The Seventh Trumpet

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Gobán returned a short time later, a worried expression on his features.

‘What is wrong?’ asked Eadulf as soon as he entered the cabin.

‘They were merchants from Laigin escorted by a warrior who was concerned about a loose shoe on his horse. I told him that I had not lit my forge fire to be able to attend to it. The fortress has its own smith, so I suggested that if they were going there, they could claim hospitality as travellers. The warrior, being a stranger, will doubtless get it mended for nothing and the shoe will hold out that far.’

‘You were a long time talking with them,’ observed Gormán suspiciously.

Gobán seemed too preoccupied to notice his tone. ‘They came with some strange news,’ he went on.

‘What news was this?’ asked Fidelma, for clearly it had impressed the smith.

‘They came from the territory of the Uí Fidgente. As they crossed the Valley of An Mháigh they saw several small churches and communities that had been laid waste.’

‘Did they give any further details?’ Fidelma remembered the reports of burnings and massacres that had been brought to Cashel by Abbot Ségdae.

‘They saw the ruins and devastation but encountered hardly anyone who could tell them what was happening. Those they did meet told of bandits, raiders from the western mountains.’

‘I have heard stories of these raiders before,’ Fidelma said.

‘And we were told by the ferryman that the place where we camped, the ruined church and tavern, had been burned down about a week ago in one such raid,’ Eadulf informed her. ‘Did these merchants know anything else?’

‘The strangest thing was that one religious they spoke to told them that the leader of the raiders was a woman. He described her as a wild hell-cat who led the raiders carrying what appeared to be a religious banner.’

Fidelma’s eyes widened. ‘A woman, you say?’

‘And what sort of religious banner?’ Eadulf wanted to know. ‘Why would they be attacking communities of other religious?’

‘I can only tell you what the merchants told me,’ Gobán replied. He then said: ‘Forgive me, lady, but I had better start making up the fire in the forge for I have work to do.’

After the smith had left, Gorman commented: ‘Probably it is the Uí Fidgente, causing trouble.’

Fidelma had to admit that this had been her own reaction when she had first heard of the raids from Abbot Ségdae. Now she responded: ‘I heard similar news before we left Cashel, and Dego was sent with a hundred warriors to discover more. The burnings and massacres were reported across the lands of the Uí Fidgente, so the attacks seemed to be aimed at them as much as anyone else. From what Abbot Ségdae said, there was no apparent reason for the wanton destruction.’

‘Curious as this news is, there are more urgent matters that we should be concerned with,’ Eadulf concluded.

Fidelma stirred uncomfortably. Eadulf was right. She suddenly felt a new vigour after her ordeal as she looked at her companions.

‘We three will proceed to the fortress and speak with the Lady Gelgéis. After all, there is the matter of the body of the poor ferryman in a shed owned by her.’

Gormán raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Is that wise, lady? Do you mean to confront her?’

‘Not confront her but only to ask questions,’ she corrected.

‘You know that there are many in Cashel, advisers in your brother’s council, who do not trust Gelgéis? Those who abducted you might even be working for her. If so, you are putting yourself in harm’s way. They could find out that you did not die from asphyxiation and might be able to identify them. Also, if the body of the poor ferryman’s son has been discovered, or if we were seen, or even if this beggar, Leathlobhair, reports us, well … there are so many things that can present dangers to you.’

‘Nevertheless, my intention is clear,’ replied Fidelma firmly. ‘If harm came to me in Gelgéis’s fortress then she would know the consequences. She would have to answer to my brother and the Eóghanacht.’

Gobán had entered and overheard her last words. Now he stood with a harried expression on his face.

‘I have told your companions, lady, that I am loyal to the Éile and the Lady Gelgéis. I will not be party to any conspiracy that harms them. I have helped thus far because of what you did for my sister.’

Fidelma rose and laid a hand reassuringly on his shoulder. ‘I give you my word that we are not seeking to harm anyone, only seeking truth, Gobán. We are going to see Gelgéis to discover whether she is able to help us with finding that truth. As a guarantee of our good intentions, we shall leave our horses and baggage here with you, and shall walk the short distance up to her fortress. Do you agree?’

The smith looked embarrassed. ‘I will accept your word, lady,’ he acknowledged.

‘The walk will do us good — rather, it will do me good,’ she continued briskly. ‘It is uncomfortable to spend over a day bound hand and foot in the bottom of a boat and not be able to flex a muscle or limb. I need to take the exercise. So the horses will remain here.’

She turned to Eadulf. ‘We are going to meet the Princess of the Éile.’ She paused and smiled. ‘And you have not washed this morning. Better use the spring at the back and make yourself presentable.’ She picked up her linen towel and threw it at him. He caught it and pulled a face at her. It was true, however, that he was feeling in need of a wash. They had bathed in the river when they had all camped by it. But since then, they had ridden all day to Durlus and then spent all night in the smith’s cabin. Once more he was reminded of the strict toilet customs of the people of the Five Kingdoms. In the morning, they would wash face and hands, while each evening they would have a bath, a full body-wash. In both washing and bathing they used a soap called sléic and Eadulf had become used also to using an altan, a razor to shave with. This was a sharp piece of steel that he always carried with him. He had even grown used to using a cíor or comb to sort out the tangle of his hair. In a peculiar way he was growing used to the routine and even enjoyed it. During his childhood in Seaxmund’s Ham, he was lucky to take a regular dip in the river.

The others were waiting impatiently when he returned. The clang of metal told him that Gobán had returned to his forge and was starting to fire up his furnace.

It was a bright and warm autumnal morning. This time, in their walk from Gobán’s forge, Eadulf could appreciate the pleasant approach through the outer buildings of the township. The hedgerow was interspersed with birch trees with their silver-white bark. Among them were groups of elders, their blue-black berries still ripening. The hedgerow was alive. He could see wood pigeons and a shrill, rattling warble announced the presence of wrens somewhere nearby.

‘I wonder if they have discovered the body of the ferryman’s son yet?’ muttered Gormán, gazing tensely about him.

Fidelma seemed to have recovered her dry sense of humour. ‘We will soon learn if they have.’

They followed the road leading into the main square of the town, where Eadulf and Gormán had encountered the lonely girl selling her bread and cheese. This time the square was crowded. Various merchants had set up stalls and there was even entertainment from jugglers and tumblers. The noise of the crowd was loud. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves and no one took any notice of a few more strangers strolling through the market square.

They halted at the edge of the square and gazed about with interest. There were many merchants and visitors in the town, presumably most having attended the Lady Gelgéis’s feasting on the previous day. Fidelma led them up the incline towards the tall wooden gates of the fortress, which gave its name to Durlus Éile. It dominated the jumble of smaller buildings below it. These structures stretched from the quays on the edge of the river upwards until they were halted as if by an invisible border some distance before the walls. Those responsible for the defence of the fortress would be lacking in skill if they allowed buildings to encroach any nearer the walls and threaten their security.

The gates stood wide open with a single warrior planted firmly in the middle of the path that led through this portal. He had one hand on his hip, the other on the hilt of his sword. He watched their approach with an inquisitive expression. They halted before him.

‘Fidelma of Cashel demands an audience with Gelgéis of the Éile.’ Gormán spoke in a ringing tone of authority.

The warrior stared at Gormán, his eyes falling on his golden torque, which Gormán had now resumed wearing. Fidelma had produced her own emblem of authority from her comb bag. He hesitated, looking from one to another, before inclining his head in acknowledgement towards Fidelma. ‘Follow me,’ he said courteously, and led them through the gates and across a large stone-flagged courtyard where groups of warriors and servants hurried to and fro. The interior of the fortress gave the impression of a bustling centre with its own on-site smithy. Nearby were warriors busy sharpening their weapons on a grinder. Merchants were loading or unloading their wares from mule carts, and other groups were just standing exchanging gossip. There was an atmosphere of prosperity about the place.

A man with short, greying hair and penetrating black eyes stood on the steps of the main building watching their approach. He was cleanshaven, with sallow skin and a jutting jawline. His dress proclaimed him as someone of rank albeit not a warrior, in spite of a short sword attached to his belt and a gold chain of office hung about his neck.

The warrior halted before him and saluted.

‘Fidelma of Cashel seeks an audience with the Lady Gelgéis,’ relayed their guide, diplomatically changing Gormán’s ‘demands’ to ‘seeks’.

The man’s eyes swept over them and then he bowed to Fidelma.

‘I am Spealáin, steward to the Lady Gelgéis,’ he announced in a pleasant but authoritative voice. ‘Welcome to Durlus Éile, lady. We had no word of your approach. You seem to have arrived on foot.’

Fidelma did not respond to this, but introduced her companions instead.

‘You are all welcome,’ Spealáin told them. ‘The fame of Fidelma and Eadulf is known here, as among all the Five Kingdoms. I will announce your presence to Lady Gelgéis. However, it is our rule that armed warriors shall remain outside of my lady’s personal quarters unless expressly invited.’

Fidelma turned to Gormán with a tone of apology. ‘I am sure you will be able to pass the time usefully while we are within,’ she said. She did not need to be more specific, in hinting that Gormán should see what gossip he could pick up that might be of use to them. Gormán acknowledged her wish with a brief nod.

‘Come this way,’ the steward instructed.

He ushered them up the steps into what was the Great Hall. Eadulf whistled to himself as they entered. It was clear that the place had access to the wealth and the produce of merchants from many quarters. It was also clear that Gelgéis appreciated such wealth. Tapestries and statues vied with shields and swords and such weapons which had never seen a battle but had been made purely for show. Tables and chairs of excellent quality were placed strategically. The steward waved to a female attendant and instructed her to inform the Lady Gelgéis of the identity of her unexpected visitors. The attendant peeped towards Fidelma with something like awe before scurrying away on her errand.

There were a few moments of awkward silence, while Spealáin took up a position just inside the main doors, leaving Fidelma and Eadulf standing alone, waiting. It seemed an overly long time before a door at the back of the hall opened and a woman entered. Eadulf was surprised by her youth. She was of average height and slim. Her hair was corn-coloured, with a faint haze of gold, tightly pulled back from her face in a style Eadulf had never seen before. Her full lips were balanced by fair skin accentuating delicate boned features, and her eyes were azure blue. There was the quality of an innocent child about her. Her garments spoke of richness, the blue-dyed silks well embroidered with numerous coloured threads, the predominant one being gold. She looked exactly what she was — a princess.

The girl, for Eadulf could hardly call her a woman, stopped before Fidelma and inclined her head in acknowledgement. Only after she did so, did Fidelma bow her head, though not as deeply — a subtle reminder that while Gelgéis was Princess of the Éile, Fidelma was sister to the King of Muman.

‘You are welcome here, Fidelma.’ The girl’s voice was soft and musical to match her looks. ‘I was not expecting you or I would have made preparations to receive you according to your rank.’

‘I was not exactly expecting to come, Gelgéis, but my footsteps led me here. Allow me to introduce my husband, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, in the country of the South Folk.’ She paused and added with a smile: ‘He is an Angle.’

The blue eyes turned on Eadulf as he bowed slightly. This time Gelgéis did not return the courtesy, for protocol did not demand it. She switched her gaze back to Fidelma.

‘I had heard that you had married a stranger, and one of the religious. I have also heard that you have withdrawn from the religious and sought the office of Chief Brehon to your brother, the King.’

The words were softly spoken and Eadulf wondered if they disguised some antagonism.

‘Then you will also have heard,’ Fidelma replied, equally softly, ‘that I was not successful in the matter but remain a dálaigh still able to pursue the law.’

‘Indeed?’ The girl smiled. ‘News has a propensity to travel quickly but, alas, it often reaches its destination in a form different to that in which it starts out. I hear that it is said that there will soon be a royal wedding feast in Cashel?’

‘I, too, have heard such speculation,’ replied Fidelma blandly, ‘but I am not able to confirm or deny it.’

‘Indeed?’ Gelgéis frowned thoughtfully for a moment. ‘I believe that the people of Gabrán are already celebrating. But then the clans of Osraige can be impulsive. As they are our close neighbours, we are often caught up in their capricious behaviour. Doubtless, then, you have met the Lady Dúnliath?’

‘I have, indeed.’ Fidelma felt a momentary annoyance at being distracted from the purpose of her visit.

‘A pleasant girl,’ sighed Gelgéis, ‘but not overly endowed with intelligence. Oh, do not look so shocked, lady,’ she hurried on, observing Fidelma’s expression. ‘I have already met her, since she accompanied her father Drón here on her way to Cashel. She gives the impression that she has little time for pursuits of the mind. However, I suspect that she is far from just stupid.’

‘If my brother, the King, does choose her for his wife, I think that it would mean that she is very far from stupid,’ replied Fidelma coldly. Then she frowned. ‘How is it they passed through Durlus on their way to Cashel? It is not a direct route.’

‘I understand that the Lady Dúnliath expressed a desire to visit our poor market here. We often get merchants from the north bringing interesting goods to sell.’ She paused. ‘I trust your brother, Colgú, is well?’

‘He is well, lady.’ Fidelma wondered if there was anything unspoken that she should read into the query.

Gelgéis turned towards one of her female attendants who were standing in the background and beckoned her forward. ‘But forgive me, lady. Let me offer you both refreshments as I hear that you have arrived at my fortress on foot. I hope nothing untoward has happened to your horses, as it is a long way from Cashel to Durlus Éile.’

‘Rest assured that we have not walked all the way from Cashel. In fact, I came a good part of the way by boat.’

A puzzled look passed over Gelgéis’s features.

‘An odd mode of travel and not a safe one,’ she said rather coolly. Fidelma realised that Gelgéis’s glance had fallen to her sleeve. There was a tear in it which she had not noticed. But Gelgéis was continuing: ‘It would increase both the distance and the time, and your rowers must be exhausted for they would be rowing against the current of the river.’

Fidelma’s smile broadened. ‘I do not think we need fear for the exhaustion of the rowers.’

The Princess seemed a little at a loss, and when Fidelma did not offer any further explanation, she conducted them to some chairs before the hearth and indicated they be seated, saying, ‘Well, sooner you than me. I nearly lost my life swimming in a river. These days, I always travel on horse rather than entrust myself to a boat. I hate the water. Anyway, what brings you to Durlus Éile?’ she asked, changing the subject. ‘It is many a year since I saw you, Fidelma. Usually I hear of you passing on the road to Tara or proceeding somewhere else, but never coming to Durlus Éile.’

‘You were invited to our wedding,’ Fidelma reminded her.

‘Alas, I had an ague at that time. I was assured my envoy explained matters to your brother, the King. But at least I am well enough to attend your brother’s nuptials.’

‘I am sorry to hear that you were not well enough to attend my wedding. One should be careful of one’s health and well-being. Eadulf here has the gift of healing, having studied at Tuaim Brecain. Without his knowledge I might well have suffocated last night.’

Once again a puzzled frown flickered on Gelgéis’s features as she glanced at Eadulf but then addressed her remarks to Fidelma.

‘Suffocated? Well, I am pleased to see that you have recovered, lady. But you have not spoken of the purpose of your visit. Are you simply passing through Durlus?’

‘I am looking for someone.’

‘And this someone is …?’ She paused while two attendants came in with a pitcher of ale and some freshly baked breadcakes. When they had departed, she repeated: ‘Who do you seek?’

‘Is the name Brother Biasta known to you?’

Gelgéis immediately shook her head. ‘The name means nothing to me. Obviously, he is a religieux. If so, my bishop here might know, He is called Daig. I can call him in, if you like.’

‘I would appreciate that,’ agreed Fidelma.

Gelgéis gestured across to Spealáin, her steward, who had remained present throughout, at a discreet distance.

‘Why are you trying to find this religieux?’ she asked when he had hurried off to find the bishop.

‘I’ll explain further when Bishop Daig arrives. It will save me explaining twice,’ Fidelma replied, and immediately turned the conversation to inconsequential matters such as the artwork on one of the tapestries.

Bishop Daig was a small, chubby man, with full red cheeks and tufts of silver-white hair around a bald pate. His eyes were soft blue but one held a slight cast. He looked like someone who should be constantly laughing, but his features at that moment were actually set and wary.

‘Brother Biasta? The name means nothing to me. Where does he come from?’

Fidelma countered the question with another.

‘Perhaps you know Brother Ailgesach?’ This brought an immediate reaction. A startled look was exchanged between Gelgéis and the bishop. ‘So you have heard his name before?’ she pressed.

‘Brother Ailgesach?’ It was the bishop who answered for both of them. ‘We both know poor Brother Ailgesach. He was here in Durlus Éile only a short time ago, but he has gone south to Fraigh Dubh. Perhaps I know him better than most. You see, we both studied at the Blessed Brendan’s community at Biorra.’

‘Why do you say “poor”?’ Fidelma asked sharply.

Bishop Daig uttered a slight sigh. ‘Drink, that is why. But you must have passed his little chapel at Fraigh Dubh if you have come from Cashel?’

For a moment Fidelma did not answer but then asked: ‘Can you tell me anything about him?’

‘Would it not be more fitting to address such questions directly to Brother Ailgesach himself?’ intervened Gelgéis.

‘It would be impossible to ask anything of him,’ Eadulf said dryly. Then, as they turned to stare at him, he added: ‘He is dead.’

There was a sharp intake of breath from Gelgéis. She averted her head so that it was difficult to see her expression. Bishop Daig’s eyes had widened in surprise and then he slowly shook his head with a sad expression.

‘I suppose the drink was his downfall? Poor man.’

‘That is the second time you have used that word,’ pointed out Fidelma. ‘In what manner do you think he became so poor?’

‘You mean, what drove him to drink?’

‘Yes, precisely that,’ replied Fidelma irritably. ‘You say that you studied with him at Biorra. Please — tell us what you know.’

‘I know that Brother Ailgesach was a kind and caring person. He had ambition to become a physician but was unable to complete his studies, lacking as he was in the aptitude to wield the physician’s knife, which is as necessary as the ability to hand out potions.’

Eadulf, having studied the healing arts, knew well that the ancient laws made clear provision about qualified physicians and there were severe penalties for those who tried to practise without qualification. Eadulf knew of no other people in the lands he had travelled where such detailed laws applied. The lawmakers seemed to know that it was easy to deceive people who were ill and, desperately seeking a cure, would grasp at anyone who claimed that they were able to heal them. Indeed, even qualified physicians were responsible for the well-being of their patients, and if their treatments went wrong, if a wound that the physician treated broke open within a certain time, the physician had to refund his fees, or pay compensation, and allow a better physician to be brought into the case.

‘So after he failed to become a physician?’ Fidelma prompted.

‘He offered to help look after the sick; to nurse them.’

‘At Biorra?’

‘Initially. Then he left the abbey and wandered to the land of the Eóghanacht Áine in the west.’

‘In a religious house?’

‘In a house of the territory.’

Eadulf knew that the forus tuaithe, or ‘house of the territory’, was one of the many secular hospitals for common use, governed by strict rules of the law of the Brehons. It was claimed that the great queen, Macha Mong-Ruadh, who had become ruler of all the Five Kingdoms at Tara in the times beyond memory, had ordered the first hospital to be set up in the place that still bore her name — Emain Macha. Now there were hospitals and leper houses to be found in most territories of the Five Kingdoms. They were all under the patronage of local nobles. The laws were very specific. The hospital was to be clean, ventilated, have running water, be accessed by four doors, and have a staff of trained physicians. If people could not afford to pay for the food, medicine and the attendance of the physician, it was provided. The poor had no fear of being refused treatment, for the law stated that the patient’s relatives or the clan itself were liable for the folach-othrusa or sick maintenance. Anyone who was injured was maintained by those who had caused the injury.

‘So he worked looking after the sick as an attendant in a broinbherg.’ Fidelma used the popular euphemism for a hospital — ‘House of Sorrow’. It had been the name of Macha’s first foundation. ‘Then what?’

‘I had news of him from time to time. I heard that he had volunteered to go on to another hospital further west, and lately I was told that he had started drinking while he was looking after the sick at that place.’

‘Do you know where that was?’

‘He went to serve the unfortunates in Gleann na nGeilt.’

Eadulf frowned at an elusive memory. ‘I have heard of that place before.’

Bishop Daig went on: ‘It is called the Glen of Lunatics. It is a place among the western mountains where many unfortunates are consigned, those whose minds have passed beyond the reality of our world. Those who have lost their reason.’

Eadulf suddenly recalled where he had heard of it. It was the place where one of the murderers whom he and Fidelma had uncovered at Lios Mór had been consigned when it was clear they were insane.

‘Is it not a dangerous place?’ he asked.

‘The lunatics are guarded not only for their own protection but for that of others,’ explained Bishop Daig. ‘Those who tend to their needs are volunteers and poor Brother Ailgesach was one of those who took on this task. He was there nursing the demented for many years, and doubtless it was that experience which turned him to an excess of drink.’

‘So he eventually left Gleann na nGeilt — what then?’ asked Fidelma.

‘That was only a short time ago. Abbot Ségdae of Imleach, under whose auspices Gleann na nGeilt is governed, found him a place where it was thought his duties would not be too arduous and would allow him to recover. It was the small chapel at Fraigh Dubh. That was just two weeks or so ago. Now you tell me that he has drunk himself to death.’

‘Eadulf said he was dead, not that he drank himself to death,’ corrected Fidelma. Before the surprised bishop could answer she went on: ‘So having known Brother Ailgesach for so long, and studied with him at the Abbey at Biorra, I do not understand why you say that you do not know Brother Biasta.’

Bishop Daig looked bewildered, replying, ‘I have told you that I have never heard the name. Who is he?’

‘He told us that he was a cousin of Ailgesach and studied with him at Biorra.’

Bishop Daig was obviously puzzled and he looked towards Gelgéis as if seeking guidance. ‘I can assure you that there was no one called Biasta who studied with us at Biorra. Who did you say this man was?’

‘He claimed to be a cousin of Ailgesach and said that they were of the Muscraige Tíre from Tír Dhá Ghlas by the red loch.’

The bishop was regarding her as if she were mad.

‘You are clearly mistaken, lady. Ailgesach was of the Éile and from this very town — indeed, as am I. He was not from Tír Dhá Ghlas.’

‘Then Ailgesach was not the son of pious farmers?’ Eadulf said heavily, knowing what the answer would be.

‘Where did you get such false information? Ailgesach was the son of a merchant boatman on the river here. The father was drowned when he was young. We went to the Abbey of Biorra to study together. He had no cousin called Biasta, so far as I was aware, and certainly no one of that name studied with us at Biorra.’

Somehow Fidelma was not surprised at this news but she asked a further question. ‘I presume, then, that there is no one called Biasta in Durlus Éile?’

‘We have told you that it is a name that neither of us is acquainted with,’ Gelgéis said tightly, breaking her long silence. It was obvious that the news of the death of Ailgesach had affected her, for her face was very pale. ‘Indeed, no one of the Éile would call a child by that name.’

Fidelma started. She had not realised the connection before. The word biasta meant a monster. How stupid of her to overlook the fact.

‘You said Brother Ailgesach came here not long ago?’ Fidelma went on, trying to pick up a thread.

‘Bishop Daig told you, he came here a few weeks ago. What is the meaning of these questions that you are asking, Fidelma? Is there some mystery here that we should know? After all, Ailgesach was from this township. You said he is dead — but you also said that he did not die from an excess of alcohol. What did he die of?’

‘You are right in that there is a mystery. At the moment, there is nothing I can tell you except that Brother Ailgesach was smothered while in a drunken stupor, and the circumstances point to this man who called himself his cousin — Brother Biasta — as the culprit. That is why we seek him.’

There was a shocked silence. Gelgéis was regarding Fidelma with a horrified expression. She licked her lips as if they had suddenly gone dry.

‘Why do you seek this man in Durlus, the man you say killed Ailgesach?’

‘He was last seen heading north in this direction.’

‘Because he was heading north from Fraigh Dubh, it does not mean to say he was heading for Durlus Éile,’ Gelgéis protested. ‘Any strange religious passing through or staying in the township would have been noticed and mentioned. Just as we heard that yesterday, two strangers were in the town. One of the strangers was obviously Brother Eadulf. The other was a warrior.’

‘That was well observed,’ muttered Eadulf, almost to himself.

‘I believe that the man calling himself Brother Biasta might well have come here,’ Fidelma said.

‘What makes you think so? There are many paths that he could have taken.’

‘Because I am no believer in coincidence, only the wind of fate.’

There was a concerned expression on Gelgéis’s features before the Princess of the Éile shook her head firmly. ‘Were I not aware of your reputation, I would say that you are playing games here and wasting our time. I feel you trespass on our hospitality. State plainly what you mean.’

‘The storehouses on the far side of the river, the ones just opposite the quays — I am told that they are your own storehouses. Is that correct?’

‘I do not deny that they are mine.’

‘In one of them you will find the body of a young man. His name is Enán. He was the son of a ferryman called Echna who plies his trade on the river just to the south. He was murdered in your storehouse.’

There was no questioning that the news shocked the Princess. Daig had also sat back with an expression of horror.

‘How do you know this?’ demanded Spealáin, stepping forward.

‘Because I, too, was nearly killed there. I’ll come to the detail in a moment, but please tell me when you last used those buildings.’

Gelgéis motioned to her steward, who answered for her. ‘They have not been used this summer,’ he replied. ‘The harvest has not been bountiful enough to fill them as well as my other stores. In fact, we have not used them for well over a year.’

‘No one else has permission to use them?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then I will tell you how I came to know of this matter.’ Fidelma quickly filled them in with the broad details of the abduction of Torna and herself. ‘In all these matters, I am acting under the authority of my brother, the King, and will exhort your cooperation and support in my investigation. I believe it is all part of one mystery.’

Gelgéis was silent for a while. Her features were now pale and haggard as she said slowly: ‘You have stated your authority and I accept it. You have but to call on me for any assistance you may need.’

‘Some assistance I shall need immediately, for I cannot spare my companions,’ Fidelma replied straight away. ‘I need to ask that the body of the young man who was murdered in that storehouse be transported back to his father, Echna, the ferryman.’

‘It shall be done,’ Gelgéis said quietly.

‘Echna is to be assured that the culprits will be found and compensation obtained for the loss of his son,’ Fidelma continued.

The princess inclined her head. ‘Very well. How else can we help? You intend to go in pursuit of this man you call Torna and his abductors?’

‘I do. I do not suppose the name Torna means anything to you?’

Gelgéis blinked and then shook her head. ‘This is the name of the poet, who was abducted with you? This man … er, Torna — was he injured?’

‘We were told that when he was removed from the storehouse, he was able to walk between two of the abductors and sat in the stern of the boat that removed him,’ offered Eadulf.

‘Are you sure that he is unknown to you?’ questioned Fidelma.

‘I know of no one by that name,’ Gelgéis told her. ‘The boat went south, you say?’

‘It did,’ Fidelma replied, rising from her seat. She realised she could not interrogate Gelgéis further but sensed there was some link. ‘You will excuse us. There is much to do and little time to do it.’

‘Then let my steward know what you want. You have only to ask. But a word of caution, Fidelma. To the east of us, as you must know, lies the territory of the People of the Deer — the Osraige. It is a border territory where not everything is as it seems. Remember that, Fidelma of Cashel. Have a care.’

They took their formal leave and found Gormán waiting impatiently for them in the courtyard.

‘Well, any news?’ he greeted.

‘All of it negative,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Did you discover anything from people’s gossip?’

‘Only one piece of news seems to be of relevance to us.’ It was clear Gormán felt it was of some importance.

‘Which is?’

‘I found one of the local farmers who had been on his way here last evening for the festivities. He had arrived by boat just before dusk with his sons from his farm on the other side of the river. They came down the River Dríse, a tributary of the Suir which flows into the river just a short distance south-east of the township.’

‘Are you going to tell me that he saw the boat with the abductors?’ asked Fidelma, leaping ahead of him.

For a second Gormán looked disappointed that she had guessed his news. ‘Indeed, he did. There was a religieux in the bow and two men rowing. Three were seated in the stern of the boat,’ Gormán replied. ‘The farmers confirmed that the young man who sat in the centre of the two in the stern did not look happy, and his companions seemed to have an unusually tight hold of him. The boat was moving upstream along the Dríse.’

Eadulf grimaced. ‘Well, wherever they were going they have a full day’s head-start on us, if we are to follow.’

‘I know part of that river,’ offered Gormán. ‘It leads straight into the heart of Osraige territory.’

This information made them think. Then Fidelma asked: ‘Was there any other news that you were able to pick up?’

‘Nothing that can help us. But I did see those Laigin merchants who stopped at the forge this morning. They were still full of the gossip relating to the strange attacks in the west — the burning of churches and communities. They said that they had even encountered a fellow merchant who had fled from the west and saw part of this band of raiders. He was able to hide in a cave and escape their attention.’

‘Was anything in particular noticed, anything that could identify who the raiders were?’

‘Only what they told the smith — that the raiders were led by a woman who carried some sort of religious banner. The merchant I spoke to said that the curious thing was that, although she led roughly clad bandits, she herself was dressed in purple with a great scarlet cloak deckled with gold and precious gems.’

‘Strange, indeed,’ muttered Fidelma, pondering the information.

‘It was told at third hand,’ shrugged Gormán, ‘so perhaps it should not be taken as fact. Stories are embellished the longer they take in spreading.’

‘Perhaps,’ Fidelma said absently. ‘Even so, it is a strange tale to invent if untrue.’

The three walked slowly back to Gobán’s forge in sombre mood. The entrance was deserted, although the coals in the fire still burned red-hot. The back of the forge, leading to the man’s cabin, was dark and empty. Gormán called out to let the smith know that they had returned. There was no answer. He found the bell which the smith had placed for customers to call him when he was not in the forge, and rang it. There was still no answer to its summons, however.

‘He’ll be in the cabin,’ Eadulf suggested. ‘He won’t be far away with the fire still alight.’

Eadulf led the way out of the back door of the forge towards the cabin. Then he halted when he saw the smith standing before him. His back was pressed against the wall of the dwelling; his arms were spread out as if in a position of surrender, and he was staring at Eadulf in wide-eyed terror. Eadulf was about to demand what the matter was when he felt a prick against his neck and a voice hissed. ‘Throw down your weapons, if you want to live.’