The Seventh Trumpet

CHAPTER SIX

Everyone was moving towards the door when Fidelma’s sharp tone of command halted them.

‘Stay where you are, please. Eadulf and I will examine the body. Fedach Glas, you will come with us to show us where Brother Ailgesach is.’

‘But …’ began the tavern-keeper.

‘I am taking charge as a dálaigh,’ Fidelma said with quiet authority. ‘Eadulf has been trained in the apothecary’s art. I shall need his advice. Gormán, you and Enda will remain here.’

Outside, Fedach Glas conducted them towards one of the small log cabins which apparently provided overnight accommodation for the tavern guests. He pushed open the door and went inside with Fidelma and Eadulf following. The small dormitory room contained four wooden cots arranged along the walls on either side. They could see the rotund form of Brother Ailgesach stretched on the cot nearest the door.

The tavern-keeper waited by the entrance while Eadulf went forward to examine the corpse.

The body lay flat on its back, the hands slightly clenched as if they were trying to form fists, but both arms rested in a straight line on either side. Eadulf saw traces of vomit around the mouth and across the front of the robes. The eyes were closed although the mouth was slightly open. The body appeared to be in repose.

Eadulf immediately searched for any signs of life, but the body was already growing cold, the skin slightly mottled. He noticed dried blood around the nostrils. Then Eadulf, wrinkling his nose in distaste, bent forward and tried to ease the mouth further open, peering inside. He sighed and rose, turning round to face them.

‘Brother Ailgesach is certainly dead,’ he announced.

‘And the cause?’ asked Fidelma quietly.

‘To all appearances, it would seem that he went to sleep in a drunken stupor and choked on his own vomit.’

Fedach Glas, standing behind them, was looking anxious.

‘Am I responsible for this?’ he muttered.

Fidelma turned to the tavern-keeper. ‘In what manner do you mean — responsible?’ she asked.

‘I am a tavern-keeper. I served him with the drink. And now he has died in my tavern. Isn’t there some law …?’

‘As I understand the laws relating to drunkenness, you have no responsibility in this. Only if you had forced the man to drink against his will would you be culpable. As this was clearly not the case, then you are exonerated from any recompense to his family.’

Fedach Glas looked relieved.

‘I would go back to the others,’ Eadulf suggested to him. ‘I need to speak with Fidelma so that we can clarify the matter.’

Eadulf opened the door of the cabin for the tavern-keeper and watched him for a moment as he hurried back to the main building.

‘What is wrong?’ Fidelma asked, after he had closed the door.

‘I believe Brother Ailgesach was murdered,’ replied Eadulf as he turned back to the corpse. ‘It is unusual that the eyes are closed, for someone who has just had a seizure and choked on their own vomit.’

‘Perhaps Biasta closed the eyes. That is something I have seen people do automatically when confronted with death.’

‘Well,’ continued Eadulf, ‘for one who goes to sleep full of alcohol and is seized by sickness, choking on his own vomit, the corpse is quite composed. If you were choking, even when almost incapable with drink, you would move your hands upwards, fighting for air, striving to clear your mouth and throat. The hands, as you observe, are calmly placed on either side of the body.’

‘But there is vomit on the front of his clothes,’ observed Fidelma. ‘Surely that is indication enough how he choked?’

Eadulf raised the man’s head carefully from the pillow. The cloth underneath was stained with vomit and flecks of blood.

‘That is the point. Perhaps Biasta came in and found Brother Ailgesach choking on his own vomit face downwards. Then he turned the body over, put the pillow neatly under the head and composed the corpse … requiescat in pace.’ Eadulf was rarely given to sarcasm.

Fidelma stood for a moment gazing sombrely down at the corpse of the rotund religieux before saying, ‘It still does not point to the conclusion of murder, Eadulf.’

‘Then I think this will prove it. You will notice that, unusually, there are two pillows behind his head. The soiled one and one that is only a little soiled. And look at the other cot.’ He pointed. ‘It has no pillow.’

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘My suggestion is that someone came in here and held a pillow over the man’s face. His struggle for air produced a paroxysm of vomiting and bleeding from the nose and mouth. The result was that he asphyxiated. The killer then rearranged the body, laying the arms by the side, closing the eyes and putting the pillow behind the head, hoping it would not occur to anyone that if he had choked on vomit while lying face upwards, there would hardly be vomit and blood on the pillow behind his head.’

‘And I suppose Brother Ailgesach was too drunk to stir when the killer came in and calmly removed the pillow from behind his head and commenced to suffocate him?’

Eadulf shook his head. ‘A pillow is missing from the next bed.’

‘And so?’

‘The killer grabbed the pillow from the next bed to smother him with. That is the soiled one. After the deed, the killer realised that the pillow on his victim’s bed was also soiled. So he could not put either pillow back on the next bed. They were both soiled and this would be noticed. So he left the two pillows on Brother Ailgesach’s bed and hoped no connection would be made.’

Fidelma nodded slowly in approval. ‘You’ve touched the thing with a needle,’ she said, using an old saying, meaning that he had spotted matters correctly. ‘And the suspect has to be Brother Biasta?’

‘Who else? The only other choice is the tavern-keeper.’

‘We must tread this path with care, Eadulf,’ she said thoughtfully and suddenly sat down on the edge of the other cot, still staring at the dead religieux.

‘But his guilt is almost beyond question,’ protested Eadulf.

‘“Almost” is a word that contains many questions.’

‘But …’

‘You forget that we came here to find out who the dead envoy was and why he was killed. There are so many questions I would have dearly wished to ask Brother Ailgesach. You see, instinct tells me these matters are connected.’

‘We have a case against Brother Biasta which also needs to be answered,’ said Eadulf. ‘Why, he might even be the killer of the noble as well as his cousin.’

‘Oh, we will ask him questions, have little fear of it,’ Fidelma promised. ‘However, I do not want to put Biasta in a corner so that he sees no way out. Not yet anyway. I want to find out what else he knows. Maybe he can identify the people who stayed with his cousin last night.’

‘So how shall we approach this matter?’

‘We will pretend that we have noticed nothing untoward and that we accept the theory that Brother Ailgesach has choked on his own vomit. We will express curiosity about him, which is natural, and see if Brother Biasta will lead us anywhere.’

Eadulf smiled without humour. ‘Like playing a fish with a line,’ he sighed. ‘But remember, fish can be elusive and slither off your hook.’

Fidelma smiled reflectively. ‘Since we talk in fishing similes, Eadulf, I remember what an old mentor of mine once told me about the art. When you have a strong fish that wants to run, let it run. Let its fear and strength work for you. Then, when it is weak and exhausted, only then do you haul it in.’

Eadulf shrugged. ‘I’ll be surprised if this fish will lead us anywhere.’

‘Well, let us start the fish running,’ Fidelma said, moving to the door.

There was quiet in the main tavern room when they re-entered. Brother Biasta was seated, sipping at a beaker of corma. Saer was also drinking and did not look at all concerned at the events around him. Fedach Glas and his wife Grella stood together, their expressions strained, while Gormán and Enda had taken up positions near to the door, almost as if they were sentinels.

Fidelma and Eadulf seated themselves in silence before Fidelma turned to Fedach Glas, who started nervously when she called to him by name.

‘I think we might all be the better for some of your corma.’

He hurried to fulfil her request while she turned to Brother Biasta and said: ‘It seems as though your cousin unfortunately choked on his own vomit, having drunk himself into a state of unconsciousness.’

Did a look of relief pass across the man’s features? It was gone too quickly for Eadulf to be sure, yet he was watching the man very closely.

‘Tell me what you found when you went into the hut,’ she invited.

‘I found the body, of course,’ replied the bewildered Brother Biasta.

‘I mean, in what manner and circumstances did you find it? A report of this matter must be made to Abbot Ségdae, being also Chief Bishop of this kingdom.’

Brother Biasta frowned. ‘You have to report this to the abbot?’

‘It was he who sent Brother Ailgesach to this place,’ Fidelma affirmed. ‘Let us start with what more you can tell us about your cousin. You told us that you were both trained at the Abbey of Biorra. From what clan are you?’

Brother Biasta hesitated. ‘Are these questions relevant? My cousin is dead and, sadly, from an indulgence in his own weakness.’

‘You know well that if it is deemed that his own weakness killed him — that it was self-inflicted — it is classed, in law, as suicide. And how is suicide classed?’ Fidelma asked, then answered her own question. ‘Brother Ailgesach would be named a fingalach.’

Fidelma used the legal term which indicated that a suicide was classed as a kin-slayer, and as the horrendous crime of fingal or kin-slaying struck at the very heart of the kin-based society of her people, the law could apply heavy sanctions.

‘But he had no control over his actions,’ Brother Biasta protested.

‘That is not a good defence,’ replied Fidelma. ‘He did have control and he chose not to exercise it, in drinking more than he knew was good for him. All else follows — but there may be mitigating circumstances. So let us try to discover them.’

Brother Biasta grimaced helplessly. ‘What can I tell you? I had not seen him in such a long time — I have already told you that. I can offer no explanation as to what ailed him.’

‘Then answer my question to the best of your ability and we will see how far we can progress.’

The religieux stared at her for a moment almost in defiance and then he relaxed with a sigh, realising that he could raise no other protest.

‘What was your question?’

‘To start with, where did he come from and what clan? And I mean before he entered the Abbey of Biorra. You say that you are his cousin.’

‘We are of the Muscraige Tíre.’

Fidelma knew that the Muscraige Tíre inhabited the north-west of the kingdom and were one of six Muscraige sub-lordships that were widely separated but subscribed to one overlord. They had long ago accepted the authority of the Kings of Cashel. From the north-east, the Muscraige stretched almost in a diagonal line south-west to the Muscraige Mittine in the Valley of the Laoi, one of the great rivers of the south-west.

‘So you are of the race of Cairbre Musc?’ she asked quietly.

For a moment Brother Biasta looked lost, and then he repeated defensively: ‘We are of the Muscraige Tíre.’

‘I know your territory,’ Fidelma replied. ‘When I was a child I went for my initial education to the Abbey of Inis Celtra in the Red Loch. That was before I went to study law,’ she added for Eadulf’s benefit.

Brother Biasta said quickly: ‘We came from the territory of the two streams, Tír Dhá Ghlas, to the north of the loch.’

‘Indeed a beautiful country. And your family — who are they?’

‘Just farmers, but my cousin and I went for our education at Biorra, as I said.’

Once again Fidelma had the impression that Brother Biasta was not going to tell her much, if anything, about his own background or that of Brother Ailgesach.

‘What was your cousin’s name before he adopted his saintly servant’s name?’ she tried.

Brother Biasta blinked. Then he said: ‘It was his real name. His parents were devout and intended him to join the religious.’

Once more Fidelma suspected that he was blocking her questions.

‘So you last saw your cousin … where and when?’ There was sharpness in her voice as she ended her question.

‘Why, as I told you, about a year ago and at Biorra before he came south.’

‘To the Abbey of Imleach?’

Brother Biasta’s eyes narrowed. ‘I told you, I do not know, only that he was coming south.’

‘And you remained at Biorra? Serving in the abbey?’

Brother Biasta seemed to be gathering confidence. ‘I went back to Tír Dhá Ghlas …’

‘To the abbey?’ interposed Fidelma, for she knew of the Blessed Brendan’s foundation there.

‘I crossed into the country of the Uí Maine and preached there awhile.’

‘And you said that you received a message from your cousin?’

‘A week ago I returned to Biorra and found a message waiting there for me. It said that he was ill and would like to see me.’

Fidelma’s expression was implacable. ‘Indeed, you told me as much but I am still curious.’

‘Curious? About what?’

‘Your cousin would surely have sent the message to his family at Tír Dhá Ghlas. And you say that you had gone into the country of the Uí Maine … that is in Connacht. You had both left Biorra, so why did he think his message would find you there?’

Brother Biasta hesitated and then simply shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I can only say what happened.’

‘Very well. His message said no more than that he was ill and wanted to see you?’

‘No more than that. So I came here straightaway.’

‘Forgive my inquisitiveness, but by what means did you come here?’

‘What means …?’ Brother Biasta was looking suspicious.

‘What road, what means?’ demanded Fidelma.

‘There is only one road from the north and you can see the means.’ The man gestured towards his feet.

Fidelma’s expression hardened. Now she knew he was lying but she did not comment on the fact.

‘So you came here … and found matters thus?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Just a few points more,’ Fidelma said, as the religieux began to rise from his seat. He sank back sullenly.

‘There is nothing more to tell,’ he grumbled. ‘I should go to the chapel and start making arrangements for the burial of my cousin and the person who you found.’

‘Indulge me for a moment more.’ Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘Fedach Glas took you to the guests’ hut. Did he enter with you?’

‘He did not. Only I entered.’

‘He remained outside?’

‘Excuse me, lady,’ Fedach Glas intervened. ‘I told you that I left Brother Biasta to go in alone. I saw that one of the horses was nervous and went to attend to it. An old wolf was sniffing about and I threw a stone to chase it away. Sometimes you can encounter an old male wolf that has been driven from the pack by a younger animal. They can resort to scavenging.’

‘So you went inside on your own, Brother Biasta. Tell me what you saw.’

‘I found my cousin dead.’

‘I asked what you saw, not what you found,’ she prompted him quietly.

Brother Biasta frowned as he tried to work out the difference. ‘My cousin was lying on the cot.’

‘On his back?’ queried Fidelma.

‘Of course. I saw that he was choked on his own bile and vomit. I felt for signs of life and seeing none, came straight to tell you. That is all.’

‘Very well. Did you touch anything apart from checking that Ailgesach was dead? Did you move anything, for example?’

‘I did not,’ snapped the man.

She stood up abruptly. ‘Eadulf and I will go to the chapel and examine Ailgesach’s cabin. Gormán, you will come with us. Everyone else will stay here until our return. Enda, you are in charge and will see that my wishes are carried out.’

Brother Biasta had also risen. ‘I am my cousin’s nearest relative. I demand to come with you, if you are searching his cabin and belongings.’

‘I thought that I had made my instructions clear?’ Fidelma’s eyes flashed a little.

‘By what right do you issue orders?’ blustered the religieux.

It was Gormán who answered. ‘By the right of being a dálaigh of the courts of the qualification of anruth, as well as by the right of being sister to King Colgú. Is that enough?’

Brother Biasta sat down again, looking sullen.

Fidelma led Eadulf and Gormán out of the tavern to where their horses were tethered. As they were mounting them, Eadulf commented: ‘I am not sure what information we have gained from that.’

‘We know that Biasta is a liar and that he smothered Ailgesach.’

As they moved down the highway towards the chapel, the afternoon held a strange quiet, broken at intervals by the deep, harsh voice of the omnivorous feannóg or hooded crow.

‘Carrion birds,’ muttered Gormán in disgust. ‘Maybe they can smell the bodies in this place. And speaking of bodies, lady, what do you mean about Brother Biasta?’

Fidelma told Gormán of the evidence behind their suspicions about Brother Biasta.

‘As for the rest, we know that Biasta is not of the Muscraige. I suspect that he is not even a cousin of the inebriated Ailgesach. Biasta was lying about journeying from the north along the highway on his own two feet. Had he done so, we would have seen him as we came up from the chapel.’

‘What makes you so sure that he is not of the Muscraige Tíre?’ Eadulf asked, having thought the matter through.

‘It is from Cairbre Musc that they took their name. Any member of the Muscraige Tíre, even a farmer, would know and be proud of their progenitor. Yet when I mentioned the name, Biasta did not appear to know it.’

As they turned into the grounds of the chapel, the sky was still cloudless and the afternoon was warm for an autumn day. At the rear of the chapel they found a sheltered wooden cabin with some outbuildings. Fidelma remained on her horse for a moment, surveying the surrounding terrain before dismounting. Then they tied their horses to the wooden rail outside the cabin. Gormán insisted that he should enter first to ensure all was safe. Almost at once an odour assailed them. They did not need the sight of the discarded earthenware jugs to recognise the smell of stale alcohol. The odour permeated the room. In spite of the fact that the sun was still warm outside, it was dark and cold within the cabin.

‘I’ll light the oil lamp,’ Gormán said, moving across to the table and taking from the bag at his belt his tenlach-teined, containing his flint, steel and kindle. This was the tenlam or hand fire which every warrior was taught to use so that they could ignite a fire quickly. It was a few moments before the oil lamp was lit, throwing dancing shadows over the interior of the room. They stood just within the door and looked about. The place had certainly not been tidied in a long time. There were two rough wood cots with straw mattresses and discarded blankets. A bundle of clothes, immediately identified as religious robes, were dumped in a corner. A wooden crucifix hung from one wall and on a small table a free-standing wooden cross was balanced. It was splintered as if ill-used.

Eadulf looked around in disapproval.

‘So here is another thing that Brother Ailgesach did not believe in,’ he muttered.

Gormán raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean?’

‘Did not the Blessed Paul adjure the believers in Corinth to cleanse themselves from defilement both of flesh and spirit?’ he replied. ‘We have seen how he drowned his spirit with alcohol, and now we see that he did not believe in cleansing his flesh. I have seen pigs living in much cleaner circumstances.’

Gormán grimaced in agreement. ‘I have to admit, the odours and mess do not indicate the home of a religieux or clean man. There is an old proverb that cleanliness is part of glory. Obviously, Brother Ailgesach did not have an ambition for glory.’

‘The sooner we commence our search, the sooner it will be finished,’ Fidelma said curtly, ‘and the sooner we can remove ourselves from the foul odours of this place.’

Gormán held high the oil lamp and peered round. ‘Where shall we start, lady?’

Fidelma had caught sight of a wooden box in one corner. It seemed the only object in which anything could be hidden. She pointed to it without speaking, and they moved towards it. The light of the oil lamp revealed the lid was coated with dust and the iron lock seemed quite rusty. There was no key and Fidelma instructed the warrior to use the handle of his sword to break it. The lock splintered away easily and she threw back the lid. A smell of must emerged and, at first, it seemed only to contain clothing; the robes of a religieux. She picked them out one by one.

‘They are rather long for Brother Ailgesach,’ remarked Eadulf.

‘Then we may suppose this trunk belonged to Brother Tressach, his predecessor,’ she replied. ‘I doubt if this box has been opened for years.’

Under the clothes, Fidelma found some vellum texts but they were of little interest, only sections of the Scriptures. There was one bound book. It was fairly small, with its vellum pages bound in polished boards of oak. Fidelma had seen similar books before. She frowned as she remembered that a scribe had come to Cill Dara when she was there and brought three such treasures to the abbess. They were the special work of the abbey from which he had come. Her eyes widened suddenly. It was the Abbey of the Blessed Ruadhan at Lothra. Lothra! An abbey situated between Tír Dhá Ghlas and Biorra. Was it merely a coincidence that these places were beginning to feature in this investigation?

‘What is that?’ Gormán asked, as she stood quietly turning the pages over.

‘It is called in Latin a Missale, a book of liturgical instruction for the celebration of Mass throughout the year. It is rare for a poor religieux in such a spot as this to possess such a valuable book. Usually, a man of wealth, an abbot or a bishop, would have one, but a simple Brother …’

‘I heard that Brother Tressach was well-respected and something of a scholar,’ Gormán offered.

‘He certainly served here for several decades, as we have heard from Grella,’ Eadulf commented. ‘That does not reflect any influence or power.’

‘Not all talented people are interested in power or influence,’ reproved Fidelma. ‘However, the book and manuscripts should go to the Abbey of Imleach.’

‘Then the book itself is valuable?’

‘It is. I shall make sure that Abbot Ségdae receives it. He should decide what to do with Brother Tressach’s belongings.’

Eadulf had turned his attention to a pile of old clothes on a chair and absent-mindedly gathered them up. Something fell from them and he picked it up. It was a small sheet of paper with some spidery writing on it, in Latin. He read it aloud.

‘“Brother Ailgesach, I send this by a trusted courier who will be passing your chapel. I shall be leaving this place soon and will be with you before the time of the last quarter moon. I have proof of conspiracy. A philosopher once said that if you want something hidden, then place it where everyone can see it. I shall follow that advice. I think I am suspected. If I have not joined you and our friends by then, know that I am discovered and you must act on your own.”’

Fidelma took it from his hand and read through it silently. Then she added: ‘There is no signature, only the letter “B”.’

‘The last quarter moon was three or four nights ago,’ Eadulf pointed out.

‘But does this message refer to that quarter moon?’ she pondered. ‘There is no knowing when this was written.’

‘It looks new,’ Eadulf replied. ‘And it seemed as if Ailgesach was hiding it from prying eyes, since he tucked it among those old clothes. He did not agree with the writer’s advice to hide it where everyone could see it.’

Fidelma did not want to appear over-enthusiastic about the find. It raised many questions that could not be answered at that moment. ‘We will keep it with us.’

‘The word conspiracy sounds serious. A conspiracy about what?’

Fidelma placed the paper in her marsupium, the bag she carried slung from her shoulder, and made no further comment, ignoring Eadulf’s disappointed glance. She then renewed her search, going slowly through the contents of the cabin until she was sure there were no other hidden surprises. There was little else in the cabin that caught their attention.

‘I’ll place the Missale and vellum texts in my saddle-bag,’ Fidelma announced as she made for the door. ‘They can be delivered to Abbot Ségdae when we have a chance.’ She paused and glanced back at the darkened hut. ‘We have done enough here. Let us see if there is anything more of interest in the outbuildings or in the chapel.’

They tried the closest outbuilding first. It bore a resemblance to a stable, although there were no animals inside. However, there were signs of recent occupation. Gormán pointed to the straw-covered floor.

‘Those droppings were made by horses — and recently. Perhaps as recently as last night. I’d say that two horses were stabled here, according to the dung.’

‘So there is further proof that Sétna did not dream up the story he told Grella,’ Fidelma remarked.

They walked across to the chapel and buildings. Clouds were beginning to form in the west and the day was turning cold; the afternoon was drawing on. The chapel stood in gloom and the body of the envoy that they had brought to it earlier was still stretched out before the small wooden altar. Agreeing that nothing would be revealed by any closer search of the buildings, they returned to their horses and set off back to the tavern of Fedach Glas.

As they turned into the tavern yard, Enda came running out to meet them. It was clear that something was very wrong, from his anguished expression.

‘What is it?’ Fidelma demanded without dismounting. She had a premonition of what he was going to say.

‘Lady, I have failed you. It is my fault. Biasta has fled — he used my horse to get away. Fedach Glas has no other horse here so I could not ride after him. The scoundrel tricked me and escaped.’