Valley of the Shadow

Chapter Sixteen

It was still dark when Fidelma awakened Eadulf and told him to get ready. She was already dressed and, while he hurriedly copied her, she went down to fill their saddle bags with the remaining food that had been left from their evening meal. When Eadulf was ready, they crept out of the hostel and across the courtyard, keeping close to the shadows away from the flickering torchlight in case a wandering guard observed them. Fidelma wanted to avoid any vigilant eye as much as possible. There was one sentinel on the walls but he seemed to be dozing.

They saddled their horses as quietly as they could and led them cautiously out of the stables.

Eadulf groaned for the clatter of their shod hooves on the flagstones was surely enough to wake the dead. It certainly woke the sentinel who had been napping on the walls. He came down the steps to stand by the open gates. Fidelma realised the hopelessness of attempting to leave without anyone realising it. The only way was to bluff it out.

‘Who is it?’ demanded the gruff, though still sleepy, voice of the guard.

‘It is Fidelma of Cashel,’ she replied, summoning a haughty tone.

‘Ha! It is not yet dawn,’ replied the sentinel, stating the obvious. ‘Why are you leaving the ráth at such an hour?’

The man spoke uncertainly, knowing who she was and wondering whether he should speak deferentially or with hostility.

‘Brother Eadulf and I are leaving the ráth for a short while.’

‘Does Laisre know of this, lady?’ came the warrior’s still uncertain tone.

‘Isn’t Laisre chief of Gleann Geis and surely he knows everything which stirs within his own ráth?’ she countered, trying hard to steer a cautious path between not telling an outright lie and making an implication which would satisfy the man.

The sentinel’s voice was aggrieved.

‘Do not blame me, lady, for my ignorance. No one has informed me of your leaving.’

‘I am now informing you.’ Fidelma tried to sound irritable. ‘Stand aside and let us pass. Should any inquire, we shall soon be back.’

Hesitantly the sentinel stood aside and Fidelma and Eadulf trotted through the open gates through into the darkness.

It was not until they were some way from the ráth and moving swiftly along the valley road towards the ravine which provided the exit from Gleann Geis that Eadulf allowed himself to exhale noisily in relief.

‘Was that wise, Fidelma? To imply that you had Laisre’s permission will only deepen the chieftain’s anger when we return.’

‘Wisdom rises upon the ruins of folly,’ grinned Fidelma in the darkness. ‘I told the man no lie. And we shall be back as soon as possible.’

There were grey streaks in the sky by the time that they reached the grim granite statue of the god Lugh of the Long Hand which marked the entrance to the valley. It looked strange and frightening in the grey half-light as they rode past. Eadulf crossed himself nervously at its towering image but Fidelma laughed gaily.

‘Didn’t I tell you that the ancients saw Lugh as a god of light, a solar deity. You should not fear him for he was a good god.’

‘How can you be so calm about such frightening wraiths?’ protested Eadulf. ‘Antler-headed gods with serpents in their hands!’ He shivered violently.

‘Didn’t your people worship such gods before they converted to Christianity?’ asked Fidelma.

‘None with antlers from their heads,’ vowed Eadulf.

They reached the entrance of the gorge and started through its narrow rocky passage.

‘Who passes?’ cried a voice from high above them.

Fidelma groaned inwardly. She had forgotten the sentinels who guarded the gorge. However, what had worked once would doubtless work again.

‘Fidelma of Cashel,’ she called back. Then, as an afterthought, ‘Were you on guard here yesterday afternoon?’

A shadow moved above them and emerged indistinctly in the rising light of the dawn.

‘Not I. Why do you ask?’

‘I wondered if the horse dealer, Ibor of Muirthemne, was seen passing this way or Artgal?’

‘Everyone who passed through this gorge came under our scrutiny. The horse dealer certainly passed along here in the afternoonfor my brother was on duty here. But as for Artgal … no, it would have been mentioned if he had passed this way. The news of Artgal’s loss of honour has certainly been spoken.’

Fidelma accepted the information with resignation. She had not really expected to learn much.

‘Very well. Can we proceed?’

‘Go in peace,’ invited the sentinel.

By the time they had negotiated the gorge, dawn had broken across the mountains in streaks of orange, gold and yellow and the countryside was coming to life with a noisy chorus of birds arising from all around them. Fidelma made her unerring way towards the spot where they had encountered the slaughtered bodies of the young men. It was well and truly light by the time they reached the place. The view was clear in every direction. However, in two days the ravens had done their work well. The white bones of the skeletons lay scattered with hardly any flesh left upon them. Eadulf shuddered as he gazed about the bright sepulchre of bones, reflecting in the translucent light.

Fidelma did not give them a second glance but rode directly to where she recalled that the tracks had been. She could not find them. It was Eadulf who attempted an explanation.

‘While it didn’t rain in Gleann Geis yesterday, there was some rain beyond the mountains. It might be that the tracks have been washed away.’

Fidelma moved forward to view the ground more carefully.

‘But not entirely,’ she called triumphantly. ‘I can still see faint traces of the ruts.’

Eadulf followed her, his eyes sweeping the countryside around them in case of danger for he still questioned the wisdom of what they were attempting. Those who would not hesitate to kill thirty-three young men in a ritual slaughter would not falter in killing any religious if they became a threat.

‘Come on,’ Fidelma called, ‘the tracks lead northwards.’

She began to walk her horse carefully across the floor of the valley.

‘How far do you intend to go?’ grumbled the Saxon. ‘Colla says the tracks soon disappeared.’

Fidelma pointed before her towards the northern hills on the rim of the valley.

‘I will go as far as the edge of the glen, just there, where the hills begin to rise. If we see no further signs by then, we will follow the edge of the valley back to the entrance to Gleann Geis and conclude our business there.’

‘Do you mistrust Colla so much? Do you really think that he has tried to mislead us?’

‘I prefer the evidence of my own eyes,’ replied Fidelma easily. ‘And don’t forget, I did see Orla outside the stable. I know I did. Therefore, the logical conclusion is that Colla lied to protect his wife. By doing so, he placed me in jeopardy. What he did once, he can do a second time.’

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.

‘Untie them at once!’ he said firmly.

Reluctantly, the red-haired man drew out his knife and severed Fidelma’s bonds and then the rope which tied Eadulf’s wrists. They stood for a moment rubbing their chaffed wrists and examining Ibor in curiosity. Now he was clothed as a warrior, a costume that seemed to fit him better than his previous form of dress. Fidelma smiled grimly as the former assessment that Ibor looked more a warrior than a horse trader now appeared to be correct. The erstwhile trader from Muirthemne was obviously a fighting man.

‘Be seated and accept my hospitality,’ invited Ibor as politely as if he had simply invited them as guests to his ráth. ‘It is rather poor hospitality since we are camped out here …’

‘Hiding from lawful authority,’ interjected Eadulf sourly.

Ibor shook his head and his smile broadened.

‘Not hiding but merely not wishing to announce our presence. Come, be seated. You shall not be harmed while you are my guests.’

Reluctantly, but with no other option, Fidelma and Eadulf sat on the rugs which had been indicated.

‘Why did you allow the people in Gleann Geis to believe that it was you who bribed Artgal?’ Fidelma opened without preamble.

‘I thought that they had already decided that without my help,’ replied Ibor humorously.

‘By running away you simply confirmed it.’

‘A strategic withdrawal to join my men.’

‘And to do what exactly?’

Ibor shrugged, still smiling.

‘Who knows? Maybe to destroy that nest of vermin.’

‘Brother Dianach is dead. I know that he was the person who bought the cows to bribe Artgal with and not you.’

The young man did not look surprised.

‘And Artgal? What does he say now?’

‘Artgal is missing.’

There was a silence but Ibor’s composure did not alter.

‘As soon as Artgal started to lie about Brother Dianach, I knew that suspicion would fall on me. I knew that I would be apprehended for something I did not do … even as you were, Fidelma.’

‘You knew that I was innocent?’ Fidelma could not hide her surprise.

‘I knew that you had little reason to kill Brother Solin,’ he confirmed. ‘I was hoping to be able to find out who did before it became necessary for me to withdraw from Laisre’s ráth.’

‘It is hard to believe that you claim innocence,’ Fidelma observed skeptically. ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’

‘You know already that I am Ibor; Ibor, lord of Muirthemne.’

‘That is a proud title. It is not the title of a trader in horseflesh.’

‘I am proud to bear it. It is an ancient lineage. Was not my ancestor named Setanta of Muirthemne who men called Cúchulainn, the hound of Culainn?’

Fidelma looked into Ibor’s eyes and saw a pride in his ancestry.

‘You have not explained why the lord of Muirthemne in Ulaidh was skulking in Gleann Geis in the guise of a merchant. This is a curiously isolated part of the world for a band of warriors from the north to stumble on without some evil intent?’

‘In truth, we did not stumble on it and we did come here with a specific purpose.’

‘At least you are honest with me. Why?’

Ibor smiled disarmingly.

‘I would ask you to promise that you will be circumspect as to what I tell you.’

Fidelma held her head slightly to one side. Her expression one of curiosity.

‘Circumspect? You do not ask me for secrecy?’

Ibor shook his head.

‘I trust your discretion and honesty as I hope you will trust mine once you hear my story. I know of your reputation. I told you sobefore. And I also see that you wear the cross of the order of the Golden Chain. This is why I shall put my trust in you.’

Fidelma continued to gaze at him thoughtfully.

‘I would answer that I apply discretion in all things but as to accepting your honesty, that remains to be seen.’

‘I would expect no more in the circumstances.’ The young lord of Muirthemne glanced quickly at Eadulf. ‘Your voice also speaks for the Saxon brother?’

‘You may be assured of Brother Eadulf’s discretion as you are of mine.’

‘Discretion is all I ask.’

‘You can expect little more, especially when you hold that gold torc which I found at the site of the slaughter of thirty-three young men,’ Fidelma added quietly.

Ibor glanced down at the torc in his hand and nodded absently.

‘It is a torc fashioned for the warriors of Ailech,’ he commented absently. ‘You will hear the explanation for this shortly. To begin, my men and I have been following Brother Solin of Armagh this past week.’

‘On whose authority?’ Fidelma asked at once.

‘On the authority of Sechnassuch, High King at Tara.’

‘With what purpose?’

‘With the purpose of discovering his reason for coming to this land.’

‘You say that as if you suspected him of some transgression against the law?’ intervened Eadulf.

The lord of Muirthemne chuckled grimly.

‘I would venture that my view has long passed the point of mere suspicion. And as for transgressing the law, he has transgressed every moral code that I know of.’

‘I do not understand,’ Fidelma said. ‘You are a man of the north and yet you appear to be claiming that you are an enemy of Brother Solin? Why is this? Is Brother Solin not only a man of the north but also of the cloth? He maintained that he was on a mission for the Faith.’

‘A mission for the Devil!’ snapped Ibor. Then he leaned forward, his voice grave. ‘Surely you know something about the dissensions among the kings of the north? You have been to Tara and you have also been to Armagh.’

‘Is it a coincidence that Brother Solin once asked me this very same question? I have been to Tara and I have been to Armagh but I was not privy to any internal disputes there.’

Ibor sat back.

‘I will explain the divisions as simply as I can. First you must know that I am an emissary of the High King, Sechnassuch. As you know, he is of the southern Uí Néill, of the seed of Aedo Slaine. Here is his royal seal as proof of my word.’ He reached beneath his shirt and brought out a gold seal on a golden chain and held it out for her inspection. ‘You have been to Tara and know it well.’

Fidelma glanced at the gold medallion. On it was stamped a regal upright hand symbolising the duty of the king to reach out his hand to protect his people, for in ancient times it was said that both words rí for king and reach were the same. Fidelma recognised the seal of the Uí Néill immediately.

‘Go on,’ she invited. ‘Tell us your story.’

‘Brother Solin was secretary to Ultan of Armagh.’

‘That I know,’ Fidelma said, a trifle impatiently.

‘Ultan has secretly sworn to support the claims of the dynasty of the northern Uí Néill, the kings who sit at Ailech.’

Fidelma had never had dealings with the northern Uí Néill kingdom. She only knew that Ailech was a fortress city in the extreme north-west of the country where the king was currently Mael Dúin, who also claimed descent from the great High King, Niall of the Nine Hostages.

‘Your man said that the torc was made in Ailech,’ she observed quietly.

Ibor nodded.

‘There is little love lost between the two dynasties of the Uí Néill, northern and southern,’ he explained. ‘Mael Dúin is not the first king of the northern Uí Néill line to argue that his dynasty are the true heirs of the kingship of all the north, and not only the kingship of Ulaidh but he claims the right to the High Kingship at Tara. He further claims that the High Kingship should not be a matter of conferred honour among the provincial kings but a reality and that the High King should have a real power over all the five kingdoms of Éireann.’

Fidelma examined him suspiciously.

‘And what does Sechnassuch say to this?’

‘You have met Sechnassuch,’ Ibor replied. ‘His principle is the law. He is king of the southern Uí Néill of Tara and acknowledges the courtesy accorded by the laws of the Míadslechta of being High King. But as the Míadslechta says — why are the provincial kings greater than the High King?’

‘Because they appoint and ordain the High King,’ interrupted Fidelma quoting the text, ‘the High King does not ordain the provincial kings.’

Ibor nodded appreciatively at her knowledge.

‘You are correct, dálaigh of Cashel. Sechnassuch would give his entire honour price of fourteen cumals in forfeit if he ever broke this law.’

‘Is there any likelihood of him doing so?’

‘Not while he is alive. But this cannot be said of the northern Uí Néill; nor of Mael Dúin of Ailech. He has ambition. And that ambition has grown since he went on a pilgrimage to Rome before he took the crown of Ailech.’

‘How so? What has a pilgrimage to Rome to do with this matter?’

‘He saw the greatness of Rome and became enamoured of the Roman path of the Faith. He went to a Roman-trained confessor and priest who taught him about the great temporal empires and the peoples who fell under the suzerainty of the emperors of Rome.’

‘There are several in the five kingdoms who have already accepted allegiance to Rome,’ observed Fidelma. ‘Allegiance to Rome is surely a matter of individual conscience? My companion, Eadulf, bears allegiance to the Roman ways, unlike myself being committed to the Church of Colmcille. We do not fight but we discuss in fruitful amity.’

‘Fair enough, Fidelma of Cashel. Each to his own path. But when one is forced along a path one does not wish to take, then there is dissension in the land.’

‘This Mael Dúin believes, then, in forcing his beliefs on others?’

‘That he does. And he does so in two ways. Firstly with his religion and secondly he has been fired to create in this island the feudal empire of the type which he has learned about in Rome, a central kingdom ruled by one emperor. And he wants that emperor to be himself.’

Fidelma let out a soft breath.

‘I begin to see where you are leading us. Mael Dúin of Ailech wishes to firstly subsume the southern Uí Néill to his kingdom of Ailech. Then he wishes to claim the High Kingship and turn it from an honour alternated between the provincial kings into a single dynasty which will maintain a supreme authority over all of the five kingdoms in the manner of the Roman emperors?’

‘That is exactly what he proposes,’ confirmed Ibor.

‘Then the kings of the provinces must be warned against Mael Dúin’s ambitions. They would never stand for such a usurpation of law and morality.’

‘But there is something further.’

‘What more can there be?’ Fidelma’s expression was grim.

‘Mael Dúin has, as I say, won the support of Ultan of Armagh.’

‘I knew that Ultan has long been in favour of adopting the rules of Rome in our Church and prefers to use the title of archiepiskopos instead of Comarb. Indeed, many have, out of courtesy referred to him as such. Even I myself. I know he would wish to reorganise our Church on the model Rome has provided but not even Ultan can believe that he can change our law of kingship.’

‘Why not? If Mael Dúin of Ailech thinks he can, so can Ultan. If Mael Dúin can create a powerful High Kingship at Tara which favours Roman rite and organisation, then Armagh will also prosper being within the puruchia of the High King. Ultan plans to become the head of the Faith in Ireland just as Mael Dúin plans to become a High King with real central power.’

Fidelma was troubled as she contemplated the enormity of Ibor’s revelation.

‘This explains much of what Brother Solin was boasting about. So then Ultan will use the powerful centralised authority of Mael Dúin to exert the authority of Armagh over all other Churches of the five kingdoms?’

‘Just so.’

Eadulf intervened for the first time.

‘One thing you forget,’ he said quietly. ‘Even if this king of Ailech overcomes the southern Uí Néill, he could not be in power in Tara for long. Cashel, supported by Imleach, would be among the first to challenge such preposterous claims.’

Ibor glanced at him almost sadly.

‘So therefore Imleach and Cashel would have to be made weak,’ he pointed out.

Fidelma jerked her head up quickly; her flashing eyes sought those of Ibor.

‘You have news of such a plot?’

‘The plot has already begun here in Gleann Geis,’ he replied. ‘It is Mael Dúin and Ultan who are behind it. If the northern Uí Néill move in force then the southern Uí Néill might not long delay them. There are too many ties of kinship and blood for a serious contention between Mael Dúin and Sechnassuch. Once that happens …’ Ibor threw out his arms in a gesture of resignation.

‘But Cashel would not allow it to happen,’ Fidelma vowed. ‘Wishing Cashel to be weak does not make it so.’

‘True. It has to be made so. Cashel represents the biggest barrier to the northern Uí Néill’s ambition to take over the High Kingship. Mael Dúin has been probing for Cashel’s weakness for a while now. And where is Cashel’s greatest weakness?’

Fidelma paused for a moment’s reflection.

‘Why, among the Uí Fidgente in north-west Muman,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘And among the clans west of the Shannon. They have been the most restless clans of Muman. The Uí Fidgente have tried many times to overthrow the kings of Cashel and split the kingdom.’

‘There is the weakness of Muman — the Uí Fidgente,’ Ibor declared like a schoolmaster summing up his lesson.

‘So Brother Solin was sent here to create new dissensions between the Uí Fidgente and the Eóghanacht of Cashel? Is that what you are saying?’ Eadulf asked.

‘He was sent as Ultan’s agent and through Ultan as an emissary of Mael Dúin.’

‘And why were you sent here? To kill Brother Solin?’

‘No. I told you that I had no hand in his death. I did not kill him. But I was sent to discover the details of Mael Dúin’s plot.’

Fidelma was finding difficulty encompassing the fiendishness of what the lord of Muirthemne was revealing. She looked at Ibor directly.

‘What of the slaughter of the young men? The ritual killing?’

‘You have a reputation for working out puzzles. You came as an emissary from Cashel and Imleach and stumbled across what you thought to be a ritual killing. Who would stand to gain had you reacted as you were supposed to react?’

She stared at him in incomprehension for a moment.

‘How was I supposed to react?’ she asked uncertainly.

‘Those responsible for the slaughter simply knew that a religieuse was due to arrive at Gleann Geis. The ritual slaughter was arranged by them in the belief that such a religieuse would understand the pagan symbolism in it and then see nothing further.’

Fidelma began to understand.

‘They thought that the religieuse would panic and go riding back to Cashel and call for a religious war to exterminate the barbarians of Gleann Geis for having perpetrated such a crime?’

‘Exactly so,’ Ibor agreed. ‘Cashel would come down with all its might and fury on Gleann Geis to seek retribution. Gleann Geis would be protesting its innocence and indeed some evidence would be placed in the hands of the friends of Gleann Geis to indicate that it was Cashel’s own hand in the slaughter. The surrounding clans would be told that Cashel was the evil doer and had used the slaughter as a justification to annihilate Gleann Geis. Indignant, the clans would also rise up in support of Gleann Geis. The Uí Fidgente would be persuaded, and not with difficulty,to also rise once more against Cashel. Civil war would split the land.’

‘But most clans in this kingdom would support Cashel,’ Eadulf pointed out.

‘Possibly. But the northern Uí Néill, expressing themselves appalled by such acts,’ went on Ibor, ‘would then encourage and supply its allies to march on Cashel. Once Cashel had been destroyed, Mael Dúin would begin the process of obtaining the High Kingship and exert its will over all the kingdoms. With the Eóghanacht of Cashel destroyed, there would be no one to challenge the Uí Néill.’

Fidelma was incredulous. But she realised the grim logic of what Ibor was saying.

‘And all this might well have happened,’ she murmured.

She did not have to glance at Eadulf to make the Saxon feel uncomfortable. The Saxon lowered his head when he remembered his advice to her on the finding of the bodies and the realisation of what they symbolised. He had a feeling of growing horror.

‘Do I understand you correctly?’ he asked Ibor. ‘The slaughter of those thirty-three young men was carried out for no more reason than for our benefit? That it was a grotesque charade the purpose of which was to make us return in panic to Cashel and call for a holy war against the pagans of Gleann Geis?’

Ibor regarded the Saxon with some solemn amusement.

‘That is precisely what I have explained.’

‘And these sons of Satan were watching us all the time,’ Eadulf muttered reflectively. ‘Do you remember,’ he turned to Fidelma, ‘that we saw the sun flash on metal as we climbed to that valley? We were being watched. They must have watched our approach and knowing the path by which we were entering Gleann Geis they then arranged their terrible show along the course which we were taking, assured that we would see the bodies.’

Ibor of Muirthemne smiled grimly at Fidelma.

‘A war such as they planned might have happened had you reacted in the manner that was expected of you. But, God be praised, you did not. You kept your head and went on into Gleann Geis in search of the truth.’

There was a silence as they reflected on the quirk of fate which had prevented this carefully laid plot from coming to its hoped for fruition.

‘Sechnassuch once told me that you were an individualist, Fidelma,’ Ibor continued appreciatively. ‘Sechnassuch claimed that you were a rebel against the conservative ways of doing things.’

‘It was a plot that was well thought out,’ she admitted. ‘But, Ibor, you have not told us who was responsible for that slaughter?’

Ibor replied without hesitation.

‘Warriors from Ailech itself. Chosen men from Mael Dúin’s own bodyguard, with sworn allegiance to him and no one else.’

‘Did you witness this slaughter?’ demanded Eadulf.

‘No; we did not witness it otherwise we would have done our best to prevent it,’ Ibor replied quietly.

‘How then do you know that it was men of Ailech who did the deed?’ pressed Eadulf.

‘Easy enough. Our small band, there are twenty warriors and myself, were following Brother Solin and Brother Dianach. We knew that they would lead us to the substance of Mael Dúin’s plot. We followed them from Armagh on their journey south for many days. Then Brother Solin met up with a strange cavalcade. There was a band of warriors from Ailech. They were escorting the column of prisoners. Each man of them was …’

‘Shackled in leg-irons?’ interrupted Fidelma.

‘How did you know?’ Ibor asked. ‘I saw the bodies after the slaughter and the men of Ailech had removed all signs of identification; leg-irons, clothes, anything which might have identified the perpetrators of the deed.’

‘I saw the chaffing and scars left by the irons on the ankles of the slaughtered. I also saw the soles of their feet. They were covered with blisters and abrasions. That told me that the men had been forced to walk a long distance.’

The lord of Muirthemne did not seem astonished by her deductions.

‘They had, indeed, marched all the way from Ailech. May the place now be cursed. They must have been special hostages rounded up by the tyrant, Mael Dúin, and marched south specifically for the purpose of this appalling crime. With the warriors were men on foot controlling several large hounds, presumably as a precaution against escape. An interesting thing, which puzzled me at the time, was that this strange procession was followed by two empty carts, large farm carts used for transporting hay.’

‘Ah yes.’ Fidelma nodded. ‘The carts. I would have expected them to be there. What exactly happened at this rendezvous which you witnessed?’

‘Brother Solin and the commander of warriors from Ailech greeted each other in friendly fashion and they camped together for a day before Solin continued on with Brother Dianach …’

‘Did you identify the commander of these warriors?’ interrupted Eadulf.

‘Not by name, although I do not doubt that we will find him in Mael Dúin’s shadow. One person with these warriors I can tell you more about …’

He paused, obviously to make a better impact but when he saw Fidelma’s irritation he hurried on.

‘There was a woman who rode into their camp. She was obviously expected and greeted with courtesy. I have seen such a woman in Gleann Geis. A slender woman of commanding appearance.’

Fidelma raised her head with a satisfied smile.

‘Was it Orla, sister of Laisre?’

‘I can think of no other woman in Gleann Geis who bears resemblance to the person I saw meeting with the men of Ailech and with Brother Solin,’ replied Ibor gravely.