Valley of the Shadow

Chapter Eight

A horn blast shattered the air.

‘That is the signal for the start of the council,’ Fidelma advised Eadulf. ‘Put those leaves away and let us make our attendance.’

Eadulf groaned loudly.

‘I do not think I can last out such a meeting,’ he protested. ‘I swear I feel like death.’

‘You may die after the council,’ she replied cheerfully. Unwillingly, Eadulf followed her towards the chieftain’s building in the ráth.

Several people were moving towards it but they stood aside to allow Fidelma and Eadulf to enter first. In the antechamber, the tall, fair-haired warrior, Rudgal, was waiting for them. As they entered, he moved towards them and saluted Fidelma solemnly.

‘Please accompany me, Sister.’ Then, after a moment, he added: ‘You, also, Brother.’

He led them through the door into the council chamber where Laisre was already seated on his chair of office. The signs of the feasting of the previous night had been cleared away and a semi-circle of chairs had been arranged before Laisre. To the chieftain’s right was an empty seat where the tanist should have sat. Clearly Colla had already departed on his errand of investigation. Behind Colla’s empty chair was seated Orla but there was no sign of her daughter, Esnad.

To the left was a seat with Murgal sprawled on it. He looked as bad as Eadulf felt with red-rimmed eyes and pale face. There was still an angry red mark on his cheek. Behind him was a small table at which the elderly scribe, Mel, with whom Eadulf had spoken the previous evening, sat ready with his stylus and clay writing tablets.

Fidelma was shown to a chair in the centre of the semi-circle. A chair had also been placed for Eadulf, just to one side of Fidelma’s seat. Behind, Brother Solin and Brother Dianach were seated. The other chairs were filled with the lesser dignitaries of Gleann Geis while behind them, pressing around, some of the people of thevalley were crowded to hear what their chieftain would negotiate with the representative of the distant king of Cashel. The hubbub was loud and it was not until the horn blasted again that the noise eventually died away.

Murgal rose slowly to his feet.

‘The council is now in session and, as Druid and Brehon to my chieftain, it is my right to speak first.’

Eadulf started in surprise at the man’s discourtesy when he declared that he should speak before his chieftain. Fidelma, seeing Eadulf s concern, leant towards him and whispered: ‘It is his right under the law, Eadulf. A Druid may speak before a king.’

Murgal apparently did not notice this exchange for he moved to the side of Laisre’s chair of office.

‘You will know that I am opposed to this negotiation. Let my objection be recorded.’

He glanced to Laisre who nodded and added for the benefit of Mel, the scribe: ‘So it is said, so let it be written.’ He turned back to Murgal and indicated that he should continue.

‘Laisre’s ancestors ruled us well. They kept us from outside harm over the years, refusing to have anything to do with those who looked enviously at our pleasant valley. It is a rich fertile valley. Uncorrupted. Why? Because we have forbidden this valley to those who would bring changes from outside. Three years have passed since we accepted Laisre as our chieftain, for his derbfhine elected him in due manner to be the head of his household and made him lord over us.

‘But now my chieftain has seen fit to send to Cashel and ask for an embassy for the purpose of discussing the establishment of an alien religion in our land.’

In spite of his feeling of indisposition, Eadulf felt he could not let the matter pass without protest.

‘A religion that all the kings of Éireann have accepted and which has been freely practised for over two centuries in the five kingdoms.’ He was sarcastic, unable to keep his annoyance under control. ‘Foreign religion, indeed!’

There was a gasp of horror from the assembly and even Fidelma looked uncomfortable. Murgal had turned in annoyance to Laisre. He was about to open his mouth but the chieftain stayed him with an upraised hand. Laisre leaned forward in his chair and addressed himself to Eadulf directly.

‘I shall overlook your outburst this time, Saxon, because you are a stranger in this land and do not know its ways sufficiently to curb your tongue. You do not have the right to speak at this council. Itis only that you travel as a companion with Fidelma of Cashel that you are even allowed to sit in this chamber. Even if you had the right to speak you may not interrupt the opening addresses. Only when the opening arguments have been placed will the accredited delegates debate their worthiness.’

Eadulf flushed with mortification and sank down into his chair. Fidelma was glaring at him in disapproval.

Murgal smiled triumphantly and continued.

‘We have seen what this alien religion brings. Strangers from over the water who do not know our ways or customs and who would dictate to us. Strangers who insult our procedures so that they have to be rebuked.’

Eadulf ground his teeth at the way Murgal had seized on his lack of knowledge about protocol to strengthen his argument.

‘Our brethren outside of the protection of these mountains may well have succumbed to the foreign teachings. It does not make it right nor is it an argument that we must also accept this religion. I say it must be rejected and our mountain barriers used to exclude its pernicious teachings. That is my position as Druid, Brehon and advisor to the chieftain of Gleann Geis.’

Murgal sat down amidst the many mutterings of approval from the people in the chamber.

Laisre nodded to the horn player who let out another blast to silence the chamber.

‘Murgal has a right to speak before all others. It is my right to speak next. I am, like Murgal, an adherent of the true deities of our people, the gods and goddesses whom our forefathers worshipped and who have protected us since time began. But my duty as chieftain is to extend the hand of protection to all the people of this clan. Before I sent to the bishop of Imleach to suggest that we could negotiate a settlement for those of this clan who have adopted the ways of the new Faith, I pondered the matter carefully. I decided that he could send someone to discuss how best we could reach such an agreement. Imleach has long wanted to build a Christian church and a school in our valley.

‘But I am a pragmatist. Because many of our people have married outside of this valley, we have to accept some of us now believe in this new Faith. Some have tried to hide that fact because they think it will displease me. In truth, it does make me unhappy. I will not deny it. Suppress the new Faith was one argument that I was counselled. But the people of Gleann Geis are my children.’

Murgal looked defiantly at him but he kept silent. Laisre paused a moment to reflect and then continued.

‘That would have been a short-sighted policy, for what one prohibits becomes something that is eagerly sought after. So rather than give sustenance to those who would worship the new Faith, I now say give it freedom and let it wither naturally.’

Another outburst of low muttering followed Laisre’s speech.

Fidelma, looking slightly puzzled, stood up.

‘I am here not to argue for the new Faith or against the old Faith. I am here as an envoy of Cashel to negotiate with you on matters which I had been informed your mind was already agreed upon.’

To Eadulf’s surprise, she sat down. The brevity of her statement even surprised Laisre who looked disconcerted.

‘Surely you would want to make some argument for your Faith?’ he faltered.

Even Murgal was looking nonplussed.

‘Perhaps she has no arguments?’ he sneered.

Eadulf leaned forward.

‘You can’t let these pagans denigrate the Faith,’ he whispered. He used the Irish term pagánach.

Murgal had good hearing.

‘Did I hear the Christian Saxon call us pagans?’ he cried out in a loud voice.

Eadulf was about to reply when he remembered the proscription against speaking. He said nothing.

‘Let him confirm that he called us pagan, lord,’ urged Murgal.

‘Your hearing is as good as anyone’s,’ Laisre replied. ‘It is the term that those of the new Faith often call us.’

‘I know it,’ affirmed Murgal. ‘And the very word pagánach is not even a word in the language of the children of Eireann. What better proof of their alien philosophy is this use of that word?’

‘We do not seek to argue that pagánach is a word now adopted into our language,’ intervened Brother Solin wheezily. ‘It is from the Latin paganus.’

Murgal was smiling broadly.

‘Exactly! Even in Latin it describes correctly what I am — a person of the country, pagus — as opposed to the milites or the soldiers who march through the country devastating it. You Christians are proud to call yourselves milites, enrolled soldiers of Christ, and look down on the civilians or paganus who you would trample on. I am proud to be called pagan! It is an honourable estate.’

Fidelma had known that Murgal was a clever man but she wassurprised that he had such a knowledge of Latin. She rose to her feet once more.

‘I repeat, I am not here to discuss theology. I am here only to discuss how best we might agree a practical matter.’

Orla rose abruptly from behind Colla’s empty chair. She was clearly enjoying the argument.

‘If my husband were here, he would challenge this representative of Cashel. But I have a right to speak at this council not only in my husband’s stead but as the sister of the chieftain.’

‘Let Orla speak!’ came a cry which gathered momentum from the seated dignitaries and those standing behind them.

Laisre motioned his sister, Orla, forward.

‘There is no secret that I and Colla, my husband, have disagreed with Laisre, my brother. He has refused Imleach’s attempt to bring Christianity to this valley for years and now he has invited members of the Faith to bring their alien teachings here. My brother, Laisre, is foolish if he thinks that allowing this new Faith to be practised here would see a swift destruction of it. Look at the position of this Faith throughout the five kingdoms. Two centuries ago Laoghaire of Tara took such a view that there was always room for another religion in the land and that suppressing it would merely make it breed faster. He allowed the followers of the Briton, Patrick, to have freedom to worship their God. Two centuries later there are only a few tiny outposts in the five kingdoms where we still follow the gods of our ancestors. The new religion dominates everywhere. Give it breathing space and it will choke the rest of us.’

There was a banging of feet and applause as Orla resumed her seat.

To Fidelma’s irritation, Brother Solin had risen to his feet.

‘Since Fidelma of Cashel will not debate with you, I, as representative of the Comarb of Patrick, who sits in Armagh, feel that I should take up the challenge she discards so lightly. I ask your indulgence to address this council.’

Fidelma’s face had taken on a stony look and she was staring straight ahead. Her mind was working rapidly. This was not the negotiation that she had been expecting. No one had given her any indication that this was to be a debate on theology in which her task was to seek proselytes. She felt that she was being manoeuvred into a debate as a distraction. But why?

Laisre asked Brother Solin to stand forward and invited him to speak.

Brother Solin shot a glance of triumph at Fidelma.

‘What is it that you fear about the religion of Christ?’ he demanded looking at Murgal.

‘Simply, that it destroys the old.’

‘And is that a bad thing?’

Murgal smiled threateningly.

‘We worship the ancient gods and goddesses who are the Ever Lasting Ones. Your Christ was executed and died. Was he therefore a powerful warrior? Did he have thousands defending him? No, he was a lowly carpenter who, irony of ironies, died on a tree!’

Murgal looked around him with a self-satisfied grin and added: ‘You see, I have studied some of this religion of Christ.’

Brother Solin had reddened at the gibe.

‘It was so ordained that the Christ, who was the Son of God, should die to bring peace to the world. God so loves this world, we are told, that he gave his only son to die for it.’

‘Such a god,’ sneered Murgal. ‘He had to kill his own son to show love! Was he jealous of his son? Your God’s son is as poor as his father!’

Brother Solin began to choke angrily.

‘How dare you …?’

‘Loss of temper is no argument.’ Clearly, Murgal was enjoying himself. ‘Tell us what your God taught? We would like to hear. Was he a strong god? Did he teach resistance to those who would enslave people? Did he teach self-reliance or the practice of what is good and just? Did he teach resistance to those who do wrong? No, for I have heard it with my own ears. He taught poverty of spirit. It is written in your sacred texts — “Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven”. Your God’s heaven is not the Otherworld where justice, morality and manly self-reliance are rewarded in the hall of the heroes who sit with the Ever Living Ones.

‘Indeed, your God taught that if someone struck a man on one cheek, that person should offer the other cheek to be struck, thus courting further injury and oppression and inviting wrong doing. Surely the Brehons teach that those who court oppression share the crime? When men are poor in spirit then the proud and haughty in spirit oppress them. When men are true in spirit and determined to prevent wrong then the people benefit. Do you not agree with that, Brother Solin?’

Brother Solin was furious. His anger made him look pitiful and inarticulate in front of the assembly. Fidelma had already assessed that it needed a finer intellect than Brother Solin to do battle with glib-tongued Murgal. She shook her head slightly and whispered across to Eadulf: ‘The triads of Éireann say three laughing stocksof the world — a jealous man, a parsimonious man and an angry man. Brother Solin has walked directly into the trap that Murgal has prepared.’

Brother Solin was continuing on, unaware of the impression he was giving.

‘The Christ said — “Blessed are you that weep now, for you shall laugh. Blessed are you that mourn, for you shall be comforted and Blessed be you poor for yours is the kingdom of heaven.”’

‘Nice promises but only to be fulfilled in the Otherworld,’ sneered Murgal. ‘But it is poor teaching for this world. Poverty of person leads on from poverty of spirit. This religion was obviously conceived by a tyrant who wanted to see the poor continue in their poverty while he grew rich and fat on their misery.’

‘Not so, not so …’ cried Brother Solin losing all attempt at composure.

Fidelma stood up abruptly.

She said not a word but the very fact of her rising and her silence caused every voice to fade so that silence gradually permeated the room. She waited until it was so encompassing that even the smallest whisper could be heard.

‘I was misinformed,’ she began softly. ‘I was told that this was to be a negotiation on practical matters. Not a theological debate. Should you have required representatives to discuss theology then you should have told the bishop of Imleach who would have sent you scholars who would match your scholars. I am but a simple servant of the law of this land. I shall commence my journey home to Cashel this afternoon and I shall take back the message that the chieftain of Gleann Geis has been unable to make a decision on this matter. Cashel will not send anyone to Gleann Geis again until it is assured that a decision has been made.’

As she turned, Eadulf rose unsteadily, groaning inwardly at the very idea of commencing such a journey in his condition.

‘An admission of defeat?’ cried Murgal. ‘Do you admit that Christians cannot argue logic with a Druid?’

Fidelma halted and looked in his direction.

‘You are acquainted, I suppose, with the triads of Eireann?’

‘A poor Brehon I would be if I was not,’ replied Murgal complacently.

‘Three candles that illuminate every darkness: truth, nature and knowledge,’ she quoted and then turned away towards the door.

This time she did not even stop when she heard Laisre’s voice call out to her to do so.

The warrior, Rudgal, looking uncomfortable, barred the doorwayas she reached it, resting his hand lightly on his sword hilt. He looked apologetic.

‘My chieftain calls on you to stay, Sister,’ he muttered. ‘He has to be obeyed.’

He was taken aback by the green fire that danced in Fidelma’s eyes.

‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, princess of the Eóghanacht. I stay for no one!’

How she did it not even Eadulf knew but her sheer presence caused Rudgal to fall back a pace and she had swept through the door and out into the courtyard. She did not pause to see if Eadulf was following but walked quickly across the courtyard of the ráth to the guests’ hostel. Inside she made straight for a pitcher of water and poured herself a drink.

Eadulf hastened in after her and closed the door. He looked at her nervously but found that her face was creased with laughter. He shook his head in bewilderment.

‘I do not understand.’

Fidelma was good humoured.

‘Whether this was Laisre’s design or not, this council was a charade. It was set up either to waste time or to distract us from the business we were sent here to conduct. What I have to decide is why and who is responsible. And, further, was that idiot Brother Solin part of this deception?’

‘I still do not understand.’

‘Instead of getting down to the business we were meant to arrange, Murgal deliberately tried to lead us into the time-wasting morass of arguing our differing philosophies. If I had accepted that as the starting point, we would have been arguing here for weeks. Why? What purpose would that serve? The only thing to do was to take the stand I did and to call their bluff.’

‘Will their bluff be called?’ demanded Eadulf.

There came the sound of voices growing nearer.

Eadulf glanced out of the window.

‘It is Brother Solin and his scribe. He does not look in a good mood.’

A moment later Brother Solin burst into the room; his face was still red with mortification.

‘Little you did to support me in spreading the Faith,’ he snapped at Fidelma without preamble. ‘All you have done is insult our hosts and deny any means whereby we might arrange to bring the Faith to this valley.’

‘It is not my task to support you in theological debate,’ Fidelmareturned, causing Solin to blink at her sharpness. If he had expected her to acquiesce to his dominance, he had quickly learnt. She turned to Eadulf. ‘Go and saddle our horses and I shall be along directly. I’ll pack and bring our bags.’

Reluctantly, Eadulf departed on his mission.

Brother Solin looked aghast.

‘You mean to go through with it? You cannot leave here now!’

She regarded him coldly.

‘Who will stop me? And what business is it to you?’

‘You mean to leave here, having insulted the chieftain and his council in such a manner?’

‘The chieftain and his council have insulted me by not discussing the business that had been arranged.’

Brother Solin spread his hands in helpless agitation.

‘But surely there must be give and take to everything? These people want assurances about the Faith and it is our moral duty to give them those assurances. To each, something of the Faith and …’

‘Poor Brother Solin,’ Fidelma said with a harshness in her voice that belied her solicitude. ‘You do not see, or do not wish to, that you were being manipulated into an unending debate, wasting time in arguing small points of theology. I am unsure if you be knave or fool. Why do you wish to waste time which might elsewhere be spent profitably? Did you really think that this was the opportune moment to attempt to convert Murgal and his followers to the Faith? You should have remembered the wise saying fere libenter homines quod volunt credunt — men usually believe what they want to believe.’

‘I do not know what you mean,’ Brother Solin said defensively.

She examined his features carefully.

‘Perhaps, perhaps not. I would not like to think that you knowingly played a part in this distraction.’

She turned and ran up the stairs and picked up her saddle bags and then gathered Eadulf’s from his room. Then she returned to the main room.

‘Perhaps our paths may cross again, Brother Solin, but I shall not wish that day will come speedily,’ she said icily and, before he could reply, she had left the hostel and crossed towards the stables.

Eadulf was waiting with their mounts. He looked pale and was clearly not in the best of health. Fidelma felt sorry for him but all depended on what she did now.

‘What do we do?’ he muttered. ‘We are being watched by a group at the council chamber door.’

‘Then we shall depart exactly as we said.’

Fidelma swung up on her horse. Eadulf followed her example and Fidelma led the way to the gates of the ráth. The warriors standing there watched them, nervously glancing towards the door of the council chamber, unsure of what they should do. They finally moved aside and let Fidelma and Eadulf through.

Outside Eadulf groaned.

‘I will not be able to ride far without a rest, Fidelma. I am still ill with the bad wine.’

‘You will not have to,’ she assured him.

‘I wish you would tell me what exactly you have in mind,’ he grumbled.

‘Exactly? That I cannot. For I might have to change my plan as minute passes minute.’

Eadulf stifled another groan. He would do anything for an hour on a bed. Even half an hour.

‘Then you do have a plan?’ he asked hopefully.

‘Of course. Shall I wager a screpall to a sicuil with you? You see the cluster of houses by the river fork?’

Eadulf glanced ahead and answered in the affirmative.

‘That is the very place where Brother Solin said he walked early this morning,’ Fidelma went on. ‘Well, my wager is that by the time we get there we shall be overtaken by a rider from the ráth who will beg us, in the name of Laisre, to return and crave our forgiveness for the events of this forenoon.’

‘Knowing you, Fidelma,’ sniffed Eadulf, with resignation, ‘I am not likely to take your wager. But at times I wish we could follow some easier path.’

It was Laisre himself who caught up with them just before they reached the wooden bridge which crossed the river to the group of buildings forming the closest settlement to the ráth. The chieftain of Gleann Geis looked suitably chastened.

‘Fidelma of Cashel, I apologise. It was my fault for letting the council get out of hand.’

They had stopped their horses before the bridge and sat astride them facing one another.

Fidelma did not reply.

‘You were right, Fidelma,’ pressed Laisre. ‘You did not come hither to engage in a discourse about philosophy but to discuss some practical arrangements. It was Murgal who allowed his hostility to sweep him away into such …’

Fidelma held up a hand.

‘Are you saying that you wish the council to reconvene to discuss the practical matter?’

‘Of course,’ Laisre agreed at once.

‘Your Druid and council do not seem to be in accord with you on this matter of allowing a Christian church to be built in this valley.’

‘Come back and you shall see.’ Laisre was almost pleading.

‘If I return …’ Fidelma paused significantly. ‘If I return, there would have to be conditions governing this matter.’

Laisre’s expression changed to one of suspicion.

‘What conditions?’ he demanded.

‘Your council will have to meet and make a decision before I enter into any discourse with you; decide, that is, whether you want this church and school or not. If the answer is negative, as it seems to be at this time, then I shall return to Cashel without further waste of my time. If the answer is affirmative, then we can deal with the practical matters. But that negotiation will now be between you and I and no other member of your council. I do not want to provide a theatre for Murgal to display his abilities as play-actor.’

Laisre raised his eyebrows.

‘Is that how you see Murgal?’ he demanded in surprise.

‘Can it be that you do not?’ she retorted.

Laisre looked pained for a moment and then, abruptly, he started to laugh heartily. Finally he shook his head.

‘There is something in what you say, Fidelma. I admit it. But do not underestimate his serious intent.’

‘No,’ replied Fidelma quietly. ‘That I do not.’

‘Then you will agree to return? I cannot guarantee that Murgal will apologise to you.’

‘I do not ask that he does. All I ask is that whatever discussion your council wants to hold on this matter, it does so before I start to discuss practical arrangements with you.’

‘You have my word.’ Laisre thrust out a hand. ‘My hand on it, Fidelma of Cashel.’

Fidelma glanced closely at him but did not take it.

‘Before we conclude, and as we speak in honesty, Laisre, what is Brother Solin of Armagh doing here?’

Laisre looked startled.

‘I thought he was here at your behest? He came bearing gifts from Armagh.’

‘My behest?’ Fidelma controlled herself. ‘Is that what he has told you?’

‘No, but he is of your Faith. I suppose that I presumed …’ He shrugged. ‘Then all I know is that he is a traveller who sought our hospitality. We do not deny him that on grounds that he is of a different faith.’

It was only then that she accepted Laisre’s hand.

‘I accept your word, Laisre. Eadulf and I will return, shortly.’

Laisre appeared puzzled.

‘You will not ride back with me now?’

‘We want to look around your pleasant valley a while. We shall return soon.’

Laisre hesitated and then shrugged.

‘Very well. Thank you for agreeing.’ He nudged his horse and went back in the direction of the ráth at a canter.

Eadulf looked wistfully after him.

‘I could have gone back to sleep for a while,’ he moaned. ‘I do not see the purpose in these games, Fidelma.’

‘It is called diplomacy, Eadulf,’ grinned his companion. ‘The problem is that I do not know who is representing whom. Now let us see if this group of houses will reveal the information I want to know.’

They rode across the bridge into a tiny square surrounded by half-a-dozen homesteads. The largest was a sizable farmhouse. The others appeared to be no more than cabins which could belong either to people with small fields to work or the workers on the larger farm.

A large, red-faced woman was standing leaning against the door of the big farmstead watching their approach with unconcealed curiosity. Fidelma had noticed her immediately they had paused by the bridge to talk with Laisre. The woman looked a typical farmer’s wife, she was thick-set with muscular arms, ready to do a day’s work in the fields. She had been studying them carefully and with a degree of hostility on her features.

‘Health on you, good woman,’ greeted Fidelma.

‘My man is at the council,’ snapped the woman in an unfriendly tone. ‘He is Ronan and he is lord of this place.’

‘I am come from the council myself.’

‘I know who you are.’

‘Good.’ Fidelma swung herself down from her horse. ‘Then I do not have to explain.’

The woman scowled discouragingly.

‘I told you that my man was away.’

‘It was not your man that I came to see. You say you know who I am. Good. What is your name?’

The woman looked suspicious.

‘Bairsech. Why do you want to know? What is it you want?’

‘To talk, that is all, Bairsech. Do you have many people living in this settlement?’

‘Twice twenty,’ the woman replied indifferently.

‘Did you have a visitor last night?’

‘A visitor? We had several. My man was at the feasting, as was his right, and three cousins stayed with us, having come down the valley to attend. It is a long journey back at night, especially when one has drink taken.’

Fidelma smiled, trying to put the still hostile woman at ease.

‘You are wise, Bairsech. But were there any other visitors, other than your cousins, that stayed here? I mean,’ she decided to be explicit, ‘a thick-set man who is currently a guest at the ráth.’

The woman’s eyes narrowed.

‘Thick-set? A man with his head cut in that ridiculous manner which your companion wears?’

Eadulf flushed in irritation at the reference to his tonsure but kept silent.

‘The same.’

‘A man in fine clothes? Oh yes, he was here. I saw him leaving this morning when I was up to milk the cows, leaving my man still snoring abed. Yes. He was here.’

‘Does he know your man, then — know Ronan?’

‘I said he was here in the settlement. He was not staying with our household.’

She jerked her head towards a small building set apart from the others with its own stable and an adjacent field in which half-a-dozen cattle were grazing peacefully.

‘That is where he stayed.’

Fidelma turned to gaze upon the small building with interest.

‘And who dwells there?’

‘A woman of the flesh,’ replied the other disapprovingly. It was a euphemism for a prostitute.

Fidelma’s eyes widened in astonishment. She had not expected a prostitute to be dwelling in this isolated valley, let alone in such a small hamlet.

‘And does she have a name, this woman of the flesh?’

‘She is called Nemon.’

‘Nemon? An inappropriate name for one of her calling it would seem.’

Nemon was the name of one of the ancient war goddesses. It meant ‘battle-fury’.

‘I spit on the name,’ the burly woman suited the word to the action, ‘I have told my man that she should be driven away from here. Yet the farmstead is her property and she is under the protection of Murgal.’

‘She is? And you say that the man I described stayed with her last night?’

‘I did.’

‘Then we will go and see what Nemon has to say about this. Thank you, Bairsech, for your time and courtesy.’

They left the woman still scowling in suspicion after them.

Eadulf had slid off his horse by now and together they walked across the settlement, leading their horses.

‘Who would have thought our pious brother from the north was a frequenter of women of the flesh,’ he chuckled.

‘We do not know that for sure,’ Fidelma reproved him. ‘All we know is that he did not return to the guests’ hostel and appears to have stayed the night at the house of a prostitute. It does not imply that he is a frequenter of such places. The fact that this Nemon is under the protection of Murgal is a more interesting aspect of this affair.’

They walked up to the door of the cabin and tapped upon its oak wood panels.

A moment later it opened and a woman stood regarding them with the same hostility on her features as that of the farmer’s wife.

She was a fleshy woman, in her fourth decade of life, with straw-coloured hair and ruddy features. Her face was heavy with make-up, the eyebrows dyed with berry juice and her lips crimsoned. She had been attractive once; but that must have been some years ago and now she had a voluptuousness that was gross rather than alluring. She examined them for a moment with her dark eyes and then focussed over their shoulder to where Bairsech, the wife of Ronan, still stood watching their every move with unconcealed curiosity.

‘Her nose grows longer each day,’ the woman muttered. ‘Bairsech is a name which suits her well.’ Fidelma suddenly realised that the name could be applied to a brawling woman. Then the woman stood aside and motioned them in. ‘Come inside and do not give her the pleasure of examining us further.’

They hitched their horses to a small post outside the building and entered.

It was a comfortable room but not inviting.

‘Are you Nemon?’

The woman nodded.

‘You are strangers to the valley.’ It was a statement not a question.

‘You do not know why we are here?’

‘I know nothing and care less. I care only for my comfort and my time is gauged in what I may profit from it.’

Fidelma turned to Eadulf.

‘Give Nemon a screpall,’ she instructed.

Unwillingly Eadulf took the coin out of his purse and handed it to the woman. She almost snatched it out of his hand and examined it suspiciously.

‘Money is rare in this valley. We usually barter. But money is therefore thrice welcome.’

She assured herself that the coin was genuine before regarding them with a question on her features.

‘What is it you want? Not my services,’ she added, laughing lewdly, ‘that’s for sure.’

Fidelma shook her head, hiding her distaste at even the suggestion.

‘We want a few moments of your time, that’s all. And the answers to some questions.’

‘Very well. Ask your questions.’

‘I am told that you had a guest here last night.’

‘Yes.’

‘A man from the ráth? Thick-set. Wearing fine clothes with his head in a tonsure … cut in the fashion of my friend here?’

‘What of it?’ Nemon made no attempt to disguise the fact.

‘When did he come?’

‘Late. After midnight, I believe. I had to dispense with two customers to accommodate him.’

‘Why?’

‘He paid me.’

‘Yet a stranger … would you not have been better served to continue with your local clients than serve a stranger who might visit you only once?’

Nemon sniffed.

‘True enough. But Murgal was with him and told me that I would not lose by it.’

‘Murgal?’

‘Yes. He brought the man to me. Solin was the man’s name. I remember now.’

‘And Murgal the Druid to Laisre brought the man from the ráth to you and asked you to … to bestow your favours on him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did Murgal give you a reason why you should do this?’

‘Do you think that people give me reasons for what they do? I ask no questions so long as I receive money for my services.’

‘Have you known Murgal long?’

‘He is my foster-father. He looks after me.’

‘Your foster-father? And he looks after you?’ Fidelma’s voice took on an air of cynicism. ‘Have you known any other life but the one you now pursue?’

Nemon laughed disdainfully.

‘You are disapproving? Do you think I should be like Ronan’s woman across the yard there? Look at her, a woman who is younger than I am but who looks old enough to be my mother. Old before her time because she is condemned to go out into the fields at the crack of dawn and milk the cows while her husband lies in a drunken slumber. She has to plough fields and dig and sow and harvest while he rides about pretending to be a great warrior, not a lord, as he claims, but merely a sub-chieftain of this pitiful collection of hovels. No, I want no other life than the one I have. At least I sleep in fine linen sheets and for as long as I like.’

The derision on the woman’s face was plain.

‘Yet I notice that you have a small farm to run,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘There are cows outside to be milked. Who does your work if you do not?’

Nemon screwed up her face in an ugly gesture.

‘I only keep them because they are money. I would sell them tomorrow if the price was right. They are too much hard work. But, as I said, this valley is mainly a place of barter, so I must expect cows, goats, chickens, eggs and the like in place of coins.’

‘Thank you for speaking with us,’ Fidelma abruptly said, rising to leave.

‘No thanks are necessary. You paid me for my time. Come again, if you need more conversation.’

Outside the cabin of Nemon, Eadulf exchanged a wry look with Fidelma.

‘Do you think that Murgal was appeasing Brother Solin in some way?’

Fidelma looked speculative as she considered the question.

‘You mean, he bribed him? He used Nemon to put Solin in a good mood in order to take part in this morning’s play-acting at the council meeting?’

Eadulf nodded.

‘Perhaps,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Perhaps Brother Solin simply cannot resist the comfort that a woman like Nemon can provide. Maybe heasked Murgal where he might find such comfort. Murgal seems to have ideas in that direction himself.’

‘You refer to the incident with Marga, the apothecary?’

Fidelma did not reply but mounted her horse.

Bairsech, the wife of Ronan, was still standing outside her door, her broad arms folded, and watching them with intense dislike as, together, they began to ride slowly away from the group of farm buildings over the bridge in the direction of the ráth.

‘I wonder if Ultan of Armagh knows that his secretary is the sort of person to visit a woman of the flesh?’ mused Eadulf.

Fidelma was serious.

‘I doubt it. Ultan is in favour of the new ideas emanating from Rome on the celibacy of clergy.’

‘It will never catch on,’ Eadulf averred. ‘It is true that there are always going to be some aesthetics but for all the clergy of the Faith to take such vows is demanding too much of human beings.’

Fidelma gave him a sideways glance.

‘I thought you approved of the idea?’

Eadulf coloured but did not answer.

‘Well, at least we have solved the mystery of where Brother Solin was last night,’ he said hurriedly.

‘Yes, but not why. We will have to keep a watch on both Murgal and our Brother Solin.’

Eadulf sighed.

‘All I want, at the moment, is to be able to stretch out and sleep until my head stops pounding.’