Peter Tremayne - Valley of the Shadow

‘I do not know what you mean,’ Brother Solin said defensively.

She examined his features carefully.

‘Perhaps, perhaps not. I would not like to think that you knowingly played a part in this distraction.’

She turned and ran up the stairs and picked up her saddle bags and then gathered Eadulf’s from his room. Then she returned to the main room.

‘Perhaps our paths may cross again, Brother Solin, but I shall not wish that day will come speedily,’ she said icily and, before he could reply, she had left the hostel and crossed towards the stables.

Eadulf was waiting with their mounts. He looked pale and was clearly not in the best of health. Fidelma felt sorry for him but all depended on what she did now.

‘What do we do?’ he muttered. ‘We are being watched by a group at the council chamber door.’

‘Then we shall depart exactly as we said.’

Fidelma swung up on her horse. Eadulf followed her example and Fidelma led the way to the gates of the ráth. The warriors standing there watched them, nervously glancing towards the door of the council chamber, unsure of what they should do. They finally moved aside and let Fidelma and Eadulf through.

Outside Eadulf groaned.

‘I will not be able to ride far without a rest, Fidelma. I am still ill with the bad wine.’

‘You will not have to,’ she assured him.

‘I wish you would tell me what exactly you have in mind,’ he grumbled.

‘Exactly? That I cannot. For I might have to change my plan as minute passes minute.’

Eadulf stifled another groan. He would do anything for an hour on a bed. Even half an hour.

‘Then you do have a plan?’ he asked hopefully.

‘Of course. Shall I wager a screpall to a sicuil with you? You see the cluster of houses by the river fork?’

Eadulf glanced ahead and answered in the affirmative.

‘That is the very place where Brother Solin said he walked early this morning,’ Fidelma went on. ‘Well, my wager is that by the time we get there we shall be overtaken by a rider from the ráth who will beg us, in the name of Laisre, to return and crave our forgiveness for the events of this forenoon.’

‘Knowing you, Fidelma,’ sniffed Eadulf, with resignation, ‘I am not likely to take your wager. But at times I wish we could follow some easier path.’

It was Laisre himself who caught up with them just before they reached the wooden bridge which crossed the river to the group of buildings forming the closest settlement to the ráth. The chieftain of Gleann Geis looked suitably chastened.

‘Fidelma of Cashel, I apologise. It was my fault for letting the council get out of hand.’

They had stopped their horses before the bridge and sat astride them facing one another.

Fidelma did not reply.

‘You were right, Fidelma,’ pressed Laisre. ‘You did not come hither to engage in a discourse about philosophy but to discuss some practical arrangements. It was Murgal who allowed his hostility to sweep him away into such …’

Fidelma held up a hand.

‘Are you saying that you wish the council to reconvene to discuss the practical matter?’

‘Of course,’ Laisre agreed at once.

‘Your Druid and council do not seem to be in accord with you on this matter of allowing a Christian church to be built in this valley.’

‘Come back and you shall see.’ Laisre was almost pleading.

‘If I return …’ Fidelma paused significantly. ‘If I return, there would have to be conditions governing this matter.’

Laisre’s expression changed to one of suspicion.

‘What conditions?’ he demanded.

‘Your council will have to meet and make a decision before I enter into any discourse with you; decide, that is, whether you want this church and school or not. If the answer is negative, as it seems to be at this time, then I shall return to Cashel without further waste of my time. If the answer is affirmative, then we can deal with the practical matters. But that negotiation will now be between you and I and no other member of your council. I do not want to provide a theatre for Murgal to display his abilities as play-actor.’

Laisre raised his eyebrows.

‘Is that how you see Murgal?’ he demanded in surprise.

‘Can it be that you do not?’ she retorted.

Laisre looked pained for a moment and then, abruptly, he started to laugh heartily. Finally he shook his head.

‘There is something in what you say, Fidelma. I admit it. But do not underestimate his serious intent.’

‘No,’ replied Fidelma quietly. ‘That I do not.’

‘Then you will agree to return? I cannot guarantee that Murgal will apologise to you.’

‘I do not ask that he does. All I ask is that whatever discussion your council wants to hold on this matter, it does so before I start to discuss practical arrangements with you.’

‘You have my word.’ Laisre thrust out a hand. ‘My hand on it, Fidelma of Cashel.’

Fidelma glanced closely at him but did not take it.

‘Before we conclude, and as we speak in honesty, Laisre, what is Brother Solin of Armagh doing here?’

Laisre looked startled.

‘I thought he was here at your behest? He came bearing gifts from Armagh.’

‘My behest?’ Fidelma controlled herself. ‘Is that what he has told you?’

‘No, but he is of your Faith. I suppose that I presumed …’ He shrugged. ‘Then all I know is that he is a traveller who sought our hospitality. We do not deny him that on grounds that he is of a different faith.’

It was only then that she accepted Laisre’s hand.

‘I accept your word, Laisre. Eadulf and I will return, shortly.’

Laisre appeared puzzled.

‘You will not ride back with me now?’

‘We want to look around your pleasant valley a while. We shall return soon.’

Laisre hesitated and then shrugged.

‘Very well. Thank you for agreeing.’ He nudged his horse and went back in the direction of the ráth at a canter.

Eadulf looked wistfully after him.

‘I could have gone back to sleep for a while,’ he moaned. ‘I do not see the purpose in these games, Fidelma.’

‘It is called diplomacy, Eadulf,’ grinned his companion. ‘The problem is that I do not know who is representing whom. Now let us see if this group of houses will reveal the information I want to know.’

They rode across the bridge into a tiny square surrounded by half-a-dozen homesteads. The largest was a sizable farmhouse. The others appeared to be no more than cabins which could belong either to people with small fields to work or the workers on the larger farm.

A large, red-faced woman was standing leaning against the door of the big farmstead watching their approach with unconcealed curiosity. Fidelma had noticed her immediately they had paused by the bridge to talk with Laisre. The woman looked a typical farmer’s wife, she was thick-set with muscular arms, ready to do a day’s work in the fields. She had been studying them carefully and with a degree of hostility on her features.

‘Health on you, good woman,’ greeted Fidelma.

‘My man is at the council,’ snapped the woman in an unfriendly tone. ‘He is Ronan and he is lord of this place.’

‘I am come from the council myself.’

‘I know who you are.’

‘Good.’ Fidelma swung herself down from her horse. ‘Then I do not have to explain.’

The woman scowled discouragingly.

‘I told you that my man was away.’

‘It was not your man that I came to see. You say you know who I am. Good. What is your name?’

The woman looked suspicious.

‘Bairsech. Why do you want to know? What is it you want?’

‘To talk, that is all, Bairsech. Do you have many people living in this settlement?’