and talk with kings, even the High King, let alone petty chieftains.
The dark-haired woman swallowed hard and, while she was undoubtedly impressed, her features remained harsh and unfriendly.
‘As representative of Laisre of Gleann Geis, I bid you welcome,
Fidelma leant forward, her voice sharp and clear.
‘Does that imply a threat? Are the sacred laws of hospitality abrogated in the land of Laisre? Is it the sword you accept instead of this?’
She held up the white wand again, thrusting it forward almost aggressively towards Orla. The sun sparkled brightly on the gold figure of the stag.
Orla’s cheeks coloured and she raised her chin defiantly.
‘I imply no threat to your life. Nor even his life.’ She jerked her head towards Eadulf. ‘No harm will come to you nor to the foreigner while you extend your protection to him. We are not barbarians in Gleann Geis. Envoys, under law, are regarded as sacred and inviolable and are treated with utmost respect even though they be our bitterest enemies.’
Eadulf moved uneasily for there was still a deadly serious threat behind what she was saying.
‘That is good to know, Orla,’ Fidelma replied easily, relaxing and replacing the wand in her saddle bag. ‘For I have seen what happens to people to whom such immunity from death is not given.’
Eadulf’s jaw slackened and he felt a sudden panic. If Orla and her warriors were responsible for the deaths of the young men across the valley then Fidelma, in admitting knowledge of the corpses, was putting their lives in considerable danger. He had thought she was going to be circumspect about the gruesome find. Then he suddenly became aware of the distant squawking of the birds of prey and he glanced anxiously over his shoulder. It was obvious that something was amiss across the glen in the direction where the corpses lay and the warriors of Orla’s bodyguard must surely have spotted the ravening carrion birds anyway.
Yet Orla was regarding Fidelma with some bewilderment. She had apparently not taken in the swirling cloud of distant ravens.
‘I have no understanding of your meaning.’
Fidelma indicated across the valley with one arm in a careless gesture.
‘Can you see the black of the battle ravens there? They feed on corpses.’
‘Corpses?’ Orla jerked her gaze up, apparently seeing the birds for the first time.
‘Thirty-three young men who have suffered The Threefold Death.’
Orla’s jaw suddenly clenched; her face was white as she brought her gaze back to Fidelma. It took her a moment or two to frame an answer.
‘Is this some jest?’ she demanded coldly.
‘I do not jest.’
Orla turned to the black-bearded warrior whom she had previously rebuked for his interruption.
‘Artgal, take half of our men and see what this evil gathering means.’
Artgal was glowering with suspicion.
‘It may be some Christian trap, lady.’
The woman’s eyes flashed angrily.
‘Do as I say!’ The voice was like a whiplash.
Without another word, the warrior, Artgal, signalled a section of the mounted warriors to follow him and he rode off in the direction where the distant birds were circling and diving.
‘The Threefold Death, you claim?’ the woman almost whispered after he had gone. ‘Are you sure this was the manner of death, Fidelma of Cashel?’
‘I am sure. But your man, Artgal, will confirm what I say on his return.’
‘The blame for this is not to be laid on the people of Laisre,’ the woman protested. There was a curious expression on her features as if she was trying to overcome her fear. ‘We know nothing of this matter.’
‘How can you be so sure that you speak for all the people of Laisre?’ asked Fidelma ingenuously.
‘I am sure. I speak not only for my brother but as wife of his tanist, the heir-elect, Colla. You have my word.’
‘A great evil has been committed in this valley, Orla. I am charged by my oath to discover the cause of it and who is responsible. That I mean to do.’
‘But you will not find the answer in Gleann Geis,’ replied Orla sullenly.
‘Yet it is to Gleann Geis that we are now proceeding,’ Fidelma said with confidence. ‘The sooner we get there the better. So my companion and I will leave you to await the return of your warriors and continue on.’ She looked towards Eadulf and gave a brief motion of her head, as if indicating him to follow, and, without another word, she nudged her horse forward, passing Orla and the remaining mounted warriors. After but a moment or so’s delay, Eadulf followed. The warriors were staring in some bewilderment at Orla who sat still, doing nothing to impede their progress.
Confidently, Fidelma walked her horse into the mouth of the gorge where the pathway became stony, indicating it had once been the bed of a flowing stream. How long it had been dried up was difficult to tell; perhaps for centuries. It twisted and turned with precipitous granite walls rising over a hundred feet on either side almost cutting out the light. They were in a semi-gloom from the moment they entered the passage. From an entrance of perhaps ten yards’ width, the gorge narrowed until there was only room for two horses to move comfortably abreast.
It was only after they had ridden some way that Eadulf decided to break the silence.
‘Do you …?’ he began but stopped suddenly as his voice boomed back in resounding echo against the walls of the narrow defile. He paused a moment and then lowered his voice to a whisper but even the whisper sounded like sepulchral echo. ‘Do you think that the woman, Orla, and her warriors killed those young men?’
Fidelma contrived to shrug without articulating a reply. Her face was set and stern.
‘The surprise on Orla’s face seemed genuine enough,’ Eadulf went on doggedly.
‘Nevertheless, had I not been who I am, I doubt that we would be proceeding with our journey. Orla and her warriors seem to have little liking for those of our Faith.’
Eadulf shivered and raised a hand to cross himself then caught himself and dropped it to his side. Habit caused action to lose meaning.
‘I did not know such heathen areas existed in this land. There is much to fear here.’
‘Fear is self-destructive, Eadulf. And you should not fear someone because they do not share your belief,’ chided Fidelma.
‘If they are prepared to use the sword against those whose belief is not their own — yes, there is much to fear,’ Eadulf replied, almost hotly. ‘We have doubtless seen some grotesque ritual sacrifice back there in the valley, perpetrated by these pagans. I fear for our safety.’
‘Fear is not required. But caution is the watchword. Remember what Aeschylus said — excessive fear always makes men powerless to act? So rid yourself of any fear and apply watchfulness and caution and by this means we will discover what is the truth.’
Eadulf sniffed disdainfully.
‘Perhaps fear is a means of protection,’ he protested, ‘because fear makes us cautious.’
‘Fear never makes anything virtuous. I give you an aphorism of Pubilius Syrus — what we fear comes to pass more speedily than what we hope. If you fear in this place, your fear will create that unnameable thing you fear. You have nothing to fear but fear itself. There is nothing to fear here but the evil deeds of men and women and we have stood up to evil men and women before and been victorious. So let it be now.’
She broke off, holding her head to one side.
They became aware of the sound of a horse behind them moving rapidly through the gorge.
‘They are coming after us,’ hissed Eadulf, turning in his saddle, but the ravine twisted and turned so much there would be nothing to see until the rider was almost upon them.
Fidelma shook her head.
‘They? See what fear does to judgment? It is only one horse coming along behind us and that undoubtedly
