The Seventh Trumpet

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 that 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?’

‘We managed to find her, but now we need a place where she can be nursed,’ Eadulf panted.

‘Follow me,’ replied the smith, catching the urgency in his voice. ‘My cabin is behind the forge. You can bring her there. Have no fear — I live alone. My poor wife died last year.’

They carried Fidelma through the forge and across a small yard area into the stone cabin beyond. There was a bed in a curtained-off area inside the cabin and it was to this that the smith conducted them.

‘First we need some stimulant,’ Eadulf said.

‘I have some strong corma,’ offered Gobán.

Eadulf asked the man to fetch it. As he poured a little down Fidelma’s throat, she began to cough and tried to push it away.

‘Being gagged for so long has probably made her throat very sore,’ Eadulf fretted. ‘Where is my bag?’

Gobán pointed to a corner of the cabin. ‘I turned your horses loose in the pasture beyond, but brought your bags inside where they would be safe from prying eyes.’

Eadulf rose and picked up the lés, the small medical bag which he always carried, and peered through its contents, sighing in exasperation.

‘What is it?’ asked Gormán.

‘I was looking for something to help ease the soreness of her throat and act as a tonic.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’ asked the smith.

‘Not unless you have some wild angelica,’ replied Eadulf, automatically naming the flower in his own language.

Gobán stared blankly at him.

Eadulf thought for a moment: ‘Gallfheabhrán.’ He dredged the name from his memory.

‘Ah, but there is some that grows not far from here by the grass on the riverbank. I will go and get some. Is that all?’

‘That will be fine.’

As he left, Eadulf went to Fidelma’s side and gave her another sip of corma. Again she struggled and coughed, but this time opened her eyes and seemed to become aware of her surroundings. There was a moment of panic and then she saw Eadulf. She tried to speak but could not manage more than a rasping sound.

‘It’s all right,’ Eadulf smiled soothingly. ‘You are safe. You are with me and Gormán here.’

She blinked her eyes in acknowledgement and gave a weak smile. Then she tried to speak again.

‘Plenty of time to speak when you are feeling better,’ admonished Eadulf. ‘Just be assured that you are safe for the moment. You are in the house of a friend in Durlus Éile. Safe with Gormán and myself.’

This time she managed a nod.

‘As soon as our friend comes back with a particular plant, I shall mix a potion for you that will do you good. After that, you must rest.’

A moment or so later, Gobán appeared with a bunch of the wild angelica. Gormán, at Eadulf’s instruction, had already started to boil water over the fire that heated the cabin. Eadulf removed the leaves of the plant and then chopped the stem and put both together in the hot water to make the infusion. Gobán offered some honey as he also kept bees, and so Eadulf added it to the mixture before allowing it to rest and cool. Then he washed and cleaned the roots of the plant.

‘You can chew these, they can be very refreshing,’ he explained to his companions when he put them in a small pile.

When the tonic was cool enough, he took it to Fidelma’s side and supported her head and shoulders while she sipped a sufficient quantity to satisfy him. Then he told her to rest.

While he had been doing this, Gobán had prepared a meal for them of cold meats, bread and cheese, washed down with some ale which, he boasted, he had brewed himself. They ate the meal seated in front of the fire. It was devoured mainly in silence except for once, when Gobán glanced at the recumbent form of Fidelma on the bed and asked Eadulf: ‘Will she be all right?’

‘I have every hope that she will,’ Eadulf replied fervently. ‘She has had quite a shock. She nearly suffocated with a gag stuffed into her mouth and confined in a sack. But I have found no external injuries apart from where the bonds cut into her wrists and ankles. So once we have her breathing normally, that will be good. She needs only to know that she is safe and without restriction. She should be well in a little while.’

Gobán arose after the meal and told them that he must close the forge while they could make themselves as comfortable as possible for the night. After he left, Eadulf said quietly, ‘Do you think we shall be safe here?’

‘Gobán did say that Fidelma had saved some relative of his and he wanted to be of service,’ Gormán reminded him.

‘I was not thinking of Gobán specifically. But someone will eventually see the broken lock on the storehouse and find the body of the ferryman’s son inside. If they are just people who noticed the storehouse is opened, they will raise the alarm. If they are the abductors, who might return to dispose of the bodies, then they will start looking for Fidelma. We should have found out who owns those barns. That leper we met will sell his soul for a handful of food. He could tell anyone we were interested in the barns.’

‘All is possible,’ admitted Gormán. ‘But I cannot think that we will find a better shelter than this for the time being.’

‘You are doubtless right,’ Eadulf replied. ‘I am a little nervous, but we have priorities to attend to. Fidelma’s recovery must come first.’

After a little while, they heard Gobán returning.

‘How is she?’ he asked, gazing at Fidelma.

‘You are very anxious about her,’ observed Eadulf.

‘I have already told you that I am in her debt, for she defended my sister when she was unjustly charged.’

‘When was that?’

‘It was many years ago.’

‘Tell me about it,’ invited Eadulf.

‘My sister was trained in the healing arts, like you have been, and was a member of the community in Cill Dara. Sister Fidelma was then a member of that community as well. There were some deaths from the administration of hemlock, and suspicion turned on my sister, Poitigéir, because she knew the properties of poisons. But Fidelma used her skill to identify the real culprit and thus exonerated my sister. For that I owe Fidelma much. That is why I helped you today and why I am anxious for her health.’

Eadulf felt embarrassed at questioning the sincerity of the man. ‘I apologise for questioning you, my friend. I should have taken your word in the first place. But there are many mysteries here and we are not sure in whom we can put our trust.’

‘I have said that I owe a debt to Fidelma and will be loyal to you so long as I am not asked to be disloyal to my own people.’

‘We trust that you will never be confronted by that choice. Tell us, do you know who owns the three barns on the far side of the river opposite the township quays?’ Gormán asked.

‘Of course,’ Gobán replied at once. ‘This is not so big a place that we do not know who owns what.’

‘So who do they belong to?’

‘Why, to the Lady Gelgéis.’

Eadulf glanced at Gormán, who seemed about to say something but then closed his mouth. However, Gobán saw the gesture and his eyes narrowed.

‘Why do you ask about those barns?’

Eadulf decided there was nothing to lose by being honest.

‘Because that is where we found the Lady Fidelma, tied up and gagged. Had we not found her and rescued her, she would surely have died.’ Ignoring the shocked look on the face of the smith, Eadulf went on: ‘There is still a dead body in the storehouse from which we released Fidelma. It is the body of Enán, the son of a ferryman, who was persuaded to act in place of one of the injured oarsmen in the abductor’s boat. I suspect he was killed simply to prevent him identifying the abductors.’

‘Perhaps a choice has come to confront you sooner than we thought,’ observed Gormán dryly.

‘The sheds have not been used during the last summer,’ Gobán said, ignoring the implication. ‘If the Lady Fidelma was abducted by these people, why was she left there for dead? Would that not be the opposite of what abduction is meant to achieve?’

‘There are many mysteries that must be resolved,’ Eadulf replied. ‘Have you ever heard of a young poet called Torna?’

‘The only Torna I know of was the famous Torna Eigeas who was bard to Niall of the Nine Hostages. He lived centuries ago.’

‘This young man said he was also a bard.’

Gobán shook his head. ‘I know of no other bard by that name.’

‘Our Torna was certainly alive yesterday. He might even have been the intended victim of the abduction all along; maybe the Lady Fidelma tried to interfere and was taken, along with the victim.’

‘I do not understand.’

Eadulf grinned sadly. ‘We have little understanding ourselves. Tell us: what does this Lady Gelgéis use the storehouses for?’

‘As I have said, they are mainly disused now. It is only when there is an excess of tribute coming in from the outlying clans who acknowledge her authority,’ replied the smith. ‘And when there has been a particularly good harvest.’

‘So someone might have known that these storehouses were unused?’

Gobán hesitated and Gormán interpreted the pause: ‘You are thinking that the storehouses are in full sight of the quays. If they were used in daylight it would have to be noticed and reported to the Lady Gelgéis.’

Gobán shrugged helplessly as he pondered the matter.

‘What do you know of a leper who begs along the quays?’ Eadulf suddenly asked, changing the subject.

‘An old man with scarcely the use of his legs?’ asked Gobán, and when Eadulf nodded confirmation he went on: ‘That is Leathlobhair, or so we call him.’

‘Half-leper?’ Eadulf translated the name literally.

‘Indeed. He has begged along the quayside ever since I can remember. I think he has a cabin in the rough glen just west of the township. Why do you ask about him?’

‘Because it was Leathlobhair who saw Fidelma being taken into the storehouse from the river and alerted us to the fact.’

‘In return for …?’ The smith smiled cynically.

‘For food.’

‘He would not be so altruistic as to provide information for nothing. However, neither would he lie. And so this was how you came to find the Lady Fidelma?’

‘It was.’

‘And did Leathlobhair see where the men who placed her there went after they had left?’

‘He said they got back into their boat and let the current take it southwards.’

The smith pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘That would take them away from the township and the fortress. So it is clear they were not of the people of Durlus nor acting for Gelgéis, otherwise they would have gone into the town or up to the fortress.’

‘At the moment, nothing is clear to me,’ Eadulf sighed. ‘We must wait for Fidelma to recover her senses and see if she can enlighten us.’

He rose and went across to the bed where Fidelma was lying. She was now breathing normally, and seemed in a deep, natural sleep.

‘That is good,’ he whispered in satisfaction. ‘Sleep can be a great healer.’

There was but one bed in the smith’s cabin, but he had sheepskin rugs to act as mattresses and these he spread on the floor before the fire and, with their woollen cloaks as blankets, the men stretched themselves out to get what rest they could. It was a long time before Eadulf could allow slumber to overtake him. He heard the rising snore of the smith and the deep breathing of Gormán long before he too fell asleep. Even then he dreamed of fast-flowing rivers, of Fidelma drowning, and shadowy figures descending on him with a knife. And then …

Then he was aware of the crackle of the fire and movement.

He blinked and sat up with a sleepy yawn. It was daylight and Gobán the smith was cooking something over the fire. Eadulf peered round for Gormán, but the warrior’s place was empty. Then he looked at the bed. Fidelma was gone. He was on his feet in a moment, gazing around. Sleep had vanished from his mind.

‘Where is-?’ he began.

The door of the cabin suddenly opened and Fidelma stood there, wet-haired, with a linen cloth and her comb bag in her hands and a smile on her features.

‘Where have you been?’ Eadulf rapped out.

‘Not quite the greeting I expected,’ she replied primly. ‘Gobán has a small spring at the back of the cabin where one can wash and recover a sense of being human. Thankfully, you recovered my marsupium, Eadulf, and hence I was able to find my comb bag.’ Then her features broke into a smile, and she put down her things and turned to embrace him. Gobán bent to his cooking, pretending not to notice them as they kissed. ‘For pursuing the abductors and saving my life, thank you is not an adequate phrase,’ she whispered.

Eadulf felt a little foolish at his anxiety. ‘I was just worried. How are you feeling?’

‘Famished. Gobán here is preparing a meal so that I can break my fast — which fast I feel has lasted a lifetime. The soreness has gone from my throat. My lungs are properly full of air, and whatever you gave me has stimulated me into life again.’

‘Where is Gormán?’ he then asked nervously, changing the subject.

‘I saw him checking the horses,’ Fidelma replied, seating herself at the wooden table.

Eadulf picked up the sheepskin rugs, rolled them to one side and joined her.

‘We have much to ask you,’ he told her.

‘As I, in turn, have much to ask you. But it can wait until Gormán joins us and we can indulge our appetites over Gobán’s meal. He has told me roughly how you came here. It is a miracle that you were guided to this forge of all places. A heaven-sent coincidence that I knew his sister, Sister Poitigéir at Cill Dara, and was able to render her a service.’

The door opened and Gormán entered. He paused to sniff the aromas from Gobán’s cooking appreciatively. Breakfast was usually a light meal, for the principal meal of the day was the prainn, which was taken in the evening. Usually, at midday the eter-shod, or middle meal, was also a light meal. But this morning, in view of Fidelma’s hunger, Gobán was basting trout with honey on an indeoin or gridiron. There was fresh bread, for apparently Gobán had an arrangement with a neighbour to bring him bread while, in exchange, she could call on his services as a smith. There was also butter, plenty of honey, a dish of apples and hazel-nuts, and a pitcher of cold water from his spring or a jug of ale to drink.

At their enthusiastic comments, Gobán smiled deprecatingly. ‘After my wife departed this world, I had to maintain myself,’ he said, as he gave them wooden platters and indicated that they should help themselves. There were even basins of water provided, for the custom was to use a knife in the right hand and eat with the fingers of the left hand, cleaning them in the water and drying them with a lámbrat or hand cloth.

Eadulf was not as hungry as the others and so took the opportunity to narrate what had happened to Gormán and himself since they awoke to find Fidelma and the young man, Torna, gone. Once more Fidelma regarded him with grateful eyes.

When he had finished, Fidelma had completed her meal and was sitting back sipping at a beaker of water.

‘Now it is time for your tale,’ prompted Eadulf softly.

‘There is little in the telling,’ she replied. ‘Little, that is, you have not guessed.’

‘Better that we hear it from your lips.’

Gormán nodded vigorously. ‘Indeed, lady. What has happened to you is a great outrage against the honour of the Eóghanacht. I am responsible to your brother, the King, for your welfare.’

Fidelma smiled briefly.

‘We were, as you recall, all asleep on the riverbank. I was disturbed by our horses. Aonbharr was fretful. I woke just in time to see the shadows of men behind you both as you slept. You, Eadulf, had begun to stir but things happened so quickly. The men hit you both on the head …’

Eadulf ruefully rubbed his head. ‘And a sharp blow it was. However, Gormán suffered the worst.’

At once Fidelma looked concerned. ‘I should have enquired about that sooner.’

‘It was nothing, lady,’ Gormán reassured her. ‘I’ve had a split skull before. Thanks to friend Eadulf’s skills, the abrasions have begun to heal and the throbbing of the hammers in my skull receded.’

‘Just as I would expect from one with his fine skills,’ she said gravely, a smile at the corner of her mouth.

‘What did you do then?’ demanded Eadulf uncomfortably.

‘I sprang to my feet. It was still dark but the moon was up so I could see the attackers, although I could not distinguish their features clearly. I heard a noise behind me, swung round and saw Torna fighting with another man, but a fourth was coming towards me. As you know, I am trained in the troid-sciathagid …’

The Battle through Defence was an old form of unarmed combat which it was said had first been taught by the Druids in the days before the New Faith had come to the land. However, although many of the practices of the Old Religion had been forbidden, this technique was taught to travelling religious as a means of defending themselves against robbers without resorting to the use of weapons and breaking their religious vows not to take a life.

‘And what happened?’

‘I let the man come at me and used the momentum of his attack to send him flying into the man who had knocked you unconscious. I heard him scream. Later I realised my attacker had knocked into the man who held a knife and this had cut his hand.’

‘So that’s why they needed another rower when they reached the ferryman’s house,’ muttered Gormán.

‘Go on,’ Eadulf urged, ignoring the comment.

‘I heard a cry from behind me; turned and saw Torna falling to the ground. His attacker was holding a club. I made ready to face the man. Then I must have been hit on the head as well. Everything thereafter seems to have passed in a semi-waking dream. I know I was bound and that awful gag placed in my mouth. There were snatches of conversation.’

‘Such as?’

‘Torna seemed to have recovered and was telling them to leave me alone as I was not his companion.’

Eadulf looked up quickly. ‘Not his companion?’

‘I know that they laughed at him. Someone else replied that they were paid to capture him and his woman.’

‘But it tells us something, surely,’ said Eadulf. ‘It tells us that you were not the object of their abduction. They did not know who you were.’

‘That is true,’ agreed Fidelma.

‘Why would a poet be worthy of abduction? And who was the companion that they thought you were?’ asked Gormán.

Fidelma sighed deeply. ‘Torna is the mystery. The only thing he told me was that he had been in love with a girl, her parents had disapproved of him and he and she had eloped. She was apparently drowned trying to escape with him across a river, although he survived. After that, he said he became a wandering bard. That is all he told me of himself. So why did these people appear out of nowhere and attack our party and abduct him?’

‘You’ll recall that a man and a woman stayed with Brother Ailgesach, the night the envoy was killed?’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘Maybe they thought that you and Torna were that couple.’

‘But they both were on horseback going north. Torna said he was looking for a boat to go south.’

‘Are we sure that you were not the intended victim?’ added Gormán. ‘After all, you are sister to the King of Cashel.’

Fidelma shook her head quickly. ‘They did not know who I was. They thought I was just his companion.’

‘When did they finally learn their mistake?’

‘I do not think it was until we reached the place where they left me.’

‘They did not find out before?’

‘I did come round a few times before then. Once I heard the man, the one whose hand had been injured, moaning and saying that he could not row much further in such strong currents. An argument ensued. The injured man wanted us thrown overboard to lessen the weight. The man in charge repeated that they had been paid to bring both man and woman. I heard something about picking up another rower who could be disposed of later.’

Eadulf grimaced ruefully. ‘They did that, right enough. They killed Enán, the poor ferryman’s son whom they persuaded to go along. We found his body in the storehouse with you last night: they had cut his throat. But what you say presents another mystery. Who would know that Torna was on the riverbank that night? Although there was moonlight, it was not that bright, so how did they find us in the dark? They must have known he was there.’

Fidelma looked grim. ‘You’ll be a Brehon yet, Eadulf,’ she said. ‘Well, it was darkness that saved my life. I came to again when I was being carried into what I now know to be the storehouse. The sacking was removed from my face. A lamp was lit and held over me, and someone swore violently. “This is not her! Anyway, you have handled this woman too roughly. She is near death.”’ I should be grateful that the speaker had little knowledge of the physician’s art. Another voice said: “Let’s slit her throat and be on our way.”’ Fidelma paused for a moment before continuing. ‘Then the man who seemed to be their leader said: “No need for that. She’ll be dead soon.” The sack was drawn back over my face and, indeed, I lay like one already dead. In fact, I passed out again. And then you came.’

Eadulf uttered a soft whistle. ‘Thank Providence that they did not learn their mistake. But so many questions! This web is as tangled as ever.’

‘We must resolve this mystery,’ Fidelma said quietly. ‘Why did they want Torna? Who was he and who was the woman they mistook me for? Were they looking for the couple who stayed with Ailgesach? Why is a wandering bard so important to be thus abducted? Where did they take him?’

‘The witness who saw the abductors arrive at the shed said a religieux was waiting for them. After two sacks, which contained you and Torna, were bundled into the storehouse, the four abductors came out with Torna and the religieux, and climbed into the boat. They had killed Enán and left you to die. They all went downriver again.’

‘They went south?’ queried Fidelma.

‘Yes. Perhaps the religieux was Biasta,’ suggested Gormán.

‘Logical thinking,’ Fidelma approved, ‘but it brings us nowhere near to solving this mystery.’

‘You said that Torna had a problem with the parents of the girl he eloped with,’ Gormán pointed out. ‘Can that help us? Perhaps there was some blood feud generated by this.’

‘You mean her parents hired these people to abduct him?’ Eadulf shook his head cynically.

‘It could happen,’ said Gormán. ‘Especially if she was some noble’s daughter.’

‘I thought your laws have covered such matters so that there is no recourse to vengeance?’ Eadulf queried. ‘Even if the girl objects to the elopement, if she is forced to cohabit with the man, then the abductor must pay the girl’s honour price. If the girl died during the abduction then the punishment is honour price and body price. But if the girl went with him willingly, a voluntary abduction or elopement, then the family of the girl are not so entitled.’

Fidelma seemed pleased with Eadulf. ‘That is true,’ she told him, and then added, ‘Well done. Your knowledge of our law increases by the day. Anyway, it does dispose of that argument.’

Gormán said moodily, ‘I can see nothing that fits together. The murdered envoy from Laigin, the matter of Brother Ailgesach and Biasta, now the abduction of a poet and a mysterious woman who should have been with him.’

‘We will have to form a plan-’ began Fidelma, but she was interrupted by the clanging of a bell. She glanced at the others in startled fashion.

Gobán rose. ‘Don’t worry; it is the bell outside my forge. If I am not there, customers ring for me.’

He left them and hurried to answer the summoning of the bell. Gormán also rose and followed the smith from the cabin. He was back within moments looking nervous.

‘Warriors,’ he muttered. ‘Four men on horseback are questioning the smith. One of them is a warrior who wears the colours of Laigin.’