Valley of the Shadow by Peter Tremayne

broke off, holding her head to one side.
    They became aware of the sound of a horse behind them moving rapidly through the gorge.

    ‘They are coming after us,’ hissed Eadulf, turning in his saddle, but the ravine twisted and turned so much there would be nothing to see until the rider was almost upon them.
    Fidelma shook her head.
    ‘They? See what fear does to judgment? It is only one horse coming along behind us and that undoubtedly belongs to Orla.’
    Eadulf had barely opened his mouth to reply when the dark-haired woman came abruptly round a corner of the granite rock, saw them and halted her horse.
    ‘I could not let you enter Gleann Geis without the courtesy of an escort. I have left my men to deal with …’ She hesitated and made a gesture with her hand as if it would describe the horrendous scene of the dead bodies on the plain behind. ‘Artgal will report anything he may find which can help to solve the riddle of this slaughter. I shall accompany you to my brother’s ráth.’
    Fidelma inclined her head in acknowledgment.
    ‘We appreciate your courtesy, Orla.’
    The dark-haired woman edged her horse forward into the lead and they proceeded at a walking pace.
    Fidelma opened the conversation again.
    ‘I am led to understand that you disagree with your brother, Laisre, that the Faith should be recognised in this land?’
    Orla smiled sourly.
    ‘My brother has accepted that the word of your Faith is strong in the five kingdoms. There is scarcely a petty kingdom or chief who disputes the message of this foreign god. Laisre is chieftain but we may not all agree with his action.’
    Eadulf went to say something but ended up in a fit of coughing as he caught Fidelma’s warning eye.
    ‘So? You feel that the Christ is an alien god and not the one god of all the world?’ mused Fidelma.
    ‘We have our own gods who have served us since the beginning of time. Why abandon them now, especially in favour of one who is borne to this country on the tongues of Romans and Roman slaves who could never conquer us in warfare but now conquer us with their god?’
    ‘A unique way of looking at things,’ remarked Fidelma. ‘But you forget that our people have accepted a god of the east as the universal god but we worship him in our own way, not in the ways dictated by Rome.’
    Orla pursed her lips cynically.
    ‘That is not what I hear. There are those of your Faith who, as you rightly say, refuse to accept the dictates of Rome but many others
who do. Ultan of Armagh, for example, who says he has authority throughout the five kingdoms and sends his representatives to all the corners of this land, demanding allegiance.’
    A frown passed Fidelma’s brow so quickly that it might not have been noticed.
    ‘Have you received such envoys from Ultan?’
    ‘We have,’ Orla admitted unabashed. ‘This same Ultan who calls himself the Comarb, the successor of Patrick, who brought the Faith of Christ to this land. This same Ultan who claims that all dues of the new Faith should be his.’
    Fidelma felt obliged to point out that the scribes of the abbey at Imleach disputed Patrick’s claims to be the first to have brought the Faith to Éireann and especially Muman. Had not Muman been converted by the Blessed Ailbe, son of Olcnais, who served in the house of a king? Had not Ailbe befriended and encouraged Patrick? Had it not been Patrick and Ailbe, working together, who had converted Oengus Mac Nad Froich, king of Cashel, to the Faith? And it was Patrick who agreed that the royal city of Cashel should be the seat of Ailbe’s church in Muman. All this came tripping to her tongue, but she remained silent. Much could also be learnt through silence.
    ‘I have no liking for your Faith or those who propound it,’ confessed Orla honestly. ‘Your Patrick converted the people by fear.’
    ‘How so?’ asked Fidelma keeping her voice calm.
    Orla thrust out her chin, the better to make her point.
    ‘We may live in a remote part of