Peter Tremayne - Valley of the Shadow

She made a clicking sound of disapproval.

‘Well, I shall not let you go until you tell me what you have learnt from Brother Solin’s scribe, the young Dianach.’

Eadulf pursed his lips in disgust. Then he groaned as his world momentarily swam.

‘What is it?’ demanded Fidelma anxiously as he raised a hand to his forehead.

‘Bad wine and even worse mead.’

‘Do not expect sympathy for that,’ she admonished. ‘Let me hear about Brother Dianach.’

‘Only that he is either a most naive young man or a consummate actor. He ventured no explanation of what is behind Solin’s visit here. He claimed that Brother Solin does not confide in him.’

Fidelma pushed out her lower lip in an expression of annoyance.

‘Do you believe him?’

‘As I say, it is hard to tell whether he is guileless or well versed in the craft of deceit.’

‘According to Brother Solin, he is merely on a mission from Armagh to ascertain the strength of the Faith in the extremities of the five kingdoms,’ mused Fidelma.

‘Why can’t there be truth in that?’

‘Why not send to the ecclesiastic centres of the five kingdoms and ask the abbots and the bishops, who could tell Ultan what he wants to know, whereby the information could be relayed within a week compared to what Brother Solin would find out within a year? There is something illogical in that.’

Eadulf still felt too befuddled from the wine to work out any alternative possibilities and so did not comment further on the matter.

‘I hadn’t realised that you sung so well.’ He suddenly shifted the subject of the conversation.

‘It was not the quality of my song but its meaning that was important,’ Fidelma replied with grim satisfaction. ‘Did you notice the scene with Murgal? I mean the incident with the girl, not the one about the song?’

‘I doubt whether anyone in the feasting hall failed to notice it. She was rather attractive.’

‘Did you notice the reason for the exchange?’

‘As a matter of fact, I think Murgal was attempting to be too friendly with the girl and she became tired of his lewdness.’

This seemed to coincide with Orla’s spiteful remark about Murgal.

She stared out across the shadowy moonlit valley. It was an eerie yet beautiful sight.

‘So what do you make of this pagan world, Eadulf?’ Fidelma asked after a while.

Eadulf reflected for a moment before replying. He tried to make some sense from his befuddled thoughts.

‘No more or less than any other world. Here there be people, pagan or no, with the same ill-behaviour, jealousies and pretensions as any spot in Christendom. But the sooner you conclude your business, the sooner we can be removed from it. I prefer the easy gaiety of your brother’s palace at Cashel.’

‘Have you forgotten something?’ Fidelma was slightly amused.

‘Forgotten?’ Eadulf groaned, thinking more of finding his bed than anything else. ‘Forgotten what?’

‘Thirty-three young men slaughtered at the gate to this valley.’

‘Oh, that !’ Eadulf shook his head. ‘No, I have not forgotten that.’

‘ That! ’ mimicked Fidelma and then added, with seriousness: ‘There may be people here with the same emotions as any place in Christendom but there is also an evil that has struck this place and I shall not rest until I have discovered its meaning.’

‘I thought you were going to wait to see what Colla, the tanist, discovers,’ Eadulf returned, trying hard to suppress a yawn and not succeeding.

‘I do not trust Colla to bring me an accurate observation. Anyway,’ she brought her gaze back to the night canopy, ‘perhaps we should retire and prepare ourselves for tomorrow. It is no good leaping to conclusions before we have information.’

She turned and led the way back down the wooden stairway. As Eadulf moved forward after her, he found himself stifling another groan as his world began to sway again. He held on to the rail for dear life. Fidelma pretended that she had not heard his moan as he stumbled behind her. All the same, she kept a solicitous eye on her companion to ensure that be reached his bed in the guests’ hostel in safety. Once they had arrived back and Eadulf had stumbled into his bed chamber, Fidelma waited a while and then looked cautiously into his room.

Eadulf was sprawled face downward on the bed, still fully clothed, a soft snoring emanating from his prostrate figure. Normally, Fidelma was not a person to approve of anyone who could not hold their liquor but she had never known Eadulf to be indulgentin spirits. She gave him the benefit of the doubt and stayed to take off his sandals and spread a blanket over his recumbent body.

Fidelma rose early as was her custom. She found that she was the first to bathe out of the four guests at the hostel. She completed her toiletry and dressed before going back down to the main room of the hostel where Cruinn, the rotund hostel-keeper, was preparing ‘the first meal of the day. By that time she found, to her utter surprise, Eadulf was up. He was sitting, unshaven and dishevelled, with his head in his hands obviously feeling the affects of the evening’s feasting. As she sat down opposite him, he raised his head with a groan and blinked sleepily.

‘God’s curse on all cocks!’ he muttered. ‘I had barely fallen asleep when that damned cock began to crow and dragged me from my rest. It sounded like the choir of devils from the infernal regions.’

Fidelma neglected to tell him that he had been dead to the world for most of the night in an alcohol-induced slumber. She frowned in mock admonition.

‘I am surprised that you ask God to curse the cock of all birds when it is sacred to the Faith.’

‘How so?’ demanded Eadulf, still drowsy and rubbing his forehead.

‘Don’t you recall the story of how, after the Roman soldiers crucified Jesus, they were cooking a cock? One of them reported to his fellows that there was a rumour among the followers of Christ that he would return to life on the third day. A second soldier mocked the idea and made a jest saying that it would no more come to pass than the dead cock would crow. Whereupon the dead bird arose from the cauldron and flapped its wings and cried out “the son of the virgin is safe”!’

Eadulf, in spite of his headache, had to admit that the Irish words ‘mac na hóighe slán’ fitted well into the pattern of the sound of a cock crow. Then a dim memory stirred.

‘I read a similar story in a Greek Gospel. The Gospel of Nicodemus . Except that it was Judas Iscariot’s wife who was cooking the cock and tried to reassure the betrayer of Christ. The bird flapped its wings and crowed three times but there was no meaning to the sound.’

Fidelma laughed good naturedly.

‘You must allow our bardic traditions to interpret tales so that they have substance for our people.’

Eadulf remembered his headache and groaned again.

‘I do not need a cock crowing to affirm me in my Faith. But I do need the cock to be silent when I am trying to seek rest or how can I have a clear mind to follow my Faith?’

‘Cock or not, I think the answer to your lack of rest may be found elsewhere. Truly, did you not hear the saying that wine is gold in the evening but lead in the morning?’

Eadulf was about to open his mouth to reply when Brother Dianach, the young scribe, joined them. Silently Eadulf cursed his fresh scrubbed and bright countenance and the ebullient greeting to Fidelma and his look of disapproval at the haggard Eadulf. His shyness seemed to have entirely vanished.

Having exchanged morning greetings, Fidelma asked where his master, Brother Solin of Armagh, was that morning.

‘He was not in his chamber,’ replied Brother Dianach, ‘so I expect that he has already risen and gone out.’