The Seventh Trumpet (10 page)

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.