23- The Seventh Trumpet

by Peter Tremayne

  Brother Biasta frowned as he tried to work out the difference. ‘My cousin was lying on the cot.’

  ‘On his back?’ queried Fidelma.

  ‘Of course. I saw that he was choked on his own bile and vomit. I felt for signs of life and seeing none, came straight to tell you. That is all.’

  ‘Very well. Did you touch anything apart from checking that Ailgesach was dead? Did you move anything, for example?’

  ‘I did not,’ snapped the man.

  She stood up abruptly. ‘Eadulf and I will go to the chapel and examine Ailgesach’s cabin. Gormán, you will come with us. Everyone else will stay here until our return. Enda, you are in charge and will see that my wishes are carried out.’

  Brother Biasta had also risen. ‘I am my cousin’s nearest relative. I demand to come with you, if you are searching his cabin and belongings.’

  ‘I thought that I had made my instructions clear?’ Fidelma’s eyes flashed a little.

  ‘By what right do you issue orders?’ blustered the religieux.

  It was Gormán who answered. ‘By the right of being a dálaigh of the courts of the qualification of anruth, as well as by the right of being sister to King Colgú. Is that enough?’

  Brother Biasta sat down again, looking sullen.

  Fidelma led Eadulf and Gormán out of the tavern to where their horses were tethered. As they were mounting them, Eadulf commented: ‘I am not sure what information we have gained from that.’

  ‘We know that Biasta is a liar and that he smothered Ailgesach.’

  As they moved down the highway towards the chapel, the afternoon held a strange quiet, broken at intervals by the deep, harsh voice of the omnivorous feannóg or hooded crow.

  ‘Carrion birds,’ muttered Gormán in disgust. ‘Maybe they can smell the bodies in this place. And speaking of bodies, lady, what do you mean about Brother Biasta?’

  Fidelma told Gormán of the evidence behind their suspicions about Brother Biasta.

  ‘As for the rest, we know that Biasta is not of the Muscraige. I suspect that he is not even a cousin of the inebriated Ailgesach. Biasta was lying about journeying from the north along the highway on his own two feet. Had he done so, we would have seen him as we came up from the chapel.’

  ‘What makes you so sure that he is not of the Muscraige Tíre?’ Eadulf asked, having thought the matter through.

  ‘It is from Cairbre Musc that they took their name. Any member of the Muscraige Tíre, even a farmer, would know and be proud of their progenitor. Yet when I mentioned the name, Biasta did not appear to know it.’

  As they turned into the grounds of the chapel, the sky was still cloudless and the afternoon was warm for an autumn day. At the rear of the chapel they found a sheltered wooden cabin with some outbuildings. Fidelma remained on her horse for a moment, surveying the surrounding terrain before dismounting. Then they tied their horses to the wooden rail outside the cabin. Gormán insisted that he should enter first to ensure all was safe. Almost at once an odour assailed them. They did not need the sight of the discarded earthenware jugs to recognise the smell of stale alcohol. The odour permeated the room. In spite of the fact that the sun was still warm outside, it was dark and cold within the cabin.

  ‘I’ll light the oil lamp,’ Gormán said, moving across to the table and taking from the bag at his belt his tenlach-teined, containing his flint, steel and kindle. This was the tenlam or hand fire which every warrior was taught to use so that they could ignite a fire quickly. It was a few moments before the oil lamp was lit, throwing dancing shadows over the interior of the room. They stood just within the door and looked about. The place had certainly not been tidied in a long time. There were two rough wood cots with straw mattresses and discarded blankets. A bundle of clothes, immediately identified as religious robes, were dumped in a corner. A wooden crucifix hung from one wall and on a small table a free-standing wooden cross was balanced. It was splintered as if ill-used.

  Eadulf looked around in disapproval.

  ‘So here is another thing that Brother Ailgesach did not believe in,’ he muttered.

  Gormán raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean?’

  ‘Did not the Blessed Paul adjure the believers in Corinth to cleanse themselves from defilement both of flesh and spirit?’ he replied. ‘We have seen how he drowned his spirit with alcohol, and now we see that he did not believe in cleansing his flesh. I have seen pigs living in much cleaner circumstances.’

  Gormán grimaced in agreement. ‘I have to admit, the odours and mess do not indicate the home of a religieux or clean man. There is an old proverb that cleanliness is part of glory. Obviously, Brother Ailgesach did not have an ambition for glory.’

  ‘The sooner we commence our search, the sooner it will be finished,’ Fidelma said curtly, ‘and the sooner we can remove ourselves from the foul odours of this place.’

  Gormán held high the oil lamp and peered round. ‘Where shall we start, lady?’

  Fidelma had caught sight of a wooden box in one corner. It seemed the only object in which anything could be hidden. She pointed to it without speaking, and they moved towards it. The light of the oil lamp revealed the lid was coated with dust and the iron lock seemed quite rusty. There was no key and Fidelma instructed the warrior to use the handle of his sword to break it. The lock splintered away easily and she threw back the lid. A smell of must emerged and, at first, it seemed only to contain clothing; the robes of a religieux. She picked them out one by one.

  ‘They are rather long for Brother Ailgesach,’ remarked Eadulf.

  ‘Then we may suppose this trunk belonged to Brother Tressach, his predecessor,’ she replied. ‘I doubt if this box has been opened for years.’

  Under the clothes, Fidelma found some vellum texts but they were of little interest, only sections of the Scriptures. There was one bound book. It was fairly small, with its vellum pages bound in polished boards of oak. Fidelma had seen similar books before. She frowned as she remembered that a scribe had come to Cill Dara when she was there and brought three such treasures to the abbess. They were the special work of the abbey from which he had come. Her eyes widened suddenly. It was the Abbey of the Blessed Ruadhan at Lothra. Lothra! An abbey situated between Tír Dhá Ghlas and Biorra. Was it merely a coincidence that these places were beginning to feature in this investigation?

  ‘What is that?’ Gormán asked, as she stood quietly turning the pages over.

  ‘It is called in Latin a Missale, a book of liturgical instruction for the celebration of Mass throughout the year. It is rare for a poor religieux in such a spot as this to possess such a valuable book. Usually, a man of wealth, an abbot or a bishop, would have one, but a simple Brother …’

  ‘I heard that Brother Tressach was well-respected and something of a scholar,’ Gormán offered.

  ‘He certainly served here for several decades, as we have heard from Grella,’ Eadulf commented. ‘That does not reflect any influence or power.’

  ‘Not all talented people are interested in power or influence,’ reproved Fidelma. ‘However, the book and manuscripts should go to the Abbey of Imleach.’

  ‘Then the book itself is valuable?’

  ‘It is. I shall make sure that Abbot Ségdae receives it. He should decide what to do with Brother Tressach’s belongings.’

  Eadulf had turned his attention to a pile of old clothes on a chair and absent-mindedly gathered them up. Something fell from them and he picked it up. It was a small sheet of paper with some spidery writing on it, in Latin. He read it aloud.

  ‘“Brother Ailgesach, I send this by a trusted courier who will be passing your chapel. I shall be leaving this place soon and will be with you before the time of the last quarter moon. I have proof of conspiracy. A philosopher once said that if you want something hidden, then place it where everyone can see it. I shall follow that advice. I think I am suspected. If I have not joined you and our friends by then, know that I am discovered and you mu
st act on your own.”’

  Fidelma took it from his hand and read through it silently. Then she added: ‘There is no signature, only the letter “B”.’

  ‘The last quarter moon was three or four nights ago,’ Eadulf pointed out.

  ‘But does this message refer to that quarter moon?’ she pondered. ‘There is no knowing when this was written.’

  ‘It looks new,’ Eadulf replied. ‘And it seemed as if Ailgesach was hiding it from prying eyes, since he tucked it among those old clothes. He did not agree with the writer’s advice to hide it where everyone could see it.’

  Fidelma did not want to appear over-enthusiastic about the find. It raised many questions that could not be answered at that moment. ‘We will keep it with us.’

  ‘The word conspiracy sounds serious. A conspiracy about what?’

  Fidelma placed the paper in her marsupium, the bag she carried slung from her shoulder, and made no further comment, ignoring Eadulf’s disappointed glance. She then renewed her search, going slowly through the contents of the cabin until she was sure there were no other hidden surprises. There was little else in the cabin that caught their attention.

  ‘I’ll place the Missale and vellum texts in my saddle-bag,’ Fidelma announced as she made for the door. ‘They can be delivered to Abbot Ségdae when we have a chance.’ She paused and glanced back at the darkened hut. ‘We have done enough here. Let us see if there is anything more of interest in the outbuildings or in the chapel.’

  They tried the closest outbuilding first. It bore a resemblance to a stable, although there were no animals inside. However, there were signs of recent occupation. Gormán pointed to the straw-covered floor.

  ‘Those droppings were made by horses – and recently. Perhaps as recently as last night. I’d say that two horses were stabled here, according to the dung.’

  ‘So there is further proof that Sétna did not dream up the story he told Grella,’ Fidelma remarked.

  They walked across to the chapel and buildings. Clouds were beginning to form in the west and the day was turning cold; the afternoon was drawing on. The chapel stood in gloom and the body of the envoy that they had brought to it earlier was still stretched out before the small wooden altar. Agreeing that nothing would be revealed by any closer search of the buildings, they returned to their horses and set off back to the tavern of Fedach Glas.

  As they turned into the tavern yard, Enda came running out to meet them. It was clear that something was very wrong, from his anguished expression.

  ‘What is it?’ Fidelma demanded without dismounting. She had a premonition of what he was going to say.

  ‘Lady, I have failed you. It is my fault. Biasta has fled – he used my horse to get away. Fedach Glas has no other horse here so I could not ride after him. The scoundrel tricked me and escaped.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘What exactly happened?’ Gormán demanded, the suppressed anger clear in his tone.

  ‘He said that he needed to go to the privy,’ replied Enda unhappily. ‘I suspected nothing. He went outside, and the next thing I heard was the sound of my own horse galloping off. By the time I ran out, he was vanishing along the road.’

  ‘How long ago did he leave?’

  ‘Long enough not to be overtaken if you set off after him now. The tavern-keeper had no horse to chase him, unfortunately.’

  ‘He went north, otherwise we would have seen him,’ Eadulf commented.

  ‘One thing I noticed,’ the unhappy warrior said. ‘As he galloped off, I saw that his cowl had been flung back. He wore no tonsure. I don’t think he was a religieux.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ Fidelma replied.

  ‘It is my fault,’ Enda said dispiritedly.

  ‘Truly, it is your fault,’ snapped Gormán. He turned to Fidelma. ‘What now, lady? Do we chase after him?’

  ‘We must certainly find him,’ she said. ‘He has many questions to answer.’

  She swung down from her horse and hitched it to the rail. Her companions followed suit and she led the way into the tavern. Saer was still seated with a mug of ale before him. Fedach Glas and his wife Grella faced her nervously. Fidelma spoke directly to the tavern-keeper.

  ‘I am told you have no horse. Do you have any animal at all, even a mule or plough horse, that you can let us have?’

  Saer looked up from his ale and gave a chuckle. ‘If you could run quickly, you could have secured yourself a good horse on the Black Heath.’

  Fedach Glas stared at the carpenter. ‘What nonsense is this?’

  ‘I tell no lie,’ the carpenter responded. ‘At dawn this morning I saw a good stallion running wild on the heath. I had half a mind to try my luck to catch it. But I don’t have the skill.’

  Fidelma was impatient. ‘We do not have time to indulge ourselves in fantasy. Is there nothing that you have, Fedach Glas?’

  ‘I do not, but my cousin has,’ answered the tavern-keeper. ‘He runs the farm on the hills behind us and has two good horses – but they are there to work the farm, not horses such as you ride.’

  ‘Then we must borrow one. Will you go and bring it back here and, if possible, obtain a saddle of some sort.’

  ‘A plough horse would not be able to overtake a warrior’s horse,’ protested the tavern-keeper.

  ‘I do not mean it to do so. I merely want it to transport this warrior, Enda, back to Cashel, that is all.’

  Enda was chagrined. ‘Are you sending me back to Cashel, and on a plough horse?’

  Fidelma waited until Fedach Glas had set off on his errand and then turned to the disconsolate warrior.

  ‘I am not doing it as a punishment, Enda. There are important messages to be taken back to Cashel. Tell Caol and my brother what has happened here. That we believe the body is, indeed, an envoy from King Fianamail of Laigin. We suspect that Brother Ailgesach had something to do with this matter, but he has been killed by someone calling himself Brother Biasta. Also, I want you to go on to Imleach, taking some documents and a Missale that I shall give you. They are valuable, so put them into the hands of Abbot Ségdae. I also need to find out from the abbot whether he knows anything about these two religieux – Ailgesach and Biasta.’

  Enda repeated the instructions. ‘And where will I find you, once I have gathered such information?’ he asked.

  ‘We shall be heading north for Durlus Éile to see if we can pick up Biasta’s trail. If we have moved on, we shall leave instructions at the fortress of the Éile so that you may follow us. Is that clear?’

  ‘It is indeed.’

  ‘Then wait here until Fedach Glas returns with the horse and do your best to return to Cashel quickly.’ She turned to Saer the carpenter. ‘I have to leave you with two unpleasant tasks but there is no alternative.’

  The carpenter set aside his ale and gazed at her with a frown. ‘Tasks?’

  ‘We saw and heard crows around the chapel. You must try to find someone to help you bury the bodies – the one left in the chapel and that of Ailgesach. We cannot tarry any longer to help you in this.’

  Grella intervened. ‘My husband will give him a hand. But what of the burial blessing? A religious should bless the grave.’ She glanced with meaning at Eadulf.

  ‘That I know,’ replied Fidelma. ‘However, we cannot wait. Perhaps, Enda, you could ask that a religious be sent here to fulfil this task?’

  ‘I don’t like it,’ sniffed Grella. ‘Things should be done according to ritual, otherwise the spirits of the dead will not lie at rest.’

  ‘It must be, until we can do otherwise,’ Fidelma told her. ‘Better a delay in a ritual than a murderer escapes justice.’

  It was apparently the first time that either Grella or Saer understood the reason for Biasta’s flight. Their eyes widened and they exchanged a nervous glance.

  ‘We will carry out your wishes, lady,’ Saer said in a subdued manner.

  Fidelma thanked them, turned to her companions and simply said: ‘Let us set off.’

/>   They bade farewell to Enda, mounted their horses and within moments were cantering northwards along the highway that led to the fortress of the Éile. Fidelma did not really believe that they would overtake Biasta. Indeed, the sun was already well on the rim of the western mountains. She actually began to question her decision to start out so late, for it would soon be dark. It might have been better to spend the night at Fedach Glas’s tavern and make an early start in the morning.

  She glanced to her left at the lowering sun. Eadulf, riding alongside her, caught the movement and said, ‘It will not be long before nightfall.’

  ‘We can cover a lot of ground before then,’ she replied, almost irritated that they had shared the same thought.

  Gormán, who was riding in front of them, twisted in his saddle.

  ‘If we can maintain this pace, before nightfall we will arrive at a place where we can stay. The river comes close to this highway soon, and there on the left is a track that leads to a little chapel and another tavern on the banks of the Suir.’

  Fidelma vaguely remembered the place from previous travels.

  ‘Maybe that is where Biasta is making for,’ Eadulf offered hopefully.

  ‘I doubt it,’ Gormán grunted. ‘I think he will want to put as much distance between Fedach Glas’s tavern and himself as possible. He will surely realise that we will give chase. I have a feeling that he would have left this main highway as soon as he was able.’

  ‘You may be right,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘And with the head-start that he had, he will probably have made it to Durlus Éile. Enda’s horse is fast and if Biasta is a good rider … And Durlus is a large enough township that he could be more anonymous than in an isolated country tavern.’

  ‘Do you agree with Enda that this Biasta is not a genuine religieux, lady?’ asked Gormán. ‘Enda says that he doesn’t wear a tonsure.’

  It was Eadulf who answered for her. ‘Even if he did, anyone can cut their hair to create the right appearance.’

  ‘All we know for certain is that he killed Ailgesach, whom he claimed was his cousin,’ added Fidelma. ‘There are many questions that must be answered before we start speculating.’