Valley of the Shadow

Chapter Fourteen

Once Fidelma and Eadulf were alone in the hostel, Fidelma whirled round to the Saxon monk with a warm smile and seized his hands with both of her own.

‘You were brilliant!’ she pronounced enthusiastically.

Eadulf blushed furiously.

‘I had a good teacher,’ he mumbled with some embarrassment.

‘But you found the right laws to argue. And the way you led Artgal into that trap! I have never seen an advocate manipulate a witness better. It was brilliant to use the law to develop your argument. You should claim a degree as a dálaigh.’

‘I had some help from Rudgal,’ admitted Eadulf. ‘Without his information, I could not have shown Artgal to be an unworthy witness.’

Fidelma became serious.

‘Are you saying that it was Rudgal who gave you the information about the payment Artgal was to receive?’

‘It was. Luck was with us because he mentioned Artgal had received the cows and I was able to piece the rest together.’

Fidelma moved in search of a pitcher of mead and beakers for she needed strength after her ordeal.

‘Then we should thank Rudgal. But you used his information well. It was the way that you forced Artgal to confess the bribe without having to present the evidence yourself. That I admire.’

Eadulf laughed skeptically.

‘If it had come down to having to give proof of my allegation then I fear we would have been worsted. Thank God that Artgal thought I knew more than I did.’

Fidelma paused in the act of drinking.

‘You did have the evidence of the bribe, didn’t you?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘I mean, evidence to support your allegation?’

Eadulf forced a smile and admitted the truth.

‘It was a bluff.’

Fidelma stared at him in consternation. Slowly she sank to a chair.

‘Only a bluff? You’d better explain.’

‘Easy enough. Rudgal had heard Artgal boasting of his new possession of two milch cows. Artgal was boastful but he was not that loose tongued. He did mention, however, that he would have a third milch cow in nine days’ time. I saw the connection at once. Rudgal had mentioned this to me not realising its significance.’

Fidelma felt suddenly weak as she considered what might have happened.

‘And that was all you knew when you challenged him before the court?’ she pressed faintly.

Eadulf spread his hands expressively.

‘It seemed a reasonable assumption that Artgal’s new-found wealth was something to do with his testimony against you. I simply took a gamble.’

Fidelma was staring at him in dismay.

‘But no Brehon would have dared to make such a gamble, to claim something before the court without certain knowledge or proof. Have you not heard the saying sapiens nihil affirmat quod non probat? A wise man states as true nothing he cannot prove. What if Artgal had not confessed? What if you had been challenged to prove your accusation?’

Eadulf grimaced ruefully.

‘Then, as I say, it would have gone badly with us. Artgal could have simply called me a liar and walked away. But his guilty conscience made him confess and I was counting on that.’

Fidelma was shaking her head dumbfounded.

‘I have not known the like of this in my years as an advocate,’ she finally said.

‘Then let me give you Latin aphorism for Latin aphorism. Si finis bonus est, totum bonum erit,’ smiled Eadulf complacently.

Fidelma was forced to duplicate his smile as she repeated: ‘If the end is good, everything will be good. I cannot argue that all’s well that ends well but do not repeat this story to anyone else, especially not to Murgal or Laisre. Confession extracted by deception is not a principle of the laws of the five kingdoms.’

Eadulf held up his hand, palm outwards.

‘I swear! The secret will remain between us. But that doesn’t make it the less true. Artgal was, indeed, bribed.’

Fidelma regarded her empty beaker as if searching for the answer in it.

‘This is what I do not understand. He did not have to be bribed. I think he might have genuinely believed what he thought he saw. He would not have changed his testimony anyway. Why would Ibor ofMuirthemne risk all by offering to pay him such an extraordinary sum of money?’

‘We must seek out Ibor of Muirthemne,’ Eadulf announced. ‘He will provide many answers.’

Fidelma glanced at him with resignation.

‘You heard what Laisre said? I am forbidden to inquire further.’

‘When has that stopped you before?’ countered Eadulf in humour.

‘Well, tomorrow we conclude our negotiation here and then we may turn our minds to the matter. Certainly I would agree that there is some mystery here which emanates in part or in whole from Ulaidh, from the north. I cannot yet fathom it. Do you recall my finding the warrior’s torc of northern workmanship near the bodies?’

‘I have not forgotten,’ Eadulf replied. ‘But we do not have to wait until tomorrow. It is only early evening, and there are two milch cows at Artgal’s farmstead. Even dumb animals may talk.’

Fidelma was confused.

‘Animals do not appear out of thin air,’ Eadulf elucidated. ‘They must have come from somewhere. Perhaps they have brands. We might learn where they came from. If so we might be able to track Ibor himself and find out who he represents and what his purpose here has been.’

Fidelma regarded him with satisfied approval.

‘Sometimes one is so concerned with examining the tree that one loses sight of the wood. A splendid idea, Eadulf. More and more you are proving that you are equal to a dálaigh. But we must proceed carefully. Laisre will not approve of our investigation.’

‘Laisre will not know. He and his friends will be starting their feasting soon,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘Rudgal told me that this evening feast is a regular affair. I think,’ he added with a grim humour, ‘it will be a long time before I will go willingly to such a feast again.’

Fidelma now became aware that it was approaching meal time and they were the only people in the hostel.

‘Where is Cruinn? She should surely be here to prepare our food?’ she asked.

‘I am afraid that Cruinn has been disapproving of us. She seems to have taken a personal dislike to us and withdrawn her services. We have to fend for ourselves. Brother Dianach is nowhere to be seen. I suspect he, too, has not accepted the finding of the court.’

Fidelma was puzzled.

‘I can understand Brother Dianach being upset. But I cannotunderstand such animosity from Cruinn. Even if I had been proved guilty, what was Brother Solin to her?’

‘Her anger comes from your accusation against Orla. Orla is well liked here in Gleann Geis.’

‘Ah well, her absence might be good. It gives us a free hand. We can move without the constraint she would place on us …’

She had not finished the sentence when the door opened and Rudgal came in. He looked rather sheepish.

‘I came to tell you that Cruinn, the hostel keeper, refuses to come here to cook for you. She is rather old-fashioned …’

‘We have just been discussing that,’ Fidelma informed him.

‘But Fidelma was exonerated by Murgal,’ protested Eadulf indignantly. ‘How dare she refuse to fulfil her duties?’

Rudgal shrugged.

‘She is one who takes the view that there is no smoke without fire. She refuses to set foot in this hostel until you have both departed. Even the chiding of Murgal, who admittedly has not been too forceful, has failed to move her. Therefore, I have come here to offer to tend to your needs, though I am no great cook.’

‘I thank you, Rudgal,’ Fidelma smiled appreciatively. ‘We can manage well enough if we have a supply of food and drink. We shall, after all, not be here more than another day. And I am sure Brother Dianach will be able to look after himself. Where is he, by the way?’

‘I have not seen him.’

Fidelma was disappointed. She remembered the whispered conversation between Solin and Dianach before he went to his death in the stable. ‘If all goes well,’ Solin had told the young cleric, ‘Cashel will fall to us before the summer is out.’ To us? Who was the us? It was clear that Dianach was party to whatever mischievous plot was being hatched. She wanted to question the gauche young scribe as soon as possible, especially now that he had not the protection of Solin to fall back on. But, if he couldn’t be found, there were other things that could be done and Eadulf had made a good suggestion.

‘There is another favour we would ask of you, Rudgal,’ Fidelma went on, having considered the way forward. ‘We would like to go to Artgal’s farmstead and examine these two milch cows with which he was bribed.’

Rudgal looked uneasy.

‘Is that wise, Sister? Laisre forbade further investigation.’

‘Wise or not, we would like you to take us to his farmstead where we may examine the cows. Even a king cannot forbid adálaigh to investigate a crime. A king is a servant of the law, not its master.’

‘I am not questioning the wisdom of you wishing to investigate but I think you should know that in spite of Laisre’s command that Artgal should not leave the ráth, he has done so. He is nowhere to be found. Artgal might contemplate harm against you for the ruin which you have brought on him.’

Fidelma rose to her feet resolutely.

‘Do you think that he is gone to his farmstead perhaps to destroy the evidence of his wrong doing? In that case, we must certainly go in search of him, for he is our only link to Ibor of Muirthemne and those cattle are confirmation of the deed.’

‘But he could have gone anywhere,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘Anywhere to escape Laisre’s justice.’

‘I do not think so,’ interposed Rudgal. ‘His cabin lies not far away on the hillside overlooking Ronan’s hamlet. Ronan was sent to his farmstead in pursuit of Ibor of Muirthemne. Ibor has fled the valley. But Ronan told me on his return that he had caught sight of Artgal on the hill path going to his farmstead. He did not think it his duty to stop him as he had only been told to bring Ibor back to the ráth. Besides, Artgal was a friend and cousin to Ronan. Ronan will say nothing to Laisre unless directly asked.’

‘So Ibor has fled the valley?’ Fidelma repeated quietly. ‘Well, that was to be expected.’

‘Ibor of Muirthemne and his horses must have left the ráth even before Murgal finished the hearing,’ Rudgal agreed. ‘However, as for Artgal, I cannot see him willingly parting with the cattle now he has them. If he intends to leave the valley to escape Laisre’s wrath, he will collect his possessions first.’

‘Then let us find out if he is still at his farmstead,’ Fidelma insisted, moving towards the door.

They left the ráth of Laisre without being challenged. As Eadulf had pointed out, although there were several hours of daylight left in the warm summer evening, everyone appeared to have taken themselves to Laisre’s feasting hall. Laughter and the noise of feasting echoed over the empty courtyard. There was no one about or at the gates of the fortress. It was Rudgal who suggested that they did not encumber themselves with horses as they might be spotted more easily on horseback if Artgal was trying to avoid them.

In any case, it was scarcely a mile to the farmstead which Rudgal indicated on the side of the hill, just above the hamlet dominated by Ronan’s farm. Rudgal led the way at an easy pace with the two religious following close behind.

It was still warm, for the summer’s day had been hot beyond the shelter of the ráth. Although it would not grow dark for two hours at least, a few dark storm clouds were hanging over the mountains and there was a threat of rain beyond their peaks. They could hear a distant rumble of thunder from the other side of the surrounding pinnacles. At least the clouds were hanging around the summits of the hills, as if anchored to them, and not moving across the bright blue sky above the valley.

Rudgal caught Eadulf’s anxious gaze and chuckled softly.

‘With God’s help, the weather will pass us by on the other side of the mountains.’

They continued on their way skirting Ronan’s farmstead and Nemon’s dwelling, before climbing the hill towards the small cabin perched above, which Rudgal had indicated belonged to Artgal. The fair-haired warrior wagon-maker led the way up a steep path whose ascent had been made easier by the placing of large stones every so often. This gave the path the appearance of a stairway. Fidelma followed next and then Eadulf. There was little conversation between them except when Rudgal pointed out areas along the path to be avoided, springy patches of boggy turf or the occasional pit hidden by gorse.

They came to a narrow shelving area of stone-hedged small fields among which stood the grey stone cabin. It was a simple beehive-shaped cabin with a straw-thatched roof and a fence around it. Adjacent to the cabin was a smithy’s shop but with the fire dead. It looked as if it had not been used in some considerable time. Even some of the tools were rusting.

Fidelma could see no sign of any cattle in the vicinity.

They paused at the entrance of the cabin to recover their breath. Then Fidelma called sharply: ‘Artgal!’

There was no answer. A curious silence permeated the place.

‘Artgal!’ echoed Rudgal more loudly. Then in an aside he added apologetically: ‘I was sure that he would come here. Perhaps he has already been here, taken the cows and fled. But he could not have gone far in the valley herding cows. We would surely have seen him.’

When there was no reply from the second call, Rudgal pushed open the door of the cabin and went inside. The others followed. The cabin seemed deserted but its few meagre possessions were placed in orderly fashion. There was no indication that the owner had made a hurried departure. The only object out of order was a cloth lying on the floor as if dropped unobserved by its owner. Fidelma went over to it and picked it up. She suddenly realised thatit was an apron. She placed it on a nearby hook, thinking it was a curious item for a man like Artgal to have. But then it did seem to fit in with the tidy personality of the cabin. It was probably normal for Artgal to wear such an outsized garment to protect him if he were so fastidious.

‘Perhaps I was wrong,’ muttered Rudgal. ‘Perhaps he has gone elsewhere but where I would not know.’

‘I saw no sign of the cows around here,’ Eadulf remarked.

‘And if he took them we would surely have spotted him,’ Rudgal repeated. ‘A lone herdsman and two cows in this countryside are easy to observe.’

This was true for there were few trees in the valley itself.

‘But there seems to be no other explanation,’ he added. ‘Artgal must have gone and taken the cows with him. I will see if there are any tracks which we may follow.’

He left the cabin. Fidelma was still standing in the middle of the single room, her sharp eyes moving cautiously around it, examining every nook and cranny keenly. She suddenly realised that there were two pottery beakers standing on the table. It seemed that Artgal had had a visitor recently; recently enough for him not to clear away the remains of a shared drink and to have failed to observe the discarded apron on the floor.

She bent to examine the beakers, sniffing cautiously at the aroma left by their contents. She had scented the distinctive pungent fragrance before but, for the moment, she could not place it.

‘This Artgal is a very tidy man for a blacksmith and warrior,’ she reflected softly.

Eadulf grinned.

‘Are blacksmiths and warriors invariably untidy, then?’

‘You have seen Artgal. I would have expected Artgal not to be so fastidious. One may tell much from a person’s attention to their clothing. Yet the cabin here is scrupulously clean.’

‘I have known of such people who are slovenly in their appearance but fastidious in their homes and vice versa,’ Eadulf observed.

There came a sudden cry of alarm outside the cabin.

‘Sister! Brother!’

It was Rudgal’s voice raised in horror.

Eadulf and Fidelma exchanged a glance and hurried outside. Rudgal was at the back of the cabin. He was standing staring down at something on the ground. It was sprawled half in and half out of a small shed. Eadulf recognised it by the clothing.

It was the body of Brother Dianach.

‘I was walking round the cabin to look for tracks when I stumbled across the body,’ Rudgal explained unnecessarily.

Eadulf genuflected while Fidelma went down on one knee beside the body.

The young religieux lay on his side, his feet and lower body were in the small shed, the torso was sprawled outside, face down, one arm flung in front of him. There was fresh blood staining the ground. Cautiously, Fidelma pushed the body over on its back. Blood was everywhere. It was clear that Dianach had had his throat cut; one long stabbing cut had cleaved through the neck almost to the back.

Fidelma suddenly looked at the lips and gums of the dead religieux. They had a faint blue tinge about them which she could not explain. Clearly the knife cut had caused his death and the wound was still bleeding. Distastefully, she reached out a hand to touch the skin. It was still warm. Brother Dianach had only recently died, probably even as they had entered the cabin.

She sprang to her feet and looked around. Her eyes scanned the landscape.

‘Did you see anyone near here, Rudgal?’

The wagon maker dragged his fascinated gaze away from the corpse and regarded her in bewilderment.

Fidelma was impatient.

‘The boy has only just been killed. Perhaps while we were in the cabin. Look, the shed is small, you have to bend down to peer inside. Perhaps Dianach was hiding from us when we approached the cabin. His killer must have come upon him in this fashion and slit his throat. It happened only moments ago.’

Rudgal whistled softly.

‘I walked around the cabin but there was no one in sight, it was only when I was looking for the tracks of the cattle that I suddenly saw the body.’

Eadulf had moved swiftly to a stone wall and clambered up. He swept the surrounding countryside with his keen gaze.

‘Can you see anything?’ demanded Fidelma.

Eadulf shook his head in disappointment.

‘No,’ he replied in disgust. ‘There are so many gullies and walls around here that anyone, knowing the area, could hide themselves easily from our sight.’

‘Any sign of the cattle?’

‘None at all. But while a man might hide among these gullies, I would say that it would be difficult to hide cattle.’

Fidelma turned back to the body in frustration.

‘Why kill him, I wonder?’ Rudgal said. ‘And what was the lad doing up here anyway?’

‘When Artgal said that he had been offered the bribe by someone with a northern accent, Dianach grew upset,’ she reflected. ‘He jumped up to deny that it was him.’

‘But Artgal corroborated that by saying it was a deeper voice whereupon Ibor of Muirthemne disappeared from the ráth not attempting to deny the logical conclusion that it was he who had bribed Artgal,’ Eadulf called from the wall, still scrutinising the surrounding countryside. ‘And now Ibor has fled the valley.’

‘If it was not Ibor of Muirthemne who tried to bribe Artgal, why did he disappear?’ added Rudgal.

There was no escaping the logic.

Eadulf had jumped down from the wall and joined them again.

‘Moreover, why would Artgal disappear?’ he asked. ‘Surely Laisre’s wrath is not so terrible. Artgal would have to pay a fine under your law to reinstate his honour but better to do that than flee to a life of wandering exile outside his clan?’

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.’