Peter Tremayne - Valley of the Shadow

‘That is not what I hear. There are those of your Faith who, as you rightly say, refuse to accept the dictates of Rome but many otherswho do. Ultan of Armagh, for example, who says he has authority throughout the five kingdoms and sends his representatives to all the corners of this land, demanding allegiance.’

A frown passed Fidelma’s brow so quickly that it might not have been noticed.

‘Have you received such envoys from Ultan?’

‘We have,’ Orla admitted unabashed. ‘This same Ultan who calls himself the Comarb, the successor of Patrick, who brought the Faith of Christ to this land. This same Ultan who claims that all dues of the new Faith should be his.’

Fidelma felt obliged to point out that the scribes of the abbey at Imleach disputed Patrick’s claims to be the first to have brought the Faith to Éireann and especially Muman. Had not Muman been converted by the Blessed Ailbe, son of Olcnais, who served in the house of a king? Had not Ailbe befriended and encouraged Patrick? Had it not been Patrick and Ailbe, working together, who had converted Oengus Mac Nad Froich, king of Cashel, to the Faith? And it was Patrick who agreed that the royal city of Cashel should be the seat of Ailbe’s church in Muman. All this came tripping to her tongue, but she remained silent. Much could also be learnt through silence.

‘I have no liking for your Faith or those who propound it,’ confessed Orla honestly. ‘Your Patrick converted the people by fear.’

‘How so?’ asked Fidelma keeping her voice calm.

Orla thrust out her chin, the better to make her point.

‘We may live in a remote part of the world, but we have bards and scribes who have recounted the stories of how your Faith was spread. We know that Patrick went to Tara where he caused the Druid Luchet Mael to be burnt in a pyre and when the High King, Laoghaire, protested, Patrick brought about the death of others who refused to accept the new Faith. Even the High King Laoghaire was told that he would die on the spot unless he accepted the new Faith. Didn’t Laoghaire summon his council and tell them: “It is better for me to believe than to die” — is this a logical way to win people to a Faith?’

‘If what you say is the truth then it is not a logical way,’ Fidelma agreed quietly, though with a slight emphasis on the word ‘if’.

‘Do members of your Faith lie, Fidelma of Cashel?’ the woman sneered. ‘Ultan of Armagh sent my brother a gift of a book, Life of Patrick , written by one who knew him, one called Muirchú, and in which these truths are recorded. Not only that but we are told that Patrick journeyed to the fortress of Míliucc of Slemish, where he had lived before running away to Gaul and converting to thenew Faith. Hearing Patrick was nearing his fortress, so fearful of this Patrick was the chieftain, that he gathered all his valuables and his household, his wife and children, and he shut himself in his ráth and set fire to it. What fear could a man stir in another to make him end his life so horribly? Do you deny that this is so recorded?’

Fidelma sighed softly.

‘I know it is so recorded,’ she admitted.

‘And as it was written, so was it done?’

‘We are told to believe the word of Muirchú, but it was the chieftain’s decision to end his life rather than believe and serve the eternal God.’

‘Under the ancient laws, we are told that what we believe is a matter for our conscience only. Belief is our choice so long as what we believe does not harm others. Your Patrick’s conversion of the five kingdoms was through a presentation of a single choice — believe or die by his hand.’

‘By the hand of God!’ snapped Eadulf, finally no longer containing his silence.

Orla raised her eyebrows and turned in her saddle.

‘So? The foreigner speaks our language. I had begun to think that you did not or else that you were dumb. What land do you come from?’

‘I am Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham in the land of the South Folk.’

‘And where is that?’

‘It is one of the Saxon kingdoms,’ explained Fidelma.

‘Ah, I have heard of the Saxons. Yet you speak our language well.’

‘I have studied in this land some years.’

‘Brother Eadulf is under the protection of the hospitality of my brother Colgú of Cashel,’ interposed Fidelma. ‘He is an envoy from the archbishop of Canterbury in the land of the Saxons.’

‘I see. And the good Saxon brother disputes my understanding of Muirchú’s account of Patrick’s life?’

‘Some things may not be taken so literally.’ Eadulf felt moved to make a defence.

‘The book is not true then?’

Fidelma groaned softly as Eadulf reddened in annoyance.

‘It is true, but …’

‘How can it be true and yet not to be taken literally?’ smiled Orla icily. ‘There is some necromancy here, surely?’

‘Some things are symbolic, meaning to impress the concept by means of stating a myth.’

‘So none of the people Patrick is said to have killed were actually killed?’

‘That is not what …’

Fidelma interrupted.

‘We are coming to the end of the gorge,’ she announced thankfully as she saw that the ravine was widening into a broad valley. ‘Is this Gleann Geis?’

‘It is the Forbidden Valley,’ confirmed Orla, turning away from Eadulf and gazing up at the cliff above them. She suddenly issued a shrill whistling sound like a bird cry. At once, a deeper answering cry sounded. The figure of a sentinel appeared high above them, gazing down. It was then that Fidelma realised this passage into Gleann Geis was well protected for no one could move in or out without the consent of those who controlled this narrow pass.

Gleann Geis was spectacular. The floor of the valley was a level plain through which a fair-sized river pushed its sedate way, apparently rising at the far end from a turbulent mountain stream, cascading over precipitous waterfalls that dropped for incredible distances. Then it raced its way into another fissure, much like the dried-up gorge through which they had made their entrance. It passed through the gap in the granite barrier on its journey out of the glen. The valley floor was covered mainly in cereal and grain fields, cultivated yellowing squares of corn and wheat, set among swathes of grazing land on which cattle herds stood out as bright groups of brown, white and black against the green carpet. A few small white flocks of sheep and goats were dotted among them.

It occurred to Eadulf immediately that here was a fruitful valley; rich with pastoral land as well as cultivated areas. It was surrounded by a natural fortification. The walls of the encircling mountains stretched away with their lofty, unscalable heights which sheltered the valley from the winds. He was able to pick out buildings which seemed to cling to the sides of the mountains. Most of them appeared to be erected on little terraces. The same blue-grey granite blocks that were used in the walls of the buildings were also used in the barriers which created the terraces.

There was no need to ask which of the several buildings in the glen was the ráth of Laisre. Towards the head of the valley, in splendid isolation and set upon a single large mound of a hill, were the walls of a large ráth, or fortress, its bulwarks following the contours of the hill. Eadulf was unsure whether the hill, perhaps hillock was a better description for it rose less than a hundred feet from the valley floor, or so he estimated, was a natural phenomenon or not. Eadulf knew that some of the heights on which such fortresses were built were man-made and he wondered at the incredible time and labour of ancient times involved in producing such an elevation. They were too far away to see the detail but he knew that the great walls must stand twenty feet high.