23- The Seventh Trumpet

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘At least there is a window and ventilation on this floor,’ she said. Then she regarded their guide solemnly as she moved back out of the room. ‘Let us see what this next chamber is like.’

  ‘Lady, this is the best of our guest chambers,’ protested Sillán.

  ‘I do not doubt it. Now open this next chamber.’

  Brother Sillán stared at her, not sure how to handle this. Before he could frame a negative response, Eadulf had pushed the door open.

  ‘It is a similar chamber with a window,’ he announced. ‘It looks unused and there are several cots.’

  ‘That will be more suitable for my warriors, rather than allowing them to be consigned to such a dark, odious chamber as the one below,’ Fidelma said firmly. ‘They can be within call if they are needed by me. I believe the bathing chamber is also for their use?’

  ‘There is cold water for them below,’ Brother Sillán grumbled.

  ‘The trouble is,’ Fidelma’s voice was almost confiding, ‘that my warriors are of the élite bodyguard of my brother, the King. They have grown used to more indolent ways. We can all wash in the bathing chamber.’

  It seemed that Brother Sillán had given up the trial of wills.

  ‘I shall see that more water is prepared,’ he replied sullenly. Then, giving the hint of a shrug, he hurried away without another word.

  ‘Gormán.’ Fidelma turned to the warrior with a serious expression, her voice low. ‘I am certain that Sillán was the man whom you and Eadulf were told was waiting at the shed for the abductors – the same one who said I was not the right woman who should have been taken with Torna. The timbre of his voice gives him away. He must also have recognised me as soon as we arrived. I suggest that you and Enda do not leave your weapons more than a hand’s grasp away.’

  ‘That might be difficult, lady.’ The warrior was clearly troubled. ‘You will recall, it is the custom that no weapons are allowed into a feasting hall and when we go for the evening meal it would be impossible to take our swords with us.’

  ‘Then take your gláede – you can use the excuse that you need it to eat with.’ The gláede was a sharp dagger. ‘But leave your swords and any other weapons hidden in a place where they might not think to look, if your chamber is searched.’

  Gormán asked no further questions but joined Enda in the adjacent chamber.

  ‘Is there a bolt on this door, one on the inside?’ she asked as Eadulf closed the door.

  Eadulf glanced at it and then answered affirmatively. ‘Why would there not be?’

  ‘Indeed,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Why? Gormán and Enda were shown to a chamber that had the bolts on the outside and none on the inside; no window nor any ventilation. We must be on our guard.’

  ‘Are you sure about Brother Sillán?’ he asked. ‘You are only going by the sound of his voice.’

  ‘I am sure. Do you not feel the antagonism in this place?’

  ‘I admit that I have had a more friendly welcome in the Tower of Uaman, Lord of the Passes of Sliabh Mis,’ Eadulf admitted, remembering Uaman the Leper, who had kidnapped their son and imprisoned Eadulf in his tower.

  ‘Have you ever known an abbey to choose a steward from someone so young and inexperienced and who has not taken vows?’

  ‘The abbot said he had appointed him.’

  ‘You should not forget that it is the fashion of our abbeys to elect both the abbot and his officials in accordance with our custom and law. How could a young – and frankly aggressive – man, lacking knowledge especially of the etiquette of such communities, be put in charge of the daily running of this place?’

  Eadulf sighed deeply. ‘In our travels we have seen many peculiar things, but the whole demeanour of the abbot and the way the brethren behave are certainly at odds with their calling … Therefore I agree. I have never seen religious conduct themselves in this way.’

  ‘If Sillán is here, then at least we know Torna is here as well. Now we have to discover where he is and what the purpose is of this abbey.’

  ‘Anyway, we will have to leave tomorrow morning,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘We can demand one night’s hospitality but we have no excuse to stay longer, especially if they are already suspicious of us.’

  Fidelma nodded thoughtfully. ‘Well, before we take any further step, I am going to have my bath.’

  As Fidelma entered the fothrucad, or bathing chamber, she found a young girl stoking the fire to keep the water hot. She stood up nervously and then, to Fidelma’s astonishment, she placed a finger to her lips, crossed to the door, peered out and shut it before turning to her.

  ‘Don’t be alarmed, lady. I mean you no harm.’

  Fidelma’s body had tensed, ready for anything.

  ‘Who are you and what do you want?’ she demanded.

  Once again, the girl raised a finger to her lips. She was no more than twenty years old, with curly black hair and pleasant features, except that they were now grimy with soot and the robes she was wearing were torn and ill-fitting.

  ‘My name is Ségnat, lady. You and your companions are in great danger here. You must leave as soon as possible.’

  Fidelma felt the fear in the other’s shaking form.

  ‘So what are you doing in this place, Ségnat? In fact, what manner of place is it?’

  ‘I am a daer-fuidir, a hostage brought here when Cronán’s men captured me. I am of the Uí Duach, and I have been here for two years. Unless you escape, you too will remain here as a hostage – or even worse. This is the Fortress of Cronán.’

  ‘We realise that this is no abbey and we have been greeted with hostility, but so far no physical threats have been made to us. I have seen no sign of imminent danger.’

  ‘When I went to receive instructions from Sillán about preparing your baths, I heard him talking to his cousin Anfudán. It is their intention to lull you into a false sense of security in order to learn what you know about them and their plans. Then you will be made prisoners.’

  ‘What do you know of their plans?’

  ‘Lady, I am only a daer-fuidir – I am not privy to their secrets. I only know that they are evil.’

  ‘If we attempt to leave tomorrow, what then?’

  ‘They will either find an excuse to keep you here, or you will not be allowed to leave.’

  ‘Do you know where they are holding Torna?’ Fidelma asked.

  To her surprise, the girl looked blankly at her. ‘I know of no one by that name.’

  ‘He was a captive brought back here yesterday.’

  The girl thought a moment. ‘There is word that a prisoner was brought here yesterday, but no one is sure where he is being held. There are many secret places in this fortress.’

  ‘It was in search of him that we came,’ Fidelma told her. ‘Why does Cronán pretend this is an abbey and he an abbot?’

  ‘He has been trying to hide his activities from the Prince of Osraige, from Tuaim Snámha. But what his intentions are, we do not know.’ The girl grew more agitated. ‘You must escape before first light otherwise you will never be allowed to leave. There are several Uí Duach who are hostages here; they can show you a way to leave without being seen.’

  Suspicion immediately came into Fidelma’s mind. ‘If you prisoners are able to do this, why have you not escaped yourselves?’

  Ségnat’s face was grim. ‘Because if we do, Cronán has threatened to kill our relatives and friends. That is what keeps us here and praying for rescue from outside.’

  Fidelma shook her head in disbelief. ‘He could not do that. It is unthinkable!’

  The girl’s face became contorted. ‘He could and he has. A few months ago, one of our number did escape. Five of his friends, including his own cousins, were executed in Cronán’s rage.’

  When Fidelma had recovered from the shock, she asked: ‘Did they recapture him?’

  Ségnat shook her head.

  ‘What was his name?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘He was a warrior of the Uí Duach called Tormeid. Please
,’ she added, ‘time is pressing; they might get suspicious. You must escape. We can help.’

  Fidelma thought for a moment and then sighed. ‘We must make an attempt to find this prisoner first. But even then I can’t see how we can escape. Say we managed to get beyond these walls, what then? In the middle of flat bog land without horses, how far would we get?’

  To her surprise, the girl said, ‘You would have your horses with you. Cronán’s men are lazy and it is the daer-fuidir who are given the task of looking after the animals. The stables cannot hold all the horses; there is a passage to a paddock just outside the walls where the rest are kept. We have ensured that your horses have been taken there. Cronán’s men know we will look after them and won’t escape, after what happened to Tormeid’s cousins and friends. We will make certain that your horses are saddled and ready when the time comes.’

  ‘But what will happen to you if we escape?’ protested Fidelma.

  ‘Cronán wants to instil fear in us by threatening our friends and relatives whom he holds. You have no friends and relatives here and we will simply deny any knowledge of you.’

  ‘Did this Tormeid know that the price of his escape would be the death of others?’

  Ségnat shook her head. ‘It was because Cronán’s own daughter escaped with him and was, so we heard, drowned during the flight, that he went berserk and did this terrible thing; then threatened us with the same punishment.’

  ‘He could do the same to you if we got away,’ Fidelma said.

  ‘Lady, we hear that you are the King’s sister. If you escape, then you can alert your brother to what is happening in this place. You are our only hope for the rescue of all our people.’

  ‘But how can we walk through the gates, even in the middle of the night?’

  ‘We will help you. There are many of us here who laboured to build this place. We were forced to do so for the Lord of Gleann an Ghuail.’

  ‘That is Cronán?’

  Ségnat nodded. ‘He is Cronán, Lord of Gleann an Ghuail.’

  ‘For what purpose has this fortress been built?’

  They heard a faint noise and the girl stiffened in terror, muttering, ‘I will contact you here, lady, after midnight. You must not let anyone know that you suspect anything. You must all be ready so that none of your party is left behind, otherwise they will surely be executed. You and your companions must be well away from here before first light.’

  The solemn toll of a bell brought Brother Sillán to guide them to the evening meal. Fidelma had thought that she was past surprising, but then, instead of being led into an abbey refectory, they were taken into a small chamber which appeared to be Cronán’s private dining room. There was not even a token pretence that this was an abbey. She had already informed her companions of her conversation with Ségnat, but warned them not to express any surprise or suspicion at anything they saw.

  A turf fire smouldered, sending out its aromatic heat, and candles and lamps flickered over the wooden platters and goblets that had been laid. Cronán was waiting for them at the table and gestured Fidelma to sit beside him. She noticed that there was no sign of Anfudán. Eadulf sat opposite while Gormán and Enda were shown seats at the end of the table. Sillán took a seat on Fidelma’s other side. Once all were in place, Cronán made a gesture to Sillán, who rang a hand-bell.

  A dáilemain, or distributor of food, emerged through a side door carrying platters and began to serve the food. Fidelma noted that the abbey did not appear to stint itself on meat, fowl and fishes. A joint of lamb was placed on the table and the dáilemain, using the fingers of his left hand to hold it, dexterously cut off a large piece and brought it on to Fidelma’s platter. He repeated the performance, moving with the joint by each of them. Each diner held a knife in the right hand and used the fingers of the left as was custom. Fidelma wondered whether these servers were all daer-fuidir, just slaves in this curious fortress.

  As this was being done there appeared a deochbhaire, or cup-bearer, who distributed goblets of ale or cider instead of water. Fidelma recognised the young girl Ségnat, but pretended not to know her.

  ‘Your ale is good,’ Fidelma said, turning politely to Cronán. ‘I presume the community brews it?’ She felt it best to maintain the fiction of being in an abbey.

  ‘We try to be self-sufficient,’ agreed the abbot. ‘That is the aim of all Osraige.’

  ‘All Osraige?’ she queried.

  ‘When Tuaim Snámha succeeded as Prince of Osraige ten years ago, it heralded years of plenty and a promise for our people. We are no longer a small impoverished land between two great kingdoms. One day I shall …’ He paused and then reached for his goblet.

  The door opened unexpectedly and the young steward, Anfudán, hurried in and made straight for the abbot, seeming not to notice anyone else. It was clear that he was bursting with some news.

  ‘Urgent information, my lord,’ he gasped, stopping by Cronán’s chair. Cronán did not look happy and was rising to usher the young man aside when Anfudán blurted out: ‘Our friend has returned from the south. It is confirmed that Bran Finn is dead.’

  There was a sudden hush in the room and the abbot sank back into his chair with what sounded like a sigh of annoyance. If looks could kill, then Anfudán would have already been laid out for burial.

  ‘Bran Finn, Prince of the Déisi Muman?’ Fidelma could not help her exclamation of surprise. ‘I thought he was a young man. How did he die?’

  Anfudán suddenly seemed to take in the presence of Fidelma and the others. His face went a deep red.

  Cronán’s voice was cold. ‘Brother Anfudán, you may tell our friend that I will see him in my chamber after the evening meal is finished.’

  As Anfudán hurried away, Cronán turned to Fidelma and forced a smile of apology.

  ‘You must excuse him. Our young Brother Anfudán has much to learn. The announcement of a death during a meal is unforgivable. Did you know Bran Finn of the Déisi Muman?’

  ‘As far as I am aware, I never met him,’ returned Fidelma. ‘However, I heard that he was newly come to office among the Déisi and that he was young. I gathered that he was recently visiting the Abbey of Imleach after he had paid his respects to my brother. That was why I was surprised by the news.’

  Cronán examined her features carefully before replying. ‘My people like to keep me informed as to what happens along the borders of Osraige. The Déisi Muman are our close neighbours south of the great River Suir. Indeed, my own cousin was once married to a noble of the Déisi. So it is natural that I take an interest in their affairs.’

  ‘A noble of the Déisi? Would I know your cousin or this noble?’

  ‘Alas, the noble died many years ago.’

  ‘And your cousin? Is she still alive?’

  ‘I have not seen her for many years, for she stayed with her children and did not return to Osraige.’

  ‘It is sad news, made sadder by the fact that Bran Finn was so young.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ the abbot said quickly. ‘We will remember him in the community prayers.’

  ‘If you hear how he died I shall be grateful to be informed.’ Fidelma implied that the matter was of little concern. ‘There are still isolated reports of the Yellow Plague in the land. We must always be vigilant.’

  ‘Of course, the plague has taken many from this land. And now,’ he glanced towards Brother Sillán, ‘we must go and see what news has been brought to us. You and your companions have had a long tiring day, so we will absolve you from attendance at evening prayers and allow you to retire for an early night’s repose.’

  The excuse actually suited Fidelma well, and she rose with the abbot.

  ‘Tomorrow morning, when we break our fast, you must tell me more about this sad news and, in return, I will give you all the news from Cashel,’ she promised, a false smile on her face.

  Later, in their room, Eadulf flung himself on the bed. His face was full of anxiety.

  ‘I am nervous,’ he b
egan.

  ‘That much is obvious,’ she replied, picking up her cíorbholg and beginning to rummage through it before extracting her comb.

  ‘This girl, Ségnat, tells you that we are prisoners in this abbey and she can help us escape. Do you trust her?’

  She sat on the edge of the bed next to him. ‘We are not yet prisoners, Eadulf. But we cannot continue to pretend to be gullible. Cronán is playing with us like a cat with a mouse. He is trying to find out what we know and what my brother knows. Once he discovered that we are alone here, immediately we became vulnerable. And, yes, I do believe what Ségnat has told me.’

  ‘So we have to escape before first light? That sounds easier said than done.’

  The soft tapping at the door held an urgent quality and yet it seemed as if the person was trying to rouse them by making as little noise as possible.

  Eadulf swung off the bed and strode to the door. He had barely finished pulling back the bolt when Enda pushed his way in with a muttered apology.

  ‘What is it, Enda?’ Fidelma kept her voice deliberately calm. It was clear that the warrior was in a state of agitation.

  Enda paused to gather his breath and then tried to speak slowly and clearly. ‘Lady, I have just seen the man who called himself Brother Biasta!’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ‘Is Gormán in the next chamber?’ asked Fidelma. She did not appear to react immediately to Enda’s news.

  The young warrior looked puzzled but answered, ‘I think so, lady. He was preparing for bed when I saw him last.’

  ‘Eadulf, ask Gormán to join us. Wake him, if necessary, but do so quietly.’

  When the sleepy-eyed warrior, who was still dressed, had joined them and Eadulf had closed the door so that the four of them were alone, Fidelma asked Enda to tell what he had seen.

  ‘I needed to visit the …’ he coloured a little. ‘I needed to visit the necessarium.’

  ‘Go on,’ Fidelma said impatiently, not interested in the warrior’s embarrassment. ‘And what happened?’