Peter Tremayne - Valley of the Shadow

Fidelma rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

‘It is a good point, Eadulf. I wonder if we might be overlooking a more pertinent question. Did the cattle really exist in the first place?’

‘That is a question beyond my understanding,’ muttered Rudgal. ‘Artgal would not have made up such a story.’

‘Think about it,’ invited Fidelma. ‘We are told that Artgal was given two milch cows by … shall we just call him a man with a northern accent? Did this man buy them from a farmer within this valley? It is small and the news of such a purchase ought to spread instantly for gossip does not need the flight of birds to cover the ground swiftly.’

‘Perhaps they were brought from without the valley,’ suggested Eadulf.

‘The same would apply. A man herding two or three milch cows into this valley would easily be observed and identified.’

Eadulf had begun to examine the ground at the back of the cabin carefully.

Fidelma glanced towards Rudgal. The warrior stood waiting patiently for instructions.

‘I think that you should go back to the ráth and tell Murgal what we have found here.’

‘Won’t Laisre be angry with you for disobeying his decree not to pursue this matter?’ asked the wagon maker.

‘That is my problem to deal with,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘And,more importantly, this death of a cleric outside of Laisre’s ráth is mine to deal with. Go quickly now.’

Rudgal set off back down the hill in the direction of the ráth at an ambling trot.

Fidelma turned back to Eadulf who was now sitting on the stone wall with a frown on his face. His eyes were still fixed on an examination of the ground at the back of the cabin which constituted the farmyard.

‘You seem interested in something,’ Fidelma prompted.

Eadulf looked up reluctantly in her direction and then pointed to the ground.

‘What you have said troubles me. If Artgal had not been given the cows why would he make up the story about them? Yet the evidence points to the fact that what you have said needs some consideration. You see, if Artgal had been given two cows, he certainly did not keep them there.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Have you ever seen a patch of land where cows have been kept?’

‘I do not see what you are driving at.’

‘Examine this land, Fidelma. Where are the marks of cattle hooves — moreover, where are the pats of cattle excretions which one can never hide? No, even if the cows were given to Artgal this morning and were here during the course of the day, there would be such signs of their passing. If Artgal had such cattle, they were kept somewhere else.’

A conflict of expressions flitted across Fidelma’s features as she considered what he had said.

‘What is it?’ Eadulf demanded.

‘You have just observed the obvious, Eadulf. I think I may know where we might find these missing cows.’

Eadulf was startled.

‘Come with me,’ Fidelma said, turning and leading the way from Artgal’s farmstead. In bemusement, Eadulf followed her as she confidently swung her way down the hill, following the path directly towards the group of buildings dominated by Ronan’s farm. They walked in silence for the most part as Fidelma appeared plunged into deep thought. Eadulf knew better than to attempt to interrupt her when she was in such a meditative mood.

He was astonished when, reaching the bottom of the hill, she turned aside from the main track and approached the small house of Nemon the prostitute. She rapped confidently on the door.

Nemon came out immediately and regarded them in surprise. Then she forced a twisted smile which was not entirely one of welcome.

‘You two again? I thought they said that you had killed the man about whom you were asking — what was his name, Solin?’

‘They thought wrongly,’ Fidelma assured her firmly.

‘Well, I can tell you no more about this Solin other than what I have told you already,’ sniffed the woman, attempting to close the door.

‘It was not Solin that I came to speak to you about. May we come in?’ Fidelma had noticed that the burly wife of Ronan, Bairsech, had come out of her house and had taken up her apparently favourite position, standing with folded arms watching them with undisguised hostile curiosity.

Nemon was indifferent. She merely stood aside and allowed Fidelma to push by with Eadulf following.

‘Time is money,’ the fleshy woman remarked, looking pointedly at Eadulf.

‘As you told us last time,’ agreed Fidelma affably. ‘But this time I am acting as a dálaigh investigating a murder. What was the price you asked for your three milch cows?’

Eadulf was more surprised than Nemon, for the woman did not even react.

‘I asked the going price. One sed per cow. A cumal for the three of them. I shall not give it back and nor am I going to milk them any longer. Artgal should have collected them or, at least, the two he promised to collect this morning. That was the arrangement.’

Fidelma turned to look out of the window at the cattle munching in the field outside.

‘What made you accept money? I thought barter was the usual form of exchange here?’

‘I am not going to live all my life in this place. Money can buy freedom outside Gleann Geis.’

‘True enough. What arrangement did you make? That you would look after the cows until Artgal came to collect them and take them to his farmstead?’

Nemon inclined her head in agreement.

‘He should have collected them today after milking. Well, two of them at least. I was to keep the third one for a further week and then let him have that one as well.’

‘And you were paid in advance?’

‘Of course. I am not stupid.’

‘No one said you were, Nemon. Did Ibor of Muirthemne give you any other instructions?’

For the first time Nemon looked bewildered.

‘Ibor of Muirthemne? What has he to do with it?’

‘Wasn’t he the one who bought your cows?’ Fidelma asked hesitantly.

‘That one? Ha! He would not even come to visit me. He stayed over there with Ronan and his wife. I met him on the path but he was not interested in my services. It is the first time I have met a merchant who was far from home who refused to avail himself of the services of a woman. Why would he buy the cows from me?’

Fidelma waited patiently until the end of her observation.

‘If it was not Ibor of Muirthemne who bought the cows from you, who was it?’

‘The boy, of course.’

‘The boy?’

‘The boy, what is his name? He is one of you — he has his head shaved like this foreign man. I have seen him with Solin.’

‘Brother Dianach?’ interposed Eadulf slowly.

‘Dianach, that is his name,’ confirmed Nemon.

Fidelma was standing staring at her with an expression of perplexity.

‘When did Brother Dianach come here and buy the cows?’

Nemon thought about it.

‘In the middle of the night, it was. Well, not long after dawn. I was fast asleep when he came knocking. I thought that he wanted my services but he nearly jumped a mile into the air when I suggested it. What is wrong with those who follow your God? Why are they such cavilling prudes? Are there no men among them?’ She paused and reflected with a derisory smile. ‘Well, the thick-set one … Solin could not be called a prude. I have no complaints of him on that account.’

‘You were telling us about Brother Dianach,’ interrupted Eadulf hurriedly.

‘The young boy? He awoke me early in the morning and said he wanted to buy my three milch cows. He explained the conditions. A cumal is hard to come by and I could do much with it. Besides, I never really wanted the responsibility of milking cows in the first place.’