Peter Tremayne - Valley of the Shadow

He led the way across the courtyard to the same building where the apothecary’s shop was placed. There was a main entrance, a little further beyond the shop, and through this door was a flight of wooden steps leading to other storeys. Laisre climbed the stairs to the third and final storey and proceeded along a passage which led into a square tower room. The squat tower dominated the ráth.

‘That is Murgal’s apartment.’ Laisre indicated an adjacent room. ‘And here is the library.’

Fidelma entered a single, small chamber with the walls lined with wooden pegs from which hung book satchels, each satchel filled with a particular leather-bound volume.

‘Were you looking for something particular?’ Laisre asked as Fidelma moved down the lines of pegs and satchels, searching each book’s title in turn.

‘I am looking for the law books.’

Laisre pointed to several works in one corner. He stood hesitating as she began to peer through them. Fidelma took no further notice of him and he finally cleared his throat.

‘Then if you have no further need of me …?’ he queried.

Fidelma looked up, as if she had forgotten his existence, and smiled apologetically.

‘I am sorry. I will not be long in looking up the reference I require. But you need not wait for me. I can find my own way back.’

Laisre hesitated, then nodded in acknowledgment.

‘Then, unless our paths cross later, I will see you in the council tomorrow before noon.’

Fidelma turned back to the book satchels as he left. She was looking for a copy of a specific law text and wondered if the Brehon had it in his collection of the score or so of legal texts.

She finally found what she was looking for. It was a tract called the Allmuir Sét or sale of foreign goods. She spent half an hour reading the text before replacing it in its satchel and rehanging it on its peg.

She left the room with a contemplative expression on her face and retraced her steps down the stairs to the courtyard, making her way confidently to the hostel.

Fidelma was crossing the courtyard when the sound of clattering hooves at the gate of the ráth made her turn. The sound announced the arrival of a body of horsemen. She immediately recognised Colla and Artgal at their head. They came to a halt and began to dismount. Fidelma walked across to where Colla was loosening his saddle girth.

‘So, Colla, what news?’ she demanded without preamble.

The tanist of Gleann Geis looked up sourly. Colla was not apparently overjoyed to see her.

‘A wild goose chase,’ he announced. ‘I expected little else.’

‘What did you find?’ she pressed.

‘Little enough,’ he said dismissively. ‘The ravens had feasted well. Little to be seen. My men and I followed some tracks but they soon vanished in the stony ground. All I could tell was that the tracks led towards the north.’

‘And?’ encouraged Fidelma. ‘Did you follow them?’

‘The ground was stony, as I said. The tracks soon vanished. We looked around for as long as we could but there was little else to do but return.’

Fidelma’s eyes narrowed in dissatisfaction.

‘So that is what I must report to Cashel? That thirty-three young men died here in some ritual slaughter and there was nothing to be done?’

Colla stood up and faced her defiantly.

‘I cannot conjure a reason from nothing, Fidelma of Cashel. Not even you could have followed a non-existent track.’

‘Yet you say that the tracks led north? How far did you follow them?’

‘As far as the spot where they could no longer be seen.’

‘But what country lies to the north?’ Fidelma pressed.

‘The Corco Dhuibhne are immediately to the north of these valley lands.’

Fidelma pressed her lips together for a moment.

‘They are a pleasant enough clan, whose chieftain, Fathan, Iknow. This evil does not bear their mark. What other lands are there beyond here?’

‘Well, to the north-east is the country of your own cousin, Congal of the Eóghanacht of Loch Léin, king of Iarmuman. Do you see his hand in this?’

Fidelma had to admit that she did not.

‘But beyond him is the land of the Uí Fidgente,’ she said reflectively.

Colla’s eyes narrowed.

‘Is it a scapegoat you seek?’ he asked. ‘The Uí Fidgente are a devastated people. Your brother defeated them at Cnoc Áine. They are weak and not capable of any hostile action. Do you wish to pursue them into oblivion?’

‘Only if they are responsible for this outrage,’ Fidelma affirmed.

‘Well, one thing — they are a Christian people so surely that eliminates them from your suspicions?’ Colla was scornful.

Artgal came forward to take the tanist’s horse and lead it away into the stables. He also dismissed the other warriors back to their dwellings.

Fidelma gazed in silence at Colla for a moment before speaking and, when she did so, she was deliberate in her tone.

‘For the time being, Colla, without evidence, we cannot say who slaughtered the young men, except that the manner in which their bodies were laid out indicates that the culprit wanted to indicate a pagan symbolism to any who found them … unintentionally or intentionally.’

She thanked him coldly for his efforts and strode back to the guests’ hostel.

There was only one person about and that was Eadulf. He was now sitting helping himself liberally to a pitcher full of cold water.

‘Feeling any better?’ she asked encouragingly.

He raised bloodshot eyes and forced a smile. His face was still pale.

‘A little but not much.’

‘Are you in a mood to accept an invitation from Laisre to another feasting?’ she asked keeping her expression serious.

Eadulf groaned aloud and put his head in his hands.

Fidelma smiled maliciously.

‘I thought not. Have no fear. I have already declined in both our names.’

‘Deo gloria!’ he intoned piously.

‘A quiet evening is called for, I think. Our business should beconcluded tomorrow and then we can leave to search the plain and see what we may find out about the slaughtered young men.’

Eadulf was not enthusiastic.

‘I thought we were waiting for Colla?’ he objected.

‘He has already arrived back,’ Fidelma explained shortly. ‘He has discovered no more than we already knew.’

Eadulf raised his head and contrived to look interested in spite of his condition.

‘Did he follow the tracks?’

‘He said that he lost them in the hills to the north.’

‘But you don’t believe him?’

Fidelma sat down and poured herself a beaker of cold water from Eadulf’s pitcher.

‘I do not know. He might be telling the truth. It is stony ground in that valley. Why come back with such news so soon? If it were some conspiracy to keep us occupied for a while, he could certainly have spent a few days pretending to search before returning.’

‘I suppose so,’ Eadulf conceded.

Brother Dianach entered. He bade them a polite good evening.

‘Are you going to the feasting tonight?’ he inquired with an air of innocence, looking directly at the suffering Eadulf.

‘No,’ Fidelma replied shortly.

‘If you forgive me, then, I am going to bathe before the feasting.’

They ignored him and he delayed only a moment before going into the bath house.

‘There is another guest come to the ráth,’ Fidelma told Eadulf after they heard the splashing of water from the next room.

‘Yes? Who?’ Eadulf wondered at her confidential tone.

‘A young man from Ulaidh?’

‘Another visitor from Ulaidh?’ Eadulf was surprised.

‘Exactly my reaction. He calls himself Ibor of Muirthemne and says he is a cennaige or trader in horses.’