Valley of the Shadow

Chapter Six

Fidelma had been surprised that she had not been permitted a private meeting with Laisre to discuss the chieftain’s own attitudes. There were a few hours before the evening feast was due to start which Fidelma felt could have been profitably spent in some preliminary discussions on attitude. It appeared that there was some schism among the leaders of the clan over the matter. She had been politely told that neither Laisre nor Colla could make themselves available. Therefore, she and Eadulf found themselves left to their own devices; ignored, though politely so, for everyone in the ráth, including Brother Solin and his young scribe, seemed to have disappeared.

It was Fidelma who suggested that they might usefully examine the fortress and its grounds. It was inevitable that they decided to take a turn around the battlements of the ráth, the wooden walkway which circled the interior of the granite walls. Should the fortress ever be attacked, warriors could take their place in defensive positions, covering the approaches with their bows.

‘It is the only place that I have noticed, at the moment, where we might not be overheard,’ Fidelma commented as she looked around her. ‘It is a place to be remembered when we need to be discreet.’

They paused at an open stretch of the wall, well away from a sentinel who stood above the gateway.

‘Is there something disturbing you then that you should seek privacy?’ Eadulf queried.

‘A few matters still disturb me,’ Fidelma acknowledged. ‘Do not forget there is the riddle of the thirty-three bodies to be resolved.’

‘So you do not trust Colla to come up with any real evidence for the slaughter?’

‘That should be obvious,’ she replied waspishly. ‘Perhaps Laisre does have a valid reason to keep us here but I have the feeling that he does not want us investigating that matter further. I have a feeling we are being manipulated. Why are we dismissed to our own resources when we could have conducted much of the businessthat brings us hither within these precious hours, which we are now wasting?’

‘Well, there is little we can do since Laisre has already set the time for the negotiations. Colla will be on his way at that time.’

Fidelma raised a shoulder and let it fall in an eloquent shrug.

‘I fear whatever report he brings back will not add to our knowledge. There is something more immediate that concerns me. The presence of this cleric from Armagh. It is curious that he has suddenly appeared in this place at this particular moment. And where is he and his young scribe at this moment? Is he in discussion with Laisre on some matter to which I am not privy and, if so, why?’

‘Surely his presence cannot mean anything sinister?’ Eadulf was surprised at her suggestion.

‘Surely it can,’ replied Fidelma seriously. ‘This is an isolated community which usually shuns the representatives of the Faith. Yet now they not only send for a representative from Imleach, which is the main centre of the Faith in Muman, but we find a cleric from Armagh here as well. Not just a cleric but Ultan of Armagh’s own secretary. You already know that Armagh is the main centre of the Faith in Ulaidh. Thirty years ago Cummian, who was the bishop there, sought Rome’s blessing to call himself archbishop and principal bishop of all the five kingdoms. Imleach does not recognise that office. True that Ultan is recognised as Comarb, or successor, of Patrick but Armagh has no right here. And I have no liking for this man Brother Solin. We must be on our guard for I fear there is something amiss.’

Eadulf was surprised at her attitude but did agree that Brother Solin was not a person to be liked.

‘He is not a pleasant man. He is a sly person.’

‘Sly? In what manner?’ Fidelma demanded quickly. ‘Do you have some reason for saying so?’

‘He spoke to me in the council chamber while you were engaged with Laisre.’

‘So I noticed. I saw that you stepped away from him as if you had been insulted.’

Eadulf knew Fidelma too well to comment on the sharpness of her vision.

‘He tried to persuade me that my loyalty should lie with Armagh as the supreme authority of the Faith in the five kingdoms. He claimed kinship with me by virtue of the fact that we both wear the tonsure of St Peter of Rome.’

Fidelma chuckled softly.

‘And what did you say to that?’

‘Little enough. I thought I would let him have his say in order to find out what he was about. He was very concerned to try to make me accept that Ultan of Armagh was the chief bishop of all Ireland.’

‘As I have said before, Armagh is not supreme, though its bishop affects the title “archbishop”. The title our people accord to the bishop of Armagh is Comarb of Patrick; that is, the successor of Patrick, just as the bishop of Imleach is accorded the title of Comarb of Ailbe. Both Armagh and Imleach are coequal among the centres of the Faith here.’

‘Brother Solin seems to think that is not so. He told me that anyone who bears the tonsure of Rome should shun the company of those who do not accept the authority of Armagh.’

Fidelma was annoyed.

‘I know that Ultan has ambition for his paruchia but that is nonsense in itself. What did you reply?’

Eadulf thrust out his chin.

‘I restrained myself from telling him what I felt. I merely pointed out that Theodore, the archbishop of Canterbury, has sent me as emissary to the court of Colgú of Cashel and to no other king or bishop in the five kingdoms.’

Fidelma smiled briefly.

‘And how did Brother Solin react to that?’

‘He inflated his cheeks like a fish and his face grew red with mortification. It was then I stepped away from him and ended the discourse.’

‘Strange, though, that he should have thought he could speak to you in such a fashion,’ she mused.

Eadulf coloured a little.

‘I think he wanted to separate us,’ he confided.

‘In what way do you mean?’

‘I believe that he did not realise that we were old friends and thought that I was merely travelling with you. I think that he hoped to isolate you in your mission here.’

‘For what purpose?’

‘I am not sure. I believe that he was actually trying to warn me that it would be better if I travelled on alone rather than be with you.’

Fidelma was intrigued.

‘He made a threat?’

‘I do not think it was a threat … not exactly.’

‘Exactly what, then?’

‘He spoke in hypothetical abstractions so that I was unsure of his true meaning. All I know is that he means you no good.’

‘We will keep a close watch on Brother Solin, then. We must discover what he is up to.’

‘That he is up to something there is no doubt, Fidelma,’ affirmed Eadulf.

There was a short silence before Fidelma spoke again: ‘This feast this evening will be a formal affair so I am told. You know that there is a priority of places at such gatherings?’

‘I have been in Eireann long enough to know this,’ he acknowledged.

‘Very well. I shall be seated with Laisre and his immediate family simply because I am sister to the king of Cashel. I would imagine Brother Solin will be seated with the ollamhs and the learned men like Murgal. You will probably find yourself seated on the same table with Brother Solin’s young scribe — Brother Dianach. He is not only young but artless. Try to see what information might be garnered from him about the motivations of his master. I would be happier knowing exactly what Solin is up to in Gleann Geis.’

‘I will do what I can, Fidelma. Leave that to me.’

Fidelma paused for a moment, pursing her lips in thought.

‘I thought this negotiation was going to be a simple matter, Eadulf. Now I am not so sure. There is something odd going on here, something beneath the surface that we must uncover. I can feel it.’

A hollow cough interrupted them. They had been so intent in their discussion they had failed to notice that a fair-haired warrior had approached them. The man stood a few yards away regarding them quizzically. It was the same warrior who had greeted Orla at the gates of the fortress.

‘I noticed you and the Brother standing here, Sister, and wondered if there was anything that you needed?’ he ventured.

‘No, we were merely taking the evening air before the feast,’ Eadulf explained.

Fidelma was looking at the warrior with interest, taking in his features for the first time. He was a strong-looking man, the fair hair was the colour of harvest corn and his eyes were light blue. He was in his early thirties. He wore an old-fashioned lengthy moustache on his upper lip which came past the sides of his mouth to his jaw bone, adding years to his age. He carried himself well.

‘Why do you address me as “Sister”?’ Fidelma suddenly asked sharply. ‘Those who do not follow the Faith do not usually do so.’

The warrior let his eyes meet hers for a long moment, cast a quick look at Eadulf and dropped them again. Then he glanced along the walkway as if fearing to be overheard, before placing his hand inside his shirt and pulling out something on the end of a leather thong. It was a small bronze crucifix.

Fidelma regarded it thoughtfully.

‘So, you are a Christian?’

The man nodded quickly and put the crucifix back into his shirt.

‘There are more of us here than Murgal the Druid likes to admit, Sister,’ he answered. ‘My mother came here to marry a man from Gleann Geis and when I was born she raised me secretly in the Faith.’

‘So when Laisre said that he wanted a church and school for the Christian community here, for those already raised in the Faith,’ mused Eadulf, ‘he was not telling a lie?’

The fair-haired man shook his head.

‘No, Brother. For many years our community has pressed our chieftain and his council to allow us a priest to tend to our needs. They have refused until recently. Then we heard the joyful news that Laisre had sent to Imleach and Cashel for just such a purpose.’

‘And what is your name?’ asked Fidelma.

‘My name is Rudgal, Sister.’

‘And you are a warrior, I see.’

Rudgal chuckled slightly.

‘There are no professional warriors here in Gleann Geis. I am a wagon maker by trade but answer Laisre’s call every time he needs the services of warriors. Each man here pursues his own calling. Even Artgal, who Laisre considers his chief bodyguard, is also a blacksmith.’

Fidelma remembered what Orla had told her.

‘And why do you make yourself known to us, Rudgal?’ asked Eadulf.

Rudgal looked swiftly from one to the other.

‘In case there is any service I can render. Call upon me should you need anything that is in my power to provide.’

There came the sound of a horn close by. Rudgal gave a grimace.

‘Ah, the trumpet! We are summoned to the feast.’

Eadulf found, even as Fidelma had predicted, that Laisre was a strict traditionalist. Everyone had gathered in the large anteroom before the council chamber of the ráth. This was now converted into the feasting hall. Three officers of Laisre’s household wentinto the hall first. Murgal, as official advisor to Laisre, a bollscare, or marshal, to regulate the order of precedence of those about to be seated, and the trumpeter or fearstuic. At the sound of the next single blast on his horn, Laisre’s shield bearer and others carrying the shields or standards of Laisre’s warriors entered. The shields were then hung on hooks above the chairs according to ranks.

At the third blast, the bearers of the emblems of those of other ranks went in and fixed these devices to indicate where each guest would sit. Finally, at the fourth blast of the trumpet, the guests all walked in leisurely, each taking their seat under their own shields or emblems. In this manner, all unseemly disputes or jostling for places were avoided. No man or woman sat opposite another, as only one side of each table was occupied. This rigid adherence to an order of priority was, Eadulf noticed, the strictest rule.

Large wooden tables had been set up in the chamber. Laisre’s marshal continued to fuss about to assure himself that every person was seated in their proper place according to their rank. Sometimes, or so Eadulf had been told, it was known that serious arguments could break out over the seating arrangements at a feast.

At the top table, Fidelma was seated next to Laisre by right of being an Eóghanacht princess. On her other side was Colla, the tanist, then his wife Orla and their daughter, Esnad. Other members of the chieftain’s family were ranged on both sides. The warriors were seated at another table; the intellectuals, men like Solin and Murgal with others Eadulf could not identify, were seated at another table. Eadulf’s table apparently contained those of lesser professional rank. Sub-chieftains and minor functionaries sat at yet another table.

Eadulf noticed that Brother Solin’s scribe, Brother Dianach, had taken the next seat to his left, just as Fidelma had anticipated. Eadulf decided to begin the conversation by remarking on this emphasis on placing people thus as if it were a strange custom to him. The young cleric overcame his apparent shyness to shake his head in serious reproval at Eadulf’s implied criticism.

‘In my father’s time, it was the placing of Congal Cloén below his proper place at the banquet of Dún na nGéid, which was the main cause of the Battle of Magh Ráth,’ he said in quiet seriousness.

Eadulf decided to develop the conversation.

‘What battle was that?’

‘It was the battle at which the High King, Domnall mac Aedo, annihilated Congal and his Dál Riada allies from across the water,’ answered the young scribe.

An elderly man, seated on the opposite side of Dianach, who had introduced himself as Mel, scribe to Murgal, intervened.

‘The truth of the matter was that the battle marked the overthrow of the old religion among the great kings of the north.’ There was disapproval in his voice. ‘True there was an argument about the insult offered Congal as to where he was seated at the feasting table. But so far as the great chieftains of Ulaidh were concerned, they had long resisted the new Faith and the Christian king Domnall mac Aedo was determined to impose it on them. Their resistance finally came to an end with their defeat by Domnall mac Aedo at Magh Ráth. The old faith was thereafter confined to the small, isolated clans.’

The young scribe, Brother Dianach, tried to repress a shiver and crossed himself.

‘It is true the Faith triumphed after the battle at Magh Ráth,’ he conceded, ‘and thanks be to God for that. It was told that just before the feast two horrible black spectres, one male and one female, had appeared to the assembly and, having devoured enormous quantities of food, vanished. They left a baleful influence. So it was that King Domnall had to lead the forces of Christ against the forces of the Devil. He overcame them, Deo favente!’

The elderly scribe, Mel, uttered a laugh of derision.

‘When did you say this happened?’ Eadulf ignored him and addressed the boy as if he were in sympathy with him.

‘It was in my father’s time; scarcely three decades ago when he was a young warrior. He left his right arm behind at Magh Ráth.’

It was only then that Eadulf realised that he had heard of the battle before. He had studied at Tuam Brecain and in that ecclesiastical college there had been an elderly teacher called Cenn Faelad. He had been a professor of Irish law but had also written a grammar of the language of the people of Éireann which had helped Eadulf increase his knowledge of the language. Cenn Faelad walked with a limp and, when Eadulf had pressed him, he had revealed that as a young man he had been wounded in a battle which Eadulf, mishearing the pronunciation, had thought was called ‘Moira’. As Tuam Brecain was already a leading medical college as well as having a faculty of law and of ecclesiastical learning, Cenn Faelad had been taken there and the abbot, himself a skilled surgeon, had brought him back to health. There Cenn Faelad had stayed learning law instead of war and becoming one of the greatest Brehons of the five kingdoms. Eadulf was about to turn to his companion with this contribution to the conversation when he was interrupted.

Laisre had stood up and the trumpeter gave a further blast onhis horn to bring the assembly to silence. Eadulf wondered for a moment if Laisre was actually going to say a Deo gratias to bless the meal, before he realised his mistake. Laisre merely gave a traditional formal welcome to his guests.

The servants then came in bearing great trays of food and pitchers of wine and mead. Eadulf noticed that the hot plates of meat which were carried in were formally presented in order of rank as well. Particular joints were reserved for certain chiefs, officials and professionals according to their status. The dáilemain, the carvers or distributors of food, went down the tables offering joints to each person in turn. Using the left-hand fingers to catch hold of the joint, the recipient would cut off the required piece of meat with a knife held in the right hand. Each person was careful to respect the area of the joint from which they could cut their meat. It was a great insult if a forbidden joint was inadvertently taken. There was even a law, Brother Dianach, growing quite loquacious, advised Eadulf, which penalised the person who took the curath-mir, or hero’s morsel, a special choice joint reserved for the person who was acknowledged, by general consent, to have performed the bravest and greatest exploit among the guests.

Dishes of breads, fish and cold meats followed the hot meat, and there were bowls of fruit aplenty, all served with pitchers of imported wine or jugs of local mead and ale. The fact that Gleann Geis was able to import wine, although Eadulf assessed it was not a particularly good wine or that it had not travelled well from Gaul, indicated that its chieftain prided himself on his table. Eadulf had taken two clay goblets of the wine before he realised that it was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and decided to change to drinking the local rich honey-mead.

Each person was given a lambrat, a hand cloth, to wipe their hands after the meal.

During the course of the meal, Eadulf did his best to pump the young cleric about the reasons for his journey with Brother Solin. The young man, with an innocence which made Eadulf wonder if it was artfulness, seemed more interested in asking him questions about life in the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms and, having learnt that Eadulf had actually been to Rome, would answer no question until Eadulf had talked about the city and the great churches there. Eadulf, in fact, learnt little and, the wine souring his mouth, he drank more mead than was good for him. Wisely, the young cleric had started with a beaker of ale which he made last throughout the meal and which he only sipped at.

‘My father was a warrior of the Dál Fiatach in the kingdom ofUlaidh until he lost his arm at Magh Ráth,’ Brother Dianach finally replied in answer to Eadulf’s insistence. In fact, Eadulf’s indulgence had caused him to lose any subtlety in his questioning. ‘But that was long before I was born. I was sent to Armagh to study with the religious and that was when I learnt to be a scribe.’

‘But how did you come here?’

‘With Brother Solin,’ replied the young man innocently to Eadulf’s exasperation.

‘This I know, but why were you chosen to accompany Brother Solin?’

‘Because I was a good scribe, I suppose,’ Brother Dianach replied. ‘Also because I was fit. It is a long journey from Armagh to this kingdom.’

‘Why send Brother Solin here at all?’ Eadulf encouraged.

The young man heaved a sigh at Eadulf’s continued repetition of this particular question.

‘That is something known only to Brother Solin. I was taken aside by my superior and told to report to Brother Solin with my stylus and writing boards and told to do as he bid me do.’

‘Surely you were told more?’ Eadulf demanded, the alcohol making him sound aggressive.

‘Only that we would be on a long journey and to prepare myself for such. I was told that I would be doing the work of God and Armagh.’

‘And Brother Solin explained nothing of the purpose for this journey? Not even some stray comment as you passed along the way?’

Brother Dianach shook his head emphatically.

‘But assuredly you were curious?’ Eadulf was like a dog worrying a bone.

‘Why are you so interested in the business of Brother Solin?’ the young man finally was pressed into asking. ‘Brother Solin says that curiosity, with ambition, are two scourges of the unquiet soul.’

Eadulf was exasperated but he realised that he had pressed the point too far.

‘Surely he who is not curious is an enemy of knowledge? How can you learn anything when you are not curious?’ he responded defensively.

Brother Dianach regarded Eadulf’s flushed face with distaste. He would say no more about the matter and turned to Mel, the elderly scribe, on his other side, ignoring Eadulf who suddenly felt a little foolish. He was not that imbued with alcohol that he had lost allsensitivity. He cursed himself for having mixed the bad wine with the potent mead.

At the top table Fidelma knew that it was bad manners to inquire further of Laisre or his tanist about matters concerning the forthcoming negotiations. The feasting hall was the place where weapons and matters of politics and business were traditionally left outside. So Fidelma had turned the conversation to the history of the people of Gleann Geis for she liked to learn as much as she could about various parts of the country. But the conversation was somewhat guarded and stilted.

She was, therefore, somewhat thankful when some musicians were admitted to the hall. Laisre had explained that, unlike most chieftains, he refused the presence of musicians during the feast. Only after the meal had been eaten did he allow them to enter and provide entertainment.

‘To play music during a meal insults both cook and musician and kills conversation,’ he explained.

Now, as more wine and mead were circulating among the guests, a harper entered and came forward, carrying a small hand-held cruit, or harp, and sat himself cross-legged on the floor in front of his chieftain on the other side of the table. He struck up an energetic tune, nimble fingers moving with an astonishing and complex motion, striking the difficult modulations in perfect harmony, completing the cadences in a rich yet delicate manner. The tinkling of the higher notes, supporting the deeper tones of the bass strings, was soothing to the ears.

At the end of the piece, Orla leant towards Fidelma: ‘You see that even we poor pagans can find enjoyment in our music.’

Fidelma ignored Orla’s furtive gibe.

‘My mentor, the Brehon Morann of Tara, once said that where there is music there can be no evil.’

‘A wise observation,’ Laisre agreed. ‘Now choose a song, Fidelma, and my musicians shall demonstrate their talent for you.’

The cruit player had been joined by another harpist who played a ceis, a smaller harp which was square shaped and, as Fidelma knew, was used to accompany the cruit. A timpan player, with his eight-stringed instrument, played with a bow and a plectrum, also joined the group together with a piper and his cruisech.

There were usually three kinds of music which were popular at feasting. The gen-traige, which incited the listeners to merriment and laughter and produced lively dance tunes; the gol-traige which expressed sorrow and laments, sad songs of the death of heroes;and the súan-traige which was a softer form of music, like songs of unrequited love and lullabies.

Music had always been an essential part of Fidelma’s childhood. The palace at Cashel was never wanting in musicians, songsters and ballad makers.

She was thinking about a choice of song when Murgal, who was seated alongside Brother Solin at the adjacent table, lurched to his feet. His face was flushed and Fidelma saw at once that he had indulged freely in the wine.

‘I know a song that will be to the taste of an Eóghanacht princess,’ he sneered. ‘I will sing it:

‘The fort on the great Rock of Muman,

Once it was Eoghan’s, once it was Conall’s,

It was Nad Froích’s, it was Feidelmid’s.

It was Fíngen’s, it was Faílbe Fland’s.

Now it is Colgú’s;

‘The fort remains after each in his turn -

And the kings sleep in the ground.’

There was a roar of laughter from the warriors at their table and many banged their knife handles on the wooden boards in appreciation.

There was no doubting what Murgal was saying. The message was that the authority of the kings of Cashel was transitory.

Laisre’s face became an angry mask.

‘Murgal, the wine is in and your wit is out! Would you insult your chieftain by demeaning him in the eyes of his guests?’

Murgal turned to his chieftain, still smiling a slightly vacuous grin, the wine giving him courage.

‘Your Eóghanacht guest desired a song. I merely supplied one which paid tribute to her brother at Cashel.’

He sat down heavily in his seat, still smiling. Fidelma saw Brother Solin smirking at what he imagined was her discomfort. She became aware of a young woman on the other side of Murgal, a slender blonde-haired woman, rather attractive. Her face was without emotion and she was looking at the table before her, clearly discomfited by her drunken companion.

Laisre was turning to apologise to Fidelma but Fidelma rose to her feet. She allowed a soft smile to spread as if she was sharing Murgal’s joke.

‘Murgal has made a good song,’ she announced to the company,‘although I have heard better and certainly in better tune. Perhaps I might bring him the latest composition of the bards of Cashel?’

Then without more ado, she tossed back her hair from her face and began to sing, softly at first but then with growing resonance. Fidelma had the gift of music and the lilting soprano of her voice caused a stillness to fall within the feasting hall.

‘He is no branch of a withered tree,

Colgú, prince of the Eóghanacht,

Son of Faílbe Fland of noble deeds,

Lofty descendant of Eoghan Mór,

Sprung from the race of Eber the Fair

Who ruled Eireann from the banks of the Boyne -

south to the Wave of Cliodhna.

‘He is of the stock of a true prince,

A tree sprung,from the roots of the forest

sanctuary of Eireann,

The just heir of Milesius,

The sum of a great harvest with fruit of many trees,

Each as ancient as the oldest oak,

The crown above a multitude of branches.’

She sat down amidst an uncomfortable silence. Then Eadulf, not really understanding the nuances of the exchange, and carried away by his indulgence in alcohol, hearing only that Fidelma had sung as sweet a song as ever he had heard, began to clap loudly. His applause eventually caused Laisre to follow his example and soon a polite tribute rippled around the chamber. When it died away Laisre turned to his musicians and bid them play softly.

In her song, Fidelma had answered Murgal’s cynical sneer that the Cashel kings were mortal and their authority was only brief. She had pointed out how the Eóghanacht claimed to be descended from the Eber, son of Milesius, leader of the Milesians, the first Gaels to land in Ireland. From Eber had descended Eoghan Mór, the founder of the royal dynasty of the Eóghanacht. The subtlety of the song reminded her listeners of the status she held.

Laisre glanced at her contritely.

‘I apologise for Murgal’s lack of etiquette.’

He referred to the fact that it was a rigid rule that a guest was not to be insulted within a feasting hall.

Fidelma spoke without rancour.

‘As you rightly observed, Laisre, it was the wine that made him forget though, as Theoginis once said, wine is wont to show the mind of man.’

The sound of someone being smacked across the face was so abrupt that the soft music of the cruit player faltered and died away for there was a series of sounds which followed in quick succession. First a chair went over backwards, crockery plates crashed and splintered on the floor and there came an angry but almost suppressed exclamation. All eyes in the feasting hall were drawn to the table where Murgal was standing swaying on his feet once again; this time, however, one hand was nursing a reddening cheek, his eyes were glowering at the fair-haired woman who had been sitting next to him and who now was on her feet as well, standing facing the Druid.

It was the slim woman whom Fidelma had noticed. Her face was now contorted with anger.

‘Pig and son of a pig!’ she hissed and then turned abruptly and exited from the feasting hall without a backward glance. A plump woman rose from another table and went trotting out with an angry look in Murgal’s direction. Fidelma realised it was the hostel keeper, Cruinn.

Murgal seemed to quiver with anger and then he, too, left the feasting hall. A moment later one of the warriors, the fair-haired Rudgal, rose and hurriedly followed Murgal from the room.

Fidelma, watching, turned with a glance of inquiry towards Laisre.

‘Some domestic matter, I suppose?’ she asked innocently.

‘No, Marga is not wife to Murgal,’ Orla replied cattily before her brother could speak. ‘But Murgal has a wandering eye.’

Esnad, the young daughter of Orla, began to chuckle and then, catching sight of an angry glance from her father, Colla, pouted and made no further sound.

Laisre flushed slightly.

‘It is not a matter to be commented on before strangers at a feasting,’ he snapped at his sister. Orla grimaced at her brother to express her annoyance before sitting back. Laisre resumed a more considered expression towards Fidelma.

‘Suffice to say, wine can make a lout of the best of us,’ he observed, trying to make a joke out of the matter.

‘Wine is like rain. If it falls on a bog, it makes it the more foul. But on good soil, it wakens it to bloom and radiance,’ observed Colla, who had not spoken at the table for some time. It was clear that he had little respect for Murgal.

‘This Marga is an attractive woman,’ Fidelma observed. ‘Who is she?’

‘She is our apothecary,’ replied Laisre distantly. Fidelma observed a colour on his cheeks. Then, as if he felt he should reply to her comment, added: ‘Yes, an attractive woman.’

Fidelma was surprised.

‘So young and an apothecary!’

‘She is qualified under the law.’ It was said defensively by Laisre.

‘I would have expected no less.’ Fidelma’s soft reply had a note of rebuke in it. ‘Does she reside in the ráth?’

‘Yes. Why do you ask?’ Colla asked sharply.

‘Oh,’ Fidelma decided to turn the subject at the suspicion voiced in Colla’s reply, ‘it is always wise to know where an apothecary resides.’

One of the musicians had resumed his interrupted long, interminable song, singing in a form without instrumental accompaniment, his voice rising and falling. It was an old, old song, about a young girl who was being lured by unseen forces towards a mountain top where she would eventually meet the fate which the gods had set for her. Fidelma suddenly felt an empathy with the heroine of the song. Something had drawn her to this valley and it seemed there were unseen forces dictating her fate.