Valley of the Shadow

‘Come with me, Sister Fidelma,’ he said softly, his voice a monotone.

Fidelma glanced again at Murgal but the austere Druid had turned away, hands behind his back, and seemed intent on examining the flames of the iron brazier which heated the chamber. There would be no sympathy forthcoming from any pleading with Murgal, the Brehon of Gleann Geis.

Chapter Twelve

Rudgal led the way from the chamber and Fidelma followed without another word. There was nothing more that could be said. For the first time in her life, in spite of all the occasions when her life was under threat, Fidelma had a feeling which she could only describe as coming close to panic. Nine days incarcerated in a cell with the accusation of murder hanging over her and being unable to question anyone or gather evidence in her own defence was an appalling prospect.

Rudgal conducted her silently across the stone-flagged courtyard. Among the knots of people gathered, the animated conversations were no longer in suppressed whispers. There was an anger among the people. Fidelma looked in vain for a sight of Eadulf. Rudgal took her to a building on the opposite side of the ráth, behind the stables. It was a squat, single-storey building of grey granite. Its sole means of entrance was a great wooden door. Rudgal pushed it open and Fidelma could hear the loud clamour of voices interspersed with coarse laughter coming from the interior. Rudgal seemed to anticipate what was passing through Fidelma’s mind.

‘This is the quarters of those who volunteer to serve the chieftain as a bodyguard, Sister Fidelma. When we stay at the ráth we use this as our dormitory and it is the only building where we may imprison any who transgress the law. There is a single cell at the far corner of this building. It is called the Chamber of Isolation. Take no notice of the noise. I am afraid that some of the men are still a little drunk after the feasting last night.’

Rudgal was punctilious in his treatment of her. She appreciated that. She was glad that it was Rudgal who had been given the distasteful task of escorting her to the prison and not Artgal.

Fidelma preceded him inside the building. He followed and closed the door before conducting her along a short passage, beyond the room where the guards were still engaged in noisy revelry, and which then turned at a right angle to where there was a door with a heavy iron key in its lock.

‘It is poor accommodation, I am afraid, Sister Fidelma,’ Rudgal said as he opened it.

‘I will try to manage,’ Fidelma smiled wanly.

Rudgal looked embarrassed.

‘You have but to call on me and I will do what is in my power to aid you providing that you do not ask me to break my oath of loyalty to my chieftain.’

Fidelma regarded him solemnly.

‘I promise you that I shall not call on you to break such an oath … unless there is a greater oath involved.’

The warrior wagon-maker frowned.

‘A greater oath? You mean a duty to the Faith?’

‘Not even that. Your chieftain has sworn an oath to Cashel. Cashel is supreme in all things. If your chieftain breaks an oath to Cashel then you are absolved from breaking an oath to him for he will be in rebellion against his lawful king. Do you understand that?’

‘I think so. I will do what I can for you, Sister Fidelma.’

‘I am appreciative of your service, Rudgal.’

She examined her cell distastefully. It was a cold, damp place with only a straw palliasse on the floor and little else. It smelt foul and had obviously not been used for a while. There was only a tiny slit of a window high up in one wall. Rudgal found an oil lamp and lit it. He gazed around and was also filled with aversion.

‘It is the best I can do, Sister,’ he apologised yet again.

Fidelma felt almost inclined to smile, so mournful a countenance did he have.

‘You are not responsible for my being here, Rudgal. But misfortune has brought me here and now I must apply my mind to extracting myself from this place.’

‘Do you need anything, Sister?’ he asked again.

Fidelma thought rapidly.

‘Yes. I need some personal items from the hostel. My marsupium, for example. Would you go there and ask Brother Eadulf, who must still be asleep, to bring them to me at once.’

‘Bring the Saxon here …?’ Rudgal seemed hesitant.

‘Do not worry, Rudgal. Brother Eadulf must act as my dálaigh now that I am unable to move freely. It is my right to appoint him to represent me and, as my dálaigh, he can visit me without restriction.’

‘Very well, Sister. I will fetch the Saxon.’

He hesitated a moment longer before leaving, remembering to bring the great wooden door shut behind him with an ominous clang. Fidelma heard the key turning in the great iron lock on thedoor and felt an unfamiliar sinking sensation. She had never felt such a feeling of despair in her life.

She tried to be practical and brought her mind back to the matter of her immediate survival, looking around the darkened, damp cell with repugnance. The odour was foul. She shivered and placed her arms folded around her shoulders as if she found comfort there.

Something moved amidst the straw palliasse of the mattress. A dark grey shape of a rat scuttled out and went disappearing into some hole between the granite bricks. She shivered violently and began to pace up and down. She hoped Eadulf would not be long. After she had given him instructions, she would try and find escape in the art of the dercad, the act of meditation, by which countless generations of Irish mystics had calmed extraneous thought and mental irritations, seeking the state of sitcháin or peace. She was a regular practitioner of the ancient art in times of stress. But never in her life had Fidelma found herself in need of the art of meditation as she did now.

It was only fifteen minutes later, though it seemed like days, when a pale-faced Eadulf entered the cell. He was followed by Rudgal. There was an expression of anxiety on his face which pinched and distorted his features.

‘Fidelma, what ill-fortune brings you hither? Oh, I have heard the briefest details from Rudgal here. But tell me how I can secure your release?’

Fidelma was standing in the middle of the room and smiled placatingly in answer to Eadulf’s anxiety.

Rudgal spoke before she could respond.

‘While you instruct the Saxon, I will see if I can bring you something to make life more bearable in this hovel.’ He left them both together, shutting the door behind him.

‘What can I do?’ demanded Eadulf again in such anxiety that his voice sounded unnatural in the echoing cell. ‘God, how I chastise myself. I was so dead to the world, I did not awake until Rudgal came and told me that you were here. Why didn’t you wake me when you left the hostel? I might have been able to prevent this from happening. If I had been with you …’

‘Firstly, you must be calm, Eadulf,’ instructed Fidelma sharply. ‘You are now my only hope for release.’

Eadulf swallowed hard.

‘Tell me what I must do.’

‘Alas, I cannot bid you sit down in this place and I do fear that the straw palliasse is filled with vermin which may not provide acomfortable resting place. So we must stand a while and I will explain what happened.’

She was finishing her story when the door of the cell opened again. It was Rudgal who carried a wooden bench with him.

‘Forgive me, Sister, for taking such a time but I have foraged for a bed and something to sit on. I will bring the bed in a moment, something to keep you off this wet, chill floor. In the meantime, this bench will serve.’

Fidelma thanked the man warmly.

‘Rudgal has offered his help and I think we may trust him,’ she added for Eadulf’s benefit.

Eadulf nodded impatiently.