The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction (19 page)

“Rechtabra,” Fidelma greeted him quietly. “Do you recognize me after all these years?”

The young man examined her closely, frowning a little, and then a broad grin shaped his features.

“By the blessed saints. It is cousin Fidelma … Fidelma of Cashel.” He moved forward and embraced her. Then he stood back. “I have not seen you since I was eleven years old.” He turned to Eadulf. “So you must be Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham?” He thrust out a hand. “Well, it seems we have a family gathering.” He gave an exaggerated shiver and peered round. “Surely someone can offer frozen travellers some
corma
to drive out the wolf from my stomach.”

Scoth pouted disapprovingly. “It is too early for strong drink.”

Rechtabra grinned at his cousin. “I swear that you are becoming a prude. We have spent an hour riding in this weather and will surely expire without something to warm our bellies. Oh,” he turned to his companion, who was removing his fur coat. “This is Máen the Silent, my right hand. Máen, this is my cousin, Fidelma of Cashel, and her husband, Eadulf, of whom I am sure you have heard.”

Máen, true to his name, merely bowed his head in acknowledgement but said nothing.

Rechtabra was looking round: “Now, that drink.”

Eadulf had spotted the flagon of
corma,
the strong liquor, and poured out two measures in earthenware goblets for the young man and his companion. Rechtabra raised it in silent tribute, before taking a seat by the fire. Scoth remained standing, while Fidelma and Eadulf resumed their seats. Máen took a seat a little farther back.

“Well now, what brings you here of all places in this little corner of your brother’s kingdom?” Rechtabra asked. “And in such winter weather.”

“I had arranged to meet Eadulf here so that we could journey back to Cashel together,” explained Fidelma. “It seems the weather has decided that we must stay longer than we had anticipated.”

“A strange little spot for your paths to meet,” commented the tanist. Eadulf wondered if there was suspicion in his voice.

“A logical spot,” he intervened. “Fidelma was coming back from the port of Luimneach, through the mountains, and I was coming from the abbey of the blessed Cronan at Tuaim Gréine. What logical meeting point for our two paths to cross but here?”

Rechtabra glanced at Eadulf with a smile. “Quite right, my friend. Quite right,” he said gently. Then he glanced at Scoth. “And more company for you for a while?”

The girl blushed furiously. “I am not lacking in company.”

“Of course not. At least your father will approve of the company of our cousin from Cashel.” The tanist’s voice was gentle but hinted at something else.

“And why are you here?” Fidelma asked, seeing the hot colour on Scoth’s cheeks, and changing the conversation.

Rechtabra chuckled. “Our presence is dictated by the weather.”

“But to come here to escape from it, you must have set out from somewhere,” Eadulf said with a smile.

“You are sharp, Eadulf. Máen and I were encamped in the foothills of the mountains, a short way off. We decided we would seek more warmth and comfort than a wind-blown tent and a blanket until this chilly storm has passed.”

Scoth sniffed, made to speak, and then suddenly made for the door. “You will excuse me. I have several things to attend to.”

When she had gone, Rechtabra shook his head and turned in confidential manner to Fidelma, though still with a smile on his face.

“A strange one, that. I think she resents that I am heir apparent to the chieftainship. She also resents the fact that her father wanted her to marry me. Well, the feeling of repugnance between us is mutual.”

“Is there anything else that would make her dislike you?” pressed Fidelma gently.

Rechtabra stared searchingly at her for a moment before he re-assumed his grin.

“I can think of several things, cousin. I am honest about my faults.”

“Shall we speak of silver mines?”

Fidelma was aware of the silent Máen suddenly leaning forward intently in his chair.

“Silver mines?” Rechtabra said, almost sharply. “What have they to do with likes and dislikes?”

“I suppose that you know that I am a
dálaigh
…”

“You reputation in the kingdom is well known, cousin Fidelma. There is even a rumour that King Colgú may make you his Chief Brehon. And so?”

“Scoth believes that you have appropriated a silver mine and some land that she should rightfully control.”

Rechtabra gazed at her a moment, turned to Máen with a shrug, and sighed deeply before turning back.

“And therefore …?” he queried.

“Therefore, I should remind you of the law. If this is Scoth’s property then it cannot be appropriated. It cannot be alienated from her control as a
banchomarba
, a female heir. Any illegal use of the mine would bring forth fines, compensation and reimbursement of the estimated amount of silver removed from it.”

Rechtabra was nodding as if in agreement.

“Cousin, there is one word that you have used in that. A most important word. I am sure you can guess at what the word is … if.”

Fidelma regarded him thoughtfully.

“Do you deny it?”

“Assuredly I do.”

“She wanted us to ride with her today to where this mine was in order to warn you that she will take legal action.”

Rechtabra chuckled with amusement. “And what legal action could she take? If our Brehon were here, then he would tell her. If Prince Gilcach, her father, were here then he would not take the matter as lightly as I do. The silver mines here are the wealth of our people, and Gilcach shares that among them on the great annual festival at An tAonach. We jealously guard the wealth of the mines for they are our joint wealth and not owned by one person, whether it be Scoth or even myself.”

There was an honest intensity in his voice that surprised her.

“Then you are willing for this matter to be heard before a Brehon?”

“If that Brehon is aware of all the facts,” confirmed the tanist.

“But if this is not the truth, why would Scoth make it up?”

“Because of her dislike for me.”

“That does not seem a strong reason.”

“Nevertheless, it is the only one I can think of. Not only did she hate me when her father suggested marriage but it seemed that Gilcach was not in favour of a man she
did
want to marry.” Rechtabra’s tone was indifferent. “Anyway, it is a silly accusation and could only be made during the absence of Gilcach and his Brehon.”

“Then we must leave this matter until it can be judged competently by Gilcach and his Brehon. But remember, Rechtabra, that, in the interim, all the silver taken from the mine in question must be accounted for.”

Rechtabra smiled grimly. “So it has been and so it shall be. I am answerable to the Prince Gilcach for the well-being of the mines and he shall have a full accounting.”

“Speaking of the well-being,” – Fidelma felt it time to change the topic, for the matter was leading to a stalemate between Rechtabra and Scoth – “I am told that one of your mine-workers has disappeared.”

To her surprise it was Máen who suddenly laughed grimly and then exchanged an apologetic glance with the tanist.

“Only one?” Máen said in answer to Fidelma’s scrutiny. “More like a dozen good men have disappeared in this area.”

Fidelma’s eyes widened a fraction at the news.

“A dozen? All workers in the silver mines? During what space of time have these disappearances taken place?”

“From the time of the last full of the moon.”

“The locals call that one ‘the night of the snow wolf’,” added Máen. “There are rumours, of course, which have been set abroad by silly, superstitious people. Stories of the men lured to their doom in the mountains …”

“Lured? By whom?”

“Ancient legends say there is a monster dwelling there,” Máen said. “Some creature called Fáelur, the wolfman, who feeds upon the unwary traveller. So people tell you not to ride through the mountains during these days.”

“And what do you say happened to these men? Twelve, you say? All strong mine-workers.”

This time Rechtabra replied. “I am not good at making guesses, cousin. Maybe the local superstition is right. All I know is that their disappearance is an inconvenience. I have the mines to run.”

It was later that Fidelma put Rechtabra’s denials to Scoth.

“He is a liar! I tell you, he is a liar!” she cried angrily.

“The matter must be judged,” returned Fidelma. “When my brother, the King, learns of the return of your father and his Brehon, he will summon everyone to attend him at Cashel. You and Rechtabra must defend your claims. That will be an end to the matter. Will that satisfy you?”

“But meanwhile he will go on stealing the silver that belongs to me.”

“He has been warned that, if guilty, the amount will be estimated and that will be reimbursed with compensation and fines. Perhaps I can persuade my brother to send some warriors of his bodyguard to observe Rechtabra’s activities. That must satisfy you.”

“I suppose it must satisfy me.” Scoth did not sound convinced.

“Well, I do not think that Rechtabra would have confessed to me immediately as to any wrongdoing – especially if he is guilty,” Fidelma pointed out. “It is the best judgement I can make in the circumstances.”

That night the snow continued to fall.

***

The snow continued to fall for two more days, spreading from the west in the darkened skies. There was little point in looking at the track beyond the gates of the hunting lodge for the wind-driven snow was blinding and freezing. It was an uncomfortable two days, for Fidelma and Eadulf were forced to spend them in the main hall – albeit before a roaring fire – in icy atmosphere between Scoth and Rechtabra, which almost matched the atmosphere outside. In fact, two fires had been lit, each at opposite ends of the great hall, so no one encroached on anyone else.

Eadulf passed much of the time playing
fidchell
, or wooden wisdom, with Rechtabra. Eadulf had found himself quite adept at the game that was popular among the people of the five kingdoms. It was the equivalent of chess in other lands. The object of the game was to protect the single High King piece, standing in the centre of the board that was divided into squares. His protectors were the four provincial kings. The attacking pieces could mount their attack from any of the four sides of the board with the eventual task of trapping the High King so he was unable to move. It was a game of skill and forethought.

Scoth had retired to a corner not too far from one of the fires but by one of the snow-blocked windows that gave a little light. Mostly the oil lamps were lit to provide illumination. Scoth had taken out her
iadach
, a workbag in which needles and threads and materials for embroidery were carried. Using various coloured balls of thread called
certle
, she bent to her task. Embroidery was a recognized art in which all royal ladies were proficient. It was said that every chiefly household maintained a chief
druinech
or embroideress. Even the Blessed Patrick had three embroiders in his household – his own sister, Lupait, Cruimtheris, a princess of the royal house of Ulaidh, and Erca, the daughter of the prince who gave land to Patrick at Ard Macha so that he could build a church there.

Fidelma passed the time with the silent Máen, playing
brandubh –
another board game, called ‘Black Raven’. They set up their board at the far end of the hall by the other fire. Máen was not a brilliant player and eventually Fidelma tried to draw him into a little conversation about himself and his service to the tanist. They spoke in low, whispered tones, so as not to disturb anyone else. Little by little she learnt that he had been fostered with Rechtabra, trained as a warrior and thenceforth became his
trenfher
or champion, a term meaning chief bodyguard.

“Do you spend all the time in this part of the territory? Among the mines?”

Máen shook his head. “As tanist, Rechtabra’s task is to frequently go on a circuit of the territory, much like the Brehon, to be watchful over the people and the property of Prince Gilcach.”

“What do you make of this argument between the lady Scoth and the tanist?”

Máen looked about him quickly but, seeing Scoth intent on her sewing and Eadulf and Rechtabra concentrating on their game, he realized they could not be overheard if he spoke softly.

“It started when Prince Gilcach made his wish known that he wanted Scoth to marry Rechtabra. Rechtabra accepted the idea – not that he was in love, but it was a logical move for the good of the chieftainship.”

“And the lady, Scoth?”

“She was enraged. If the truth be known, she had met someone else. I do not know who it was, but rumour had it that he was from Bréifne but not of a chiefly family. The more her father tried to persuade her against it, the more she fought and the more her dislike of Rechtabra increased.”

“And what did Rechtabra think of this?”

“He was not happy. He knows that Prince Gilcach indulges his daughter. Moreover, the petty chieftains want to curry favour with Gilcach, and it had occurred to Rechtabra that Gilcach could call a meeting of his council and persuade them to elect a new tanist and one which he could persuade his daughter to marry. I think Rechtabra is very insecure.”

“And what of this business of the silver mine? Have you heard of this inheritance before?”

“That I have no knowledge of it. Rechtabra, as tanist, keeps his eye on the silver mines of the Airthir Chliach and that is his duty to the Prince Gilcach. It could well be that the lady Scoth has a prior claim. But I thought that the matter was now in hand and that we were to wait for the return of Gilcach and his Brehon?” The warrior was suddenly suspicious that Fidelma was pumping him for information about the tanist.

“You are quite right, Máen,” she agreed quickly. “I cannot help being curious, that is all. Let us forget this matter.”

***

On the morning of the third day, the winds had dropped and the skies cleared. Fidelma and Eadulf left the settlement soon after first light, having bid farewell to Scoth. They learnt that, even as early as they had risen, Rechtabra and his companion Máen had already departed. Fidelma was silent and dissatisfied as they began to head for the pass through Sliabh an Airgid. The conditions became fair and sunny, although the pale winter sun had no effect on alleviating the coldness of the day. However, the riding conditions were good, the track was firm although covered by a layer of crisp snow. Their intention had been to cross the ford over the river Maoilchearn, south of the Silver Mountains, then keep south-east, to join the main track south to Cashel beyond Cnoc Thaidhg, a small peak rising only 400 metres. It did not take them too long to pass through the four-kilometre stretch that constituted the pass through the Silver Mountains, and to come to the river crossing. It was here that Fidelma halted and frowned in sudden decision.