Valley of the Shadow

by Peter Tremayne

  It was still warm, for the summer’s day had been hot beyond the shelter of the ráth. Although it would not grow dark for two hours at least, a few dark storm clouds were hanging over the mountains and there was a threat of rain beyond their peaks. They could hear a distant rumble of thunder from the other side of the surrounding pinnacles. At least the clouds were hanging around the summits of the hills, as if anchored to them, and not moving across the bright blue sky above the valley.

  Rudgal caught Eadulf’s anxious gaze and chuckled softly.

  ‘With God’s help, the weather will pass us by on the other side of the mountains.’

  They continued on their way skirting Ronan’s farmstead and Nemon’s dwelling, before climbing the hill towards the small cabin perched above, which Rudgal had indicated belonged to Artgal. The fair-haired warrior wagon-maker led the way up a steep path whose ascent had been made easier by the placing of large stones every so often. This gave the path the appearance of a stairway. Fidelma followed next and then Eadulf. There was little conversation between them except when Rudgal pointed out areas along the path to be avoided, springy patches of boggy turf or the occasional pit hidden by gorse.

  They came to a narrow shelving area of stone-hedged small fields among which stood the grey stone cabin. It was a simple beehive-shaped cabin with a straw-thatched roof and a fence around it. Adjacent to the cabin was a smithy’s shop but with the fire dead. It looked as if it had not been used in some considerable time. Even some of the tools were rusting.

  Fidelma could see no sign of any cattle in the vicinity.

  They paused at the entrance of the cabin to recover their breath. Then Fidelma called sharply: ‘Artgal!’

  There was no answer. A curious silence permeated the place.

  ‘Artgal!’ echoed Rudgal more loudly. Then in an aside he added apologetically: ‘I was sure that he would come here. Perhaps he has already been here, taken the cows and fled. But he could not have gone far in the valley herding cows. We would surely have seen him.’

  When there was no reply from the second call, Rudgal pushed open the door of the cabin and went inside. The others followed. The cabin seemed deserted but its few meagre possessions were placed in orderly fashion. There was no indication that the owner had made a hurried departure. The only object out of order was a cloth lying on the floor as if dropped unobserved by its owner. Fidelma went over to it and picked it up. She suddenly realised that it was an apron. She placed it on a nearby hook, thinking it was a curious item for a man like Artgal to have. But then it did seem to fit in with the tidy personality of the cabin. It was probably normal for Artgal to wear such an outsized garment to protect him if he were so fastidious.

  ‘Perhaps I was wrong,’ muttered Rudgal. ‘Perhaps he has gone elsewhere but where I would not know.’

  ‘I saw no sign of the cows around here,’ Eadulf remarked.

  ‘And if he took them we would surely have spotted him,’ Rudgal repeated. ‘A lone herdsman and two cows in this countryside are easy to observe.’

  This was true for there were few trees in the valley itself.

  ‘But there seems to be no other explanation,’ he added. ‘Artgal must have gone and taken the cows with him. I will see if there are any tracks which we may follow.’

  He left the cabin. Fidelma was still standing in the middle of the single room, her sharp eyes moving cautiously around it, examining every nook and cranny keenly. She suddenly realised that there were two pottery beakers standing on the table. It seemed that Artgal had had a visitor recently; recently enough for him not to clear away the remains of a shared drink and to have failed to observe the discarded apron on the floor.

  She bent to examine the beakers, sniffing cautiously at the aroma left by their contents. She had scented the distinctive pungent fragrance before but, for the moment, she could not place it.

  ‘This Artgal is a very tidy man for a blacksmith and warrior,’ she reflected softly.

  Eadulf grinned.

  ‘Are blacksmiths and warriors invariably untidy, then?’

  ‘You have seen Artgal. I would have expected Artgal not to be so fastidious. One may tell much from a person’s attention to their clothing. Yet the cabin here is scrupulously clean.’

  ‘I have known of such people who are slovenly in their appearance but fastidious in their homes and vice versa,’ Eadulf observed.

  There came a sudden cry of alarm outside the cabin.

  ‘Sister! Brother!’

  It was Rudgal’s voice raised in horror.

  Eadulf and Fidelma exchanged a glance and hurried outside. Rudgal was at the back of the cabin. He was standing staring down at something on the ground. It was sprawled half in and half out of a small shed. Eadulf recognised it by the clothing.

  It was the body of Brother Dianach.

  ‘I was walking round the cabin to look for tracks when I stumbled across the body,’ Rudgal explained unnecessarily.

  Eadulf genuflected while Fidelma went down on one knee beside the body.

  The young religieux lay on his side, his feet and lower body were in the small shed, the torso was sprawled outside, face down, one arm flung in front of him. There was fresh blood staining the ground. Cautiously, Fidelma pushed the body over on its back. Blood was everywhere. It was clear that Dianach had had his throat cut; one long stabbing cut had cleaved through the neck almost to the back.

  Fidelma suddenly looked at the lips and gums of the dead religieux. They had a faint blue tinge about them which she could not explain. Clearly the knife cut had caused his death and the wound was still bleeding. Distastefully, she reached out a hand to touch the skin. It was still warm. Brother Dianach had only recently died, probably even as they had entered the cabin.

  She sprang to her feet and looked around. Her eyes scanned the landscape.

  ‘Did you see anyone near here, Rudgal?’

  The wagon maker dragged his fascinated gaze away from the corpse and regarded her in bewilderment.

  Fidelma was impatient.

  ‘The boy has only just been killed. Perhaps while we were in the cabin. Look, the shed is small, you have to bend down to peer inside. Perhaps Dianach was hiding from us when we approached the cabin. His killer must have come upon him in this fashion and slit his throat. It happened only moments ago.’

  Rudgal whistled softly.

  ‘I walked around the cabin but there was no one in sight, it was only when I was looking for the tracks of the cattle that I suddenly saw the body.’

  Eadulf had moved swiftly to a stone wall and clambered up. He swept the surrounding countryside with his keen gaze.

  ‘Can you see anything?’ demanded Fidelma.

  Eadulf shook his head in disappointment.

  ‘No,’ he replied in disgust. ‘There are so many gullies and walls around here that anyone, knowing the area, could hide themselves easily from our sight.’

  ‘Any sign of the cattle?’

  ‘None at all. But while a man might hide among these gullies, I would say that it would be difficult to hide cattle.’

  Fidelma turned back to the body in frustration.

  ‘Why kill him, I wonder?’ Rudgal said. ‘And what was the lad doing up here anyway?’

  ‘When Artgal said that he had been offered the bribe by someone with a northern accent, Dianach grew upset,’ she reflected. ‘He jumped up to deny that it was him.’

  ‘But Artgal corroborated that by saying it was a deeper voice whereupon Ibor of Muirthemne disappeared from the ráth not attempting to deny the logical conclusion that it was he who had bribed Artgal,’ Eadulf called from the wall, still scrutinising the surrounding countryside. ‘And now Ibor has fled the valley.’

  ‘If it was not Ibor of Muirthemne who tried to bribe Artgal, why did he disappear?’ added Rudgal.

  There was no escaping the logic.

  Eadulf had jumped down from the wall and joined them again.

  ‘Moreover, why would Artgal disappear?’ he asked. ‘S
urely Laisre’s wrath is not so terrible. Artgal would have to pay a fine under your law to reinstate his honour but better to do that than flee to a life of wandering exile outside his clan?’

  Fidelma rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

  ‘It is a good point, Eadulf. I wonder if we might be overlooking a more pertinent question. Did the cattle really exist in the first place?’

  ‘That is a question beyond my understanding,’ muttered Rudgal. ‘Artgal would not have made up such a story.’

  ‘Think about it,’ invited Fidelma. ‘We are told that Artgal was given two milch cows by … shall we just call him a man with a northern accent? Did this man buy them from a farmer within this valley? It is small and the news of such a purchase ought to spread instantly for gossip does not need the flight of birds to cover the ground swiftly.’

  ‘Perhaps they were brought from without the valley,’ suggested Eadulf.

  ‘The same would apply. A man herding two or three milch cows into this valley would easily be observed and identified.’

  Eadulf had begun to examine the ground at the back of the cabin carefully.

  Fidelma glanced towards Rudgal. The warrior stood waiting patiently for instructions.

  ‘I think that you should go back to the ráth and tell Murgal what we have found here.’

  ‘Won’t Laisre be angry with you for disobeying his decree not to pursue this matter?’ asked the wagon maker.

  ‘That is my problem to deal with,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘And, more importantly, this death of a cleric outside of Laisre’s ráth is mine to deal with. Go quickly now.’

  Rudgal set off back down the hill in the direction of the ráth at an ambling trot.

  Fidelma turned back to Eadulf who was now sitting on the stone wall with a frown on his face. His eyes were still fixed on an examination of the ground at the back of the cabin which constituted the farmyard.

  ‘You seem interested in something,’ Fidelma prompted.

  Eadulf looked up reluctantly in her direction and then pointed to the ground.

  ‘What you have said troubles me. If Artgal had not been given the cows why would he make up the story about them? Yet the evidence points to the fact that what you have said needs some consideration. You see, if Artgal had been given two cows, he certainly did not keep them there.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Have you ever seen a patch of land where cows have been kept?’

  ‘I do not see what you are driving at.’

  ‘Examine this land, Fidelma. Where are the marks of cattle hooves – moreover, where are the pats of cattle excretions which one can never hide? No, even if the cows were given to Artgal this morning and were here during the course of the day, there would be such signs of their passing. If Artgal had such cattle, they were kept somewhere else.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  A conflict of expressions flitted across Fidelma’s features as she considered what he had said.

  ‘What is it?’ Eadulf demanded.

  ‘You have just observed the obvious, Eadulf. I think I may know where we might find these missing cows.’

  Eadulf was startled.

  ‘Come with me,’ Fidelma said, turning and leading the way from Artgal’s farmstead. In bemusement, Eadulf followed her as she confidently swung her way down the hill, following the path directly towards the group of buildings dominated by Ronan’s farm. They walked in silence for the most part as Fidelma appeared plunged into deep thought. Eadulf knew better than to attempt to interrupt her when she was in such a meditative mood.

  He was astonished when, reaching the bottom of the hill, she turned aside from the main track and approached the small house of Nemon the prostitute. She rapped confidently on the door.

  Nemon came out immediately and regarded them in surprise. Then she forced a twisted smile which was not entirely one of welcome.

  ‘You two again? I thought they said that you had killed the man about whom you were asking – what was his name, Solin?’

  ‘They thought wrongly,’ Fidelma assured her firmly.

  ‘Well, I can tell you no more about this Solin other than what I have told you already,’ sniffed the woman, attempting to close the door.

  ‘It was not Solin that I came to speak to you about. May we come in?’ Fidelma had noticed that the burly wife of Ronan, Bairsech, had come out of her house and had taken up her apparently favourite position, standing with folded arms watching them with undisguised hostile curiosity.

  Nemon was indifferent. She merely stood aside and allowed Fidelma to push by with Eadulf following.

  ‘Time is money,’ the fleshy woman remarked, looking pointedly at Eadulf.

  ‘As you told us last time,’ agreed Fidelma affably. ‘But this time I am acting as a dálaigh investigating a murder. What was the price you asked for your three milch cows?’

  Eadulf was more surprised than Nemon, for the woman did not even react.

  ‘I asked the going price. One sed per cow. A cumal for the three of them. I shall not give it back and nor am I going to milk them any longer. Artgal should have collected them or, at least, the two he promised to collect this morning. That was the arrangement.’

  Fidelma turned to look out of the window at the cattle munching in the field outside.

  ‘What made you accept money? I thought barter was the usual form of exchange here?’

  ‘I am not going to live all my life in this place. Money can buy freedom outside Gleann Geis.’

  ‘True enough. What arrangement did you make? That you would look after the cows until Artgal came to collect them and take them to his farmstead?’

  Nemon inclined her head in agreement.

  ‘He should have collected them today after milking. Well, two of them at least. I was to keep the third one for a further week and then let him have that one as well.’

  ‘And you were paid in advance?’

  ‘Of course. I am not stupid.’

  ‘No one said you were, Nemon. Did Ibor of Muirthemne give you any other instructions?’

  For the first time Nemon looked bewildered.

  ‘Ibor of Muirthemne? What has he to do with it?’

  ‘Wasn’t he the one who bought your cows?’ Fidelma asked hesitantly.

  ‘That one? Ha! He would not even come to visit me. He stayed over there with Ronan and his wife. I met him on the path but he was not interested in my services. It is the first time I have met a merchant who was far from home who refused to avail himself of the services of a woman. Why would he buy the cows from me?’

  Fidelma waited patiently until the end of her observation.

  ‘If it was not Ibor of Muirthemne who bought the cows from you, who was it?’

  ‘The boy, of course.’

  ‘The boy?’

  ‘The boy, what is his name? He is one of you – he has his head shaved like this foreign man. I have seen him with Solin.’

  ‘Brother Dianach?’ interposed Eadulf slowly.

  ‘Dianach, that is his name,’ confirmed Nemon.

  Fidelma was standing staring at her with an expression of perplexity.

  ‘When did Brother Dianach come here and buy the cows?’

  Nemon thought about it.

  ‘In the middle of the night, it was. Well, not long after dawn. I was fast asleep when he came knocking. I thought that he wanted my services but he nearly jumped a mile into the air when I suggested it. What is wrong with those who follow your God? Why are they such cavilling prudes? Are there no men among them?’ She paused and reflected with a derisory smile. ‘Well, the thick-set one … Solin could not be called a prude. I have no complaints of him on that account.’

  ‘You were telling us about Brother Dianach,’ interrupted Eadulf hurriedly.

  ‘The young boy? He awoke me early in the morning and said he wanted to buy my three milch cows. He explained the conditions. A cumal is hard to come by and I could do much with it. Besides, I never really wanted the responsibility of milking cows i
n the first place.’

  ‘So Brother Dianach bought your cows. How did he explain the arrangement? Did he offer any reason why he should suddenly buy the cows and give them to Artgal? I presume he told you that these were for Artgal at the time?’

  ‘Yes. Artgal is Ronan’s cousin. I only see him when he has won at some game of chance. When the boy told me that the cows were for Artgal, I presumed that the boy was in debt to Artgal over some wager or other. I don’t care anyway. The boy simply told me that Artgal would collect two of the cows later today. The third cow would be collected in a week or so. Artgal then came to see me soon afterwards to ensure that I had the cows. He confided in me that he thought the boy had been joking with him. He was surprised that I actually had the cows to give him. He said that he would collect them later today but I have seen nothing of him since.’

  Eadulf compressed his lips in annoyance.

  ‘So Artgal knew the real identity of his mysterious benefactor all along. He lied to the court when he said it was not Brother Dianach.’

  ‘That much is obvious.’ Fidelma was phlegmatic. ‘More importantly, Brother Dianach lied. Why would he want to ensure I was incarcerated or found guilty?’ She turned back to Nemon. ‘Have you seen Brother Dianach since this dawn transaction?’

  Nemon shook her head.

  ‘And when was the last time that you saw Ibor of Muirthemne?’

  ‘That was a few hours ago. I saw him saddling his horse over in Ronan’s field,’ the woman replied. ‘He rode off with both his horses. He went as if the hounds of Goll of the Fomorii were chasing him. Then Ronan came riding down in search of him. What is that about?’

  There came the sound of horses outside.

  Fidelma turned and glanced through the door.

  ‘It seems Murgal and Rudgal have returned. Eadulf, tell Murgal we are here. I want a word with him before he proceeds to Artgal’s farmstead.’

  Eadulf hurried outside to stop the horsemen before they passed by.

  Nemon was puzzled.