Free Valley of the Shadow by Peter Tremayne Page B

angry look came into Solin’s eyes.

    ‘Sister, I think you forget yourself. As secretary to Ultan …’ he protested.
    ‘You secure no privileges of rank before me. I am envoy to my brother, the king of Cashel. Why are you here?’
    The blood drained momentarily from Solin’s face as he fought his rage at being so bluntly addressed. Then he regained his composure with a tight smile.
    ‘Ultan of Armagh has sent me to the farthest corners of the five kingdoms to see how the Faith prospers. He has sent me with gifts to distribute …’
    The door opened again with abruptness.
    It was Orla. She entered with an annoyed expression furrowing her features.
    ‘What does this mean?’ she snapped. ‘My brother is being kept waiting. Is this the courtesy Cashel extends to its chieftains?’
    Solin smirked, rising from his seat.
    ‘I was just trying to persuade the good sister to accompany me to the chieftain’s council chamber,’ he said obsequiously. ‘She seemed more concerned with the reasons for my presence in Gleann Geis.’
    Fidelma opened her mouth to challenge his lie but then snapped it shut. She turned to Orla and met her anger with a stony look.
    ‘I am ready. Precede us.’
    Orla raised an eyebrow, disconcerted for the moment by the haughty expression on Fidelma’s face for she was quite unused to having her authority challenged. Without a further word, she led the way from the hostel. Eadulf and Solin brought up the rear.
    The chambers of Laisre were housed in the largest of the buildings in the ráth. A centrally situated three-storey building which, when entered by the great door, revealed a large reception chamber with passageways leading left and right and with a stone stairway to the rooms above. A tall inner door then gave entrance into a large chamber. There were several people gathered there in the high-ceilinged, smoky room. Large tapestries draped the walls and hanging lamps illuminated the room, although the central fire, on which logs were blazing, gave out a strong glowing light and was the cause of the smoky atmosphere.
    A couple of deer hounds lay at full length before the roaring fire. To one side of them was a large ornate carved oak chair. Clustered around it were several men and women of the chieftain’s immediate circle. Two warriors guarded the interior door and a third stood just behind the oak chair of office. Fidelma recognised this third warrior as the black-bearded man,
named Artgal, who had accompanied Orla when they had first encountered her.
    It needed no introduction to identify Laisre, the chieftain of Gleann Geis, even if he had not been sprawling in the great oak chair. Knowing that Orla was his sister Fidelma could distinguish him at once for the resemblance was truly remarkable. He had the same structure of face, the same dark eyes and hair and the same manner of expression. Had he not worn a long wispy dark moustache she would have said they were two peas from the same pod. In fact, as she examined him more closely, she realised that he and Orla must be twins. He was a man of slender looks and handsome with, perhaps, the fault of knowing it. He was not remotely like the image that Fidelma had conjured of a pagan chieftain at Cashel. She had imagined a wild, unruly man. But, pagan as he was, Laisre was poised, impeccable in his manners and with all the appearance of civility.
    As Orla conducted them into the chamber Laisre rose from his chair of office and came forward to greet Fidelma in token of her rank, of which Orla must have informed him. His hand was outstretched.
    ‘You are well come to this place, Fidelma of Cashel. I trust your brother, the king, is well?’
    ‘He is, by the grace of God,’ replied Fidelma automatically.
    There was a smothered exclamation from one of the men in the room. Fidelma turned an inquiring look in the direction of the group.
    Laisre grimaced apologetically. There was a humour in his eyes.
    ‘Some here may ask the question, by the grace