The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction

claims. That will be an end to the matter. Will that satisfy you?”

“But meanwhile he will go on stealing the silver that belongs to me.”

“He has been warned that, if guilty, the amount will be estimated and that will be reimbursed with compensation and fines. Perhaps I can persuade my brother to send some warriors of his bodyguard to observe Rechtabra’s activities. That must satisfy you.”

“I suppose it must satisfy me.” Scoth did not sound convinced.

“Well, I do not think that Rechtabra would have confessed to me immediately as to any wrongdoing — especially if he is guilty,” Fidelma pointed out. “It is the best judgement I can make in the circumstances.”

That night the snow continued to fall.

* * *

The snow continued to fall for two more days, spreading from the west in the darkened skies. There was little point in looking at the track beyond the gates of the hunting lodge for the wind-driven snow was blinding and freezing. It was an uncomfortable two days, for Fidelma and Eadulf were forced to spend them in the main hall — albeit before a roaring fire — in icy atmosphere between Scoth and Rechtabra, which almost matched the atmosphere outside. In fact, two fires had been lit, each at opposite ends of the great hall, so no one encroached on anyone else.

Eadulf passed much of the time playing fidchell, or wooden wisdom, with Rechtabra. Eadulf had found himself quite adept at the game that was popular among the people of the five kingdoms. It was the equivalent of chess in other lands. The object of the game was to protect the single High King piece, standing in the centre of the board that was divided into squares. His protectors were the four provincial kings. The attacking pieces could mount their attack from any of the four sides of the board with the eventual task of trapping the High King so he was unable to move. It was a game of skill and forethought.

Scoth had retired to a corner not too far from one of the fires but by one of the snow-blocked windows that gave a little light. Mostly the oil lamps were lit to provide illumination. Scoth had taken out her iadach, a workbag in which needles and threads and materials for embroidery were carried. Using various coloured balls of thread called certle, she bent to her task. Embroidery was a recognized art in which all royal ladies were proficient. It was said that every chiefly household maintained a chief druinech or embroideress. Even the Blessed Patrick had three embroiders in his household — his own sister, Lupait, Cruimtheris, a princess of the royal house of Ulaidh, and Erca, the daughter of the prince who gave land to Patrick at Ard Macha so that he could build a church there.

Fidelma passed the time with the silent Maen, playing brandubh — another board game, called ‘Black Raven’. They set up their board at the far end of the hall by the other fire. Maen was not a brilliant player and eventually Fidelma tried to draw him into a little conversation about himself and his service to the tanist. They spoke in low, whispered tones, so as not to disturb anyone else. Little by little she learnt that he had been fostered with Rechtabra, trained as a warrior and thenceforth became his trenfher or champion, a term meaning chief bodyguard.

“Do you spend all the time in this part of the territory? Among the mines?”

Maen shook his head. “As tanist, Rechtabra’s task is to frequently go on a circuit of the territory, much like the Brehon, to be watchful over the people and the property of Prince Gilcach.”

“What do you make of this argument between the lady Scoth and the tanist?”

Maen looked about him quickly but, seeing Scoth intent on her sewing and Eadulf and Rechtabra concentrating on their game, he realized they could not be overheard if he spoke softly.

“It started when Prince Gilcach made his wish known that he wanted Scoth to marry Rechtabra. Rechtabra accepted the idea — not that he was in love, but it was a logical move for the good of the chieftainship.”

“And the lady, Scoth?”

“She was enraged. If the truth be known, she had met someone else. I do not know who it was, but rumour had it that he was from Breifne but not of a chiefly family. The more her father tried to persuade her against it, the more she fought and the more her dislike of Rechtabra increased.”

“And what did Rechtabra think of this?”

“He was not happy. He knows that Prince Gilcach indulges his daughter. Moreover, the petty chieftains want to curry favour with Gilcach, and it had occurred to Rechtabra that Gilcach could call a meeting of his council and persuade them to elect a new tanist and one which he could persuade his daughter to marry. I think Rechtabra is very insecure.”

“And what of this business of the silver mine? Have you heard of this inheritance before?”

“That I have no knowledge of it. Rechtabra, as tanist, keeps his eye on the silver mines of the Airthir Chliach and that is his duty to the Prince Gilcach. It could well be that the lady Scoth has a prior claim. But I thought that the matter was now in hand and that we were to wait for the return of Gilcach and his Brehon?” The warrior was suddenly suspicious that Fidelma was pumping him for information about the tanist.

“You are quite right, Maen,” she agreed quickly. “I cannot help being curious, that is all. Let us forget this matter.”

* * *

On the morning of the third day, the winds had dropped and the skies cleared. Fidelma and Eadulf left the settlement soon after first light, having bid farewell to Scoth. They learnt that, even as early as they had risen, Rechtabra and his companion Maen had already departed. Fidelma was silent and dissatisfied as they began to head for the pass through Sliabh an Airgid. The conditions became fair and sunny, although the pale winter sun had no effect on alleviating the coldness of the day. However, the riding conditions were good, the track was firm although covered by a layer of crisp snow. Their intention had been to cross the ford over the river Maoilchearn, south of the Silver Mountains, then keep south-east, to join the main track south to Cashel beyond Cnoc Thaidhg, a small peak rising only 400 metres. It did not take them too long to pass through the four-kilometre stretch that constituted the pass through the Silver Mountains, and to come to the river crossing. It was here that Fidelma halted and frowned in sudden decision.

“Ahead of us is Sliabh Coimealta,” she announced, indicating the height. Then pointing, “Along the south bank of the river is a stone circle. If we turn directly south from there we will be able to climb into the high pass.”

Eadulf groaned. “So you want to go back to see if those hill-farming folk were rescued?”

“It should only be a few hours detour, for it’s a fair day. We can rejoin the main road south of Motharshliabh and there are several hostels along the route where we can stay if we are unduly delayed.”

Eadulf glanced at her speculatively. “You are really intrigued by what happened to you the other night.” He made it a statement, not a question.

She nodded slowly. “Let us say that I do not like mysteries that have no solution. There are certain things I want to rest my mind about.”

It was midday when Fidelma called a halt again. The twisting valley was still covered in snow and it was hard for her to locate their position. She knew from the outline of Sliabh Coimealta, across the valley to her right that she was on the right track but she could not locate the spot where the hill-farm stood. That she found curious. The two dark buildings should have been obvious on the hillside. Eadulf looked on as she tried to take a bearing from the peaks around her. She was certain, snow or no snow, she would have been able to see the buildings on her left, a little way up the hill. She compressed her lips in vexation.

“You did come here in a snowstorm,” Eadulf pointed out, trying to reason with her. “Things might have seemed entirely different.”

She shook her head. “But I did not leave in a snowstorm. I took bearings from the peaks. The farmstead should be somewhere up the hill in front of us.”

Eadulf looked carefully over the slopes. Suddenly he uttered a sharp exclamation. “You are right. There were some buildings. There, look …”

Following his outstretched hand, Fidelma could see some dark patches a little way up the hill. Patches that were not part of the natural hillside. The snow had fallen and covered whatever it had been. Fidelma slid from her horse and looked about her, seeking to find a stone or object to secure the reins of her horse. Then she began to scramble up the hillside. After a moment’s hesitation, Eadulf followed her example.

For Fidelma, there was something very familiar about the flat space she paused on. She breathed out long and hard. Beside her, Eadulf was puzzled. “It looks like a demolished cabin,” he muttered, as his eyes drifted over the stones and pieces of wood that were strewn around.