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Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_rt_yes, #Church History, #Fiction, #tpl, #_NB_Fixed, #Mystery, #Historical, #Clerical Sleuth, #Medieval Ireland

Valley of the Shadow (8 page)

BOOK: Valley of the Shadow
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As Orla conducted them into the chamber Laisre rose from his chair of office and came forward to greet Fidelma in token of her rank, of which Orla must have informed him. His hand was outstretched.
‘You are well come to this place, Fidelma of Cashel. I trust your brother, the king, is well?’
‘He is, by the grace of God,’ replied Fidelma automatically.
There was a smothered exclamation from one of the men in the room. Fidelma turned an inquiring look in the direction of the group.
Laisre grimaced apologetically. There was a humour in his eyes.
‘Some here may ask the question, by the grace of which god?’
Fidelma’s eyes found the man from whom the sound had come. He was a tall, thin man, with iron-grey hair and distinctive particoloured robes, embroidered with gold thread, and a gold chain of office around his neck. He met her gaze with unconcealed hostility. His face had an almost bird-like quality, scrawny with a prominent Adam’s apple which bobbed furiously as he swallowed, which seemed to be a constant habit. His deep black eyes, unblinking like a serpent, smouldered with a deep emotion.
‘Murgal is entitled to express his opinions,’ she observed coldly, turning back to Laisre.
Fidelma was aware that the thin man had started in surprise. Even Laisre was astonished that she could identify Murgal.
‘Do you know Murgal?’ the chieftain asked hesitantly, unable to see the simple logic by which she had arrived at her identification.
Fidelma suppressed a smile of self-satisfaction at the effect she had caused.
‘Surely everyone knows the reputation of Murgal and that he is a man of principle and learning … and of propriety,’ she replied solemnly, determined to take the best advantage she could before entering into the negotiations with Laisre. It was always best to start out by wrong-footing one’s adversaries. She had merely made a deduction. Orla had boasted about Murgal, her brother’s Druid and Brehon. She had, in fact, never heard of Murgal before. But who else would be standing so close to his chieftain and wearing such a chain of office? It was pure bluff and she had succeeded with it. The knowledge of the envoy of Cashel would now be whispered around the council chamber of Gleann Geis.
Murgal’s mouth had compressed. His eyes became hooded as he regarded her, assessing her qualities as his opponent.
The significance of the interaction of the initial clash was lost upon all but Fidelma and Murgal.
‘Come forward, Murgal, and greet the envoy and sister of Colgú of Cashel,’ Laisre ordered.
The tall man came forward and bowed slightly in deference to her rank.
‘I, too, have heard of Fidelma, daughter of Faílbe Fland of Cashel,’ he greeted in a curious whispering pitch, a slightly wheezing tone as if he were a sufferer from asthma. ‘Your reputation has preceded you. The Uí Fidgente have long memories and their defeat last winter has been attributed to you.’
Was there some subtle threat implied in his words?
‘The defeat of the Uí Fidgente, after they tried to overthrow the rightful king of Cashel, was brought about only by their own vanity and avarice,’ replied Fidelma calmly. ‘For that they have been justly punished. However, as a loyal servant of Cashel, I am pleased when any who nurture treachery to Cashel are uncovered, just as I am sure that Laisre, as a loyal servant of Cashel, is also pleased.’
Murgal blinked slowly, the lids of his eyes drooping as if he were tired and needed to close them. He was beginning to realise that he had met an opponent of wit and perception who would need to be treated with skill and discretion.
‘Your principles are a thing to be admired – the surety of knowledge that one serves a rightful cause against wrong must surely be a comfort?’ he replied.
Fidelma was about to respond when Laisre, smilingly, took her arm and turned her from Murgal saying, ‘Well, there is nothing wrong in principle though it is often easier to fight for a principle
than to adhere to its precepts. Come, Fidelma, let me introduce you to my tanist, Colla, the husband of my sister Orla.’
The man standing next to Orla took a pace forward and inclined his head in salutation. The tanist was the heir-elect in any tribe or kingdom. Colla was the same age as Laisre but standing a good head taller than his chieftain. That he was a man of action there was little doubt. He had the build of a warrior. His skin was bronzed by the sun which contrasted with the fiery copper redness of his hair and bright blue eyes. He was not handsome but had a subtle masculine attractiveness which Fidelma could not fail to notice. Perhaps it was his manner, some inner quality of strength or the lazy smile on his features, which made him seem easy going and affable but did not conceal the steel of his character to the discerning eye. He was dressed in accoutrements for war and his sword was slung in workman-like fashion.
‘I rejoice at your safe arrival here, Fidelma,’ he greeted in a deep, booming voice that caused Fidelma to start for a moment. ‘My wife, Orla, has told me of the horror which you encountered in the glen beyond and I can only assure you that I will do everything in my power to find the culprits and bring them to justice. The reason for that senseless slaughter must be uncovered for it does not reflect well upon our people.’
Fidelma regarded him gravely for a moment and then asked in an innocent tone: ‘Why do you say it was senseless slaughter?’
The tanist started in surprise.
‘I do not know what you mean.’
‘If you do not know the reason for it, why do you say it was senseless slaughter?’ she explained carefully.
There was an awkward silence for a moment or two and then Colla shrugged.
‘It is just a matter of expression …’
Laughter interrupted him. Laisre was consumed with mirth.
‘You have a sharp wit, Fidelma. Our negotiation will prove interesting. But, in seriousness, when Orla and Artgal reported this matter, we were all perplexed. The Uí Fidgente have been quiet since your brother’s army crushed them at the Hill of Áine last year. Until that time they had been the only hostile raiders in this land. Some of the tribes beyond this valley had their herds depleted by raids. But why kill these strangers and in such a fashion? Who are these strangers that have been killed? Where did they come from? No one seems to offer any answers to these perplexing questions as yet.’
Fidelma was suddenly interested.
‘Are we certain that they are strangers?’
Laisre was self-assured.
‘Artgal examined the features of each corpse in turn. We are not such a large community here that thirty of our young men can go missing without our knowing of it. He recognised no one.’
‘Thirty-three, in fact,’ replied Fidelma, turning purposefully to Murgal. ‘Thirty-three corpses. A strange number is thirty-three. Thirty-three spread in a sunwise circle. Each corpse slain by three different methods – The Threefold Death.’
There was a chill silence in the council chamber; so quiet that one could hear the soft snoring of one of the deerhounds against the crackle of the fire. No one made any reply. All understood the significance of what she was saying. The symbolism meant much to those who followed the old paths of worship. Finally Murgal took an angry step forward.
‘Speak on, envoy of Cashel. I believe there is an accusation behind your speech.’
Laisre looked uncomfortably towards his Brehon.
‘I hear no accusation, Murgal,’ he admonished. Then turning to Fidelma he continued pleasantly, ‘The idea that we of the old religion hold human sacrifices, which is what I have heard some of the clerics of your Faith preach, is a nonsense. Even in the ancient stories about the worship of the idol Cromm, it was the Druids who are said to have stood against the king, Tigernmas, who introduced the worship of Cromm, and it was they who brought about his destruction and an end to that vile cult.’
‘Nevertheless,’ Fidelma pressed, ‘I merely point out the symbolism of these deaths. Such symbolism draws one to the inevitable questions and ones that need to be answered.’
Orla, who had taken a stand near her husband, sniffed deprecatingly.
‘I have already explained to Fidelma of Cashel that she cannot look to Gleann Geis for responsibility for these deaths.’
‘I did not suggest that the responsibility lay in Gleann Geis. But responsibility rests somewhere. I would ask permission to withdraw from your council for a few days and proceed with an investigation immediately, before the signs are destroyed by wind and rain.’
It was clear that Laisre was not happy at the proposal. Yet it was Colla who spoke for him.
‘Obviously, there is much to be discussed between Gleann Geis and Cashel,’ he ventured, speaking directly to Laisre. ‘The negotiations are important. Time cannot be wasted. Because of that factor, let me then make a suggestion, my chieftain. Give me
permission to ride out with half-a-dozen warriors and investigate in the place of Fidelma of Cashel. While she concludes the business that brought her to Gleann Geis, I will see what can be learnt about these deaths and then return to make a report to her.’
Laisre appeared relieved at the suggestion.
‘An excellent idea. We are agreed to it.’
Fidelma was about to express her dissatisfaction and point out that as a trained
dálaigh
of the courts she had more experience in assessing such matters than Laisre’s tanist but the chieftain went on: ‘Yes; make ready, Colla. Take Artgal and as many men as you feel that you need. You do not have to leave until dawn tomorrow. So tonight we will hold our feast to welcome the envoy of Cashel as we have planned.’ He turned to Fidelma with a smile. ‘A commendable plan of action, do you not think so, Fidelma of Cashel?’
Fidelma was still going to disagree when Murgal interrupted with a tone of satisfaction.
‘I am sure that Colla will find that there is no blame that will attach itself to Gleann Geis.’
Fidelma glanced at him with irritation.
‘I am sure your tanist will discover that.’
Murgal returned her look and knew what she was implying. He clearly debated momentarily whether he should take open offence at her words but she turned away to conceal her annoyance at how she had been deflected from her purpose.
Eadulf was a little concerned and wondered whether Fidelma would press the matter further. It did not need someone with prudence to realise that there was no way that Fidelma would be given permission by the chieftain of Gleann Geis to leave the negotiations and follow an investigation concerning the slain men. Thankfully, so far as Eadulf was concerned, Fidelma seemed to realise as much for she finally inclined her head in acceptance of the situation.
‘Very well, Laisre,’ she said, ‘I shall accept this proposal. I will need to make a full report on this matter to my brother when I return to Cashel, so all that Colla can discover, however much he deems it of insignificance, will be of interest to me.’
‘Then I shall leave with my men at break of day, Fidelma of Cashel,’ the tanist assured her.
Laisre beamed with satisfaction.
‘Excellent. Now let us turn our minds to other matters. I have neglected my duties as host. Have you met Solin, secretary to Ultan of Armagh and a leading cleric of your Faith?’
Fidelma did not bother to turn in Brother Solin’s direction. Out
of the corner of her eye she had been aware that Solin had been standing with Eadulf and had been whispering in his ear. Eadulf looked uncomfortable and had removed himself a pace or two.
‘I have already met Brother Solin,’ she said in a voice which evinced no pleasure at the meeting.
‘And Brother Dianach, my scribe?’ queried Solin coming forward. ‘I do not think that you have met him?’
There was something pompous about the way he said it, as if making the point that he was a man important enough to have a scribe with him. Fidelma turned to examine the thin, slightly effeminate young man whom Solin now pushed forward. He was hardly out of his teens with a pale, spotted face and a badly shaved tonsure in the manner of those of the Roman creed. The boy was nervous and his dark eyes would not meet her gaze, giving him the appearance of shiftiness. She felt sorry for the gauche youngster.
‘
Salve
, Brother Dianach,’ she greeted in Roman fashion, trying to put the boy at his ease.
‘
Pax tecum
,’ he stammered in reply.
Fidelma turned back to Laisre.
‘I would also take this opportunity to introduce Brother Eadulf, an envoy from the Archbishop Theodore of Canterbury in the land of Kent.’
Eadulf took a pace forward and bowed slightly from the neck, first to the chieftain and then generally to the assembly.
‘You are welcome to this place, Eadulf of Canterbury,’ greeted Laisre, having a little difficulty in pronouncing the foreign names. ‘For what purpose do you honour our little valley with a visit? The Archbishop Theodore, of the distant land you come from, has surely no interest in what transpires in this part of the world?’
Eadulf was diplomatic.
BOOK: Valley of the Shadow
12.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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