The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction

through the air tunnel to check on the hill-farm.

“I was perturbed that there were no trace of his footprints on a path leading from the main track up to the cabin. How had he arrived there in the snow without leaving footprints? It almost gave confirmation to the story of mystic forces. But, of course, there were no footprints because Faelur had not come to the cabin by that route, He had emerged from the air tunnel at the back of the cabin. He was as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Once he knew who I was, he did not want the problem of kidnapping the sister of the King of Muman and bringing down the wrath of Cashel on his head. So he tried to persuade me that the couple were lost on the mountain and that he was a relative and would organize a search. I have met with very few hill-farmers who spoke Latin to the extent of knowing some of its complicated axioms. That alerted me that he was not who he said he was.

“When I rode off, he believed I was satisfied that there was no mystery there. However, he sent someone to report the matter to the person who was in charge of the illicit mining. They ordered the destruction of the hill-farm so that any future travellers would not notice it. The miners were told to destroy the buildings and remove the livestock to the other side of the mountains on the east. A lot of the materials, the wood that constituted the barn and things from the cabin, were taken into the mine because it would be useful for shoring it up and helping the work. The kidnapped miners were forced to do this work. Thankfully, one of them purposely left his mining tools on the chance they might be spotted by someone who would ask questions.

“Indeed, there was one problem. My suspicion. When I mentioned that I was going back through the high pass to see how the search for Ciarnat and Cuilind progressed, a means had to be devised to ensure that I did not travel back that morning — so as to give the miners a chance to do their work of destruction. As it turned out, such subterfuge was superfluous. The snowstorm ensured that we were snowbound for several days before Eadulf and I could begin our journey to Cashel. We went with stories of the Faelur ringing in our ears in an attempt to persuade us not to return through the high pass.”

She paused looking sadly from Scoth to Rechtabra.

“This is madness,” the tanist responded angrily. “There is no mine where you say it is. You will have to prove it.”

Fidelma sighed. “That I can do. Before we came here, Caol and his men raided the mine. We found Cuilind and Ciarnat and released them. The miners who had been kidnapped from local mines were also released. They were forced to work under armed guards, and the supervision of the person who called himself Faelur. Faelur was a professional miner and a specialist on silver mining. His motivation for the illicit mining was for a share of the profits. So there is proof enough for you, Rechtabra.”

The tanist was staring at her unable to speak. He stood, shaking his head.

Scoth glanced angrily at him. “I knew something strange was happening. I thought it was odd when those miners began to disappear. Was the mine very rich in silver, Fidelma?”

“I am told it is one of the richest mines that the men have ever worked in.”

“But how could Rechtabra hope to get away with the silver?”

“When I asked what motivation Rechtabra would have in trying to obtain the silver from a mine that you could prove belonged to you, you told me the motivation. With such riches, you said, one could go and live anywhere, for riches create power. Anywhere in the world, it is the same.” Fidelma paused and added quietly, “Where did you mean to go, Scoth?”

The girl started uncertainly.

“I do not understand …” she began hesitantly.

“You did not think that you had bought the silence of the guards who dealt with you?” Fidelma asked. “Nor, in the circumstances facing him, do you think that Faelur would shoulder in silence the retribution that must come? Even love has its limitations. While he still refuses to give his real name, his Breifne origin betrays him.”

Rechtabra was wide eyed, trying to understand what was being said.

“You mean this illicit mining was Scoth’s idea?” he demanded. “But why? She is the daughter of Cilcach, Prince of Airithir Chliach. What need has she of more wealth and position?”

“Some people are never satisfied with what they have,” Fidelma replied quietly. At her nod, two of Caol’s warriors had taken up positions behind Scoth. But she had no defiance left in her. “Take her to her room while we consider how to deal with the matter. Her father and his Brehon must certainly be sent for now.”

“I think you should explain,” Rechtabra pressed, when Scoth had been removed. He was clearly still confused.

“It seems that she met Faelur — I have no other name for him — who was from Breifne. She is in love with him. You told me about this yourself. But he was not from a chiefly family so her father disapproved. He made his wish that Scoth and you should marry. She grew afraid that her refusal would eventually lead to her losing her wealth and position. We don’t know who discovered the silver lode, but Faelur opened it up with some hired mercenaries. However, to fully exploit the mine, he needed skilled miners; those who disappeared had been kidnapped and were pressed into service. Scoth and Faelur probably thought that, once they had gathered enough silver from the mine, they would go somewhere where no one knew them and, with identities changed, would establish themselves with their wealth.”

“How did you come to suspect Scoth?” asked Rechtabra.

“It was shortly after I arrived here that a man came to tell her what had taken place in the high pass. She immediately sent him back to Faelur to tell him to destroy the hill-farm. Easier to say than to accomplish. I told her the story of my encounter at the farm and she took the lead from her lover. It was Scoth who raised the legend of Faelur, of wolf creatures in the Silver Mountains, in an attempt to put me off travelling back that way.

“When she saw that I cared little for superstition and that I was intent on leaving the next morning, she had to come up with another excuse to keep me out of the high pass for a day or two. In that she was very stupid. Her accusation against you was very lame. But she thought that would delay me some time while I, as a dalaigh, tried to sort it out. It was silly because it was a matter that would soon be shown to be false. It was also, as I said, superfluous, because the snowstorm stopped Eadulf and I from travelling anyway. Had she remained silent, she might probably have escaped detection.

“So, when we were able to travel, my suspicions had been heightened to the point that I went through the high pass again and found the air tunnel to the mine. The rest followed.”

As she paused there came the distant but distinct howling of a wolf, shortly joined by others and rising to a crescendo. In the quiet that followed, Fidelma smiled sadly. “The night of the snow wolf? Wolves are social creatures. I think we could learn much from them.”

Jettisoned DEIRDRE COUNIHAN

This story has the most ancient setting in the anthology and takes us back to the Bronze Age around the year 2300 BC. It’s easy to imagine that people back then were unsophisticated, unimaginative and crude. But this was the time that the Pyramids were built in Egypt, and Stonehenge in Britain. There is increasing archaeological evidence to show that those who lived in Bronze Age Britain led very sophisticated lives, and that their ability to understand and resolve problems was no different to ours today. The author brings out some of these points in a note at the end of the story.

Deirdre Counihan was born at the ancestral home of the gunpowder plotter Guy Fawkes — Farnley Hall — a link to a later story in this anthology. She trained as a book illustrator and also has an MA in Gender Studies. She has had a busy art career, specializing in archaeology and fantasy, and was co-editor of the magazine Scheherazade.

A great gull, lit white against the hectic slate grey sky, soared screaming in horror up past the sharp green of the eastern headland and then arched smoothly out across the dark expanse of the swollen river down below them. The bird headed majestically back again, still screaming in terror, over the western cliff where Grizzel stood hunched and shivering in her shawl, clutching the baby Niav against her shoulder.

She could not take in what had just happened.