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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