Then he made a grab for a sword hanging from his saddle and turned round to face his pursuer. He began to run forward swinging the blade in desperation.
The second figure unhurriedly raised his bow. Menma was running forward full pelt now, trying to close the gap. There was a dull thud. Menma jerked back on the ground, his sword flying out of his hand. The shaft of an arrow was protruding from his chest. He struggled for a moment and lay still.
The second figure walked slowly up to his inert form and gazed dispassionately down. He touched the body with the toe of his boot, as if to make sure that the man was dead. Then he reached down and pulled the arrow out of his chest. Even from this distance, Fidelma saw the little fountain of blood gush forth as the arrow was pulled. Calmly, the second figure put the arrow back in his quiver, unstrung his bow and turned to his horse, untying the reins and swinging himself up. He then leant forward, untied the reins of Menma’s mount and proceeded from the glade, leading the second horse after him.
Only when he had disappeared along the forest path, didFidelma give a long, shuddering exhalation of breath. She felt chilly with shock.
The second figure had been that of Dubán.
It was some time before Fidelma rose from her hiding place and moved slowly forward to where the body of Menma lay. She could see that he was beyond earthly help and so she genuflected and muttered a blessing for the repose of his soul. She had no liking for the ill-smelling stableman but she wondered whether such a death was deserved. What reason had Dubán to shoot the red-haired man down in such a callous manner?
Her eye caught something tucked into the stableman’s waistband, something she did not quite equate with him. She bent down and tugged it out. It was a piece of vellum with writing on. As she tugged at it something else fell out. It was a small plainly wrought gold Roman crucifix. She picked it up. The gold was rich and red from an admixture of copper in the ore. She turned to the vellum. The writing on it was in Latin. She translated it easily enough. ‘If you want to know the answer to the deaths in Araglin, look beneath the farmstead of the usurper Archú.’
She frowned as she stared at it. It was simple Latin but clearly expressed and grammatically correct. She glanced down at Menma’s body. He had tucked the vellum in his waistband and clearly Dubán had not noticed it. It was no good asking what it meant at this stage. She folded it carefully and put it into her
She turned towards the cave entrance. She was sure that now Dubán had departed there was no one else around. The cave was dark and silent. There were tools in the entrance and she saw an oil lamp with flint and tinder nearby. It was the work of a momentto light the lamp and move on into the darkness. There were signs that the cave had been recently worked.
She had not gone far when she observed the confirmation of her suspicions. There was a spot where there was a concentration of tool marks; a glittering stream along one wall almost at shoulder height. She moved towards it and reached out her hand to touch it. It flickered red gold in the light of the lamp.
A gold mine.
So was this what the mystery was really about?
She examined the stream of gold carefully. She had some knowledge of gold for it was mined in several parts of the five kingdoms, even at Kildare, in whose great religious house, founded by Brigid, she had spent most of her life as a religieuse. It was said that the Tigernmas, the twenty-sixth High King who ruled Eireann a thousand years before the birth of Christ, was the first to smelt gold in the land. Whether it was true or not, gold had almost replaced cattle as a unit by which goods, services and obligations could be measured. Gold, because of its durable quality, had many advantages over the traditional barter system. It was a common form of currency along with other metals such as silver, bronze and copper. Whoever exploited this mine would gain much wealth.
Indeed, things were beginning to fit into a pattern but there were still several pieces missing before she could fit them into a whole. Morna, the brother of Bressal, had been a miner and his knowledge had exploited this mine. Now Morna was dead. This was why Muadnat had so desperately tried to cling on to this land. But he was dead. Menma? Menma had apparently worked for Muadnat. But he did not really have the brains to exploit this mine on his own. And now Menma was dead. And what of Dubán who had killed Menma?
She turned hurriedly from the cave and made her way out into the welcoming daylight.
Menma’s body still lay on its back in the glade. The sun stillshone and the song of the birds remained undiminished. It seemed so unreal.
What madness was passing through the valley of Araglin?
Fidelma crossed the glade and hurried into the shelter of the forest, making her way quickly towards her horse. The next step lay at Archú’s farmstead, she decided. For the second time, within a comparatively short space, she found herself pulling her horse over the rounded shoulder of the hills which separated her from the L-shaped valley of the Black Marsh in which Archú dwelt.
It was late afternoon when she began to descend towards his farmstead.
Scoth came running forward and greeted Fidelma with a warm smile.
‘It is good to see you so soon, sister. Where is Brother Eadulf?’
Fidelma told her, trying to keep her voice unemotional but the girl saw through the veil at once and reached out a hand.
‘Is there anything that can be done?’
Fidelma tried to shake herself free of the gloomy foreboding.
‘Nothing. Nothing until the fever breaks … if it breaks. Where is Archú?’
‘He is up at the top meadowland repairing a fence with one of Dubán’s warriors. There is news of a ravening wolf hereabouts and …’
Fidelma was disapproving and anxious.
‘It is not right that you should be left here alone. Surely one of the warriors should be here to guard you?’
‘The other is within call,’ Scoth assured her. ‘I do not think I need have any fear. Archú is easily able to observe if any strangers enter the valley.’
‘I came up over the hill. He has not appeared to have noticed my entrance.’
‘He saw you coming over the hill half an hour ago and told me to expect you,’ Scoth replied brightly. ‘I am not neglected. But you are here for a purpose, sister. I can see it in your eyes.’
‘Let us go into your house for a moment,’ suggested Fidelma.
‘Is it something to do with Archú?’ demanded the girl anxiously.
Fidelma guided her by the arm into the farmhouse.
‘It is probably nothing but …’ She reached into her
The girl wistfully shook her head.
‘I was only a kitchen servant. Archú says that he will teach me my letters when we are settled. His mother taught him.’
‘Well, this is a message in Latin. It tells me that if I require answers to the deaths in Araglin I should start looking here.’
Scoth coloured angrily.
‘That’s wicked. Who would try … oh,’ the girl broke off. ‘I suppose it was Agdae.’
‘Agdae?’ Fidelma shook her head. ‘I doubt if Agdae is capable of such a literate clue.’
‘A what?’
‘I do not think he wrote this. Why would he write it in Latin?’
‘I think it is part and parcel of the same plot to drive us off this land.’
‘What is?’
It was Archú standing at the door of the farmhouse regarding Scoth and Fidelma with a frown. He hesitated a moment and then continued. ‘I saw you arriving. I was finishing a fence in the high meadow. Is there more trouble?’
‘Someone has written to Fidelma telling her that we are responsible for the deaths in Araglin.’
