23- The Seventh Trumpet

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘There will be plenty of opportunity for us all to get to know one another in good time,’ she replied distantly.

  ‘Let us hope so,’ Drón said. ‘When my daughter is installed in this grand fortress I shall doubtless be a frequent guest at Cashel.’

  Fidelma fought madly to think of some polite, neutral response.

  Thankfully, at that moment, Eadulf appeared. He greeted Drón and Ailill briefly before addressing Fidelma. ‘Apparently Muirgen is in the courtyard with Alchú. Gormán has taken our bags down.’

  Drón’s smile was thin. ‘So you are both leaving Cashel? It sounds important, this commission of your brother’s.’

  ‘A matter concerning the law,’ Fidelma said briefly, not answering his implied question. ‘So if you will excuse us …?’ Without waiting for a response she turned, with Eadulf following her, and made her way down the flight of stone steps that descended into the main courtyard.

  As they neared the body, Eadulf whispered: ‘I am afraid I don’t like Drón any more than you do. What is it about people that makes you know instinctively that you cannot trust or make friends with them?’

  Fidelma glanced at him and sighed. ‘I feel sorry for my young cousin. Ailill is made to follow Drón about as if he were a servant.’

  ‘He is over the age of choice,’ replied Eadulf, ‘and is supposed to be Drón’s bodyguard. He seems a pleasant enough young man, anyway. I am sure if he felt things were bad, he would simply leave Drón’s service. The choice is up to him.’

  Muirgen, the nurse, was waiting to bid them goodbye, holding little Alchú by the hand. In spite of their journey only being a short one, Fidelma had insisted that Muirgen be prepared, just in case they could not return for a long period. For a few moments they paused to say goodbye to Alchú, who stood with a stubborn look on his features, for he knew what this ritual portended. The set of the little boy’s face seemed to say that he would not give way to the welling unhappiness he felt. Eadulf still experienced guilt at seeing his son clinging tightly to the hand of Muirgen.

  Fidelma was about to say her farewells when she noticed that Dúnliath had joined them. The girl’s smile was apologetic as usual.

  ‘Are you going riding so early, lady?’ she asked, gazing round at them in wonder. ‘Or is it some hunt? My father was talking about a hunt earlier.’

  ‘Not a hunt, lady,’ replied Fidelma, hoping she would not pursue the question. ‘I have duties to fulfil as a dálaigh.’

  ‘Of course, I forget that you are so clever,’ sighed the girl without guile. ‘I am not clever at all. On a day such as this, I prefer to sit in the garden and listen to tales of wonder and magic and love. I have found that one of your bards knows the tale of the courtship of Étain, a beautiful tale of immortal love. My mother was named Étain. Do you know the story, lady?’

  ‘I have heard it,’ replied Fidelma irritably.

  ‘Étain the wife of Midir was turned into a fly and—’

  ‘I know the story!’ Fidelma repeated. ‘I am glad that you have found someone to tell it to you. But I must depart immediately.’

  The apologetic smile spread. ‘Of course, I am sorry to delay you. It is so wonderful being here in Cashel that I …’

  Fidelma felt the girl would have gone on chattering obliviously and so, in spite of feeling guilty, she simply turned away. On the far side of the stone-flagged courtyard, Gormán and a warrior called Enda stood with four horses already saddled. With them was the farmer, Tóla, seated on a patient ass. Rider and beast looked incongruous next to the horses, especially next to Fidelma’s favourite mount, Aonbharr. An ancient breed, he was short-necked with upright shoulders and a body with slight hindquarters and a long mane. The beast recognised Fidelma as she came into the courtyard for it gave a slight whinny and stamped one of its forefeet on the stone flags, causing sparks to fly. Fidelma called it ‘the Supreme One’, after the magical horse of the pagan Ocean God, Manannán Mac Lir, which could run across land or sea and not be killed by man or immortal. Enda was holding the mount reserved for Eadulf, which was the roan-coloured cob that he had been riding recently. Eadulf now had a fondness for the horse because it was of a docile and willing nature.

  Fidelma and Eadulf were pleased that Gormán had chosen the warrior Enda to come with them because they had several times been together in dangerous situations. There was the time he had accompanied Fidelma to save Eadulf from execution from the evil and malicious Abbess Fainder in Ferna. He was another of Cashel’s élite bodyguard, not quite as reflective or intellectual as Gormán. Indeed, he was quick to flare up, but was both loyal and trustworthy, and his sword hand was ever steady in any tight corner.

  After the farewells to Muirgen and Alchú, and a quick nod towards where Dúnliath stood, still smiling at them in her vacant fashion, they had all mounted and trotted out of the gate of the fortress and down into the township that lay huddled below the ancient Rock of Cashel. They skirted the base of the Rock, turning west through the streets. There were several people about, a few who greeted them, but otherwise the place was quiet apart from the sharp blow of a smithy’s hammer on his anvil in the forge. They joined the track to head northwards, measuring the pace of their horses to match that of Tóla’s ass because the small beast was far slower. There was no need to hurry for it would not take them long to cover the distance to the ford across the Arglach.

  Eadulf had been right in his assessment. Fidelma could hardly suppress her excitement. For the last few weeks she had found nothing to challenge her. She had been more than simply bored: she had felt as if her mind was being withered by inactivity. After the decision of the Council of Brehons, it seemed even her fellow lawyers had avoided her. No one offered her work, not even sitting in judgement on very minor cases. She would have preferred anything rather than letting her mind lie fallow as it had been doing since she and Eadulf had returned from Lios Mór. Now the adrenalin increased as she contemplated the few facts that Tóla had been able to give her.

  If the victim was, indeed, a noble of the Uí Máil of Laigin, slain within sight of Cashel, then her brother was absolutely correct. It meant trouble.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Tóla’s young son, Breac, had been relieved of his guard duty and sent back to the farmhouse with the dog and ass while the farmer remained with Fidelma and her companions to show them exactly how he had found the body. Gormán and Enda stood to one side holding the horses while Fidelma and Eadulf approached the corpse.

  The finding of a murdered youth in this beautiful little glade with its gushing stream produced a curious feeling of unreality. The frothing of the water around the stepping-stones, the rustle of the leaves in the trees and even the musical warble of the smólach mór, a missel thrush, high above them in one of the trees, added to the chimerical scene. It seemed so peaceful, and yet – yet here was the corpse of someone whose life had come to a violent end, shattering the serenity of the place.

  It was Eadulf who knelt to examine the body first.

  ‘There are no wounds in the front of this young man’s body,’ he announced, echoing what the farmer had already told them.

  Fidelma cast her eyes quickly over the body and its clothing, paying particular attention to the hands, which were fair-skinned and delicate, with slender, tapering fingers. The hands and nails were carefully manicured, which was a sure sign of nobility. The long hair was neatly trimmed and the young man was cleanshaven. There was no mistaking – the clothing was of good quality, even had the jewellery, which enhanced it, not proclaimed a person of some status and wealth. Of particular interest was the fact that the man still wore his sword and dagger in their bejewelled sheaths.

  ‘One thing is certain from this,’ Fidelma observed softly. ‘He was not attacked from the front and did not have time to draw his weapons to defend himself.’

  Eadulf nodded absently before glancing up at Tóla. ‘You said that when you turned the body over, you found rents in his clothing, and blood?’

  ‘I
did,’ replied the farmer, feeling apprehensive. It was still uppermost in his thoughts that the body, being that of a noble – and a murdered noble, at that – was on his land and he would be liable, under law, for payment of compensation.

  Fidelma guessed what was in his mind and smiled encouragingly. ‘Do not worry, Tóla. You have done well in bringing news of this to Cashel. And you also did well in realising that this unfortunate young man was someone of status. The responsibility is now ours, so just tell us everything you did, no matter how insignificant.’

  Tóla compressed his lips for a moment before he replied in a slow, considered tone: ‘I had dragged the body from the stream, where it had been blocking the waters against the stepping-stones of the ford …’

  ‘So it was lying across the stream, but facing which way?’ interrupted Fidelma.

  ‘The head was towards the southern bank, towards Cashel, and it was face down in the water.’

  ‘So you dragged the body on to this bank?’

  ‘I did. Then, as I have said, not seeing any wound on the front, I turned the body over to examine the back of his head. At first I thought the young man had slipped on the crossing-stones and hit his head. Then I saw the cuts in his short cloak and jacket. And there was still blood there. I laid the body back down … it seemed an insult to leave it face down. I left it face up, as you see it now. Then I removed that brooch, which I took to be an emblem and means of identity, and went back to the farm to get my ass. I left my son and my dog to guard this place and came straight to Cashel. That is all I know.’

  ‘You did well, Tóla,’ Fidelma repeated. Then she turned to Eadulf and gave a nod.

  Eadulf unfastened the short cape and the man’s upper garment and linen shirt. Then, with the help of Tóla, he turned the body over and finished removing the upper clothing. The cause of death was immediate to see. There were three jagged wounds in the back, all fairly close together between the shoulder-blades. They matched the jagged tears in the garments that the young man had been wearing. Eadulf examined them with pursed lips.

  ‘Fairly deep,’ he reflected. ‘Any one of them might have been the fatal blow.’ He glanced at Fidelma. ‘Would you say he was a tall man?’

  Fidelma followed his gaze, examining the corpse from poll to feet.

  ‘He is certainly not short. I would say that he is slightly above average height. What makes you ask that?’

  ‘Whoever inflicted these wounds was taller than he was. They must have stood behind him, and even raising their dagger for the blows to descend into the area of the wounds, they would need height to gain the strength to make the cuts so deep.’

  ‘A good point,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘But there is another possibility – that whoever did this could have been standing on an elevated piece of ground or a rock behind the victim.’

  Eadulf looked round at the muddy bank and the stream. ‘Nothing I can see fits such a theory.’

  ‘Perhaps his attacker was on horseback while his victim was on foot.’ Fidelma began examining the muddy ground of the bank. She then turned and nimbly crossed the stepping-stones to the far bank and repeated her search. She returned without saying a word.

  Tóla was helping Eadulf put back the upper clothing on the corpse.

  ‘We will have to remove the body to somewhere in preparation for burial,’ Eadulf stated.

  ‘There is a little chapel and burial-ground not far from here at Fraigh Dubh – the Black Heath. It is on the highway that leads south by the heathland into Cashel,’ said Tóla. ‘There is a new priest there, but I do not know him.’

  ‘It would surely be better to learn the victim’s identity before the burial – especially as he seems to belong to the nobility,’ Eadulf observed.

  ‘But that will take time, and we cannot leave him unburied,’ Fidelma argued. ‘It is a practical matter.’

  Eadulf acknowledged that she was right. He bent to rearrange the clothing on the corpse. Suddenly, he withdrew his hand, uttering an exclamation, and put his fingers to his mouth.

  ‘What is it?’ Fidelma demanded.

  ‘Something sharp,’ he replied. ‘A prick from a splinter, probably.’ He knelt to find out what it was that had hurt him. Something was protruding from the sword sheath. ‘Curious,’ he muttered. ‘It’s a broken piece of wood in its own little leather sheath, tied to the sword belt.’

  Fidelma carefully unhooked the small leather sheath and removed the broken piece of wood. It was a short wand of white wood – rowan, she thought. The top had been snapped off but there was some evidence of gold binding on the lower part.

  She breathed out sharply as she recognised it.

  ‘Does that mean something to you?’ Eadulf queried, seeing her expression.

  ‘It means that this man was an envoy or of equivalent rank,’ she said. ‘Not only was he wearing a brooch with the emblem of the Uí Máil, the Kings of Laigin, but he was carrying the wand of office of an envoy. Sometimes even chieftains of high rank carry such wands to proclaim their office.’

  Eadulf knew that this was the custom of Fidelma’s people. He also knew that, under the law, the life of a herald or an ambassador was inviolate, even during warfare. Neither harm nor injury could be visited on such an official for, if harm was done, blood feuds could carry from one generation to another until reparation was made. It was a heinous crime, and the punishment for the perpetrator was great.

  Gormán, who had been standing a short distance away with Enda holding their horses, now took a step forward, having overheard the conversation.

  ‘But what would an envoy from the King of Laigin be doing alone and on foot in this place?’

  ‘That’s a good question, Gormán’, Fidelma said. ‘One that needs an answer, and very soon. It seems inconceivable that such a noble or an ambassador was travelling alone here on foot in the darkness. That is why I was looking at the muddy banks of this stream. I am afraid our horses must have obliterated any signs of tracks at this point. So, if this ambassador came here on horseback, which way would he have come?’

  The question was addressed to Tóla. The farmer immediately pointed to the west.

  ‘This stream flows into the great river, the Suir, not far from here. As you know, lady, this crossing is usually used only by local people who travel on the track along the east bank of the river and then turn inland along this stream to cross at this ford and continue their journey to Cashel. From the east, there would be no reason to come in this direction since there is a good highway there which leads all the way to Cashel.’

  ‘So if this man came from the Suir, he could have ridden down along the eastern bank to turn along this stream to cross here on his way to Cashel?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘That presents other questions,’ interposed Gormán after Tóla had agreed. ‘A man of this elevated rank would surely have an entourage or a companion and, as such, would have taken the main highway where there are hostels for such travellers. So he would have followed the road to the east of here, not the west.’

  ‘Whichever way he came, lady,’ Tóla said, ‘the paths to this point from both west and east are on my farmlands, and my livestock wander freely. The mud is always turned, as you see. I doubt whether you could trace any individual horses along it. And as you said, lady, why would an ambassador, on his own or with an entourage, be coming through this place after nightfall?’

  Fidelma suddenly let out an exclamation which caused everyone to start. ‘What a fool I am!’ She turned to Tóla. ‘You say that you found the body this morning?’

  ‘It was exactly as I told you, lady. It was just after first light that I had come down here to find whether my heifer had produced her calf.’

  ‘When were you at this spot before that?’

  ‘As dusk approached last night. The heifer was in the field behind us. I was worried for her as she was overdue with her calf and so I came to look at her.’

  ‘Did you look at this crossing at that time?’

  ‘I did not. However, th
e body was not here.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because the stream was running freely.’

  ‘I do not understand,’ Eadulf said.

  ‘I was alerted to the body being in the stream by the fact that it was being pushed by the current against those stepping-stones and thereby forming a dam. The water makes a different noise when it is allowed to flow freely. Also, my dog, Cú Faoil, was at his ease when we were here last night, whereas this morning he was nervous and showing signs that something was untoward. His behaviour prompted me to find the body.’

  ‘So there is yet another conundrum,’ breathed Fidelma. ‘The logical conclusion is that this ambassador came here alone in the darkness or with a companion who was his assassin. If they were both on horseback, then the young man was obliged to dismount at the crossing while his companion, still seated on his horse, stabbed him from that superior height. Afterwards, the assassin must have led both horses away without alarming anyone. Not even your dog was awoken during the night, Tóla.’

  ‘If there had been any disturbance, however slight, Cú Faoil would have surely raised an alarm,’ agreed the farmer. ‘There is nothing that escapes his attention.’

  ‘There is another answer to that conundrum.’ It was Eadulf who spoke.

  Fidelma turned to him in slight surprise. ‘Another answer?’

  ‘What if the man was killed elsewhere and then brought in stealth to this place? The body could have been dumped here by someone thinking it was an out-of-the-way spot where it would not be discovered.’

  There was a pause while Fidelma considered this. ‘It is a good point,’ she conceded. ‘But if the murderer brought the body here, thinking it a good hiding-place, surely the stepping-stones across the stream would have warned him that it was not so remote, and that people used the crossing. There are plenty of better places around here to hide a body. And why leave so many clues behind, like his Uí Máil emblem? Why leave part of his wand of office, showing he was an envoy? Indeed, why not just remove all his valuable jewellery, the dagger, sword and so on? In fact, why not strip the body entirely, which would have made the task of identification almost impossible?’