23- The Seventh Trumpet

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Yet he said that he came from the north,’ Fidelma emphasised.

  ‘Then we will ask him to explain how that was possible when he comes back.’

  At that moment the door opened, but it was not Brother Biasta. It was Fedach Glas who returned by himself.

  ‘I pointed to the cabin and left Brother Biasta to make his own greetings with his cousin. Not that they will be able to have much of an intelligible exchange.’ The innkeeper went to the bar and poured himself a small beaker of ale and swallowed half of it in one gulp.

  ‘So long as one of them is ready to perform the services for the burial of the unknown corpse by midnight,’ Saer reminded them.

  Eadulf had nearly forgotten that corpses were usually interred at midnight on the day of death.

  ‘I presume that Brother Ailgesach has not endeared himself to this community since he came here?’ Eadulf rose and went to join Fedach Glas.

  ‘We hardly know him,’ the man replied. ‘Though I suppose he has been a good customer in my tavern during these past two weeks. But he has never spoken properly to any of us. He mumbles curious phrases, that is all. As to his background, he is very secretive.’

  ‘But you, Saer, you have worked for him, during the time he has been here. I am sure that you must have picked up some knowledge about him.’

  Saer shrugged. ‘Only that he is very fearful of people, particularly of strangers. Perhaps fear has caused him to indulge too freely in drink. I can certainly add nothing more.’

  ‘Could you tell me what manner of man he is?’ Eadulf asked. ‘Is he well-read? Does he come from a noble family? Do you know anything at all?’

  ‘How could I tell who is well read or not?’ countered Saer. ‘He was always quoting some text or other, so I suppose he has read the Holy Book, but I had no understanding of it. He has said strange things; sometimes frightening things.’

  ‘Such as the words he cried before he fell into unconsciousness?’ Eadulf suggested. ‘Have you heard such words before?’

  ‘Similar words, I suppose,’ admitted the tavern-keeper.

  Eadulf was thoughtful for a moment, but before he had time to frame his next question, the door burst open.

  Brother Biasta stood on the threshold looking dishevelled, his pale face even whiter than it had been before. It seemed that he was unable to form any coherent sentence and for a moment or two he just stood with his mouth opening and closing like a fish newly caught.

  ‘My cousin –’ he began; then he paused and swallowed, peering round at them in a distraught manner. ‘My cousin … he is dead!’

  CHAPTER SIX

  Everyone was moving towards the door when Fidelma’s sharp tone of command halted them.

  ‘Stay where you are, please. Eadulf and I will examine the body. Fedach Glas, you will come with us to show us where Brother Ailgesach is.’

  ‘But …’ began the tavern-keeper.

  ‘I am taking charge as a dálaigh,’ Fidelma said with quiet authority. ‘Eadulf has been trained in the apothecary’s art. I shall need his advice. Gormán, you and Enda will remain here.’

  Outside, Fedach Glas conducted them towards one of the small log cabins which apparently provided overnight accommodation for the tavern guests. He pushed open the door and went inside with Fidelma and Eadulf following. The small dormitory room contained four wooden cots arranged along the walls on either side. They could see the rotund form of Brother Ailgesach stretched on the cot nearest the door.

  The tavern-keeper waited by the entrance while Eadulf went forward to examine the corpse.

  The body lay flat on its back, the hands slightly clenched as if they were trying to form fists, but both arms rested in a straight line on either side. Eadulf saw traces of vomit around the mouth and across the front of the robes. The eyes were closed although the mouth was slightly open. The body appeared to be in repose.

  Eadulf immediately searched for any signs of life, but the body was already growing cold, the skin slightly mottled. He noticed dried blood around the nostrils. Then Eadulf, wrinkling his nose in distaste, bent forward and tried to ease the mouth further open, peering inside. He sighed and rose, turning round to face them.

  ‘Brother Ailgesach is certainly dead,’ he announced.

  ‘And the cause?’ asked Fidelma quietly.

  ‘To all appearances, it would seem that he went to sleep in a drunken stupor and choked on his own vomit.’

  Fedach Glas, standing behind them, was looking anxious.

  ‘Am I responsible for this?’ he muttered.

  Fidelma turned to the tavern-keeper. ‘In what manner do you mean – responsible?’ she asked.

  ‘I am a tavern-keeper. I served him with the drink. And now he has died in my tavern. Isn’t there some law …?’

  ‘As I understand the laws relating to drunkenness, you have no responsibility in this. Only if you had forced the man to drink against his will would you be culpable. As this was clearly not the case, then you are exonerated from any recompense to his family.’

  Fedach Glas looked relieved.

  ‘I would go back to the others,’ Eadulf suggested to him. ‘I need to speak with Fidelma so that we can clarify the matter.’

  Eadulf opened the door of the cabin for the tavern-keeper and watched him for a moment as he hurried back to the main building.

  ‘What is wrong?’ Fidelma asked, after he had closed the door.

  ‘I believe Brother Ailgesach was murdered,’ replied Eadulf as he turned back to the corpse. ‘It is unusual that the eyes are closed, for someone who has just had a seizure and choked on their own vomit.’

  ‘Perhaps Biasta closed the eyes. That is something I have seen people do automatically when confronted with death.’

  ‘Well,’ continued Eadulf, ‘for one who goes to sleep full of alcohol and is seized by sickness, choking on his own vomit, the corpse is quite composed. If you were choking, even when almost incapable with drink, you would move your hands upwards, fighting for air, striving to clear your mouth and throat. The hands, as you observe, are calmly placed on either side of the body.’

  ‘But there is vomit on the front of his clothes,’ observed Fidelma. ‘Surely that is indication enough how he choked?’

  Eadulf raised the man’s head carefully from the pillow. The cloth underneath was stained with vomit and flecks of blood.

  ‘That is the point. Perhaps Biasta came in and found Brother Ailgesach choking on his own vomit face downwards. Then he turned the body over, put the pillow neatly under the head and composed the corpse … requiescat in pace.’ Eadulf was rarely given to sarcasm.

  Fidelma stood for a moment gazing sombrely down at the corpse of the rotund religieux before saying, ‘It still does not point to the conclusion of murder, Eadulf.’

  ‘Then I think this will prove it. You will notice that, unusually, there are two pillows behind his head. The soiled one and one that is only a little soiled. And look at the other cot.’ He pointed. ‘It has no pillow.’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘My suggestion is that someone came in here and held a pillow over the man’s face. His struggle for air produced a paroxysm of vomiting and bleeding from the nose and mouth. The result was that he asphyxiated. The killer then rearranged the body, laying the arms by the side, closing the eyes and putting the pillow behind the head, hoping it would not occur to anyone that if he had choked on vomit while lying face upwards, there would hardly be vomit and blood on the pillow behind his head.’

  ‘And I suppose Brother Ailgesach was too drunk to stir when the killer came in and calmly removed the pillow from behind his head and commenced to suffocate him?’

  Eadulf shook his head. ‘A pillow is missing from the next bed.’

  ‘And so?’

  ‘The killer grabbed the pillow from the next bed to smother him with. That is the soiled one. After the deed, the killer realised that the pillow on his victim’s bed was also soiled. So he could not put either pillow back on
the next bed. They were both soiled and this would be noticed. So he left the two pillows on Brother Ailgesach’s bed and hoped no connection would be made.’

  Fidelma nodded slowly in approval. ‘You’ve touched the thing with a needle,’ she said, using an old saying, meaning that he had spotted matters correctly. ‘And the suspect has to be Brother Biasta?’

  ‘Who else? The only other choice is the tavern-keeper.’

  ‘We must tread this path with care, Eadulf,’ she said thoughtfully and suddenly sat down on the edge of the other cot, still staring at the dead religieux.

  ‘But his guilt is almost beyond question,’ protested Eadulf.

  ‘“Almost” is a word that contains many questions.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘You forget that we came here to find out who the dead envoy was and why he was killed. There are so many questions I would have dearly wished to ask Brother Ailgesach. You see, instinct tells me these matters are connected.’

  ‘We have a case against Brother Biasta which also needs to be answered,’ said Eadulf. ‘Why, he might even be the killer of the noble as well as his cousin.’

  ‘Oh, we will ask him questions, have little fear of it,’ Fidelma promised. ‘However, I do not want to put Biasta in a corner so that he sees no way out. Not yet anyway. I want to find out what else he knows. Maybe he can identify the people who stayed with his cousin last night.’

  ‘So how shall we approach this matter?’

  ‘We will pretend that we have noticed nothing untoward and that we accept the theory that Brother Ailgesach has choked on his own vomit. We will express curiosity about him, which is natural, and see if Brother Biasta will lead us anywhere.’

  Eadulf smiled without humour. ‘Like playing a fish with a line,’ he sighed. ‘But remember, fish can be elusive and slither off your hook.’

  Fidelma smiled reflectively. ‘Since we talk in fishing similes, Eadulf, I remember what an old mentor of mine once told me about the art. When you have a strong fish that wants to run, let it run. Let its fear and strength work for you. Then, when it is weak and exhausted, only then do you haul it in.’

  Eadulf shrugged. ‘I’ll be surprised if this fish will lead us anywhere.’

  ‘Well, let us start the fish running,’ Fidelma said, moving to the door.

  There was quiet in the main tavern room when they re-entered. Brother Biasta was seated, sipping at a beaker of corma. Saer was also drinking and did not look at all concerned at the events around him. Fedach Glas and his wife Grella stood together, their expressions strained, while Gormán and Enda had taken up positions near to the door, almost as if they were sentinels.

  Fidelma and Eadulf seated themselves in silence before Fidelma turned to Fedach Glas, who started nervously when she called to him by name.

  ‘I think we might all be the better for some of your corma.’

  He hurried to fulfil her request while she turned to Brother Biasta and said: ‘It seems as though your cousin unfortunately choked on his own vomit, having drunk himself into a state of unconsciousness.’

  Did a look of relief pass across the man’s features? It was gone too quickly for Eadulf to be sure, yet he was watching the man very closely.

  ‘Tell me what you found when you went into the hut,’ she invited.

  ‘I found the body, of course,’ replied the bewildered Brother Biasta.

  ‘I mean, in what manner and circumstances did you find it? A report of this matter must be made to Abbot Ségdae, being also Chief Bishop of this kingdom.’

  Brother Biasta frowned. ‘You have to report this to the abbot?’

  ‘It was he who sent Brother Ailgesach to this place,’ Fidelma affirmed. ‘Let us start with what more you can tell us about your cousin. You told us that you were both trained at the Abbey of Biorra. From what clan are you?’

  Brother Biasta hesitated. ‘Are these questions relevant? My cousin is dead and, sadly, from an indulgence in his own weakness.’

  ‘You know well that if it is deemed that his own weakness killed him – that it was self-inflicted – it is classed, in law, as suicide. And how is suicide classed?’ Fidelma asked, then answered her own question. ‘Brother Ailgesach would be named a fingalach.’

  Fidelma used the legal term which indicated that a suicide was classed as a kin-slayer, and as the horrendous crime of fingal or kin-slaying struck at the very heart of the kin-based society of her people, the law could apply heavy sanctions.

  ‘But he had no control over his actions,’ Brother Biasta protested.

  ‘That is not a good defence,’ replied Fidelma. ‘He did have control and he chose not to exercise it, in drinking more than he knew was good for him. All else follows – but there may be mitigating circumstances. So let us try to discover them.’

  Brother Biasta grimaced helplessly. ‘What can I tell you? I had not seen him in such a long time – I have already told you that. I can offer no explanation as to what ailed him.’

  ‘Then answer my question to the best of your ability and we will see how far we can progress.’

  The religieux stared at her for a moment almost in defiance and then he relaxed with a sigh, realising that he could raise no other protest.

  ‘What was your question?’

  ‘To start with, where did he come from and what clan? And I mean before he entered the Abbey of Biorra. You say that you are his cousin.’

  ‘We are of the Muscraige Tíre.’

  Fidelma knew that the Muscraige Tíre inhabited the north-west of the kingdom and were one of six Muscraige sub-lordships that were widely separated but subscribed to one overlord. They had long ago accepted the authority of the Kings of Cashel. From the north-east, the Muscraige stretched almost in a diagonal line south-west to the Muscraige Mittine in the Valley of the Laoi, one of the great rivers of the south-west.

  ‘So you are of the race of Cairbre Musc?’ she asked quietly.

  For a moment Brother Biasta looked lost, and then he repeated defensively: ‘We are of the Muscraige Tíre.’

  ‘I know your territory,’ Fidelma replied. ‘When I was a child I went for my initial education to the Abbey of Inis Celtra in the Red Loch. That was before I went to study law,’ she added for Eadulf’s benefit.

  Brother Biasta said quickly: ‘We came from the territory of the two streams, Tír Dhá Ghlas, to the north of the loch.’

  ‘Indeed a beautiful country. And your family – who are they?’

  ‘Just farmers, but my cousin and I went for our education at Biorra, as I said.’

  Once again Fidelma had the impression that Brother Biasta was not going to tell her much, if anything, about his own background or that of Brother Ailgesach.

  ‘What was your cousin’s name before he adopted his saintly servant’s name?’ she tried.

  Brother Biasta blinked. Then he said: ‘It was his real name. His parents were devout and intended him to join the religious.’

  Once more Fidelma suspected that he was blocking her questions.

  ‘So you last saw your cousin … where and when?’ There was sharpness in her voice as she ended her question.

  ‘Why, as I told you, about a year ago and at Biorra before he came south.’

  ‘To the Abbey of Imleach?’

  Brother Biasta’s eyes narrowed. ‘I told you, I do not know, only that he was coming south.’

  ‘And you remained at Biorra? Serving in the abbey?’

  Brother Biasta seemed to be gathering confidence. ‘I went back to Tír Dhá Ghlas …’

  ‘To the abbey?’ interposed Fidelma, for she knew of the Blessed Brendan’s foundation there.

  ‘I crossed into the country of the Uí Maine and preached there awhile.’

  ‘And you said that you received a message from your cousin?’

  ‘A week ago I returned to Biorra and found a message waiting there for me. It said that he was ill and would like to see me.’

  Fidelma’s expression was implacable. ‘Indeed, you told
me as much but I am still curious.’

  ‘Curious? About what?’

  ‘Your cousin would surely have sent the message to his family at Tír Dhá Ghlas. And you say that you had gone into the country of the Uí Maine … that is in Connacht. You had both left Biorra, so why did he think his message would find you there?’

  Brother Biasta hesitated and then simply shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I can only say what happened.’

  ‘Very well. His message said no more than that he was ill and wanted to see you?’

  ‘No more than that. So I came here straightaway.’

  ‘Forgive my inquisitiveness, but by what means did you come here?’

  ‘What means …?’ Brother Biasta was looking suspicious.

  ‘What road, what means?’ demanded Fidelma.

  ‘There is only one road from the north and you can see the means.’ The man gestured towards his feet.

  Fidelma’s expression hardened. Now she knew he was lying but she did not comment on the fact.

  ‘So you came here … and found matters thus?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Just a few points more,’ Fidelma said, as the religieux began to rise from his seat. He sank back sullenly.

  ‘There is nothing more to tell,’ he grumbled. ‘I should go to the chapel and start making arrangements for the burial of my cousin and the person who you found.’

  ‘Indulge me for a moment more.’ Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘Fedach Glas took you to the guests’ hut. Did he enter with you?’

  ‘He did not. Only I entered.’

  ‘He remained outside?’

  ‘Excuse me, lady,’ Fedach Glas intervened. ‘I told you that I left Brother Biasta to go in alone. I saw that one of the horses was nervous and went to attend to it. An old wolf was sniffing about and I threw a stone to chase it away. Sometimes you can encounter an old male wolf that has been driven from the pack by a younger animal. They can resort to scavenging.’

  ‘So you went inside on your own, Brother Biasta. Tell me what you saw.’

  ‘I found my cousin dead.’

  ‘I asked what you saw, not what you found,’ she prompted him quietly.