Peter Tremayne - Valley of the Shadow

‘Thank you for speaking with us,’ Fidelma abruptly said, rising to leave.

‘No thanks are necessary. You paid me for my time. Come again, if you need more conversation.’

Outside the cabin of Nemon, Eadulf exchanged a wry look with Fidelma.

‘Do you think that Murgal was appeasing Brother Solin in some way?’

Fidelma looked speculative as she considered the question.

‘You mean, he bribed him? He used Nemon to put Solin in a good mood in order to take part in this morning’s play-acting at the council meeting?’

Eadulf nodded.

‘Perhaps,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Perhaps Brother Solin simply cannot resist the comfort that a woman like Nemon can provide. Maybe heasked Murgal where he might find such comfort. Murgal seems to have ideas in that direction himself.’

‘You refer to the incident with Marga, the apothecary?’

Fidelma did not reply but mounted her horse.

Bairsech, the wife of Ronan, was still standing outside her door, her broad arms folded, and watching them with intense dislike as, together, they began to ride slowly away from the group of farm buildings over the bridge in the direction of the ráth.

‘I wonder if Ultan of Armagh knows that his secretary is the sort of person to visit a woman of the flesh?’ mused Eadulf.

Fidelma was serious.

‘I doubt it. Ultan is in favour of the new ideas emanating from Rome on the celibacy of clergy.’

‘It will never catch on,’ Eadulf averred. ‘It is true that there are always going to be some aesthetics but for all the clergy of the Faith to take such vows is demanding too much of human beings.’

Fidelma gave him a sideways glance.

‘I thought you approved of the idea?’

Eadulf coloured but did not answer.

‘Well, at least we have solved the mystery of where Brother Solin was last night,’ he said hurriedly.

‘Yes, but not why. We will have to keep a watch on both Murgal and our Brother Solin.’

Eadulf sighed.

‘All I want, at the moment, is to be able to stretch out and sleep until my head stops pounding.’

They rode slowly back to the ráth. There were only a few people about. It being midday, most had retired for the midday meal. Eadulf was still moaning about his headache and Fidelma, finally taking pity on him, suggested that he go straight to the hostel while she stabled the horses. He received the suggestion without demur and he left her outside the stables and made his way across the stone-flagged courtyard. Fidelma led the two horses inside and took them to the far stalls which were the only empty ones. There was no sign of the two boys who usually looked after the stables but it did not take her long to unsaddle the horses and provide them with fodder and water.

She was bending in the stalls to retrieve the discarded saddle bags when she heard someone enter the stable. She was about to stand up when she heard Brother Solin’s voice speaking in a defensive tone. She hesitated for a moment and then some instinct made her sink back to her knees behind the cover of the stall’s panels.

There were two voices. It was easy to recognise the sibilant wheezy tones of Brother Solin but she could not recognise the second voice. It was young and masculine. What made her hesitate in identifying herself was the fact that this second voice also spoke in a northern accent. She edged carefully to the entrance of the stall and managed a quick glance around its shelter. Brother Solin and a young man were standing just inside the doors of the stable. She darted back behind the cover of the wooden stall.

‘There,’ came Brother Solin’s tones, ‘at least we can be unobserved.’

‘It matters not whether we are observed or not,’ replied the younger voice. There was anger in his tone.

‘On the contrary,’ Brother Solin replied suavely, ‘if anyone here knew that you were here to spy among these people they would not take kindly to it. They might decide to do something … shall we say, drastic?’

‘A harsh word is “spy” especially from such as you,’ sneered the young man. ‘And what of your own mission here?’

‘Do you question my right to be in this place?’

‘Right? What right? I certainly question your intentions.’

‘Listen, my young friend,’ Brother Solin seemed unperturbed, ‘and listen to me well. I advise you to stay out of the business of Armagh. You think that you are immune because of those whom you serve? Well, there are greater powers than your master and they will not tolerate interference.’

There was an angry intake of breath from the younger man.

‘Make no idle threats with me, pompous cleric, for your cloth will be no protection from the wrath of him I serve.’

There was a sudden silence.

Cautiously, Fidelma raised her head over the edge of the wooden stall again and this time saw the stocky figure of Brother Solin standing alone by the door, staring out of it. It seemed his adversary must have left. Brother Solin stood for a moment or two, as if deep in thought, and then he shrugged his shoulders and also left.

Fidelma came out of the stall and stood undecided for a while, trying to put an interpretation on what she had heard. Suppressing a sigh at the impossibility of the task, she turned back and picked up the saddle bags. She went to the door, hesitating to make sure no one observed her. She caught sight of Brother Solin entering the apothecary shop across the courtyard.

She hurried across the courtyard to the guests’ hostel.

Cruinn, the portly hostel-keeper, was preparing the midday meal. She looked up with a fleshy smile as Fidelma entered.

‘Your companion, the foreigner, has gone to bed,’ she announced with some amusement. ‘But there be many men in the ráth doing likewise this day. Will you sit down to a meal?’

Fidelma indicated that she would and that she would first have a word with Eadulf to see how he fared. She was about to go up when the portly woman cleared her throat as if embarrassed.

‘Might I have a word, lady, while we are alone?’

Intrigued, Fidelma turned back to her in curiosity.

‘Feel free to speak,’ she invited.

‘I have been told that you are a dálaigh, familiar with our laws. Is that so?’

Fidelma nodded affirmatively.

‘Do you know all about the laws on marriage?’

Fidelma was not expecting such a question and raised her eyebrows in surprise.

‘I know the text of the Cáin Lánamna, yes.’ She smiled encouragement at the nervous woman. ‘Are you thinking of marriage,Cruinn? Best you should consult with Murgal. He would know your pagan ceremonies.’

The hostel keeper shook her head, wiping her hands on a large saffron-coloured apron.

‘No; not him. I want some advice. I will pay, though I have not much.’

So anxious was her face that Fidelma took her by the arm and made her sit down on a bench at the table while she took a seat opposite.

‘You may ask my advice for nothing, Cruinn. If it is so important to you. How may I help?’

‘I want to know …’ The elderly woman hesitated and then proceeded carefully. ‘I want to know whether a woman of lowly position can marry a person of chiefly blood. Is there danger that the marriage might not be legal?’

Fidelma was quietly amused. She was about to ask what chief Cruinn planned to marry but felt that it was a silly mockery on her part.

‘It depends on the position of the chieftain. Is he of royal lineage?’

‘No. He is an aire coisring, a chieftain of a small clan,’ the woman replied immediately.

‘I see. Well, usually, the more formal types of union should be of partners from the same social class. Even a bó-aire is expected to marry the daughter of a man of equal rank. But such marriages between the lower class and higher class are known.’