Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction

Fidelma sighed with resignation. “I suppose that I could explain the law to him, if that is all that is needed.”

Scoth relaxed with a smile. “I would appreciate it. Rechtabra might give this matter more serious thought if he knows that the King’s sister is watching his actions.”

“I presume Rechtabra has men working at the mine with him? If I remember that evil little boy, he might not like his cousin lecturing him on the law. Alas, silver seems to turn people’s minds.”

“Are there are many silver mines in this district?” asked Eadulf.

“Those mountains you have to pass through to Cashel are called Sliabh an Argid, the Silver Mountains,” Scoth replied quickly. “The mountains are rich in silver and thus my father is able to pay the gabal na rígh , the king’s tribute, in unga weights, grams of silver rather than cattle as some princes do.”

“And do many people here work in the silver mines?” asked Eadulf, who was always interested in learning about people and places.

“That is why this settlement is called the Mouth of the Ford of the Smith,” replied Scoth. “The smiths, however, that work here are silversmiths. This is where most of the silver in the mines is worked.”

Fidelma suddenly stretched, yawned and rose. “Forgive me, Scoth. I have had a hard journey these last few days and no bath last night. Let me rest before the evening bath and meal and, I promise you, first thing in the morning, we will ride out to find our wayward cousin. We will delay our journey a further day.”

“It is good of you, Fidelma,” Scoth reached forward and placed a hand on Fidelma’s arm. “I am sure Rechtabra will take notice of you. Eadulf knows where the guestroom is. I will order water to be heated for your bath after you have rested.”

Eadulf led the way to the door. As she reached it, Fidelma hesitated with a slight frown and glanced back to her cousin.

“As a matter of interest, that man who disappeared … you said he was local man? Did you know him?”

Scoth shook her head. “I did not. But I heard that he worked for Rechtabra.”

“In what capacity?”

“He was a cerd, an expert silver-worker.”

They awoke the next morning to find the snowstorm had returned with a vengeance. From a short time after midnight, the wind was howling outside, hurling the snow this way and that with an intense fury, and daylight brought no respite.

Eadulf regarded Fidelma with a wry expression as they sat at the early morning meal. Of Scoth there was not yet any sign.

“I hope your cousin does not expect us to go tracking through the snowstorm to meet this wayward cousin Rechtarbra.”

Fidelma smiled. “I think not. We will wait until it abates.”

“It seems a curious business.”

Fidelma raised her eyes from her plate and looked at him with interest. “What does?” she asked.

“I heard Scoth talking to one of her attendants this morning. You recall the messenger that arrived yesterday with news of Rechtabra? Apparently, he was sent away immediately, even though the wind was already getting up then. He was sent back to the silver mine. I presume the man was spying for her.”

Fidelma sniffed. “No harm in that. If Rechtabra is flouting the law then it is wise for someone to watch him.”

There was a sudden noise outside and the door was opened abruptly. Scoth came quickly through, slamming it shut behind her. Her eyes were wide as if in fearful anticipation.

“It’s Rechtabra!” she gasped, glancing quickly over her shoulder as if the man was behind her. “He and his bodyguard have just arrived.”

Fidelma looked up without surprise at her apparent trepidation.

“I presume that he comes seeking shelter from the snowstorm? After all, this is your father’s hunting lodge and, presumably, as tanist, he has rights to shelter here?”

“But perhaps he has heard that you are here …” began Scoth, still agitated.

“Does he have a residence near here?”

“He does not. He usually camps at the mine workings.”

“Then why would he come here for any reason other than the obvious one, which would be to escape this snowstorm and the gusting winds? Are you on such bad terms with him about this mine that he would not seek shelter here or that you would refuse him such?”

There was a sudden noise of stamping feet outside the door and it was flung open again as two men entered, shaking the snow from the fur outer garments that they wore. They halted in surprise at the company. Then one of them closed the door and both newcomers stood gazing at Scoth and her companions.

The leader — a young man, quite handsome in a way, though with blue eyes perhaps too close set, and burnished copper-coloured hair — peeled off his fur and grinned at his cousin.

“Greetings, cousin Scoth!” He inclined his head to her. “I trust we are welcome from the unrelenting chill?”

Scoth edged away to stand by the fire and did not reply to his bantering humour.

Fidelma had risen from her seat, standing to face the newcomer and his companion. Eadulf followed her example.

“Rechtabra,” Fidelma greeted him quietly. “Do you recognize me after all these years?”

The young man examined her closely, frowning a little, and then a broad grin shaped his features.

“By the blessed saints. It is cousin Fidelma … Fidelma of Cashel.” He moved forward and embraced her. Then he stood back. “I have not seen you since I was eleven years old.” He turned to Eadulf. “So you must be Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham?” He thrust out a hand. “Well, it seems we have a family gathering.” He gave an exaggerated shiver and peered round. “Surely someone can offer frozen travellers some corma to drive out the wolf from my stomach.”

Scoth pouted disapprovingly. “It is too early for strong drink.”

Rechtabra grinned at his cousin. “I swear that you are becoming a prude. We have spent an hour riding in this weather and will surely expire without something to warm our bellies. Oh,” he turned to his companion, who was removing his fur coat. “This is Máen the Silent, my right hand. Máen, this is my cousin, Fidelma of Cashel, and her husband, Eadulf, of whom I am sure you have heard.”

Máen, true to his name, merely bowed his head in acknowledgement but said nothing.

Rechtabra was looking round: “Now, that drink.”

Eadulf had spotted the flagon of corma, the strong liquor, and poured out two measures in earthenware goblets for the young man and his companion. Rechtabra raised it in silent tribute, before taking a seat by the fire. Scoth remained standing, while Fidelma and Eadulf resumed their seats. Máen took a seat a little farther back.

“Well now, what brings you here of all places in this little corner of your brother’s kingdom?” Rechtabra asked. “And in such winter weather.”

“I had arranged to meet Eadulf here so that we could journey back to Cashel together,” explained Fidelma. “It seems the weather has decided that we must stay longer than we had anticipated.”

“A strange little spot for your paths to meet,” commented the tanist. Eadulf wondered if there was suspicion in his voice.

“A logical spot,” he intervened. “Fidelma was coming back from the port of Luimneach, through the mountains, and I was coming from the abbey of the blessed Cronan at Tuaim Gréine. What logical meeting point for our two paths to cross but here?”

Rechtabra glanced at Eadulf with a smile. “Quite right, my friend. Quite right,” he said gently. Then he glanced at Scoth. “And more company for you for a while?”

The girl blushed furiously. “I am not lacking in company.”