23- The Seventh Trumpet

by Peter Tremayne

  As answer, Eadulf pointed to the furrow in the mud bank. ‘Perhaps, but this proves my argument. You agree that this indentation was made by the prow of their boat, ramming hard into the bank?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then look at the angle of it. The prow struck into the bank from the north, and to make that deep indentation it needed both propulsion and weight. That is what the current and wind gave it. It would not have been so deep, had the rowers been forcing the boat against the tide and wind; nor would it have been able to strike the bank at that precise angle.’

  Gormán regarded Eadulf with admiration. ‘No wonder you are considered a worthy partner for the Lady Fidelma, friend Eadulf. I thought that I could read all the signs, but this did not occur to me.’

  ‘So they allowed the wind and current to carry them here in silence. In silence they were able to render us unconscious and carry away Fidelma. But why? And where? If they were using the river, where would they head for, remembering they are now rowing against the current?’

  Gormán glanced up at the sky, especially noting the rustling tree-tops.

  ‘The north-east wind has dropped. This is a mild breeze from the west, not enough that they could use a sail to good effect, but with a good bank of oars they could progress well. But as you say, where? Not far distant from here, the river swings eastwards and finally it turns again and follows the valley to the north and north-east where it rises in the mountains behind.’

  ‘Are there any settlements along the river?’ Eadulf asked.

  ‘The next big fortress and township by the river is the principal seat of the Éile, Durlus Éile.’

  ‘That was the very town we were making for in our pursuit of Biasta,’ Eadulf said. ‘Do you think these abductors could have come from Durlus?’

  Gormán gave an eloquent shrug. ‘I would not put it beyond the realms of possibility. The territory of the Durlus Éile has always been seen as an easy door into Muman. Who controls Durlus Éile controls the ways into the Kingdom of Muman.’

  ‘But isn’t Durlus Éile part of Muman?’

  ‘It’s true that they hold allegiance to the King of Cashel. That might not be the same thing.’

  ‘Are you saying that we might find danger in Durlus Éile?’

  ‘I am merely saying that we should be on our guard if we do go into that township.’

  For a few moments Eadulf was silent, regarding the flowing river as if seeking inspiration from the grey, pushing waters. Then he uttered a sharp exclamation and went to a bush near the indentation that the boat had made.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Gormán.

  ‘Blood,’ returned Eadulf. ‘There is blood splattered here on the leaves.’ He rose quickly and glanced around. ‘Whose blood? Victim or abductor?’

  Eadulf remained silent for a moment and then he hastened back to the campfire.

  ‘Do we have a plan, friend Eadulf?’ asked Gormán, following him.

  ‘There is only one plan – to follow them. I wish we had a better one,’ replied Eadulf. ‘We must follow the river north to this Durlus Éile and keep our eyes open for any sign of a likely landing-place along the bank which the abductors might have used. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed,’ Gormán replied solemnly. ‘But what if, by the time we reach Durlus Éile, we have discovered no trace or found no lead – what then?’

  ‘Let us hope that we do,’ Eadulf said with fervour. ‘This is a big country and there are plenty of places where Fidelma might be taken. Remember, as a dálaigh, she has many enemies – and who is to say this may not be a mission of revenge that has taken her from us.’ He thought for a moment before adding: ‘The first person we meet heading south to Cashel, if we think that they are to be trusted, must take a message to her brother Colgú to tell him what has happened.’

  Gormán nodded slowly, before suddenly realising, with some surprise, that the throbbing of his head no longer bothered him. The infusion that Eadulf had mixed seemed to have worked, even though the wound was still sore. He began to pick up their belongings, tie them together and take them to the horses, ensuring that their mounts had a drink at the river first.

  Eadulf went to where Fidelma had been sleeping and collected her cloak and marsupium. Her personal cíorbholg, or comb bag, was also there. She usually had it belted around her waist or in her marsupium. It was a sign of how swift the abduction had been. She would scarcely move without it. He also realised that not all of Gormán’s belongings had been collected.

  ‘I think you have forgotten something, Gormán,’ he called, pointing to where a blanket still lay near the fire. By it was a leather bag which had a long strap to sling it across one’s shoulder.

  Gormán stared for a moment. ‘I thought they might belong to you or the Lady Fidelma,’ he muttered, ‘but …’

  ‘They must belong to the poet, Torna,’ Eadulf said, bending down and picking up the satchel. There were a few items of clothing in it and some pieces of vellum and two quills, a knife in a sheath but nothing else. The vellum had some writing on it, but it was in the old form of writing, Ogham, which was named after the ancient God of Literacy and Learning, Ogma. Eadulf groaned. ‘Ego senito bardus!’

  ‘What?’ Gormán was puzzled.

  ‘I am stupid!’ translated Eadulf. ‘This changes my conclusion about Torna. Had he been part of this abduction plan, he would not have left his bag and sleeping blanket discarded in this manner. He has been carried off as well.’

  Gormán shrugged. ‘It still does not bring us any nearer to what happened, or why, friend Eadulf. Nor does it give us any further information as to where Fidelma’s abductors have taken her. In fact, it adds further questions.’

  ‘Which are?’ grunted Eadulf, still displeased with himself for not noticing Torna’s belongings before. ‘Aren’t there enough to answer already?’

  ‘Why would Fidelma’s abductors be content to leave us behind but take the poet – unless he was a victim of the abduction?’

  Eadulf gazed thoughtfully at him. ‘We have been assuming that the object of the abduction was Fidelma.’

  ‘Of course, she is sister to the King and a prominent Brehon who has made many enemies. It is a logical assumption that she would be the object of the abductors,’ replied the warrior. ‘But what if she was not?’

  ‘Hmm, so if it was this young man, Torna, who was the intended victim, what if they, whoever they are, came for him – and when we awoke they were content to knock us unconscious. But because Fidelma was a woman and a witness, they decided to take her as well.’

  ‘But who would want to abduct a poet?’ sighed Gormán.

  It was not long before they were riding northwards along the riverbank, with Gormán leading Fidelma’s horse, Aonbharr, behind him. Some sections of the way were muddy; mostly the land was flat and open, while drier parts led through woodland. They had been travelling some way before Eadulf broke the silence.

  ‘What’s that hill?’ he asked, indicating a small rise immediately to the east of them. Apart from the distant hills ahead and those beyond the great River Suir to the west of them, this was the only high ground along their path. Eadulf knew that high ground could often be dangerous, supplying a hiding-place, a sentinel post, a point for ambush. The mysterious attack and abduction had left him jumpy, and he constantly examined the ground around them as they rode.

  ‘That is Feart Éanna – the grave of Éanna,’ said Gormán. ‘There is nothing there but a cairn to mark the grave. I think a small farmstead lies just beyond it by a small river which flows into the Suir, but I know little else about it.’

  Eadulf continued to peer at the round hillock. ‘And who was this Éanna?’

  ‘Éanna Airgethech was a King of Muman, so long ago that we cannot count the years. He was called Éanna of the Silver Shield and he reigned for three times nine years, but was slain in battle. That was in the days long before Eóghan Mór, the founder of the race of the Eóghanacht.’

  At any other time Eadulf would h
ave been interested, but now he was only concerned as to whether the hill hid any dangers for them.

  ‘Is it worth checking this farmstead?’ he asked.

  ‘Not if we are following a boat. We should keep to the river.’

  They pressed on again in silence. They could see no boats on the water. The countryside too seemed deserted. There were no farmworkers in the bare fields because all were now stripped of crops. The harvest was over. Nor did there seem any sign of herdsmen or boys attending to the cattle or sheep that they occasionally caught sight of in the distance. It was a clear day with only a few wispy clouds very high in the bright blue canopy over them. The sun was reflected in a milliard of winking bright sparks over the surface of the river.

  ‘We are coming up to the point where the river bends towards the east soon,’ Gormán broke the silence. ‘There is a ferry there, and if, as you say, the abductors have passed along that route, then we might get information from the ferryman.’

  ‘Perhaps we should be careful?’ suggested Eadulf. ‘If the abductors came by boat, then the ferryman might be involved.’

  Gormán shook his head. ‘It is only a small ferry-crossing and it has been there since I have known it. As I recall, the ferry is run by a man and his wife, and they have a son who helps them.’

  Eadulf knew that ferryboats were common on the rivers throughout the Five Kingdoms. Each ferryboat and owner were subject to strict laws and regulations on ownership and management. Sometimes the ferries were owned by individuals; at other times they were owned in common by the people who lived in the settlements along the banks of the river. Churches and religious communities also had the right to own their own ferry, but on condition that people wishing to cross the river were allowed free right of passage.

  The ferryman’s house was soon revealed as a log cabin almost hidden among the trees that grew close to the riverbank. They could see, as they approached, that the ether, or ferryboat, was only a small one that could be pulled by two oarsmen and seat four passengers. It was tied to a small wooden jetty which was a short distance away from the cabin. There were no other dwellings in the vicinity. Obviously the sound of their approach had been heard inside the cabin, for the door opened and a short, muscular man with greying hair came out.

  ‘I cannot take horses to the other side,’ he told them, gazing at their mounts.

  ‘We do not come seeking the use of your ferry,’ replied Gormán. ‘A beaker of lind and the answer to a few questions would serve our wants.’

  The ferryman pursed his lips in disapproval.

  ‘The ferry is the means of support for my wife and my son, who helps row people across; otherwise you would be welcome to my hospitality.’

  ‘Then you shall be rewarded for your hospitality and your time,’ Gormán declared, swinging off his horse and leading it to a wooden hitching-post by the hut. ‘Do you not recognise me, Echna?’

  The ferryman stared at him, suddenly noticing the golden torque. ‘Why, it is Gormán of the Nasc Niadh.’ The man seemed well-informed and quick-witted, for he turned to Eadulf and said, ‘Then you must be the Saxon named Eadulf, husband to the Lady Fidelma, the sister of our King?’

  Eadulf felt the time was not right to be pedantic and point out that he was an Angle, not a Saxon. He simply acknowledged the fact.

  The ferryman was already calling into the cabin for his wife to bring a jug of lind and beakers. He indicated a wooden bench overlooking the jetty by the river.

  ‘Be seated, Gormán. Brother Eadulf, also. My name is Echna and I run the ferry here,’ he added for Eadulf’s sake.

  ‘Is this a busy crossing?’ asked Eadulf as he seated himself.

  At once Echna shook his head. ‘Were it not for my fields and livestock, we would be starving. We are some way from any settlement. The main track to Durlus Éile passes further to the east of here. Of course, there used to be a chapel, tavern and ferry just to the south of us, but they were destroyed less than a week ago.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Gormán. There was no doubt the ferryman meant the place where they had camped for the night and confirmed their estimate of the time it had been burned.

  ‘A strange raid from the west of the river,’ continued Echna. ‘We were told that a dozen bandits crossed the river, attacked the chapel and set fire to it. The tavern which stood near it, also caught alight.’

  Eadulf asked: ‘Was anyone killed?’

  ‘The chapel was only attended by a visiting priest and he was not there at the time. Unfortunately, the tavern-keeper, who also ran the ferry, was killed and his family have fled to the Abbey of Ros Cré in the land of the Éile. Now the place is derelict; just a pile of ashes.’

  ‘What was the purpose of the raid?’

  ‘Do bandits and thieves need a purpose?’ Echna asked, then added cynically, ‘The destruction of that ferry has not helped us by way of business, because merchants now make for safer crossings further north. There are bridges there as well as ferries.’

  A homely-looking woman came from the cabin with a pitcher of lind and beakers to drink the ale from. With a quick smile she placed the tray within reach of her husband and disappeared back to the cabin.

  ‘It’s not often that travellers come to this nook of the river unless they wish to use my ferry. Are you on your way to Cashel?’

  ‘To Durlus,’ replied Eadulf.

  ‘I see – in which case you have taken a long route,’ the ferryman pointed out. ‘But surely you know that, Gormán.’

  The warrior smiled thinly. ‘We were interested in following the course of the river. Is there much traffic along it these days?’

  Echna gave a dry laugh. ‘It is still a main trade route into Durlus Éile. North beyond Durlus it is scarcely navigable for traders.’

  ‘There do not seem to be many boats on the water today,’ Eadulf observed. They had seen no river traffic since leaving the spot where they had camped.

  ‘Today?’ The man shook his head. ‘Today there is a feast in Durlus to celebrate the end of a good harvest, and many of the farmers and merchants will be attending. That is why you will not see much traffic along the river.’

  ‘I suppose that you know the river well?’

  ‘I know the Suir like the back of my hand, Brother Eadulf. I know the sound of her waters, the way the current gushes over the stones on her bed; I can tell when she is running in flood or when the water is drying upstream. Indeed, I know her very well.’

  ‘You keep account of the vessels moving up and down?’

  The question surprised the ferryman. ‘I take note of them, as most river men are my friends,’ he explained. ‘Often some of the traders will call in at our jetty to rest or take refreshment as they journey downriver.’

  ‘I was wondering if you had heard any vessels passing at night?’

  There was a momentary flicker of suspicion in the man’s eyes. ‘Surely you know that trade vessels do not pass along the river at night,’ he said. ‘They keep to safe anchorage.’

  ‘In normal circumstances,’ Eadulf agreed with a grim smile. ‘But do you know of such boats passing at night?’

  The ferryman glanced from Eadulf to Gormán, but before he could answer, a sharp voice cut in: ‘There was no vessel passing last night!’

  They turned at the sound of a new voice. It was the ferryman’s wife who was no longer smiling, but who now stood before them in an aggressive manner. Her hands were placed on her hips and her jaw was thrust out. ‘No vessel passed here last night!’ she repeated angrily. ‘Is that understood, my lords?’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘I did not specify last night,’ Eadulf said coolly. ‘I can now assume that there was, indeed, a boat that passed upriver last night.’

  The woman’s eyes widened as she realised her mistake. Her husband, Echna, rose and went to her, laying his hand on her arm.

  ‘These are the King’s men; we must tell them the truth.’

  ‘Even if we come to harm?’ the woman said with a w
ail. ‘Even if our boy comes to harm?’

  Gormán spoke firmly. ‘You will come to no harm from us, nor from any who is in the service of Colgú of Cashel. Say what you know to be the truth and the truth will protect you.’

  Echna turned back to them. ‘Are the people you seek, those in this boat, your enemies?’

  ‘They are,’ replied Eadulf. ‘Now – what did you mean when you said that you or your boy might come to harm?’

  Echna patted his wife’s arm again and told her to return to the cabin. Then he came and sat down with them, pouring himself a large drink from the pitcher of lind.

  ‘Last night we were all asleep; that is, myself, my wife and my son, Enán. It was well before first light. As you know, it is the duty of the ferryman to keep a lantern burning during the hours of darkness, so that travellers who are late on the river might find the place. The lantern was burning low when I awoke.’

  ‘Why did you awake?’

  ‘I heard a noise, the oars scraping in the rowlocks, and a moment later came the sound of a boat knocking gently against the wooden jetty here.’ He paused to lick his lips which had gone dry, and take another swallow of the ale. ‘As I rose, my wife also awoke. I went to the door. As I say, the lantern outside was burning low and, at first, I thought I would be in trouble for not maintaining its brightness. Everywhere was in shadows but I saw a man standing on the jetty. He turned towards me. Alas, I could not see what sort of man he was. Behind him, I saw the dim outline of a boat.’

  ‘Did you see what type of boat it was or how many were on board?’ asked Gormán.

  ‘That sort of craft usually takes four rowers but I had the impression there were others in the boat besides the oarsmen. One of the rowers was leaning forward over his oar and moaning softly. I said: “Do you need help?” The man on the jetty asked me if I was the ferryman. When I confirmed it, he said: “Then you must come with us. We need your skill with the oar. Our companion has had a misfortune and cannot row.” I think that he added that I would be well compensated.

  ‘I asked how far they expected to get upriver in the darkness. I said it would be better for them to wait until daybreak. The man, who seemed to lead those in the boat, said it was not far and it would soon be light in any case. He mentioned that they must reach the area of poor land, which we call Cabragh, on the banks of the Suir. That’s to the north of here.’