23- The Seventh Trumpet

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘It shall be done,’ Gelgéis said quietly.

  ‘Echna is to be assured that the culprits will be found and compensation obtained for the loss of his son,’ Fidelma continued.

  The princess inclined her head. ‘Very well. How else can we help? You intend to go in pursuit of this man you call Torna and his abductors?’

  ‘I do. I do not suppose the name Torna means anything to you?’

  Gelgéis blinked and then shook her head. ‘This is the name of the poet, who was abducted with you? This man … er, Torna – was he injured?’

  ‘We were told that when he was removed from the storehouse, he was able to walk between two of the abductors and sat in the stern of the boat that removed him,’ offered Eadulf.

  ‘Are you sure that he is unknown to you?’ questioned Fidelma.

  ‘I know of no one by that name,’ Gelgéis told her. ‘The boat went south, you say?’

  ‘It did,’ Fidelma replied, rising from her seat. She realised she could not interrogate Gelgéis further but sensed there was some link. ‘You will excuse us. There is much to do and little time to do it.’

  ‘Then let my steward know what you want. You have only to ask. But a word of caution, Fidelma. To the east of us, as you must know, lies the territory of the People of the Deer – the Osraige. It is a border territory where not everything is as it seems. Remember that, Fidelma of Cashel. Have a care.’

  They took their formal leave and found Gormán waiting impatiently for them in the courtyard.

  ‘Well, any news?’ he greeted.

  ‘All of it negative,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Did you discover anything from people’s gossip?’

  ‘Only one piece of news seems to be of relevance to us.’ It was clear Gormán felt it was of some importance.

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘I found one of the local farmers who had been on his way here last evening for the festivities. He had arrived by boat just before dusk with his sons from his farm on the other side of the river. They came down the River Dríse, a tributary of the Suir which flows into the river just a short distance south-east of the township.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me that he saw the boat with the abductors?’ asked Fidelma, leaping ahead of him.

  For a second Gormán looked disappointed that she had guessed his news. ‘Indeed, he did. There was a religieux in the bow and two men rowing. Three were seated in the stern of the boat,’ Gormán replied. ‘The farmers confirmed that the young man who sat in the centre of the two in the stern did not look happy, and his companions seemed to have an unusually tight hold of him. The boat was moving upstream along the Dríse.’

  Eadulf grimaced. ‘Well, wherever they were going they have a full day’s head-start on us, if we are to follow.’

  ‘I know part of that river,’ offered Gormán. ‘It leads straight into the heart of Osraige territory.’

  This information made them think. Then Fidelma asked: ‘Was there any other news that you were able to pick up?’

  ‘Nothing that can help us. But I did see those Laigin merchants who stopped at the forge this morning. They were still full of the gossip relating to the strange attacks in the west – the burning of churches and communities. They said that they had even encountered a fellow merchant who had fled from the west and saw part of this band of raiders. He was able to hide in a cave and escape their attention.’

  ‘Was anything in particular noticed, anything that could identify who the raiders were?’

  ‘Only what they told the smith – that the raiders were led by a woman who carried some sort of religious banner. The merchant I spoke to said that the curious thing was that, although she led roughly clad bandits, she herself was dressed in purple with a great scarlet cloak deckled with gold and precious gems.’

  ‘Strange, indeed,’ muttered Fidelma, pondering the information.

  ‘It was told at third hand,’ shrugged Gormán, ‘so perhaps it should not be taken as fact. Stories are embellished the longer they take in spreading.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Fidelma said absently. ‘Even so, it is a strange tale to invent if untrue.’

  The three walked slowly back to Gobán’s forge in sombre mood. The entrance was deserted, although the coals in the fire still burned red-hot. The back of the forge, leading to the man’s cabin, was dark and empty. Gormán called out to let the smith know that they had returned. There was no answer. He found the bell which the smith had placed for customers to call him when he was not in the forge, and rang it. There was still no answer to its summons, however.

  ‘He’ll be in the cabin,’ Eadulf suggested. ‘He won’t be far away with the fire still alight.’

  Eadulf led the way out of the back door of the forge towards the cabin. Then he halted when he saw the smith standing before him. His back was pressed against the wall of the dwelling; his arms were spread out as if in a position of surrender, and he was staring at Eadulf in wide-eyed terror. Eadulf was about to demand what the matter was when he felt a prick against his neck and a voice hissed. ‘Throw down your weapons, if you want to live.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘Put up your sword, Enda!’ came Fidelma’s quiet voice.

  Eadulf heard an audible gasp and swung round. Enda was in the act of lowering his sword in embarrassment. He was apologetic as he sheathed his weapon. ‘I would have recognised you a second later, friend Eadulf. You were in no danger. Your tonsure is hard to miss.’

  Eadulf sniffed indignantly. ‘That is of little comfort to me.’

  Enda said to Fidelma: ‘I am sorry, lady …’

  ‘It looks as though your apologies should be directed to Gobán.’ She smiled at the poor blacksmith, who was just beginning to relax, leaning against the wall.

  ‘My apologies, smith – these are my friends.’ Enda turned to explain to Fidelma. ‘I was about to ride into Durlus Éile to see if there was any trace of you, as you told me to do, when I recognised Aonbharr and the other horses at the back of the smithy. When the smith here refused to acknowledge your existence, claiming the horses were his, I thought that something must have happened to you. I decided to lie in wait.’

  ‘Gobán was merely protecting us,’ Fidelma explained. ‘Are you all right, Gobán?’

  ‘Your friend did not hurt me, lady,’ the smith offered, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘While he was none too gentle, it is understandable if he was concerned for your safety.’

  ‘Which I was,’ asserted Enda. ‘I have heard some wild stories along the way here. There was one panicking merchant on the road with tales of ravening hordes of bandits, raiding and burning.’

  Fidelma sighed. ‘We have heard those stories also.’ She addressed the smith. ‘Let us trespass further on your hospitality, Gobán, and use your cabin while we discuss our plans. Will you be our watchdog at the forge and make sure we are not disturbed?’

  Gobán gave his assent and Fidelma led her companions into his cabin.

  ‘Now,’ she said, finding a seat, ‘tell us your news first, Enda. You left us and returned to Cashel. Did you tell my brother what had happened?’

  ‘I did, lady. He was very concerned.’

  ‘Tell us, in your own words.’

  ‘After you left me at the tavern of Fedach Glas, it was not long before he returned with a plough horse, as he promised. I saddled up and rode for Cashel. You can imagine the laughter it provoked among the men when I rode in …’

  Fidelma waved aside Enda’s tale of his humiliation.

  ‘I spoke immediately to the King and told him what had happened. He provided me with a good horse and I set out for Imleach, but soon it was fairly dark so I found a place to sleep at Ara’s Well and then I travelled on to Imleach at first light.’

  ‘Of course,’ Fidelma encouraged him. ‘And then?’

  ‘Abbot Ségdae was surprised to see me. I gave him the items you sent and he was very grateful. I then told him the story.’

  ‘And could he provide you with any information?’
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br />   ‘He knew of Brother Ailgesach’s problem with alcohol. Ailgesach was from Durlus and had served in the Abbey of Biorra. He was skilled in tending the sick but could not qualify as a physician. He had come to Imleach and expressed his desire to help in nursing the sick and afflicted. Abbot Ségdae appointed him to go to Gleann na nGeilt, the Valley of Lunatics.’

  ‘It is the same story that we have heard here in Durlus from Bishop Daig,’ commented Eadulf.

  ‘Continue, Enda,’ encouraged Fidelma. ‘When was it that Brother Ailgesach was sent into the Glen of Lunatics?’

  ‘The abbot said it was a few years ago. Brother Ailgesach remained there until some weeks ago when he arrived in Imleach wishing to resign from the task. The abbot told me it was clear that he had been deeply affected by his years attending to the insane. He was much troubled and given to drowning his troubles with strong liquor. Now and then he would hallucinate and utter profanities. He would accost the brethren and accuse them of being in league with the Whore of Babylon. I am not sure who she is, lady, but I recall that these were the same words that he hurled at you in Fedach Glas’s tavern.’

  ‘They were exactly his words.’ It was Eadulf who confirmed this. ‘It is from the sacred writings of the Faith. The Whore of Babylon is a symbol of evil. Presumably something troubled Brother Ailgesach and was set off by his drunken fits.’

  ‘Abbot Ségdae said that he would exhibit instances of terror and cry out something like “Beware of the seventh trumpet!” And: “Blood begets blood!”’ went on Enda. ‘Abbot Ségdae believed that he would be a disruptive influence if he remained within the Abbey at Imleach, so he had decided to send Brother Ailgesach to Fraigh Dubh because Brother Tressach had recently died. He felt it was a small, fairly isolated chapel and the work would not be onerous. With luck, the place might help him to adjust and cure his drinking.’

  ‘And did the abbot know anything of Brother Biasta?’

  ‘The abbot had never heard of the name, which he felt was a curious one for a religious to have.’

  Fidelma sighed deeply. ‘It was, more or less, what we have learned here. Were you able to pick up any information about Dego and his attempts to find the raiders we hear so much of?’

  ‘Dego and his warriors had already left Abbot Ségdae at Imleach. There was no news of him but, as I say, there is much gossip abroad about these bandits. Some even tell stories of riders coming through their villages bearing a religious banner carried by a woman.’

  Fidelma sucked in her breath sharply. She turned to Eadulf.

  ‘The Whore of Babylon,’ she rapped out. ‘Do you recall her description from the old Scriptures?’

  ‘I think I recall the passage,’ he said. ‘It is mentioned in the Book of Revelation. She is described as a woman arrayed in purple with a scarlet cloak decked with …’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘With gold and precious gems,’ finished Gormán. ‘That is exactly how the merchant described the woman leading the raiders.’

  As Enda was looking puzzled, Gormán quickly explained.

  ‘What can it mean?’ wondered Eadulf.

  Fidelma thought for a moment and then shrugged. ‘It is Dego’s task to discover the meaning. We have more than enough tasks to concentrate on.’

  ‘So what is our next move, lady?’ asked Gormán.

  ‘We follow the same plan as we were about to embark on when Enda joined us. We try to trace Torna and his captors.’

  ‘Torna?’ Enda echoed.

  ‘I’ll tell you about him as we go,’ Gormán said. ‘We have half a day of daylight left. We should start out soon, otherwise we shall lose a day.’

  ‘If the man who observed the boat yesterday was correct, how are we to follow it?’ asked Eadulf. ‘They were seen on the far side of the river and going east along some tributary.’

  ‘It’s easy enough,’ Gormán assured him. ‘We ride back south across the bridge then ride east over rough ground, eventually reaching the tributary called the River Drise – that was where the boat was spotted. We can then proceed eastwards along it. We should be able to find out if they have left the river at any point.’

  ‘Very well.’ Fidelma was decisive. ‘Gormán, you and Enda get our horses saddled and ready.’

  After the warriors left, Fidelma turned to Eadulf. He was looking thoughtful and she knew what was passing through his mind.

  ‘This is turning out to be more complicated than I expected, Eadulf. I must admit that I do not see any purpose to these seemingly unrelated matters – as yet. My instinct is that they are all connected.’

  ‘Would it help to run through the situation?’

  ‘Very well. We find a body near my brother’s palace. It seems to be that of an envoy from the Uí Máil Kings of Laigin. His killer has apparently ridden eastward in the direction of the Black Heath: there we lost his tracks. We start our search for clues, and are led to the chapel of Brother Ailgesach. He has had two visitors staying on the night of the murder, a man and a woman. The woman is said to be of noble appearance. They ride off early that morning.

  ‘We find Brother Ailgesach in a drunken stupor in the local tavern when we arrive. Then someone who claims to be his cousin Biasta arrives. He kills Brother Ailgesach and escapes northward. We try to follow and fall in with a poet named Torna. Abductors arriving from the river attack us. I am mistaken for the poet’s companion and am left for dead when the error is discovered. An innocent young boatman is killed. You are told that a religieux was waiting for them. Was it Brother Biasta? I now realise that it could not be, since I would have recognised his harsh whisper when I heard a voice tell the abductors that I was not the right woman. I am rescued by you, but Torna is taken into the Land of the Osraige. To get to Laigin from here you need to cross Osraige. Is there some connection with the killing of an envoy from Laigin? Have I missed anything?’

  Eadulf grimaced. ‘Yes – what about the message that was found in Ailgesach’s cabin from an unknown person, saying that they would come to him there with evidence of some conspiracy? I am certain that Gelgéis recognised the name, Torna, when you spoke it. What is she hiding? Also, what about the fact that Brother Ailgesach was raving about the Whore of Babylon and these raiders from the west being led by someone who resembles the description in the Scriptures?’ Eadulf paused and asked: ‘Is that another thread?’

  ‘At the moment, it is a loose one,’ said Fidelma. ‘There are too many of these loose threads with no apparent connection that I can see at the moment.’

  Gormán re-entered. ‘All is ready, lady. The horses have been watered and foddered. Shall I tell Gobán that we are going? He is at work in the forge.’

  ‘I will do so,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I want to make sure that he has not been put out by the hospitality that he has afforded us.’

  Within the hour they were crossing the long wooden bridge that spanned the Suir south of Durlus Éile. Gormán rode in front, followed by Fidelma and Eadulf, with Enda bringing up the rear. They rode at a brisk pace, but not as fast as would quickly fatigue their horses, and soon encountered the smaller River Dríse where it flowed into the Suir.

  Just beyond a slight bend after some thick woodland, the river narrowed a little and Gormán called on them to halt. He pointed. Someone was swimming in the waters and it seemed that the swimmer was making towards an empty boat that was caught in a log-jam about mid-stream. As they watched, the swimmer reached the boat and was apparently intent on loosening it.

  ‘Let’s give him assistance,’ Fidelma suggested, dismounting.

  ‘Careful,’ warned Eadulf. ‘He might be one of the abductors.’

  ‘There’s no one else about,’ replied Gormán, ‘so we stand in no danger.’

  They walked their horses down to the bank and Gormán called to the swimmer, asking if he needed help. The man glanced back over his shoulder and waved acknowledgement. He was holding up the painter, the rope attached to the bow of the boat used for tying it, and was trying to ease the bow away from the l
ogs which had held it fast. He began swimming back, and Gormán quickly stripped and entered the water to help him drag the vessel towards the bank. As they neared it the others lent a hand while Fidelma remained on the bank.

  She averted her gaze until Gormán and the unknown swimmer had climbed out, secured the boat to a nearby tree stump and resumed some garments. The swimmer was a young man whose clothes placed him as a farmer.

  ‘Did you have an accident?’ she asked.

  ‘This is not my boat, lady,’ he replied, noting her dress and obvious rank. ‘I farm the land beyond this rise and when I came down just now in search of one of my sheep, I saw this boat caught in those logs. It looked a good boat and not damaged, so I thought I would swim out and try to free it.’

  Gormán was rubbing his chin as he examined the boat. ‘It must have come adrift,’ he said. Then his eyes narrowed; a moment later he had climbed aboard and was extracting something from the stern planking.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘There are some blood splatters on the stern seat – and this.’ Gormán was holding up a tiny particle of material that he had spotted, caught on a splinter of wood.

  Fidelma gasped and her hand went to her sleeve where there was the slight tear.

  ‘This must be the boat we are following,’ Eadulf said, stating the obvious.

  It was not good news for Fidelma. ‘They have abandoned it – and they could have done so anywhere along the river, so that it drifted down and was caught in this log-jam.’

  Eadulf smiled and shook his head. ‘Not so. They abandoned it here.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ She felt irritated at his confidence.

  Eadulf pointed to the river. ‘They were pulling upstream, against the current. If they abandoned it before this point, it would have been swept back downstream. So they came here, abandoned it and took to the land.’

  She flushed slightly at having forgotten the flow of the river. However, she recovered her poise and said: ‘And why would they leave the boat at this point?’