The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction

Eadulf had spotted the flagon of corma, the strong liquor, and poured out two measures in earthenware goblets for the young man and his companion. Rechtabra raised it in silent tribute, before taking a seat by the fire. Scoth remained standing, while Fidelma and Eadulf resumed their seats. Maen took a seat a little farther back.

“Well now, what brings you here of all places in this little corner of your brother’s kingdom?” Rechtabra asked. “And in such winter weather.”

“I had arranged to meet Eadulf here so that we could journey back to Cashel together,” explained Fidelma. “It seems the weather has decided that we must stay longer than we had anticipated.”

“A strange little spot for your paths to meet,” commented the tanist. Eadulf wondered if there was suspicion in his voice.

“A logical spot,” he intervened. “Fidelma was coming back from the port of Luimneach, through the mountains, and I was coming from the abbey of the blessed Cronan at Tuaim Greine. What logical meeting point for our two paths to cross but here?”

Rechtabra glanced at Eadulf with a smile. “Quite right, my friend. Quite right,” he said gently. Then he glanced at Scoth. “And more company for you for a while?”

The girl blushed furiously. “I am not lacking in company.”

“Of course not. At least your father will approve of the company of our cousin from Cashel.” The tanist’s voice was gentle but hinted at something else.

“And why are you here?” Fidelma asked, seeing the hot colour on Scoth’s cheeks, and changing the conversation.

Rechtabra chuckled. “Our presence is dictated by the weather.”

“But to come here to escape from it, you must have set out from somewhere,” Eadulf said with a smile.

“You are sharp, Eadulf. Maen and I were encamped in the foothills of the mountains, a short way off. We decided we would seek more warmth and comfort than a wind-blown tent and a blanket until this chilly storm has passed.”

Scoth sniffed, made to speak, and then suddenly made for the door. “You will excuse me. I have several things to attend to.”

When she had gone, Rechtabra shook his head and turned in confidential manner to Fidelma, though still with a smile on his face.

“A strange one, that. I think she resents that I am heir apparent to the chieftainship. She also resents the fact that her father wanted her to marry me. Well, the feeling of repugnance between us is mutual.”

“Is there anything else that would make her dislike you?” pressed Fidelma gently.

Rechtabra stared searchingly at her for a moment before he re-assumed his grin.

“I can think of several things, cousin. I am honest about my faults.”

“Shall we speak of silver mines?”

Fidelma was aware of the silent Maen suddenly leaning forward intently in his chair.

“Silver mines?” Rechtabra said, almost sharply. “What have they to do with likes and dislikes?”

“I suppose that you know that I am a dalaigh …”

“You reputation in the kingdom is well known, cousin Fidelma. There is even a rumour that King Colgu may make you his Chief Brehon. And so?”

“Scoth believes that you have appropriated a silver mine and some land that she should rightfully control.”

Rechtabra gazed at her a moment, turned to Maen with a shrug, and sighed deeply before turning back.

“And therefore …?” he queried.

“Therefore, I should remind you of the law. If this is Scoth’s property then it cannot be appropriated. It cannot be alienated from her control as a banchomarba, a female heir. Any illegal use of the mine would bring forth fines, compensation and reimbursement of the estimated amount of silver removed from it.”

Rechtabra was nodding as if in agreement.

“Cousin, there is one word that you have used in that. A most important word. I am sure you can guess at what the word is … if.”

Fidelma regarded him thoughtfully.

“Do you deny it?”

“Assuredly I do.”

“She wanted us to ride with her today to where this mine was in order to warn you that she will take legal action.”

Rechtabra chuckled with amusement. “And what legal action could she take? If our Brehon were here, then he would tell her. If Prince Gilcach, her father, were here then he would not take the matter as lightly as I do. The silver mines here are the wealth of our people, and Gilcach shares that among them on the great annual festival at An tAonach. We jealously guard the wealth of the mines for they are our joint wealth and not owned by one person, whether it be Scoth or even myself.”

There was an honest intensity in his voice that surprised her.

“Then you are willing for this matter to be heard before a Brehon?”

“If that Brehon is aware of all the facts,” confirmed the tanist.

“But if this is not the truth, why would Scoth make it up?”

“Because of her dislike for me.”

“That does not seem a strong reason.”

“Nevertheless, it is the only one I can think of. Not only did she hate me when her father suggested marriage but it seemed that Gilcach was not in favour of a man she did want to marry.” Rechtabra’s tone was indifferent. “Anyway, it is a silly accusation and could only be made during the absence of Gilcach and his Brehon.”

“Then we must leave this matter until it can be judged competently by Gilcach and his Brehon. But remember, Rechtabra, that, in the interim, all the silver taken from the mine in question must be accounted for.”

Rechtabra smiled grimly. “So it has been and so it shall be. I am answerable to the Prince Gilcach for the well-being of the mines and he shall have a full accounting.”

“Speaking of the well-being,” — Fidelma felt it time to change the topic, for the matter was leading to a stalemate between Rechtabra and Scoth — “I am told that one of your mine-workers has disappeared.”

To her surprise it was Maen who suddenly laughed grimly and then exchanged an apologetic glance with the tanist.

“Only one?” Maen said in answer to Fidelma’s scrutiny. “More like a dozen good men have disappeared in this area.”

Fidelma’s eyes widened a fraction at the news.

“A dozen? All workers in the silver mines? During what space of time have these disappearances taken place?”

“From the time of the last full of the moon.”

“The locals call that one ‘the night of the snow wolf’,” added Maen. “There are rumours, of course, which have been set abroad by silly, superstitious people. Stories of the men lured to their doom in the mountains …”

“Lured? By whom?”

“Ancient legends say there is a monster dwelling there,” Maen said. “Some creature called Faelur, the wolfman, who feeds upon the unwary traveller. So people tell you not to ride through the mountains during these days.”

“And what do you say happened to these men? Twelve, you say? All strong mine-workers.”

This time Rechtabra replied. “I am not good at making guesses, cousin. Maybe the local superstition is right. All I know is that their disappearance is an inconvenience. I have the mines to run.”

It was later that Fidelma put Rechtabra’s denials to Scoth.

“He is a liar! I tell you, he is a liar!” she cried angrily.

“The matter must be judged,” returned Fidelma. “When my brother, the King, learns of the return of your father and his Brehon, he will summon everyone to attend him at Cashel. You and Rechtabra must defend your