Valley of the Shadow by Peter Tremayne Page A

Brother standing here, Sister, and wondered if there was anything that you needed?’ he ventured.
    ‘No, we were merely taking the evening air before the feast,’ Eadulf explained.
    Fidelma was looking at the warrior with interest, taking in his features for the first time. He was a strong-looking man, the fair hair was the colour of harvest corn and his eyes were light blue. He was in his early thirties. He wore an old-fashioned lengthy moustache on his upper lip which came past the sides of his mouth to his jaw bone, adding years to his age. He carried himself well.
    ‘Why do you address me as “Sister”?’ Fidelma suddenly asked sharply. ‘Those who do not follow the Faith do not usually do so.’

    The warrior let his eyes meet hers for a long moment, cast a quick look at Eadulf and dropped them again. Then he glanced along the walkway as if fearing to be overheard, before placing his hand inside his shirt and pulling out something on the end of a leather thong. It was a small bronze crucifix.
    Fidelma regarded it thoughtfully.
    ‘So, you are a Christian?’
    The man nodded quickly and put the crucifix back into his shirt.
    ‘There are more of us here than Murgal the Druid likes to admit, Sister,’ he answered. ‘My mother came here to marry a man from Gleann Geis and when I was born she raised me secretly in the Faith.’
    ‘So when Laisre said that he wanted a church and school for the Christian community here, for those already raised in the Faith,’ mused Eadulf, ‘he was not telling a lie?’
    The fair-haired man shook his head.
    ‘No, Brother. For many years our community has pressed our chieftain and his council to allow us a priest to tend to our needs. They have refused until recently. Then we heard the joyful news that Laisre had sent to Imleach and Cashel for just such a purpose.’
    ‘And what is your name?’ asked Fidelma.
    ‘My name is Rudgal, Sister.’
    ‘And you are a warrior, I see.’
    Rudgal chuckled slightly.
    ‘There are no professional warriors here in Gleann Geis. I am a wagon maker by trade but answer Laisre’s call every time he needs the services of warriors. Each man here pursues his own calling. Even Artgal, who Laisre considers his chief bodyguard, is also a blacksmith.’
    Fidelma remembered what Orla had told her.
    ‘And why do you make yourself known to us, Rudgal?’ asked Eadulf.
    Rudgal looked swiftly from one to the other.
    ‘In case there is any service I can render. Call upon me should you need anything that is in my power to provide.’
    There came the sound of a horn close by. Rudgal gave a grimace.
    ‘Ah, the trumpet! We are summoned to the feast.’
    Eadulf found, even as Fidelma had predicted, that Laisre was a strict traditionalist. Everyone had gathered in the large anteroom before the council chamber of the ráth. This was now converted into the feasting hall. Three officers of Laisre’s household went
into the hall first. Murgal, as official advisor to Laisre, a bollscare , or marshal, to regulate the order of precedence of those about to be seated, and the trumpeter or fearstuic. At the sound of the next single blast on his horn, Laisre’s shield bearer and others carrying the shields or standards of Laisre’s warriors entered. The shields were then hung on hooks above the chairs according to ranks.
    At the third blast, the bearers of the emblems of those of other ranks went in and fixed these devices to indicate where each guest would sit. Finally, at the fourth blast of the trumpet, the guests all walked in leisurely, each taking their seat under their own shields or emblems. In this manner, all unseemly disputes or jostling for places were avoided. No man or woman sat opposite another, as only one side of each table was occupied. This rigid adherence to an order of priority was, Eadulf noticed, the strictest rule.
    Large wooden tables had been set up in the chamber. Laisre’s marshal continued to fuss about to assure himself that every person