He is bound. Get two of your men to escort him to the chamber but do not allow them to unbind his hands.’

  Ibor looked momentarily astonished, then shrugged and acknowledged her order by raising his sword in salute.

  When Fidelma entered the council chamber followed by Eadulf, there arose murmurs of hostility and anger. The leading inhabitants of the ráth had been gathered there at sword point by Ibor’s men. Their own swords had been removed and at each entrance Ibor’s warriors stood sentinel while, by the chieftain’s chair, Ibor himself and two of his men
guarded the chieftain of Gleann Geis. In all, a dozen warriors of the Craobh Rígh were placed around the chamber. Fidelma presumed the others were acting as sentinels at the gates of the ráth or on the walls.

  Laisre, his face white with anger, was slumped in his chair of office. Murgal was seated nearby looking equally unhappy. Colla was standing behind his chieftain, flushed and resentful. Orla was by his side. Her face was filled with antagonism as she scowled at Fidelma. There was no amity or affableness on any face in the chamber with the exception of Esnad. Only she appeared unconcerned by the proceedings.

  Fidelma glanced around at the others who had been gathered. There was Rudgal looking wrathful. He had his arms still bound. Ronan and Bairsech, his shrewish wife, were there, along with Nemon, the prostitute, and Cruinn, the portly hostel-keeper, and Marga the apothecary. All these were people whom Fidelma had specifically asked Ibor to ensure were brought to the council chamber of the ráth. The entire assembly, apart from Ibor and his men, focussed on Fidelma with intense hatred as she took her position.

  Laisre was the first to speak. He rose to his feet, his body quivering with rage.

  ‘Well, Fidelma of Cashel, this barbarity can only be expunged with blood,’ he announced. ‘You have transgressed all rules of hospitality, you have used foreign warriors to imprison …’

  ‘Barbarism is a good word to describe the evil that has permeated this valley,’ Fidelma interrupted him coldly. Her voice cut into his tirade and stilled it before he had time to gather further impetus. ‘And I have come to reveal the truth about the evil which haunts you.’

  ‘Aided by warriors from the north, Fidelma?’ demanded Colla. ‘How can the warriors of Ulaidh force any truth from the peopleof Muman? Is this how your brother treats his people, by the use of outside force? By mercenaries who do his bidding for money?’

  ‘I fear you do Ibor and his men an injustice. They are not Muman’s mercenaries. Neither are they here to enforce the truth, merely to protect those innocent among you from any harm and ensure that the truth is finally listened to. And you will listen to me because I speak not only as the voice of my brother the king but as a dálaigh of the degree of anruth whose voice can be heard by kings and to whom even a High King is subject.’

  She spoke with such calm assurance that her tone commanded a silence throughout the council chamber.

  Murgal broke it after some moments by saying quietly: ‘Tell us your truth, Fidelma of Cashel, and we will answer with ours.’

  Fidelma smiled gently at him.

  ‘If you have a truth left to answer with.’ She made the riposte softly.

  She stood for a moment head bowed in silence and let a tension build up among those gathered.

  As Eadulf was wondering whether she should be prompted and if he should undertake the task, Fidelma began to speak, quietly at first.

  ‘I have been presented with many mysteries since I qualified as an advocate in our courts of law. I will not say that these were simple to solve. Brother Eadulf here knows that many were not, for he has been involved in many of these mysteries. What I will say is that the mystery I found here confounded me for a long time. Shall I remind you of that mystery?’

  No one responded.

  ‘On arriving here Brother Eadulf and I were confronted with the slaughter of thirty-three young men in what appeared to have been a pagan ritual; the bodies naked and placed in a sunwise circle. Each one had been killed in a manner known to the ancients as The Threefold Death. Then we were confronted with the death of Brother Solin of Armagh.’

  ‘For which you were nearly found guilty,’ Orla pointed out sharply. ‘For which you tried to accuse me, and for which you were only released on a technicality of the law in that the Saxon showed that Artgal was an untrustworthy witness. You were not found innocent of the charge. You could still be the killer of Solin!’

  Murgal looked uncomfortable at what amounted to a criticism of his judgment. He turned and shook his head at Orla.

  ‘Orla, my judgment stands. I can only judge according to our law.’

  Orla scowled at him but did not reply.

  Fidelma spoke directly to Murgal.

  ‘There is no need to apologise or even justify the judgment you gave, Murgal. But the death of Brother Solin was quickly followed by the death of young Brother Dianach.’

  Murgal leant forward.

  ‘And that is easily explained for it was obvious that Artgal killed Dianach out of revenge or for some other reason once it was discovered that Dianach had bribed him to maintain his evidence against you.’

  Fidelma ignored the interruption.

  ‘And having done so, Artgal fled the valley demonstrating his guilt in some people’s eyes?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Murgal said in satisfaction.

  ‘Poisoning himself on the way?’

  There was a shocked silence.

  ‘Yes,’ continued Fidelma keeping her voice even, ‘Artgal was found dead on the tiny river path, having been poisoned.’

  ‘How do you know this?’ asked Colla.

  Fidelma indicated Ibor.

  ‘Ibor found him. Ibor and his men,’ she corrected pedantically. ‘Ibor, you said that there were no wounds on Artgal’s body when you found it?’

  The warrior took a pace forward and inclined his head in confirmation.

  ‘But you said that the lips were drawn back over the gums in an hideous expression.’

  ‘They were.’

  ‘And were the gums coloured a bluish-black?’

  ‘I did not tell you that. But, yes; they were.’

  ‘So now we have a total of thirty-six deaths in Gleann Geis,’ Fidelma said softly. ‘Truly, a valley that is forbidden. It forbids life!’

  ‘So you are intent to blame the people of Gleann Geis?’ Laisre jeered angrily. ‘Your plan is to get your brother to bring punishment on my people as you persuaded him to use the full force of the Eóghanacht against the Uí Fidgente earlier this year.’

  Fidelma smiled calculatingly at the chieftain.

  ‘That is certainly someone’s plan, Laisre,’ she said with intent. ‘But you do me an injustice by suggesting that it is my plan. I do not mean any harm to the people of Gleann Geis. My only concern is to punish those involved with these killings.’

  Murgal spoke again quelling the murmur of voices which greeted her statement.

  ‘Are you implying that the people responsible are here in the council chamber?’ he demanded. ‘That people responsible for all thirty-six deaths are among us now?’

  ‘I do not imply it. I say that it is so.’

  The Druid leaned alertly forward.

  ‘Can you identify them?’

  ‘I can,’ she replied quietly. ‘But before I do so I shall tell you how I came to the conclusion that I have.’

  The tension among those gathered increased almost perceptibly.

  ‘My first mistake, for I made a mistake in progressing a line of thought, which kept me from seeing the truth for some time, was to immediately assume that the killing of the thirty-three young men at the entrance to this valley was inseparably linked to the murder of Brother Solin.’

  Colla drew a quick breath.

  ‘Do you say that they are not?’ he asked in surprise.

  ‘No, they are not,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘Although, to be accurate, there is a link, but not the one I had imagined. It follows, by the way, that the murder of Brother Dianach and Artgal, while linked to Brother Solin’s death, was also not part of the ritual slaughter.’

  ‘We are waiting for your so-called truth!’ sneered Laisre, above the hubbub which she had created in the chamber.

  ‘You shall hear it soon. I will deal with the matter of the ritual slaughter first. This was simply a crude and foul means to provoke a civil war in Muman. I lay the blame for this at the gates of Mael Dúin, king of the northern Uí Néill in Ailech.’

  Again the murmur of surprise interrupted her.

  ‘Ailech is far from here,’ Colla pointed
out in disbelief. ‘And what good would it do Mael Dúin if there was dissension in Muman?’

  ‘Apparently Mael Dúin wants to seize the thrones of all the northern kingdoms and then sit on the throne of Tara as High King. He wants to dominate all the five kingdoms. To do so, he knows that there is only one kingdom powerful enough to counter his ambitions.’

  ‘Muman?’ It was Murgal who made the logical conclusion.

  ‘Exactly so. The Eóghanacht of Cashel would not allow him to usurp the dignity of the High Kingship which is an honour bestowed not a power to be grabbed.’

  ‘How does it apply to the deaths of the young men? The so-called sacrifices?’ Colla now appeared fascinated by her story, following it carefully.

  ‘When Gleann Geis called for a representative of Cashel, of the Church of Imleach, to come here to ostensibly discuss the establishment of a church and school, the enemies of Muman had already planned that a simple cleric coming here would see the ritual slaughter and think it was a pagan ceremony. The pagan community of Gleann Geis would be blamed immediately. No cleric could ignore the affront to the Faith. It was believed that this cleric would race back to Cashel and that the king of Cashel and his bishop at Imleach would pronounce a Holy War of retribution on Gleann Geis. That they would attempt to annihilate the people of Gleann Geis as condign judgment.

  ‘This would provoke Gleann Geis’s neighbours to rise up to protect their kin against the aggression of Cashel and the one step would inevitably lead to another.’

  ‘And what prevented this great plan being fulfilled … if such a plan ever existed?’ Laisre sounded unconvinced.

  ‘I was the cleric but, also being a dálaigh, I believed in proof before action. It threw their plan out of synchronisation.’

  ‘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.’