Peter Tremayne - Valley of the Shadow

In silence they walked their horses on, sitting at ease in their saddles, but now and then Fidelma stopped in an attempt to pick up the signs of the passing of the wagons. The tracks soon disappeared. They had not been visible for long before the stony ground had, indeed, disguised all signs of the passing of the carts. She was forced to admit that Colla had told the truth. They were still a mile or so off from the foot of the hills when all trace completely vanished.

‘Perhaps you have done Colla an injustice?’ ventured Eadulf wryly.

Fidelma did not grace his comment with an answer.

‘If we go back empty handed, what excuse will you give to Laisre?’ Eadulf pressed.

Fidelma thrust out her lower lip in annoyance.

‘I am not in the habit of giving excuses,’ she replied crossly. ‘He has no right to question my actions as a dálaigh.’

She drew her horse to a halt and raised a hand to shade her eyes. Then she exhaled in irritation.

‘I would be happier if I even had an idea of what we were looking for,’ protested Eadulf. ‘I don’t think we are going to find further tracks in this terrain. What else is there?’

For a time Fidelma did not bother to reply. They continued in silence for a while until the stony valley floor began to rise into the surrounding hills. But there was no sign of any tracks at all. After a fruitless hour or so Fidelma called a halt and extended her hand southwards.

‘There are some grassy areas if we swing south of here. Perhaps we might find some tracks there,’ she volunteered. ‘This northern path looks as if it is going to reveal nothing.’

Eadulf suppressed a sigh but still followed her. He already had a feeling that a search of the area would reveal nothing. Not a sign of wagon tracks but Fidelma pressed on. Eadulf was about to make a stronger protest to the effect that they were simply wasting time and ought to return to Gleann Geis when Fidelma halted.

‘Tracks of several horses,’ she cried triumphantly pointing downwards to the disturbed grassy area.

Eadulf confirmed the statement with a sour glare.

‘It means little without wagon tracks. There are plenty of people on horseback who could pass this spot.’

It happened so suddenly that Fidelma and Eadulf had no time at all to react.

Out of nowhere half-a-dozen warriors appeared on horseback with swords ready and surrounded them.

‘Hold still, if you value your lives!’ cried their leader, a large man with a bushy red beard and a burnished bronze helmet studded with red enamel pieces.

Fidelma had a sinking sensation as she realised that the man spoke in a northern accent.

A second man rode alongside them and, before they could protest, their wrists were expertly bound behind them. Blindfolds were produced and tied over their eyes. Their reins were taken from them and they found themselves being led at a swift canter. They needed their breath to maintain their balance on the fast-moving horses and could not protest or demand an explanation. Neither Fidelma nor Eadulf could estimate the amount of time it took as they were escorted to their captors’ destination.

The end of the ride came as abruptly as it had begun.

The horses suddenly halted, there were shouted commands, and strong arms lifted them both down. Their blindfolds were removed and they stood blinking in the centre of a group of warriors. Fidelma noticed that they were in a gorge, no more than a rocky fissure, hardly big enough for four men to stand abreast. Around them the rocky walls rose almost blotting out the sky. It was a dark, narrow passageway.

The leader of the warriors, the red-haired man with a fierce, almost angry expression, stood in front of them and his shrewd scrutiny missed nothing.

‘You have come from Gleann Geis.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

‘We do not deny it,’ affirmed Fidelma coldly. ‘Where have you come from?’

The man’s face conveyed no reaction. His sharp blue eyes examined them both carefully, taking in Fidelma’s cross of the Golden Chain and Eadulf s foreign appearance. Then he turned and signalled to one of his men. Silently the man handed him their saddle bags which he had obviously removed from their horses. The red-haired leader peered firstly into Eadulf’s saddle bags and then took hold of Fidelma’s bags.

‘Are you common thieves and robbers, then?’ she sneered. ‘If you are looking for riches, you will not find any for …’

The man ignored her and continued to rummage through the saddle bag. His hand came out holding the gold torc. His eyes glinted.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

‘I am Fidelma of Cashel.’

‘A woman of Muman who carries the gold collar of Ailech?’ scoffed the man. He thrust it back into the saddle bag and then slung both over his shoulder.

Fidelma started at the mention of the name of Ailech.

Ailech was the capital of the northern Uí Néill kings who were in enmity with the southern Uí Néill kings who ruled at Tara.

The red-bearded man had turned and was striding towards what appeared to be the sheer cliff face. His men had closed in around Fidelma and Eadulf. Before they could protest or make further demands of their captors they were forced to move at a rapid trot towards one of the towering walls of the fissure. So fast did they move, even with their hands still tied behind their backs, that Eadulf found himself closing his eyes believing, for a moment, that their captors were intent on killing them by smashing them against the granite wall. Then he felt cold and darkness encompassed him. He ventured to open his eyes and found he was in a cave which was dimly lit by a single torch. Somehow he and Fidelma had been manoeuvred into a hidden cave entrance.

The leader continued to head the way along the dark tunnel. Neither Fidelma nor Eadulf made any protest for there was little point in protesting. The warriors moved them swiftly and professionally. They were propelled through a series of caves and narrow passageways. Then they came to a sudden halt.

‘Blindfold them again,’ ordered the leader.

Once again they were in complete darkness.

There was a moment’s pause and they were propelled onwards once more. It was not long before they came to a halt again. The atmosphere was suddenly warm. Fidelma could feel the presence of a fire from the warmth on her cheek.

‘We have caught a couple of spies from Gleann Geis, my lord,’ came the voice of the leader of their escort.

‘Spies, eh?’ The voice was familiar. ‘Untie their blindfolds and let them see.’

The blindfolds were taken off again with rough hands.

‘Gently!’ rebuked the familiar voice sharply. ‘Do not harm our honoured guests.’

Fidelma stood blinking in the smoky atmosphere of a large cave which was lit by spluttering torches. She noticed it contained sleeping rugs, a fire in one corner, strategically placed under what appeared to be a natural chimney with a cauldron hanging over its flames, steaming away. At her side, Eadulf was still blinking and not yet taking in his surroundings. Apart from the men who had escorted them into the cave, there were half-a-dozen other warriors squatting on the rugs with one of them standing over the cauldron. At one end, perched on a wooden camp chair, was a familiar figure.

Fidelma smiled grimly as she recognised the young horse trader.

‘I thought our paths would meet again, Ibor of Muirthemne.’

The young man laughed good naturedly.

‘Untie their hands and let them be seated,’ he instructed.

‘But, my lord …’ protested the red-haired man who had captured them. ‘Look!’ He took out the gold torc and thrust it at Ibor. ‘The woman carries this as proof of her guilt.’

Ibor took the torc and examined it. Then he raised his eyes to the man.