‘I have not heard this tale before,’ Eadulf said.
‘It is a period in our history which adds no pride to our people in the telling of it. The people finally tired of Tigernmas and he was mysteriously slain during the frenzied worship of the idol and our people returned their allegiance to the gods of their forefathers.’
Eadulf sniffed disapprovingly.
‘I see little difference between worship of an idol and worship of the pagan gods. Neither was the true god.’
‘You have a point, Eadulf, but at least the old gods did not demand the blood sacrifice that Cromm Cruach did.’
Eadulf ran a hand through his hair.
‘But what has this to do with … what was it? … The Threefold Death?’
‘It was the death which Cromm Cruach demanded, according to Tigernmas.’
‘I still do not follow.’
Fidelma waved a hand towards the bodies.
‘Each of these young men has been stabbed. Each has been garroted and each has had their skull crushed by a blow to the head. Does that imply anything to you?’
Eadulf’s eyes widened.
‘This is your Threefold Death?’
‘Exactly so. Each of these forms was a means of death. Every young man bears the marks of the same manner of dying. And furthermore, did you note the marks on their wrists?’
‘Marks?’
‘The burn marks of ropes. Their wrists were secured, presumably at the time of their deaths, and then the ropes were untied.’
Eadulf shivered and genuflected.
‘Do you suggest that they are the victims of some sacrificial rite?’
‘I enumerate the facts. Any conclusion would be no more than speculation.’
‘But if what you say is so, then you are suggesting that this is a pagan sacrifice and imply that the worship of the idol you mentioned, Cromm, still survives.’
Fidelma shook her head.
‘Tigernmas was said to have been the twenty-sixth king after the coming of the sons of Mile who brought the children of the Gael to Éireann. He ruled here a thousand years before Christ came to this world. Even his Druids turned on him because of this evil practice. To suggest the worship of Cromm still exists would be illogical.’
Eadulf pursed his lips a moment.
‘There is some deviltry here, though.’
‘In that, you are correct. I mentioned the number of bodies – thirty-three in all …’
‘And you implied that this number has some significance,’ interposed Eadulf hurriedly.
‘When the evil gods of the Fomorii were overthrown, it is said that they were commanded by thirty-two chieftains plus their High King. The great Ulaidh hero Cúchulainn slew thirty-three warriors in an evil fairy castle. When the Dési were expelled from Ireland by Cormac Mac Art they had to spend thirty-three years wandering
before they could settle down. Thirty-three champions including the king died in Bricriu’s hall … need I go on?’
Eadulf’s eyes slowly widened.
‘You are saying that the number thirty-three holds special significance in the pagan traditions of your people?’
‘I am. What we see here is some ancient ritual. The Threefold Death and the placing of the bodies in a sunwise circle and the number of the bodies all add to the ritual. But what the meaning of this ritual is, that we must discover. There is one other important observation which you have neglected to mention.’
Eadulf’s eye scanned the circle.
‘What is it?’ he asked uncertainly.
‘Examine that body and tell me what you see,’ she said, indicating a particular corpse with a wave of her hand.
Distastefully, Eadulf picked his way across the bodies and looked down. He gasped and crossed himself.
‘A brother,’ he whispered. ‘A brother of the Faith. He wears the tonsure of St John.’
‘Unlike the others, this one has cuts and lacerations to his legs and arms and face.’
‘Does this mean that he was tortured?’
‘Perhaps not. It looks more likely that he was running through some brambles from which he sustained such cuts and scratches.’
‘Yet this brother in Christ was ritually slaughtered.’ Eadulf was aghast. ‘His cloth did not save him from this mean death. You have already said yourself what this means.’
Fidelma stared at him uncertainly for a moment.
‘I have?’
‘It is obvious.’
‘If it is so, then tell me.’
‘We are heading to this Forbidden Valley where a pagan chieftain rules and who, by your very words, is opposed to the Truth of Christ’s Teaching. You are fond of quoting Latin proverbs Fidelma. I give you one.
Cuius regio eius religio.’
For the first time since they had witnessed the horrendous sight Fidelma let a smile play around her lips at Eadulf’s observation.
‘The ruler of a territory chooses its religion,’ she echoed in translation.
‘This chieftain, Laisre, is a pagan,’ went on Eadulf hurriedly. ‘And is this not some pagan symbolism which is meant to frighten or intimidate us?’
‘Intimidate us to prevent us from doing what?’ demanded Fidelma.
‘Why, from going on into Gleann Geis to negotiate the establishment of a Christian church and school there. I think that it is meant as an insult to your brother as king and Ségdae as bishop of Imleach. We should leave this place immediately. Turn around and head back to a Christian land.’
‘Ignore our mission?’ Fidelma asked. ‘Is that what you mean? To flee from here?’
‘To return here later with an army and put the fear of God into these pagans who have thrown such a deliberate insult before us. Yes, that is what we should do. I’d come back here in force and wipe this nest of pagan vipers from the face of the earth.’
Standing there by the corpses it was easy to get worked up. Eadulf did so, becoming red in the face in his fury.
Fidelma was pacifying.
‘The first thought that crossed my mind, Eadulf, was as you have eloquently expressed it. But it is an obvious thought. An obvious reaction. If this sight was meant for our eyes, perhaps it is too obvious. Do not ignore the shadows cast by bright lanterns.’
Eadulf felt calmer in spite of his fear and anger as he tried to fathom her meaning.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It was an aphorism of my master, the Brehon Morann of Tara. The things that are obvious are sometimes an illusion and the reality lies hidden behind them.’
She paused and screwed up her eyes, focussing them on something on the ground not so far away.
‘What is it?’ asked Eadulf, wheeling round in the direction in which her gaze became fastened in case some new danger threatened.
The sun’s rays had struck something laying on the gorse several yards away and were reflecting off it.
Fidelma said nothing but made her way towards it, pushing through the stubby gorse before bending down and coming up with the object in her hand.
Eadulf could hear her inward gasp of breath.
He moved quickly to her side to stare down at what she held.
‘A warrior’s torc,’ she observed unnecessarily. Eadulf knew enough to recognise the golden collar which was once widely worn by the elite champions of the Irish and the Britons as well, even among the Gauls of more ancient times. The collar was nearly eight inches in diameter consisting of eight twisted wires soldered into cast terminals. There were intricate lines of beading, cast dots and tiny punch marks in concentric circles. It was a work
of burnished gold, the polish of the metal work showing that the torc had not been discarded long.
Fidelma examined the markings thoroughly and then handed the torc over to Eadulf.
He was surprised by the lightness of the object, thinking at first that it was made of solid gold. However, the terminals were hollow and the twisted strands weighed very little.
‘Is there a connection?’ he asked, inclining his head towards the bodies beyond.
‘Perhaps. Perhaps not.’
Fidelma took the torc back from his hands and placed it carefully in her
marsupium
, the satchel which hung at her waist.
‘Whether there is or not, one thing is certain; it had not lain here long for it is too bright and newly polished. A second thing is certain: it belonged to a warrior of some quality.’
‘A warrior of Muman?’
She shook her head negatively.
‘There is a subtle difference in the designs used by the artists of Muman and those of other kingdoms,’ she explained. ‘I would say this torc was crafted among the men of Ulaidh, somewhere in the north.’
She was about to turn away from the spot when she appeared to notice something else. A grim look of satisfaction crossed her features.
‘Here is proof of your assertion, Eadulf,’ she announced, pointing.
He moved across to examine the ground. There was a muddy patch in an otherwise stony landscape from which the gorse grew irregularly. He could see that this area was criss-crossed with ruts.
‘This shows that the bodies were brought here on wagons. See the deeper ruts? Also the ones that are not so deep? The deeper ruts indicate the heavily loaded wagons and those that are not deep show them after the bodies were offloaded.’
She stared at the markings and walked along them for a short distance. Then she halted reluctantly.
‘We cannot follow them now. Our first priority is to complete our journey to Gleann Geis.’ She stared in the direction the tracks led. ‘The tracks seem to come from the north, they are difficult to follow over the stony ground. I would say that they came from beyond those hills.’
She extended her arm to indicate where she meant. For a moment she stood undecided before turning to survey the ever-growing
horde of impatiently chattering crows and ravens with distaste.
‘Well, there is little enough we can do for these poor devils. We do not have the time, nor strength, nor tools to afford them a proper burial. But perhaps God created scavengers for just such a purpose.’
‘At least we should say prayers for the dead, Fidelma,’ Eadulf protested.
‘Say your prayer, Eadulf, and I will add my amen to it. But we should leave as soon as we may.’
Sometimes Eadulf felt that Fidelma took the religious part of her life less seriously than she took her duties as an advocate of the law. He gave her a disapproving glance before he turned and blessed the circle of bodies before him and began to intone in Saxon:
‘Dust, earth and ashes is our strength,
Our glory frail and vain;
From earth we come, to earth at length
We must return again.
When in life we feed on flesh of beasts,
of fowls and divers fish;
But in death for crawling worms
Ourselves become a dish.’
Suddenly, two large crows, more courageous than their fellows, rose in the air and then fell on one of the bodies, sinking their claws into the pale flesh. Eadulf swallowed, left aside his verseful prayer and muttered a quick blessing for the repose of the souls of the young men before backing hurriedly away.
Fidelma had untied their mounts from the bush where Eadulf had left them and was now holding the fretful horses. The animals were unnerved not only by the stench of corruption but by the ravenous chorusing of the birds as they set to. He mounted as she did and they began to ride away.
‘As soon as we are able, I want to return to this spot and follow those tracks to see if we may learn something further,’ she announced, glancing over her shoulder to the distant hills.
Eadulf shuddered.
‘Is that wise?’
Fidelma pouted.
‘Wisdom has little to do with it.’ Then she smiled. ‘By my reckoning, we are only a short ride away from Gleann Geis. It lies beyond these next hills, westward there across this valley. We will
see what Laisre has to say. If he maintains that he knows nothing then we can swiftly conclude our business there, return and follow these tracks.’
‘It might rain soon and wash them away,’ Eadulf said automatically and perhaps with a little hope in his voice.
Fidelma glanced at the sky.
‘It will not rain between now and the day after tomorrow,’ she said confidently. ‘With luck it may remain dry for some days.’
Eadulf had long since given up asking how she could foretell the weather. She had explained many times about observing patterns in plants and clouds but it was beyond his understanding. He now simply accepted that she was invariably correct. He glanced back to the gorging ravens and shuddered visibly.
Fidelma, noticing his look of repulsion, said: ‘Be philosophical, my brother in Christ. Are not ravens and crows part of the great Creation and do not those scavengers have a part ordained by the Creator?’
Eadulf was unconvinced.
‘They are the creations of Satan. None other.’