Valley of the Shadow

‘This morning you came to me and sought a cure for your foreign friend’s hangover. Were you testing me?’

‘Why would I be testing you?’

‘Who knows your motives? Your Saxon friend had enough knowledge to provide his own medication. I learnt that he has studied at Tuam Brecain and is learned enough without the necessity of consulting me.’

Fidelma remained quiet for a moment.

‘How did you learn that he studied at Tuam Brecain?’ she asked after a moment’s consideration.

Marga was exasperated.

‘You answer my questions with questions! Don’t think that you can keep secrets in such a small place as the ráth of Laisre.’

‘Forgive me,’ smiled Fidelma gently. ‘It is a habit. I have been a dálaigh for too long to change it. Ah, but I think I know. Brother Solin paid you a visit this morning.’

Obviously, young Brother Dianach had told Solin and Solin had passed on the information when he went into Marga’s apothecary that morning.

Marga shot her a look of dislike and spun on her heel and strode off.

Fidelma stood looking after her a moment or two before resuming her path towards the main building of the ráth where the council chamber was.

The saturnine figure of Murgal greeted her at the door.

‘So you have decided to come back?’

He evinced no pleasure in the fact.

‘That much is obvious, Murgal. Why do you seek to make your chieftain’s task difficult?’

Murgal smiled thinly.

‘You must already know that I disagree with what my chieftain is doing. Why, then, should I make his path easier?’

‘I was led to believe that a decision was already made. If so, you should abide by that decision.’

‘A decision made arbitrarily is not binding on all the people.’

‘Are you telling me that Laisre made the decision to send to Imleach and Cashel without discussing the matter with his council?’

Murgal hesitated, made to open his mouth and then thought better of it.

Fidelma waited a moment and when Murgal continued his silence she added: ‘We may not agree on a common faith but one thing we both believe, Murgal, and that is the rule of the law. Your chieftain’s word is inviolable once given. You are a Brehon, Murgal. You have sworn an oath; an oath that is sacred, and that oath is to uphold the law.’

Murgal shook his head disdainfully.

‘But my oath is not valid according to your Faith because it is not an oath to your God.’

‘You are not speaking to any foreign cleric, Murgal. Christian or not, I am of the same bloodline as Eber the Fair. You have sworn your oath even though the sea rise and engulf you or the sky fall upon you. You are sworn to hold fast to the law. You will do so.’

‘You are a strange woman, Fidelma of Cashel.’

‘I am a product of my people, just as you are.’

‘I am an enemy to your Faith.’

‘But you are not an enemy to our people. If Laisre’s word was given in accordance with the law, then you know you are sworn to uphold it.’

The doors of the council chamber opened and Laisre came out. He was followed by the young man Fidelma had seen at the door of the stable. She examined the newcomer carefully.

He was about thirty. Not tall but muscular in spite of the loose clothing he wore. His dress was not that of a warrior and certainly not the finery of a noble. But her quick eyes saw what the warrior at the gate of the ráth had observed. The young man carried himself in a particular way. He wore a sword slung on his hip and a dagger in his belt. They gave the impression that they were not for show. The deep brown eyes of the man were restive, examining and assessing things as quickly as did Fidelma. His brown hair was well cut, his moustache was trimmed. The clothes did not seem to suit his figure at all, as if he had put them on by mistake.

Laisre had evidently not been expecting to see Fidelma and Murgal together.

He halted, his eyes darting from one to the other in question and then seeing that they were not overtly in enmity he stepped forward again with a forced smile.

‘We have another stranger travelling through our land. Fidelma of Cashel, Murgal, may I present Ibor of Muirthemne?’

The young man took a step forward and jerked his head forward in a perfunctory bow.

‘Lady, your reputation precedes you. Your name is spoken of with affection even at Tara.’

‘You are gracious, Ibor,’ Fidelma replied. ‘And you are also many miles from your home in Muirthemne.’

‘It is the lot of a merchant to seldom stretch his limbs beside his own hearth, lady.’

‘I am told that you are a horse trader.’

The young man nodded affirmation. He had a warm, open face, Fidelma thought, almost boyish.

‘You have been told correctly, lady.’

‘Then I would like to see your horses for I am much interested. Where is your herd grazing?’

‘I have no herd,’ the young man returned without embarrassment.

It was Murgal who spoke now, framing the question that Fidelma was about to ask.

‘A trader in horses without horses? That requires some explanation.’

Undeterred, the young man chuckled.

‘Oh, but I do have a horse. I have brought a horse to sell.’

‘Just one?’ Murgal asked somewhat surprised. ‘It is a long journey from Muirthemne just to sell a single horse.’

‘True,’ Ibor assented. ‘But it is such a horse and it is such a price that I am expecting to raise! I expected to sell it for thirty séds.’

‘Thirty séds?’ exclaimed Murgal. ‘A large sum for one animal.’

‘You said — expected?’ Fidelma said quickly.

‘I had heard that Eoganan, the chieftain of the Uí Fidgente, was looking for a thoroughbred horse and for an animal of great worth he would be prepared to pay a price that would make my journey worthwhile. I had found such an animal, a horse raised among the Britons which I brought to Éireann. I thought I would make the sum from Eoganán and it alone would recompense me for the long journey.’

Fidelma regarded him with suspicion.

‘But Eoganán was killed at the Hill of Áine six months ago.’

Ibor of Muirthemne raised his hands in a gesture of hopelessness.

‘That I only found out when I arrived in the country of the Uí Fidgente. There I found the new chieftain, Donnenach, trying to restore the shattered fortunes of his defeated people …’

‘Defeated by Fidelma’s brother, Colgú of Cashel,’ interposed Murgal maliciously.

‘After the Uí Fidgente under Eoganan had plotted Cashel’s overthrow,’ Fidelma replied in annoyance. It was not the first time that Murgal had tried to present Cashel’s defeat of the Uí Fidgente as if it were Cashel’s responsibility.

‘Yes, but I knew none of this,’ Ibor of Muirthemne pointed out disarmingly.

‘News does not take that long to travel to Muirthemne, surely?’ queried Fidelma.

‘I was in the kingdom of Gwynedd, among the Britons, when all this happened,’ protested Ibor. ‘I was there arranging the buying of horses. I returned to Ulaidh about a month ago and the news was so old that no one bothered to relate it. I took the horse that I had especially chosen and set out for the country of the Uí Fidgente …’

‘Wasn’t it difficult to bring a thoroughbred horse out of Ulaidh when the law of the Allmuir Sét would have stipulated its sale only within the boundaries of Ulaidh?’ asked Fidelma ingenuously.