23- The Seventh Trumpet

by Peter Tremayne

  He did not have to finish.

  ‘You are Eadulf?’ the smith exclaimed. ‘Then you are husband to …?’ He paused, then said quietly, ‘Fidelma of Cashel once saved the honour of my sister by her wise counsel and fair judgement.’

  ‘Then know that we have come to this place in search of Fidelma, who has been abducted,’ Eadulf responded. ‘That is why we do not wish our identities to be made generally known.’

  Gobán searched his features closely as if trying to ascertain whether he was telling the truth. Then he replied softly: ‘Then God has guided your footsteps to my smithy, my friends, for I am in your service to repay the debt that my family owes to Fidelma of Cashel. I will ask you only one question – how may I help Fidelma?’

  ‘We need to go down to the quays and make enquiries, being as inconspicuous as we can. That is why we need to shelter our horses here.’

  ‘That is easily done.’ As he spoke, the smithy took the reins and led the horses into the darkness of the barn behind the forge. ‘Once I have removed their accoutrements, I can release them into the field at the back. These saddles and bridles can be hidden until you need them.’

  ‘This is much appreciated, my friend,’ Gormán said approvingly.

  The smith smiled at the warrior. ‘I have to tell you that your attempt to be inconspicuous will not last two minutes, unless you remove your golden collar and perhaps cover your finery with a rough cloak.’ He glanced at Eadulf. ‘I suppose one more religieux, more or less, will pass unnoticed in this township even if you do wear the tonsure of Rome and not that of the Blessed John. However, one of the élite bodyguards of the King would certainly be noticed.’

  ‘You are right, my friend,’ Gormán agreed ruefully. After a moment’s thought he removed the golden torque from his neck and placed it in his saddle-bag. Then he unstrapped a cloak and swung it around his broad shoulders, tying it at the neck.

  Eadulf looked on with approval before returning his gaze to the smith.

  ‘We were remarking as we crossed the river that there seemed little traffic upon it today and we were puzzled. Someone told us that there is some festival in the town.’

  ‘Indeed, though not in the town,’ replied the smith. ‘As you say, it is the end of harvest. The Lady Gelgéis has invited farmers, merchants and townsfolk to a great feasting in her fortress to give thanks for a good harvest. That is why the township is so quiet. Most people have gone to the feast.’

  ‘Why have you not gone?’

  ‘I have tasks to be done.’

  ‘Perhaps the absence of townsfolk will work to our advantage?’ muttered Gormán.

  ‘Although it might prove to be the opposite when we are looking for people who saw the arrival of the boat and can identify it.’

  Having thanked their new host, the two men left the forge to walk through the almost deserted township. There were a few dogs running here and there, and some loose chickens pecking at the dirt track – and somewhere near at hand a cow was bellowing mournfully. The street led almost directly into a central square; while one road turned up the hill towards the gates of the fortress, another ran down the gentle slope towards the river. There were a few people about, mainly elderly, who greeted them courteously enough. A young girl was seated at one corner of the square with a basket by her side in which were some loaves and cheese; she sat alone with tear-stained cheeks. It was clear from the sounds of music drifting down the hillside, accompanined by shouts of laughter, that the majority of people were still at the feasting.

  ‘What’s the matter, little girl?’ Eadulf asked kindly.

  ‘I need to sell my mother’s produce before I can go to the feast to see the gleemen,’ complained the girl. ‘My mother says I must do so or she will not allow me to go. There is good cheese and do you want bread?’

  Eadulf shook his head sadly. ‘Alas, we are not looking for food at the moment.’

  Leaving the dismal child, they made their way towards several large buildings that were obviously constructed as storehouses and barns. They walked between the buildings towards the river, along which were several wooden-built quays where boats could load and unload. This area still seemed entirely deserted, apart from the empty boats. They walked out on one of the jetties and stared about them in dismay.

  There were numerous boats of all manner and sizes, and many that could have fitted the description of the type they were searching for.

  ‘So much for our hope of finding someone who might have spotted our quarry!’ Gormán said forlornly. ‘So where do we start now?’

  ‘Let us try some logic.’ Eadulf considered for a moment. ‘We need to find a boat that came here this morning. Perhaps if we started to examine all the boats that fit the description, ones that need four men to row it, and work our way along, we might find something which could give us a clue of some sort.’

  ‘That is a long shot and I am better with a sword than with a bow.’

  ‘It’s better than doing nothing.’

  ‘Very well, my friend. Let’s start here and work our way along.’

  They walked along the quays and began to scrutinise the boats, but found nothing in them to provide any information. It was as they were making towards the next jetty that a cackle of laughter from nearby caused them to halt.

  A bundle of rags lying on the ground moved, and a wizened little man sat up and stared at them with a gap-toothed grin.

  ‘You won’t find many good pickings here, friends,’ he wheezed. ‘The merchants are a tight-fisted bunch. They made sure their produce was taken and locked in their storehouses before they went up to the fortress. They haven’t left even a stalk of wheat lying about. Don’t I know it?’

  Eadulf regarded the wreckage of the man in disgust, telling him: ‘We are not scavengers, my friend.’

  The old man chuckled again, which brought on a fit of coughing.

  ‘A leper,’ muttered Gormán, spotting the decaying flesh of the man’s arm sticking out from the rags that covered him.

  The man immediately tried to conceal himself.

  ‘Have I not got the right to exist, the same as you?’ he hissed. ‘These are my pickings, when the fat merchants leave them.’

  ‘We are not searching for any pickings, as you call them,’ replied Eadulf firmly. ‘We are looking for a boat newly arrived here.’

  ‘What’s in it?’ gabbled the old man. ‘What’s in it? I want a share.’

  ‘I doubt there is anything in it that you would want a share of, unless it be several inches of steel driven in you,’ snapped Gormán, clasping his sword as if to draw it from its scabbard.

  ‘I meant no harm, meant no harm,’ cried the old man in alarm, making to scuttle away.

  Eadulf laid a hand on Gormán’s arm and forced a smile at the leper.

  ‘My friend is not known for the mildness of his manners and his temper is quickly roused. However, you could be rewarded in some fashion if you can show us such a boat.’

  The old man’s eyes gleamed. ‘Rewarded?’

  ‘But first you must prove that we can trust you. Did such a boat arrive here this morning?’

  ‘Several.’ The smile was positively a leer. ‘Many river craft came here for the feasting.’

  ‘We are looking for a boat that came upstream and was rowed by four men. There were passengers.’

  There was a silence before the man said, ‘What if I was to tell you that there was such a boat? Five men, one injured, and some queer sacks in it.’

  Eadulf and Gormán exchanged an excited look.

  ‘Was there a woman with them?’ Eadulf demanded.

  The leper shook his head but, seeing the disappointment on Eadulf’s face, added: ‘They carried queer sacks, as I said. Large enough for someone to be inside.’

  ‘Where is it? Where did they land?’ pressed Eadulf.

  ‘Didn’t I hear you say something about a reward?’

  Eadulf reached into his leather purse and produced a piece of copper. To his surprise th
e old man spat in distaste.

  ‘What would the likes of me be doing with that? Who would take copper from a leper?’

  ‘Then what do you want?’ demanded Eadulf, puzzled.

  ‘Food is what I want. Give me food, and then I will tell you.’

  Eadulf turned to Gormán with a helpless expression. ‘Where can we get food now?’

  But Gormán had grabbed the copper from his hand and run off without a word. He was back almost within moments, with two loaves and some cheese. Eadulf realised that he had gone back and bought it from the little girl. The old man’s eyes lit up.

  ‘That’s more like it. Hand it over, fellow.’

  ‘Firstly we want the details of the boat,’ Eadulf said. ‘Tell us.’

  The old man shrugged. ‘It is not moored along here.’

  Eadulf drew in his breath angrily but before he could say a word the old man went on, ‘It berthed on the far side of the river. You see those sheds over there? There’s one with a small jetty in front of it. That’s where they landed.’

  ‘But there is no boat there now.’

  ‘Not now there isn’t, but that’s where it landed. Five men. One had an injured arm. The others helped him out and then there seemed to be an argument with one of the oarsmen. I couldn’t see from where I was because they hurried into the shed. I only know that the argument stopped quickly. They lifted two heavy sacks from the boat and carried them into the shed. Oh yes, and someone had been awaiting their arrival. He was a religieux by the manner of his robes, with one of those cowl things covering his head, so don’t ask me what he looked like.’

  ‘What?’ cried Eadulf. ‘A religieux in robes? Are you sure that he was waiting for them?’

  ‘What else have I to do but sit here unobserved and watch the river, just in case someone comes along and leaves something unattended? I am sure of what I saw.’

  ‘And what happened to the boat?’

  ‘Everyone left the shed, climbed back into the boat and they rowed off.’

  Eadulf actually groaned. ‘They rowed off? Where?’

  ‘Back downriver. Five of them came out and climbed back into the boat with the religieux who had been waiting for them. Two took the oars, one in the bow while the other three sat in the stern.’

  ‘And these sacks that they took from the boat? What happened to them?’

  ‘They must have left them over there in the shed,’ shrugged the leper. ‘Now, what about that grub?’

  Gormán thrust the loaves and cheese at the old man, who gave an almost animal sound and scampered off among the buildings.

  ‘Well?’ demanded the warrior, frowning after the bent figure. ‘What now, my friend?’

  ‘Could the person waiting for them have been Biasta?’ Eadulf asked.

  ‘He certainly had time to reach here,’ replied Gormán.

  Eadulf was studying the shed across the now-darkening waters. The late-afternoon sun was already obscured by clouds as it sank to the distant western mountains.

  ‘Five men went into that building carrying two bulky sacks,’ he mused, thinking aloud. ‘Five men plus the religieux who was waiting for them came out and rowed away. We presume that one was the ferryman’s son. That means that one of the sacks contained the poet and—’ He came to an abrupt halt. ‘The other sack contained Fidelma.’ He stared at Gormán. ‘That means Fidelma is still in there! Still in the shed!’

  CHAPTER TEN

  They borrowed one of the smaller craft from the many boats tied up at the quays. Gormán took the single pair of oars while Eadulf clambered into the stern, untied the painter and pushed off. It did not take long to cross the river, although the current carried them a little way to the south of the spot that they were making for. Rather than trying to fight it, Gormán was content to let the boat come to rest where the current took it. They left it secured and began to walk along the bank to the small complex of sheds. It was a gloomy place. The sheds were set slightly back from the wooden jetty and surrounded on the other three sides by tall oaks and birch trees. They had seen no signs of life among the buildings as they crossed the river, and now, as they came close, it was clear that they were deserted.

  ‘We should have asked for more information about this place from the old man,’ whispered Eadulf, glancing about.

  Apart from the one building that the leper had pointed out, two other buildings seemed also constructed for storage rather than habitation. Cautiously, they made their way to the entrance of the main building: the tall double doors were closed and secured with an iron chain and lock. They were basically wooden beams of stout oak planking.

  Gormán uttered a quiet oath. There was no need to ask why. Eadulf knew that glais iarnaidhi or iron locks were commonly used in households in the Five Kingdoms, but storehouses such as these usually had other means to secure them. Gormán led the way around the building, but there were no other doors or means of ingress. They returned to the main door and now Gormán went to the bank of the river and picked up a piece of smooth rock.

  ‘Keep a watch, especially on the far bank,’ he instructed Eadulf.

  Eadulf did as he was asked. Behind him he heard three sharp blows of stone against metal, which he felt must surely be heard even up at the great fortress overlooking the township on the far side. Apart from the sounds of the music and merrymaking drifting down from the hilltop, however, there was silence, which indicated that they had not been heard. One more blow and Eadulf heard metal fall on the ground. Gormán gave a grunt of satisfaction and when Eadulf turned he was holding open one of the large doors.

  ‘Quick – inside!’ he hissed.

  As Eadulf hurried in, Gormán pulled the door shut behind them. A faint light drifted into the storehouse through some of the loose boards of the walls. The overpowering smell was of dried hay and rotting vegetation. Eadulf was trying to peer into the gloom when sparks caught his eye; he caught his breath before he realised that Gormán was on his knees using his tenlach-teined, his tinderbox. It took him a while to light a handful of straw. They were in luck for there was a lantern on a shelf nearby, and once this was lit they could examine the interior of the storehouse more clearly. At first Eadulf experienced a feeling of intense disappointment and panic. The place seemed completely empty.

  Then Gormán pointed to some sacking half-hidden under a pile of straw at the back of the shed. While he held the lantern aloft, Eadulf hurried over and pulled aside the straw and sacking. A body was lying under it. He could not help a surge of relief as it was immediately obvious that it was that of a young man.

  It was not Fidelma but he still felt a moment of guilt. He peered closer and realised that neither was it the body of Torna, the poet. He glanced up to Gormán with a grim expression. ‘It must be the ferryman’s son, Enán. They have cut his throat.’

  Gormán let out an oath. Then he pointed nearby. ‘Quickly, friend Eadulf; pull aside the straw there.’

  Eadulf needed no further urging, and in a short while had uncovered another large piece of sacking. There was a body inside it. Eadulf took out his knife and hacked desperately at the thongs that held it together.

  ‘Fidelma!’

  She was not stirring. There was a gag in her mouth, tied firmly so that she could not loosen it, had she been able. Ripping off the sackcloth, they saw she was bound hand and feet.

  ‘Dead?’ Gormán’s voice croaked with emotion.

  ‘God be praised, she is not!’ cried Eadulf, removing the gag and cutting the bounds. ‘Do we have water?’

  ‘I’ll get some from the river.’

  He left Eadulf with the lantern while he hurried outside.

  Eadulf bent over Fidelma’s unconscious figure and slapped her cheek a couple of times.

  ‘Wake up! Wake up! You are safe!’ he whispered urgently.

  There was some movement on her face in response to the slap and then her eyes fluttered open for a second or two. Then she groaned and closed them again. Gormán returned with a broken piece of pottery tha
t held a little water from the river. Eadulf took it and splashed it in Fidelma’s face. She blinked again and her eyes opened and focused on him for a moment. A brief smile began to form on her dry lips, and then she started coughing.

  ‘More water,’ ordered Eadulf. ‘Make it as fresh as possible.’

  When Gormán returned, Eadulf poured a little down her throat, causing her to cough and retch.

  ‘We must get her out of here. We’ll take her back to the smith’s place. At least I can use my apothecary’s bag that I left there. If she has been bound like this since last night, it is a wonder she has survived at all. Maybe her captors thought she was already dead and that is why they abandoned her here.’ Eadulf glanced at the dead body of the ferryman’s son. ‘We’ll have to leave him. Help me move Fidelma to the boat.’

  Gormán blew out the lantern and together they lifted Fidelma. She was moaning softly and drifting in and out of consciousness but could make no intelligent sound.

  Between them, they carried her from the storehouse and back to the boat. Once placed in the stern, with Eadulf holding her, Gormán took the oars again. The current pushed the vessel to the south so that by the time they crossed the river they had landed on the southern outskirts of the township.

  ‘This is for the best,’ Gormán said as they disembarked. ‘We won’t have to carry her through the township. Gobán’s forge is easily reached across these fields.’

  It was twilight now but they could see their way clearly.

  ‘Let’s hope no one has released their dogs in this area for night guard,’ Eadulf observed nervously.

  ‘It’s too early,’ Gormán assured him.

  They carried Fidelma across the fields that ran at the back of the outlying buildings of the township and, by Gormán’s unerring sense of direction, they arrived at the rear of Gobán’s forge. A lantern had been lit in the forge and the smith was still at work. He glanced up startled as they entered, and then saw their burden.

  ‘The Lady Fidelma,’ he gasped as he recognised her. ‘What has happened?’