The Seventh Trumpet

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Gormán led the way at a good pace due north across the flat boggy plain. There was now a faint glow of light permeating the eastern sky. Enda brought up the rear, trying to scan the surrounding countryside behind them. The day had dawned bright and clear when they reached a point where the track they had been following split in several directions. Fidelma suggested they halt for a brief rest while she considered what route they should take. Her main concern was to avoid pursuit from Cronán’s men. However, her purpose was also to catch up with Torna. Fidelma supposed that he would try to get out of Osraige territory as soon as possible, but she knew that Cronán would also come to the same conclusion.

To the west, the track was wide enough for two horses trotting abreast, and it would bring them into the territory of the Éile. Leading slightly towards the north-east was a smaller track. The third track seemed to lead due north. In all directions the land was mainly flat bog land, interspersed by streams and wetland. Here and there were little areas of woodland and shrub, and small isolated hills that seemed incongruous in that type of landscape.

‘Where now, lady?’ prompted Gormán after a while, casting an anxious glance behind them.

‘We’ll take that track directly north as it leads away from Durlus but is not so blatant a choice as the north-east one. Anyone following would think we might head back for the land of the Éile, while those with a devious mind might assume we will mislead them by going in the opposite direction. So we’ll take the middle path. We can change our direction as soon as it is safe to do so.’

Eadulf glanced at the comfortable wider western highway. ‘A pity,’ he said. ‘The sooner we are out of Osraige, the better I shall like it.’

‘No less than I,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘In fact, I would like to have discovered where all the so-called abbot’s new roads led to, especially those towards the east and Laigin. They were built for some purpose other than merely bringing pilgrims this way. Our task, however, is to get ourselves out of harm’s way and catch up with Torna. If he has sense, which I think he has, he will avoid paths where his tracks will be easy to follow.’

They turned on to the northern path. After a while they breasted a small hill and halted. They were in an area where the ground grew more undulating, rising from the low-lying bog land on to dry stretches of higher ground, connected by what seemed to be man-made dykes. There was a good view to the north across this countryside and they saw a line of low hills in the distance. They stretched along the horizon in a dark line.

‘The mountains of Sliabh Bladhma,’ Gormán identified them, noticing Eadulf looking at them.

Fidelma added for Eadulf’s benefit, ‘The River Suir rises among those peaks and comes down on to the central plain. It is said the mountains are the centre of all the Five Kingdoms. See that peak there?’ She indicated a tiny point that Eadulf found was almost impossible to discern at this distance. ‘That is called Ard Éireann — Éireann’s Height — and it’s the highest among the ten main peaks of the range.’

‘There must be plenty of places to hide in a mountain range like that,’ he said. ‘Perhaps Torna would make for those?’

‘I doubt it,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I think that Torna would head to Durlus as soon as possible. In spite of what Gelgéis said, I believe he is well-known there.’

Eadulf suddenly made a noise between his teeth, a cross between a hiss and a whistle. ‘I am so stupid!’ he exclaimed. ‘The man and woman who stayed with Ailgesach — those who rode north: if Torna was that man … have your forgotten that we found him without a horse and without a female companion, and encamped by the river seeking a boat to head southwards?’

Even as he spoke he felt more stupid still, remembering why Fidelma had been abducted — because she had been thought to be Torna’s companion. However, he could not quite place the events into a logical sequence. Fidelma watched him as he tried to reason things through. And asked, quietly: ‘Do you recall where Torna told us that he was heading when we met him?’

‘He said he was trying to get a boat to the place of the fork in the Suir, the place called An Gabhailín.’

‘It is a small market settlement,’ Fidelma said, ‘and the closest point the river comes to the Abbey of Imleach.’

‘I don’t see how that helps us. Why would he have been going to the abbey?’

‘Because Ailgesach had been sent to Fraigh Dubh from Imleach. Remember that when Biasta arrived last night, he brought news to Abbot Cronán about the death of Bran Finn, Prince of the Déisi Muman?’

‘I remember.’

‘Before we came away from Cashel, Abbot Ségdae mentioned that he had to return to Imleach that day because he was expecting the arrival of Bran Finn there. He mentioned that Bran Finn had already visited Imleach because the Brothers at the Abbey were looking after a relative of his who was unsound of mind.’

‘I am not sure how that fits,’ said Eadulf. ‘Why would Torna and this unknown woman be waiting for Bran Finn? To assassinate him? He clearly did not succeed, if he was in search of him when we met him.’

‘Bran Finn was already dead,’ Fidelma pointed out softly.

‘I am totally confused.’

‘I agree that nothing is absolutely clear. Let me remind you of the note in Latin that we found in Brother Ailgesach’s cabin. It was signed with the letter B.’

Eadulf frowned. ‘But if you are saying that Bran Finn was due to meet with Brother Ailgesach … oh!’

He stared at Fidelma who simply shrugged and did not help him further.

‘We should move on,’ Gormán intervened. ‘The longer we stay here discussing things, the more dangerous it becomes. We should continue to put as much distance as we can between ourselves and the fortress.’

‘Then I suggest we continue north for a while,’ replied Fidelma.

‘North it is,’ grunted Gormán, nudging his horse forward over the high and firmer ground.

It was a difficult track to follow, as they had to keep to slightly higher ground; most of the low land consisted of flat, deep green plains that seemed to be fields that could be ridden across with ease. It was a deceptive landscape, for these were in fact dangerous bog lands. Fidelma knew that a horse and rider could disappear into the hungry, clawing mud in the blink of an eye, so she kept to the hilly mounds and slightly raised paths crossing the plains. Now and then they spotted sheep grazing on the low hills, and this reassured them that they were not completely alone in this great isolated wilderness.

‘Hoi! Hoi!’

Gormán swung round at the sound of the sudden cry, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.

A man was standing waving to them from a small mound a short distance from the track. He appeared unarmed, apart from a large staff of the type shepherds used, and his dress seemed to bear out that this, indeed, was his calling. He was a burly man, with a weatherbeaten face, and dark hair streaked with grey.

They halted and watched as the man bounded nimbly down from the height, moving from one tuft to another to reach the bottom of the slope, showing that he knew well the boggy patches. It did not take him long to reach the track and confront them. His eyes widened a little as he took in their dress and especially the emblems around the necks of the warriors.

‘Sorry to detain you, lords.’ He spoke in the soft country accents of the area. ‘Have you seen anyone on horseback ride by on this track? Not on steeds like yours but a good workhorse.’

‘Not along this track,’ Gormán replied. ‘We have seen no horses since we left Liath Mór.’ Gormán’s mouth suddenly clamped shut and he cast a guilty glance at Fidelma, realising that he should not have given away such information.

The man’s pleasant features turned hard. ‘You have come from Liath Mór?’

‘We have ridden from there this morning,’ Gormán replied hesitantly.

‘Liath Mór?’ The man spat at his feet. ‘Blood built that accursed place, and blood will bring it down.’

‘What do you know of the abbey?’ Fidelma prompted, leaning forward.

‘Abbey, is it? What should a poor shepherd know of such a place? If you are from there, why do you have to ask? Know this, that I am no slave of Cronán of Gleann an Ghuail! I am only looking for my horse and since you have not seen it …’

‘Wait!’ snapped Fidelma, as the man had started to move off. ‘Understand that we are no friends of Cronán. I want to know why you are seeking a horse, and why you are on foot. Did it throw you?’

The man let out a curious barking laugh.

‘My horse throw me?’ His tone was incredulous. ‘Never! We have been together too long.’

‘Then kindly explain.’

‘The horse was stolen from my field. I have been following the tracks since dawn.’

Fidelma showed her interest. ‘Stolen, you say? By whom?’

‘That I do not know. It was taken in the dark this morning. My cabin is along the way there. I was awakened by noises, and when I went outside, my horse was gone. As I say, it’s not a grand horse, like the mounts you all ride. But it was my only beast which I used to plough my field and take my cart to market.’

‘What is your name?’

‘Canacán, lady.’

‘So you say that this horse was stolen by someone in the hours before dawn this morning. Where is your farmstead, Canacán?’

‘North of the abbey, but to the west of here.’

Fidelma glanced thoughtfully at the shepherd. So Torna had acquired a horse. If he wanted to throw any pursuit off his trail, it would be a logical idea to head eastward in the opposite direction to Durlus. He would do precisely what they were doing; move in the opposite direction to where he intended to go, swing around in a semi-circle and head back west, having laid a false trail.

‘You followed the tracks to this point, heading eastwards?’

‘As soon as it was light enough, I took my staff and began to follow the tracks. At first they were easy to follow. They brought me to this place. I was hoping the man would not know this area and become bogged down somewhere so that I could overtake him. Now the tracks have vanished entirely.’

Fidelma sighed. ‘Well, we must continue our journey. But tell us, that path which heads north-east looks like a good one to follow. Where does it lead?’

Canacán shrugged. ‘It curves towards the north-east and to the mountains through the country of the Uí Duach. Is that where you want to get to?’

‘We wish to go in that general direction,’ Fidelma conceded without being specific. ‘The land of the Éile is more to the west, I understand?’

‘To enter either territory, you’ll have to cross the Black River.’

‘How good is the road to the west after that?’

‘Quite good. There is even a bridge across the Suir which you can cross and then join the highway south into Durlus. You take your choice. Alas, whichever way you go, it is of no help to me. I will never overtake the thief now.’

‘I am sorry for your loss. If we hear anything about your stolen horse we shall make an effort to inform you and see that you are compensated.’

The man sighed. ‘Alas, Brehons are few and far between in this place now Cronán controls it. Even if one is lucky enough to find a Brehon, they demand an exorbitant sum for their services.’

With that, the shepherd turned back the way he had come, and they all sat watching him bound away and disappear beyond the mound on which he had first appeared.

‘Which way now, lady?’ Gormán asked. ‘I think it is obvious that our friend, Torna, was the thief who took the shepherd’s horse and laid a false trail to the east.’

Fidelma sat thinking for a moment, trying to consider the options.

‘We’ll cross this Black River and move west at the first opportunity.’ She added thoughtfully: ‘The eastern branch of the road leads to the country of the Uí Duach. Ségnat and most of the daer-fuidir in the abbey were of the Uí Duach. But we will then turn west towards Éile territory and cross the Suir. I made a promise to the girl Ségnat and her helpers and I mean to keep it. We will find the answers to many questions in Durlus and not in this bleak land.’

‘Who are the Uí Duach?’ asked Eadulf. ‘They have been mentioned before but I don’t know this clan.’

Gormán glanced at Fidelma. ‘I know the story well, lady, unless …?’

‘You tell it,’ invited Fidelma. ‘It will help pass the time as we ride.’

‘The Uí Duach was once a powerful family who ruled Osraige. The original Duach’s son was called Feredach Fionn. He was known to have great wealth and prestige. But the son of a chieftain named Connla grew jealous and coveted not only his wealth but he also wanted to rule the Osraige. The story is that he waited until Feredach Fionn was lying on his sickbed before he burst into his house, slew him and made off with his wealth. That was less than a hundred years ago. Feredach Fionn’s son, Colmán, managed to wrest back the kingdom and rule for nearly twenty years in peace, before members of Connla’s family seized the rulership after he died.’

‘The Uí Duach never won back the rulership of the Osraige?’

‘They did not. But, by all accounts, Uí Duach clan lands were once rich and fertile and no one went hungry, which is as things should be.’

‘Is Cronán related to Tuaim Snámha, who is Prince of Osraige?’ Eadulf asked.

‘That is something we must find an answer to,’ intervened Fidelma. ‘The question is whether Cronán is a rebellious chieftain or whether Tuaim Snámha, the Prince of the Osraige, is supporting him? Again, I think we shall find an answer in Durlus Éile.’

‘Back to Durlus,’ sighed Eadulf. ‘We seem to be travelling in a circle.’

‘I would have thought you would have grown used to long journeys on horseback by now,’ Fidelma replied cheerfully.

‘I was never meant to be a horseman,’ he said gloomily. ‘Yet it seems that ever since I left my people in Seaxmund’s Ham, to follow the New Faith, I have continually travelled. Is there no place in this world where I have not been? I have been to Rome, to Autun, to Gaul, Burgundia and to Armorica; across the Kingdoms of Angles and Saxons and Britons, and all over these Five Kingdoms of Éireann. I have been sea-sick many, many times. Is there such a malady as horse-sickness? If so, I have had it.’

Gormán chuckled and slapped his thigh in appreciation. ‘And yet, my friend, you will not quit until you have reached your goal. That is a sign of perseverance in the pursuit of truth, which anyone should be proud of.’

‘If we resolve this mystery, Eadulf,’ Fidelma, riding alongside him, leaned over and laid a hand on his arm, ‘I guarantee that we shall not move out of sight of the great Rock of Cashel for a long, long while.’

‘If I recall, our journey started by the finding of a body almost under the shadow of your brother’s palace. Now see where we have been led.’ Eadulf gestured across the flat boggy plains.

‘Then the sooner we start for Durlus, the sooner we will arrive.’

‘Which leads me to suggest, lady, with the sun being high, not having broken our fast this morning, we might usefully stop at the next tavern we come across,’ suggested Enda.

‘I doubt there are many taverns within this country,’ replied Fidelma sceptically. ‘Nevertheless, I think you have made a good suggestion … if we find one. It is always good to pick up any local gossip. We might be able to find out more about Cronán.’

They continued onward in silence through the almost desolate countryside and then started to notice slight changes as more trees began to grow and the ground became firmer. The distant mountains were becoming clearer as they approached. They forded several streams before they came to one which was quite wide but not so deep that they could not cross it on horseback. This was undoubtedly the Black River. On the far side, Gormán let out a grunt of satisfaction and pointed. Among some thinning trees ahead they could see some cabins and hear the sound of a hammer striking an anvil. Then they saw movement of animals and people.

‘A small settlement,’ Gormán announced unnecessarily. ‘Let’s hope they have a tavern rather than asking hospitality from farmers.’

A shout from the woods told them that their approach had been spotted and they were aware of several men taking up farm implements — scythes, rakes, hammers, whatever came to hand. They moved slowly forward to what appeared to be the entrance of the small settlement while women were gathering the children who had been playing and drawing them back towards the shelter of the cabins.

‘They seem a nervous set of folk,’ murmured Eadulf.

‘Don’t touch your weapons,’ Fidelma ordered, noticing that Gormán and Enda’s hands were near their sword-hilts. ‘Let me go first.’

As they trotted up the track, they saw that trees encircled a dozen cabins, almost as if planted as a protective wall. One of the huts was obviously a smith’s forge; smoke was lazily circling from the fire before it.

‘Halt there, strangers!’ instructed a strong, firm voice. The speaker was a tall, well-muscled man, who held a blacksmith’s hammer across his chest in a ready position. His leather apron and sleeveless jacket proclaimed his profession. Not only was his face cleanshaven, but his head as well. Fidelma brought her horse to a halt and her companions followed her example.

‘Peace and health to you, smith,’ she greeted.

The man’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘You know me?’

Fidelma laughed in amusement. ‘It would take someone with no sight in their eyes to mistake you as other than a smith. Or do you often put on that garb and take up a smith’s hammer to mislead passing strangers?’

One or two of the men standing close by smiled at this. The smith shifted uncomfortably. Obviously he did not want to appear a fool in front of his fellows.

‘What do you want here?’ he demanded gruffly.

‘We were looking for a tavern to refresh ourselves on our journey to Durlus. If there be no tavern, then we would seek some hospitality; that is all.’

The group of men looked at each other and there was a perceptible loosening of their grip on their weapons.

‘You seem very nervous, my friends,’ Fidelma continued. ‘Is there a reason why you would treat travellers in this manner which contravenes the laws of hospitality?’

Only the smith had not made any indication of changing his suspicious gaze.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, sister to Colgú, and these are my companions. Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, and Gormán and Enda of my brother’s bodyguard.’

The names effected an immediate change on the smith and his companions. At once they put down their makeshift weapons and the smith came forward with his head lowered respectfully.

‘Your pardon, lady. These are worrying times. You are welcome to the Baile Coll, the township of Coll of the Uí Duach. I am Coccán. As you rightly say, I am the smith here. I am also the tavern-keeper and many other things beside. Please, step down and let us offer you refreshment, as poor as it is.’

He turned and signalled a young boy to come forward to hold Fidelma’s horse as she dismounted. The boy then gathered the reins of the four horses and led them towards a fenced paddock.

Already the atmosphere had changed and become relaxed and normal. The women had released the children back to play, although most of them came over to stare at the strangers while the womenfolk returned to their various chores.

Coccán led the way into a building next to his forge which turned out to be used as a tavern.

‘Why the suspicious welcome, Coccán?’ Fidelma was saying as she seated herself.

‘Merchants passed this way yesterday, lady, coming from Durlus, across the river. They spoke of large armies riding out of the west, burning and destroying.’

Gormán glanced at Eadulf. ‘Perhaps they were the same merchants who were in Durlus Éile the other day,’ he muttered.

‘We too have heard such stories,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘But we were informed that these so-called armies are just bandits. They are far to the west of here and not likely to threaten this area.’

‘Perhaps it is a question of each time a merchant tells a story, the numbers multiply and thus increase the wealth of the tale,’ Enda said cynically.

Fidelma had noticed that the smith still looked uncomfortable.

‘You are not telling me the entire truth, Coccán,’ she went on quietly. ‘Is there some other threat that worries you? As you are of the Uí Duach, I can only presume that it is due to the tales we have heard of the enmity of Cronán?’

‘And you would not be wrong, lady.’ The words were spoken by a large woman who came forward with jugs of ale and mugs, and some meats, bread and apples.

‘Cronán of Gleann an Ghuail is not well disposed towards our people, lady,’ shrugged the smith.

The woman who had been serving the ale gave a sniff. ‘Why not tell her?’ she said to the man in a harsh voice.

Fidelma glanced from the woman to the smith. ‘I am not only the sister of your King, but I am a dálaigh. You need have no fear of me.’

The woman placed her large hands on her hips. ‘There you are.’ She addressed her husband. ‘What better protection could you seek than that? Speak, man!’ She turned apologetically to Fidelma. ‘My husband only hesitates because he is fearful for our people here. Our clan has suffered much of late.’

‘So what troubles you, Coccán? Who threatens this place?’

The smith sighed. ‘It is as my wife says. This little settlement of ours could be wiped out in the blink of an eye. We have no one to protect us. That is why I feared to speak.’

‘You have my word that no one will harm you so far as I can speak on behalf of my brother the King.’

‘A township due south-east of here was destroyed only a few days ago. One of the survivors came here to tell us.’

Fidelma’s eyes widened a little. ‘An entire township destroyed? Are you saying that Cronán did this?’

‘His men were responsible,’ Coccán told her. ‘Several people were slaughtered. The rest were carried off to his fortress. One of the survivors was my own cousin. He and half-a-dozen other men escaped and are now seeking shelter at the rath of the chieftain of the Uí Duach, or rather what remains of his rath, which is not far from here. My cousin told us that the township was summoned by a group of strange religious. The leader of these religious told them that the settlement must provide all able-bodied men to join them in a great crusading army. That they must gather with weapons within two days and swear an oath to fight in the name of the True Faith. In addition, the women and children were to gather all their goods and treasures and bring them with them. They had two days only, otherwise retribution would be levelled against them.’

‘So what happened?’

The smith gestured unhappily. ‘The chieftain of the settlement laughed outright. He told them that only Tuaim Snámha, the Prince of Osraige, had the power to summon the clans for a hosting, and only then in time of dire need. He had seen no fiery cross summoning any of the clans of Osraige, so by what right did a religious have to do so and call down retribution on them if they did not obey?’

‘And then?’

‘The religieux, who was cowled the whole time, as were his companions, simply said that the word had been given. If the trumpet was sounded seven times, then they should beware. How the people responded to it was up to them. If they made a wrong choice, then the word of their example would be spread across the land of Osraige, and it would serve the religious just as well to inspire others to join them.’

‘Are you saying that it was these religious who fired the township?’ asked Eadulf.

‘They allowed the people two days, as they warned, but those in the township just thought they were crazy and dismissed the threat. On the third day, the township found itself surrounded. Out of nearly sixty people, ten were killed and the others taken prisoner. That is, except my cousin and some friends who escaped, as I have said, and that was because they had left the settlement to tend to their traps in the wood, thus were spared the fire and sword that their companions suffered. Those young men have now sworn blood vengeance and taken up arms as warriors. It will do them no good. Six against the hundreds that Cronán has to command.’

There was a silence and then Fidelma asked: ‘You said that they were ordered to present themselves with weapons in two days and the women and children were to bring goods and treasures. At which spot were they meant to gather?’ She had a feeling that she knew the answer before he gave it.

‘To the Abbey of Liath Mór.’

Fidelma was not surprised. ‘Liath Mór,’ she said heavily. ‘I have given my word that my brother will free the Uí Duach hostages there. What was the name of the township that was destroyed?’

‘It was called Eirc, and it is due south of this place in Uí Duach country.’

‘And was your cousin able to identify any of these cowled religious who first issued the threat to the township?’

‘Indeed he was. He recognised the leader as Cronán’s nephew Anfudán.’

Fidelma was thoughtful for a moment and then she asked: ‘The words that your cousin used — are you sure he said, “If the trumpet was sounded seven times”? Or did he speak of the “seventh trumpet”? This is important.’

Coccán raised a hand to his forehead as if to massage his brow.

‘It might well have been as you say. I heard this story from my cousin. He might have confused the words but I am sure the figure seven was used in it.’

Eadulf glanced at Fidelma. ‘That is not the first time we have heard about a seventh trumpet.’

‘It was what Brother Ailgesach was raving about in his delirium,’ Enda put in. ‘“Beware the seventh trumpet.”’

‘It is from the holy writings,’ Fidelma explained. Then she sighed deeply. ‘There is something dark and evil in these matters. Something that I …’ She addressed the smith. ‘When did Cronán first start to raid the Uí Duach?’

The man spread his hands helplessly. ‘The best of our warriors have been taken or killed over several years as the fortress of Cronán and his roadways have risen to dominate the Osraige lands to the south.’

Coccán’s wife added: ‘It began many years ago. Cronán started to raid the Uí Duach lands and take prisoners to use as labour to build his fortress. Some of the hot-headed warriors of the Uí Duach marched on Cronán to demand reparation. He defeated them easily and seized them as well. He declared most of them as daer-fuidir to work in his fortress.’

‘It is amazing that no word of this has come to my brother in Cashel,’ Fidelma said.

Coccán shrugged. ‘This is an isolated territory. Just bog land. No one cares about this place or its people. We get few travellers, for the highways pass around our lands and not through them. Anyway, people have become too scared to speak. Those that do speak out disappear.’

‘Tell me more of this Cronán. Does anyone know his purpose?’

The smith actually burst out with a sharp laugh. ‘Lady, he is Cronán of Gleann an Ghuail, Lord of the Hills of Sliabh Ardachaidh. His purpose is conquest and power. He simply marched into the buildings of Liath Mór several years ago, threw out the community, declared himself Abbot and forced men to start building a great fortress under the guise that it was an abbey. He now controls all the northern marshland of Osraige.’

‘Well, whether chieftain or abbot, the religious are not above the law of this land,’ Fidelma said angrily. ‘Surely your own prince, Tuaim Snámha of Osraige, would bring the man to order? Has no one made representations to him?’

‘Cronán claims the support of the Prince of the Osraige and so we must accept his authority.’

‘No one has contacted Cashel and told the King how matters fare here?’

‘What would distant Cashel care about a few poor people in a bog land of no worth?’

‘Even the poorest in our society have rights and will receive protection from any despot, be he King or Abbot.’

‘That may be so in an ideal world where people respect the law,’ interposed the wife of Coccán with a bitter smile. ‘In our world, lady, it does not happen. I know it is so written in law, but that does not mean it is so done in practice. To stand up against the wishes of King and Chieftain, who calls himself an abbot, is like trying to flood your field by throwing stones in the nearby river.’

Fidelma’s frustration was apparent by her sharp exhalation of breath.

‘Well, my brother, the King, shall hear about this and there shall be an accounting. I promise you that, as both the King’s sister and as a dálaigh.’

She suddenly realised that Eadulf was dozing and recalled that none of them had slept during the previous night at Liath Mór. Gormán and Enda also looked exhausted. They had to move on, but sleep must come first. Even a short nap would help before continuing their journey. Coccán’s wife interpreted the situation and led them to a side room, promising to rouse them to give them time to cross the river and reach Durlus before nightfall.

To Fidelma it seemed that her head had hardly rested on the pillow when there was a sudden shouting and the sound of a horse approaching at a gallop. At once Gormán and Enda were up, swords at the ready. But Coccán the smith appeared in the doorway and told them: ‘Put up your weapons. It is only my cousin. He is the very person that I have spoken of from the township of Eirc.’

They returned to the tavern room and a moment later a young man strode in. He was covered in dust and there was blood on his forehead. He looked exhausted. ‘Water, I pray you,’ he gasped.

He was handed a beaker of water which he drained at once.

‘What is it?’ demanded Coccán.

‘I came to warn everyone,’ the man said breathlessly. ‘They must be prepared for an immediate attack from Cronán.’

‘An attack?’ repeated Fidelma, moving forward.

The young man glanced at her in surprise and then, seeing her in the company of Coccán, nodded. ‘An attack from Liath Mór. My chieftain sent half a dozen of us to attempt to speak with Cronán this morning, to ask why he had attacked a peaceful township …’

Coccán interrupted hurriedly: ‘I have told them about the attack.’

‘We had not ridden far south when we heard a band of men riding hard in our direction. I told my men to disperse and string their bows. It was then I saw that those approaching wore the dress of Cronán’s cowled murderers. I was going to let them ride by when I saw that son of a she-devil, Anfudán, at their head. In my mind’s eye I saw the burning township of Eirc. I could not help myself, but I loosed my arrow straight into his throat! Some of his men had their swords out but my companions let loose a shower of arrows. Some fell and the rest appeared unnerved and fled the ambush. They left three dead including Cronán’s nephew. I have no regrets for them.’

‘Are you sure that Anfudán is dead?’ asked Fidelma.

‘I am sure,’ the young man confirmed grimly. ‘Now we will have stirred up a hornet’s nest. Once Cronán learns what has happened he will unleash his hordes against us. That is why we are riding in all directions to warn our people. Everyone must be prepared to abandon their homes and settlements and move towards the mountains. You know what Cronán did to our township of Eirc. He has brought fire and sword to many other Uí Duach settlements. His vengeance will now be merciless and total. You must prepare to fight or to flee for your lives.’