23- The Seventh Trumpet

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Of course, if the murder was done here, perhaps the killer left these things on the corpse because they heard someone coming and had to flee,’ Eadulf suggested.

  Fidelma shook her head. ‘If so, why was the body not reported by the person who disturbed the killer?’

  ‘It seems,’ Eadulf reflected, ‘that we are engaging in speculation when we have no information.’

  Fidelma glared at him before noticing the amusement in his features. The corners of her mouth turned down with a wry expression.

  ‘So now we must start in pursuit of information,’ she said in a firm tone. She turned to Tóla. ‘We need trouble you little. Perhaps we can fodder our horses and obtain some refreshment for ourselves when we have finished here? It would help if we could also purchase a linen sheet for use as a racholl – a shroud – for the body. We shall take the corpse to the chapel you spoke of, at Fraigh Dubh and make use of the burial-ground there. We may have to travel all the way to Laigin to establish the identity of this young noble: the body cannot be preserved during such a long journey and must therefore be interred here.’

  ‘You are welcome to what hospitality we can provide,’ Tóla said politely.

  ‘Then we will not interrupt your harvesting any further. We have a few things to do here first.’

  The farmer left them while Fidelma began to give instruction to the others.

  ‘Secure the horses to those bushes, Enda. Then I want you to walk a distance along the bank of this stream towards the east. Watch out for any sign of the passage of horses. Gormán, I want you to examine the bank to the west.’

  The two warriors moved off immediately.

  Fidelma stood for a moment looking down at the broken rowan wand that she still held in her hands, and wondering where the top was.

  ‘It is usually the top part which bears the emblem of the holder of the office. See if you are able to find it, Eadulf. Search the body thoroughly, if you will. It may have broken off as he fell. I am going to check the stream, for if it fell in there, the gold mounting from the top will have caused it to catch on the bed of the stream.’

  There was a silence as they both bent to their tasks. Eadulf not only carefully checked through the clothing on the corpse but thoroughly searched the muddy bank nearby. There was no sign of the splintered top piece of the wand of office, and when he glanced at Fidelma, she was wading out of the stream looking disappointed.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘No sign of it.’

  A few moments later, Gormán came along the bank of the stream.

  ‘I went as far as the point where the stream empties into the Suir,’ he reported. ‘Along the path there were long stretches of hardened earth, but where there were also muddy stretches with signs of horses’ tracks, these were obscured by the passage of sheep and cattle. Is Enda not back yet?’

  As if on cue, they saw the warrior trotting towards them along the embankment.

  ‘Anything?’ Fidelma asked hopefully.

  ‘A short distance from here, there is a bend in the stream and a muddy stretch of ground by it. There are signs that two horses emerged from the stream at that point. However, it is difficult to say how long ago the prints were made. I would estimate that it was not long because the ground is soft and muddy. There has been no time for the tracks to dry.’

  ‘Any sign of footprints?’

  ‘Whoever was on the horses did not dismount. I only saw prints of cows and wolves, but nothing else of significance. The prints of the horses led eastwards. I followed them as far as I could, but soon lost them when the ground became hardened. They were heading towards the highway that leads north to Durlus Éile or south to Cashel.’

  There was a brief silence as Fidelma and Eadulf absorbed the information. Then Fidelma said: ‘Well, there is little more we can do here. Eadulf, can you and Enda remove all the valuable items from the corpse, the sword and dagger as well as anything else that might provide a means of identity? We’ll go to the farmhouse and get the winding sheet. Then we’ll take advantage of Tóla’s hospitality to feed the horses and refresh ourselves before moving on.’

  It was after midday when Fidelma and her companions recommenced their journey from the farmstead of Tóla where his wife, Cainnear, had fed them, and his son Breac had tended their horses. The body of the unknown envoy had been wrapped in a linen sheet and strapped across the back of Enda’s horse. The four of them had then set out due east along the banks of the stream. A short time later, they recrossed the stream and turned a little southward on to the edge of a rough stretch of uncultivated land called Fraigh Dubh.

  Here was the burial-ground to which the people of the area took their dead, and the small chapel where they went to receive blessings. The chapel lay close by the main highway that eventually connected Cashel to the northern township of the kingdom, Durlus Éile, the strong fortress of the Éile, whose territory bordered the lands of the Osraige; beyond this was the covetous Kingdom of Laigin.

  They crossed the highway along which merchants and pilgrims travelled in both directions; although it was usually very busy, it was not classed as one of the five great highways that united the Five Kingdoms, such as the Slige Dála that connected Cashel to the Palace of the High King at Tara. This smaller highway was classed as a bothar – a cattleway – for it was along earlier tracks in ancient times that people herded their cattle to market and, indeed, still did so. At this hour, the highway was deserted, for most people liked to travel early in the mornings and then halt to take refreshment at midday when the sun stood at its zenith. By the time the day became cooler, their refreshment had usually influenced them to delay their journey until the following morning. Therefore it was not surprising that the small party encountered no one as they joined the highway and crossed to the little wooden chapel that stood on the edge of the wild heathland.

  Surrounding the construction was the burial-ground, each grave aligned east to west. It was to the west that people believed the souls of the dead were taken, even in the earliest times before the coming of the New Faith. It was obvious to Fidelma’s eyes that this was a poor, rural burial-ground, for there were but few wooden crosses, some weathered in the passing of the years. From the time of the coming of the Faith it had become customary to erect a cross over the grave of a Christian. But those of rank would have a flat slab or a pillar stone erected on which was inscribed a name, sometimes in the characters called Ogham and sometimes in Latin. She noticed that there were no such stone grave-markers here.

  As they approached the chapel, they heard the sharp blows of a hammer, striking hollowly, and saw the figure of a man on the roof, securing some roofing boards. A ladder leaned against the side of the building.

  Fidelma gave a quick nod to Gormán, who leaned back in his saddle and called up, ‘God bless the work, Brother.’

  The man paused and looked down before he removed a couple of nails that he was holding between his lips. He carefully replaced them, and his hammer, in a sling in his belt, before he returned the greeting. ‘He does bless this work, indeed, warrior. But I am no Brother. Just an ailtirecht.’

  Eadulf had to think for a moment, confusing the word with ailithir, a pilgrim, before realising that ailtirecht meant a craftsman in wood.

  Fidelma edged her horse forward and looked up towards the workman. ‘What is your name?’ she asked.

  The man peered down and then, appearing to recognise her, he left his position and slid down the ladder with surprising dexterity before coming to stand at her horse’s head. He was a weathered-looking man of medium height with greying hair and light blue eyes, obviously used to heavy work. He bowed his head in respectful acknowledgement to her.

  ‘I am called Saer, lady. I maintain this building for Brother Ailgesach and, indeed, the other buildings of our little settlement.’

  ‘Where might we find this Brother Ailgesach?’

  Saer hesitated and then gestured with his chin in a northward direction.

  ‘At this time of day, l
ady, you may well find him in the bruden, the tavern run by Fedach Glas. It is but a short distance along the highway.’

  ‘Brother Ailgesach?’ Even in the circumstances Fidelma could not help the smile that came to her lips. ‘He sounds a truly pious man.’ The name meant ‘servant of the saints’.

  Saer caught her humour and muttered sourly, ‘Neither pleasant nor pious, lady. But that is not for me to condone or condemn.’

  ‘You will not get into trouble for giving your opinion,’ Fidelma reassured him, interested by his response. ‘In any event, we intended to go to the tavern even if this Brother Ailgesach had not been there.’

  Saer had noticed the burden that Enda’s horse was carrying. ‘Has one of your party come to harm, lady?’ he asked.

  ‘Not one of our party,’ she replied. ‘The dead man is a stranger whom we found. We do not yet know who he was or what he was doing in this area. So we have brought his body to this chapel as it would be unlawful to leave a stranger to the mercy of the wolves, crows and other scavengers.’

  ‘Then, in the absence of Brother Ailgesach, I would say that you should bring the body into the chapel and we shall lay him out there. Come, warrior,’ this was addressed to Enda. ‘I will help you down with your burden.’

  Between the two of them, they took the body and carried it into the small, dark chapel. Fidelma swung down and followed them.

  ‘Perhaps you can help us further, Saer?’ she said, after a thought had occurred to her. ‘Unwrap the winding-sheet from the face, Enda. Saer, look on the man’s features and tell us if you have seen him before. Perhaps he passed recently along the highway here?’

  The carpenter gazed on the face of the corpse and then shrugged. ‘There are always strangers passing along this highway from Durlus to Cashel and in the other direction.’

  ‘Look closely, if you will. This was a young noble and of rich and striking appearance.’

  Saer peered closer at the pale bloodless features. ‘He does bear a resemblance to someone who called to see Brother Ailgesach many days ago. But I can’t swear to it.’

  ‘A resemblance?’ pressed Fidelma eagerly.

  The carpenter shook his head. ‘I can’t swear that it was the same person. I was passing by here when I saw Brother Ailgesach entering the chapel with a young man. He was richly dressed. This could have been that man. I walked on without further interest. I was on my way to the tavern.’

  ‘You saw nothing else? Did you notice whether the man had a horse?’

  To her disappointment the carpenter shook his head again and repeated, ‘I am sorry, lady.’

  ‘And you never saw Brother Ailgesach’s visitor again?’

  ‘During the last several days I have been at my hut in the woods cutting planks for this job.’ He jerked his thumb towards the chapel roof. ‘New planks were needed because the roof was letting in water.’

  ‘I suppose no one else has spoken of any such person to you?’ enquired Fidelma.

  ‘As I say, I have been at my hut in the woods cutting timber. I spoke only briefly to Brother Ailgesach when I came to fix the roof earlier. He did not mention any visitors.’

  Fidelma nodded thoughtfully. ‘Well, we shall go to the tavern of Fedach Glas and speak with Brother Ailgesach. You have been very helpful, Saer.’ She reached forward and placed something in his palm, at which he raised a hand to his forehead in thanks. They left the interior of the chapel, remounted their horses and Fidelma led her companions back to the highway, where they turned north.

  ‘Well, if the carpenter says this Brother Ailgesach is regularly at the tavern, then it seems he believes in taking the advice of the Blessed Paul to Timothy,’ Eadulf commented, breaking the silence.

  Fidelma frowned absently. ‘What?’

  ‘“Take a little wine for thy stomach’s sake”,’ Eadulf joked. This did not, however, raise a smile from Fidelma who had been deep in thought.

  The bruden of Fedach Glas lay only a short distance along the highway. Gormán knew the place, saying that it was not one of the higher class of hostels that were to be found along the main highways of the kingdom. These hostels or taverns could be run by either men or women. The higher classes of hostel were, in fact, provided by the landowner, sometimes a chieftain or even the king of the territory himself. The laws proclaimed that these hostels were required to entertain guests without asking questions or payment. The bigger ones would employ men on the approaching roads to advise travellers of their locations and to extol the comforts of the facilities they provided. And after dark, each bruden had at least one lantern on a tall pole to advertise itself to travellers.

  The smaller hostels were more like wayside inns where charges were made and questions asked. One thing all bruden had in common, as Fidelma well knew, was that they were a place of refuge. A suspected murderer could claim sanctuary from summary arrest and punishment in a bruden until they were assured of a fair trial before a Brehon. The system of the bruden had been carried abroad by the missionaries of Éireann, providing accommodation and food for those pilgrims travelling to Rome, along the roads through Gaul, Frankia and the other Germanic lands.

  Fedach Glas’s hostel was a series of rough-built log cabins surrounding the main house, and with stables for the horses. As they reined in before the entrance, a man came hurrying towards them. He had grey hair and a full beard, a sallow skin and dark mournful eyes. His gaze ran over their mounts and manner of dress. It was obvious that he quickly made up his mind what manner of travellers they were.

  ‘Welcome lady, welcome sirs. We are no brugaid-lethech but only a poor bruden. Do your honours wish to alight here?’

  It was a polite way of pointing out that the tavern of Fedach Glas was not used to catering for people of rank. Gormán assumed the lead. ‘We do not intend to stay, but will refresh ourselves inside with your ale.’

  They dismounted and tied their horses to the wooden hitching-rail.

  The host, for such the man who greeted them turned out to be, went to the door and ushered them inside. It was gloomy, although a smoky wood fire was crackling in the hearth over which a cauldron was simmering; the pleasant aroma of meat and vegetables filled the place. A thin-faced, elderly woman with her hair tied back in a scarf but still showing wisps of grey about her forehead and neck, was stirring the contents with a long wooden spoon. She glanced up at them with surprise and then returned to her task. The man took his place before a crude wooden counter.

  ‘Welcome again, your honours,’ he greeted with a smile. ‘How may this humble tavern be of service to you?’

  This time it was Fidelma who stepped forward. ‘My companions wish for refreshment, your finest ale. As for myself, do you have wine?’

  The man shook his head. ‘Wine, lady, is for the nobility and the clergy of rank. We cannot afford to import it here for we rarely have such distinguished guests. All we have is corma or lind.’

  Corma was a strong intoxicating spirit distilled from barley while lind was weaker ale.

  Fidelma realised her mistake and quickly said: ‘Then we will all have ale.’

  They turned to some benches by a table and seated themselves, watching as the brugaid, the tavern-keeper, filled a jug of ale and set it before them, together with four clay drinking vessels.

  ‘Can I serve you further?’ asked the man, obviously used to his guests pouring their own drinks. Gormán decided to fill the mugs for all of them.

  ‘I presume your name is Fedach Glas?’ asked Fidelma.

  The man moved his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. ‘That it is,’ he answered.

  ‘Then I am told that in this tavern we might find Brother Ailgesach. He is the religious who is in charge of the nearby chapel.’

  Fedach Glas frowned, and his eyes flickered to a dark corner of the tavern before returning to meet her gaze. ‘Why would you seek him?’ he countered.

  Enda snorted indignantly. ‘It is incumbent upon you to answer the questions of a dálaigh, especially—’


  ‘Especially when a hosteller is responsible to his guests,’ Fidelma interrupted, annoyed that Enda had revealed her rank.

  Fedach Glas’s eyes widened a fraction. ‘A dálaigh?’

  ‘Is Brother Ailgesach here?’ she repeated loudly.

  A figure stirred in the gloom at a far corner of the tavern, then rose to its feet somewhat unsteadily. It moved forward a pace, supporting itself for a moment with one hand on the table at its side.

  ‘I am Brother Ailgesach,’ it intoned wheezily.

  Taking another pace forward, the figure was revealed as a very rotund and short man clad in worn brown woollen robes. A wooden cross hung on a leather thong about his neck. The wood and the leather denoted that the wearer was not of a wealthy Order. His head was like that of a baby, plump and fleshy with red cheeks, but whether the lack of hair was due to baldness or due to his choice of tonsure was difficult to discern. The lips were so thick and red that the mouth could be described as ugly. Only the eyes were striking by being tiny pinpoints of black almost hidden in the folds of flesh around them.

  ‘Come forward, Brother Ailgesach,’ invited Fidelma. ‘We would speak with you about God’s work.’

  The rotund religieux stopped, his fat features screwed into an expression as if he were trying to recall something.

  ‘I am …’ Fidelma began.

  But the man suddenly raised an accusing finger at her.

  ‘I know you. I know you! You are the Whore of Babylon.’ His voice was rasping and breathless. ‘The Whore of Babylon – mother of harlots and the abomination of the earth!’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  There was a shocked silence in the tavern, broken a second later by the thud of the woman’s ladle falling to the floor. Enda sprang to his feet with a suppressed oath and took a threatening step towards the rotund religieux. But even before he had finished that step, the man swayed before him, staggered sideways and collapsed on to the floor. Enda was on his knee beside him in a moment, turning him over to examine him. The others had risen to their feet and were gazing at the recumbent form with incredulity. Enda stood up with a sour, disapproving expression.