‘A curious one, indeed,’ said Fidelma. ‘I believe that if we can stop Cronán and his plan, then Fianamail and his Laigin army will be denied an excuse for invading Muman.’
‘Let us hope you are right.’
‘Did you try to question Étain of An Dún?’
Colgú uttered a short, dry laugh. ‘There is no means of conversing with her, sister. She has been raving some curious words, almost as if she were quoting some Scripture and calling on God to vanquish her enemies. It was quite unnerving. When we captured her she had some kind of religious banner.’
‘So she has offered no coherent explanation nor given you any clue as to her part in this conspiracy?’
‘Our physician attempted to calm her with some potion, but … well, you will see for yourself.’
‘There were no other prisoners; no one of intelligence who could explain the reasons for these actions?’
‘Only three remained alive, and they were seriously wounded. We left them behind to be tended to.’
‘I just want to be sure about one thing,’ Fidelma said. ‘You left Cashel with only a hundred warriors to support Dego?’
‘Correct.’
‘And you made no suggestion to Drón that he would be safer coming here than remaining in Cashel?’
Colgú sniffed in disgust. ‘I have already said so. I do not understand how that impression was put about. He and Dúnliath were totally safe in Cashel. You are not saying that he was lured here as part of this conspiracy? Lured here to be killed? I think it is high time you told me what this so-called conspiracy is all about, and who is involved.’
‘That I shall do shortly,’ Fidelma replied. ‘But perhaps we can now see the Lady Étain first?’
Gelgéis reached for her hand-bell to summon Spealáin.
‘You’ll excuse me if I do not accompany you to see this madwoman?’ she said. ‘I do not know her and have no wish to do so. She is responsible for so much evil, and I would rather not look upon such madness.’
Spealáin entered with Caol behind him, who confirmed that the prisoner was locked inside a chamber below in the fortress. They conducted Colgú, with Fidelma and Eadulf, to a stout wooden door outside which one of Spealáin’s own men stood on guard. Before throwing the bolts, Caol said softly for Fidelma’s benefit: ‘She is restricted for her own benefit as well as yours, so do not be shocked at her appearance.’
‘That is understood,’ Fidelma acknowledged.
The chamber was certainly no cell. A shaft of late-afternoon sunlight came through the window, and it would have been a pleasant room had it not been for the solitary occupant. A large chair stood in a corner and in it was seated a figure. Rather, the figure was strapped to the chair with manacles of iron restricting her wrists and ankles. Her hair was matted and tangled; there was blood on her face and on her clothing, which was torn and soiled.
Fidelma’s breath caught in her throat as she viewed the pitiful creature that huddled before her. Her mind went back to when she had first met Étain of An Dún. Was it only a few months before at Lios Mór? Then she had been a tall, imposing figure with traces of her former youthful beauty. The sharp blue eyes, which once were like gimlets, piercing into their minds, were now pale and without lustre. Now there were telltale marks of age around them. A few months ago it was only by peering closely that Fidelma had seen that the woman used berry juice to darken her brows and hair, which had been braided and elaborately dressed; held in place with gold circlet pins. Now her hair was dishevelled, dirty-grey – even white – and caked in places with blood and dirt.
Fidelma glanced with a frown at Caol. ‘Can she not have been allowed to bathe and have a little dignity?’
Caol stiffened at her rebuke. ‘She is quiet now, lady, but this mood does not seem to last for long. She can become like a hound out of hell itself. I have never seen her like for ferocity. I would not place you in such harm’s way.’
Fidelma knew Caol well enough to accept that he did not act without a good reason. She took a pace forward and cleared her throat. ‘Lady Étain, do you know me?’
There was scarcely any movement, hardly even of natural breathing, but Fidelma became aware of the eyelids flickering and then those pale eyes were trying to focus on her.
‘It is I, Fidelma of Cashel,’ Fidelma said softly.
The woman tried to raise one of her manacled wrists in salutation but she could not lift it very far. She gave a deep sigh. There was an elaborate dignity in the gesture.
‘I regret that I have to receive you thus, lady.’
‘Are you able to answer some questions?’
‘Questions? There are no questions to be asked. Just believe and all will be well. Caeli enaran gloriam Dei!’
‘Indeed, the heavens do bespeak the glory of God, but we must also ask questions that are unrelated to matters of the Faith. I would speak about your cousin, Cronán.’
Colgú and Eadulf both started at the information. Eadulf dimly remembered that Cronán had said something about a cousin of his marrying a noble of the Déisi, but …
‘He is your cousin, isn’t he?’ asked Fidelma.
The woman was almost whispering now. ‘He is a grand abbot. He told me the truth about the seventh angel. I shall soon mount to the throne of this world, for it is my destiny to ensure that all see the glory of God and the truth of His message.’
‘I would like to know how you and Cronán set about this task,’ Fidelma said.
A sudden flash of recognition crossed the woman’s face, and her eyes changed from pale to bright blue. She was staring malignantly at Fidelma as if seeing her for the first time.
‘I recognise you, Whore of Babylon!’ Her voice grew harsh and venomous. The malevolent face then turned to Eadulf, causing him to take a step backwards. ‘This woman is responsible for the death of the Prophets and Apostles!’ she shouted. ‘She is a dwelling place of evil, a cup full of iniquities.’
Caol made to go towards Étain as she writhed and twisted against her bonds. Fidelma reached out a hand to stay him.
‘She is quoting from Scripture,’ she explained quietly. ‘It signifies nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ Étain was slobbering, the spittle on her lips. ‘And their dead bodies shall lie in the streets of their great city … and the people and the clans … they shall see the dead bodies … but they will not be able to put the dead into graves, for there will be so many.’ Her voice rose to a croaking crescendo. ‘The seventh trumpet sounds; the kingdom of this world will become the kingdom of our Lord.’
‘The seventh trumpet,’ muttered Eadulf. ‘So that was the code of their conspiracy?’
Fidelma glanced sadly at the woman who had collapsed back in the chair after her violent tussle against her bonds. She was muttering and weeping. But there was nothing else they could do. They left and went outside. When Caol bolted the door, there was a troubled look on Fidelma’s face.
‘Is there nothing we can do? No balm that will keep her quiet?’ Her question was directed at Eadulf.
‘For such a state as that woman is in, it is hard to say what will help her. We could try lily of the valley, maybe fennel, or a mixture of both in an infusion.’ He spread his hands almost helplessly. ‘Perhaps the best thing is to induce sleep.’
‘I am sure Gelgéis has an apothecary here,’ Colgú said, turning to Caol. ‘Go and ask for such potions as Eadulf suggests. But ensure that the woman remains restrained.’
‘I have seen enough not to be reminded of that duty,’ muttered Caol as he left them.
‘And now we must have some answers, Fidelma,’ Colgú said briskly. ‘You started off with the death of an unknown Laigin noble outside Cashel. How has it developed to this …?’ He spread his arms to encompass everything.
‘That I believe I can now answer. Let us see if Gelgéis will allow us to meet in her personal reception chamber again, this time with her advisers and with Brehon Áedo and Bishop Ségdae.’
The chamber seemed crowded. It was
not made to accommodate the nine people who filled it. Gelgéis had vacated her usual chair of office for Colgú to sit in while she had taken a chair close by Áedo, the Chief Brehon of Muman. The latter sat next to Gelgéis’s own Brehon, Broce of the Éile. Next to him was Abbot Ségdae and Bishop Daig. Spealáin stood by the door which he closed after attendants had brought refreshment for everyone.
‘So where shall we start in unravelling this mystery?’ Colgú asked the question directly of his sister.
She said: ‘Let us start with the decision of Brehon Áedo …’
The Chief Brehon of Muman glared at Fidelma. ‘What do you mean?’ he growled. ‘What have I to do with this conspiracy?’
Fidelma answered with a reassuring tone. ‘Let us hope that you have nothing to do with it, except indirectly. But cast your mind back a few months. We were all at the Abbey of Lios Mór, investigating a particularly gruesome murder. I presented the case. You will recall?’
The Chief Brehon uttered a curt, ‘Of course! It was shown and judged that the Lady Étain of An Dún was guilty of the murder of her own son and, indeed, of others.’
‘Exactly so,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘It was a bizarre case and the Lady Étain was so deranged that you agreed that she was a dásachtach, suffering the worst condition of madness. She was sent to Gleann na nGeilt, the Glen of Lunatics, which is under the authority of the Abbey of Imleach.’
‘Lady Étain was the leader of the uprising in the west. Are you saying that was a continuance of what happened at Lios Mór?’ demanded the Brehon.
Abbot Ségdae shifted uneasily on his chair. ‘I hope there is no reflection on how my abbey oversees its duties in the matter of Gleann na nGeilt?’
‘As we understand it,’ continued Fidelma, ‘because of Lady Étain’s rank and position, one third of her lands were used to provide for her upkeep and care during her lifetime. Two thirds were reverted to her family and to the payment of compensation to her victims and for fines.’
‘That is the law,’ agreed Brehon Áedo.
‘And her family were …?’ prompted Fidelma.
It was Abbot Segdae who answered. ‘You know well, Sister …’ He paused, remembering her previous rebuke. ‘You know well, Fidelma. She was of the Déisi Muman, the widow of a prince of that clan.’
‘And thus related to the late Bran Finn, Prince of the Déisi?’
‘Of course.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Are you saying it was Bran Finn who brought the funds so that she could employ her mercenaries?’
‘Not at all. He went to the Glen of Lunatics to discover who was involved in this plot. The funds actually came from Cronán, the Lord of Gleann an Ghuail, who was Étain’s cousin. He had inadvertently told me that he had a cousin who married a noble of the Déisi.’
Eadulf nodded slowly. Before Fidelma had questioned Étain, he had entirely forgotten the exchange at the meal in Liath Mór.
Light was beginning to dawn on their faces. Colgú leaned forward in his chair. ‘So this unrest in the west – Étain’s raids against farms and settlements, particularly religious houses – they were master-minded by Cronán?’
‘Those who were at Lios Mór will bear witness that the Lady Étain’s crimes were inspired by a religious fanaticism. It was that which motivated the murder of her own son. When Cronán was devising his plot, he played on this. He sent to Étain, pretending that he was speaking as an abbot, and telling her that the seventh angel, a figure from the Holy Scriptures, had appeared and said that she was to lead an army to cleanse the land of the impure of faith.’
‘But she was supposed to be confined in the Glen of Lunatics. How would she get the money to pay her band of cut-throats and escape?’ Brehon Áedo stopped at a gesture from Fidelma.
‘The Glen of Lunatics is no prison, and while the most dangerous are closely watched by the religious of Imleach, it would be easy for someone aided by outsiders to escape. Her own cousin, Cronán of Gleann an Ghuail, sent her money and support, probably via his son, Sillán, or one of his men like Biasta. I shall come to them later. Brother Ailgesach had become aware of the conspiracy during his last days working among the unfortunates in the Glen of Lunatics, and he warned Gelgéis – is that not so, lady?’
Gelgéis immediately confirmed it.
‘Ailgesach promised her that he would try to get some proof of the conspiracy and find out what was behind it,’ Fidelma went on. ‘Unfortunately, he did not name Étain – and only at the last moment mentioned Bran Finn. He arranged with the latter to get that proof and bring it to him, at the same time arranging for me and Tormeid to meet with Bran Finn at his chapel. We were there at the appointed time but Bran Finn did not appear.’
‘That is because he was already dead,’ Eadulf told them. ‘It was his body that Tóla found at the stream bordering his farm. The fellow was killed on his way to the rendezvous.’
‘But I thought the body bore the emblem of the Uí Máil, the Kings of Laigin?’ Colgú frowned.
‘That was part of the proof to show the alleged involvement of Laigin. It was what was inside that brooch that was the real evidence,’ Fidelma said. ‘But whoever killed Bran Finn had removed the paper inside the brooch yet neglected to take the evidence of the brooch itself.’
‘So Fianamail was waiting to hear that Cronán and Étain were rampaging through the kingdom,’ Colgú said. ‘Then he would use the excuse to enter the kingdom to stop civil strife. But Étain has been captured and Cronán must soon surrender or be destroyed.’
Gelgéis sighed deeply. ‘So close and yet so far.’ There were frowns from several who had gathered there. ‘If Bran Finn had reached us, he would have brought proof of the conspiracy and told us who was involved. We waited in vain at Ailgesach’s place. When he did not appear, I returned here to Durlus. Tormeid decided to go to the river, intent on travelling to Imleach or the Glen of Lunatics to see what he could discover about Bran Finn.’
There was a silence for a while.
‘There is one thing that mystifies me,’ Abbot Ségdae said slowly.
‘Only one thing?’ Fidelma smiled.
‘We know that Étain suffered from extreme religious zeal. I can accept that was what inspired her madness, sent her riding forth to murder and pillage under the banners we have seen. Are we to understand that Cronán, who has declared himself to be an abbot, is similarly cursed?’
‘His purpose and that of Étain, his cousin, were not the same,’ explained Fidelma. ‘He was simply prepared to allow her to be the distraction in the west of the country. True, he had his warriors carry out some similar raids under religious banners against the Uí Duach. That was in order to fool people into thinking it was all part of a general unrest to provide the excuse for Fianamail. But Cronán’s goal was power. Power and pure avarice. He was waiting until he knew the warriors of Laigin were gathered on the border before he unleashed his main assault. His belief was that the conflict would bring Laigin in on his side and precipitate him to power.’
Colgú shook his head with a smile. ‘For the first time there is a flaw in your argument, Fidelma. You have overlooked the most important point, sister. Cronán is no Eóghanacht. As powerful as the Laigin men could make him, he would never be able to claim the throne of Muman as a legitimate King. The derbhfine of the Eóghanacht have to make that choice according to law, not only from the most worthy to govern – the best able, if you like – but also from the bloodline. Cronán is of the Osraige. He is not of the Eóghanacht bloodline. Anyway, he is answerable to Tuaim Snámha, the Prince of Osraige.’
Brehon Áedo was puzzled. ‘This is complex. Are you saying that Tuaim Snámha is involved?’
‘I cannot prove that, but I suspect that he is not. I believe that Cronán’s conspiracy with Fianamail of Laigin would be that Tuaim Snámha would be displaced and that Cronán would be made ruler of Osraige.’
‘Then what of Muman?’ demanded the Brehon. ‘If this conspiracy was to overthrow Colgú, surely that means there is someone else involved?’ His
eyes widened. ‘There is only one who can succeed in Cashel. Finguine, son of Cathal Cú-cen-máthair, your tánaiste, your heir apparent. He is of the bloodline. And he has been left safe in Cashel with an army at his command.’
All eyes turned to Fidelma. ‘Finguine is—’
She was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door and when Spealáin opened it, they could hear Caol’s voice outside whispering urgently. Spealáin turned back into the room with a shocked expression. He seemed unable to articulate for a moment and Colgú looked to Caol, who stood framed in the door behind the steward’s shoulder.
‘What is it, man?’ he demanded testily.
The commander of his bodyguard took a quick step into the room, glancing round awkwardly.
‘The guard I left outside the prisoner’s room – one of the Éile warriors – has been killed. The Lady Étain has escaped. She is nowhere to be found.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
Fidelma and Eadulf entered the chamber where they had recently tried to question Étain of An Dún. Outside, in the passageway, the body of the warrior who had been left on guard lay in a crumpled and bloody heap. It looked as if he had been stabbed several times in the neck and chest in a frenzied attack. Inside the chamber, the bonds that had secured the woman lay scattered around. Eadulf gave them a cursory glance.
‘Someone has released her from those chains,’ he said, stating the obvious.
Caol and Gormán had entered behind them with the agitated Spealáin.
23- The Seventh Trumpet Page 30