The Seventh Trumpet (16 page)

‘From Durlus Éile, would you have to travel far on horseback to the north-west through the mountains to Biorra or Tír Dhá Ghlás?’ he asked.

‘That would be a long, tough journey,’ replied the ferryman. ‘Are you saying that these people might abandon the boat at Durlus and proceed in that direction?’

‘It would be very difficult, especially if one had unwilling companions to transport,’ Gormán pointed out to Eadulf.

‘But it might be accomplished?’ he pressed.

‘Anything might be accomplished with determination,’ said the ferryman.

Eadulf sighed softly. It really did not help him form any idea of their quarry’s intentions. That the river they were following went north to the capital of the Éile was the only real information they had. They would just have to carry on.

Eadulf stood up and addressed the ferryman. ‘The information you have given us is of great help, Echna. Be circumspect with what you tell others, but if a warrior from Cashel named Enda comes by, then be sure to tell him what you have told us.’

‘I understand, Brother Eadulf. You can rely on me. And, if you are able, take care of my son, Enán. I will offer a prayer for your safety and for the safe return of the Lady Fidelma.’

It was only a short distance north of the ferry that the course of the river turned almost as a right-angle and headed eastward.

‘Do you believe that the abductors would have told the truth about going to this place called Cabragh?’ Eadulf asked Gormán, breaking the silence that had fallen between them since they left Echna and his ferry. They were now heading east along the riverbank and passed an islet in the middle of the water. Other than wildlife, there was no sign of movement there and nowhere that anyone with a boat could hide themselves.

‘If they were confident that they would not be pursued, they might have told the truth. But I doubt they would be so open about their intentions. I am fearful for the young man they took as the replacement rower. When he has outrun his usefulness …’ Gormán raised a shoulder and let it fall. ‘Once in the boat they could coerce him to row as long as they wanted. A weapon pointed at one’s throat is a strong inducement.’

Further on, they had to ford a smaller river that fed the Suir from the south, and to do so they had to move south for some distance before finding a suitable place to cross it. To the east the ground started to rise slightly and they could see some distant hills. They turned north again to find the bank of the Suir and once more follow its course.

Gormán raised his hand and indicated a stretch of low flat country before them. ‘This is called Cabragh, the Poor Land.’

Eadulf halted and carefully examined it. It was the same on both sides of the river; low-lying and stretching flat in both directions. There was a bleakness about it that caused him to realise that it was descriptively named. A poor land, indeed. It was thick with gorse and bracken and, from what he could see, the earth was very soft, almost bog-like, land. He presumed it would be liable to flood and that must be why he could see no habitation anywhere.

‘It’s a desolate place,’ he said. ‘I thought that the highway we were originally following must have crossed this place, yet I see no sign of it.’

‘Remember we decided to follow the river when we left the highway,’ Gormán reminded him. ‘The road swings more to the north-east and it joins another highway leading over a bridge that will take us into Durlus Éile itself. But that is some way further along this valley ahead.’

Eadulf glanced round. The land here was uninviting and gloomy. There would be no place to hide a man, let alone a boat. It appeared the abductors had lied to the ferryman that their destination was Cabragh. They could only have been heading for Durlus Éile, after all.

The sun was now high in the sky. It was a warm day for the time of year. The broad River Suir was reflecting the blue of the sky except where little white ripples and eddies indicated the current gushing around stony parts of its bank and across the riverbed.

‘We’ll have to stop and let the horses drink soon,’ Gormán said. ‘And it would be no harm to have some refreshment ourselves.’

Eadulf nodded half-heartedly. He would have preferred to press on. However, they chose a little inlet along the riverbank, which was sheltered by gorse bushes, and dismounted. Gormán led all three horses to the edge of the bank and allowed them to drink. Then he secured them by their reins to the roots of the nearby bushes. Eadulf had taken some dried bread and cheese from his saddle-bag and divided it between the warrior and himself. A small earthenware pot served to scoop up some of the brackish water from the river.

As they ate their frugal meal, Gormán remarked, ‘Aonbharr is still nervous.’ Aonbharr, Fidelma’s favourite horse, which they had been leading, had been skittish all morning. ‘He knows something is wrong with his mistress.’

Eadulf was certainly no horseman and did not have any knowledge of equine behaviour. He glanced at the animal. It was true that the ears seemed laid back and the eyes were rolling a little as it moved its head this way and that, nostrils flaring as if trying to pick up some scent.

‘Horses are intelligent creatures,’ continued Gormán, staring moodily along the river.

‘I cannot argue with that,’ replied Eadulf. ‘I just wish
I
had intelligence enough to puzzle out this mystery. At the moment it is like looking at a blank wall and trying to visualise what is on the other side.’

‘If they have made for Durlus Éile, then they will have been seen coming ashore in the town,’ observed Gormán.

‘What manner of place is this Durlus Éile?’

‘It’s a busy market township. Our task will be to find someone who has made an observation of this boat. The town is overlooked by the stone fortress of the Princess of the Éile, and in front of it is the market and then quays along the western bank of the River Suir.’

‘Did you say the
Princess
of the Éile? I think I have heard it mentioned that it is a woman who rules the Éile, but she has never been to Cashel,’ reflected Eadulf.

‘She is called Gelgéis, the Bright Swan.’

‘Is she well thought of?’

‘Some have voiced their suspicions of her.’

‘Suspicions?’ Eadulf asked sharply.

‘So far as I know, Gelgéis rules with a firm but just hand and the Éile see themselves as the primary defenders of the gateway into Muman from the north-east,’ the warrior replied carefully. ‘But some advisers of King Colgú maintain that she is not to be trusted because she is willing to make an alliance with anyone who serves her purposes. I suppose that is natural.’

‘Natural?’ frowned Eadulf. ‘How is it natural? Is there something wrong with Durlus?’

‘Not with Durlus but it is on the border with Osraige.’

Eadulf was trying to remember what Fidelma had told him of Osraige, the land of ‘the People of the Deer’ which was the border area between Muman and Laigin.

Gormán shrugged. ‘Forgive me, but my people have long memories. For many years the Éile have been dependable allies of Cashel. Éile sits on the western border of Osraige and that land straddles the easy passes from Laigin into Muman. The Osraige once fought to form their own independent and powerful kingdom. It was only two centuries ago that they submitted to the authority of Cashel. Even so, one feels that if any opportunities ever arise, they will seize them. Beyond Osraige is the Kingdom of Laigin, and Osraige has often sided with Laigin. They did so nearly a century ago when Laigin attacked us and were involved in the killing of King Feargus Scannel of Cashel. True, both Laigin and Osraige were defeated and paid reparation. King Colgú collects his tribute regularly from them, but they are not to be trusted.’

‘So what of the Éile?’

‘As I say, their small territory lies on the western border of Osraige. We have had no cause to suspect the Éile or their loyalty to Cashel for many decades. However, there is an inherent suspicion among the people of Cashel that the Éile could be intimidated by those from Osraige. The latter are definitely not to be trusted, although they outwardly swear loyalty to Cashel. It is hard to maintain independence when one has covetous and powerful neighbours.’

‘How long has Gelgéis ruled the Éile?’

‘Not long. I think it was the year that Colgú was acclaimed King of Muman.’

‘But she has kept the peace ever since?’

‘She has, but as I say, I do not think she is trusted by some of Colgú’s advisers. They think Gelgéis would make alliances with her powerful neighbours against Muman, if it was to her advantage.’

‘Her advantage?’

‘Perhaps I do her a disservice. I am told she always puts the welfare of her people first. So she would make the right choice for their welfare.’

‘Knowing this does not actually help us.’

‘That is true, my friend,’ agreed Gormán. ‘But it forearms us in our dealings in Durlus.’

‘If, as you say, it is a market town,’ Eadulf went on, ‘surely there would be boats up and down the river more regularly than we have seen this morning? After all, it is just after the harvest and there is grain to be shipped and produce to be delivered. The river is undoubtedly the main highway for such goods.’

‘You forget what the ferryman said. There is some big harvest festival taking place in Durlus – and most people will no doubt be attending it.’

Eadulf glanced up at the position of the sun. ‘We should be on our way,’ he said.

They rode on in silence beside the broad stretches of the river, moving ever closer towards the rising ground to the east, Eadulf keeping his gaze on the river. They were approaching a slightly elevated ridge running from south to north.

‘Another river?’ he asked Gormán.

The warrior shook his head. ‘That is the highway between Durlus and Cashel: it runs along that ridge. We join it and cross a bridge spanning the Suir and continue into Durlus Éile. Just east of the bridge, the river turns sharply north, passing through the town itself.’

Eadulf had learned that the
droichet
or bridges were usually built where the rivers offered areas for natural fords, and thus those who built them were able to use the existing roadways. The bridge they now crossed was no different, with its supports ranging from natural rocks to artificial piers. Tall broad trees had been cut down and thrust into the softer riverbed, providing strong hurdles on which were laid planks. These timber bridges were very common throughout the Five Kingdoms, so far as Eadulf had seen. The bridge they were crossing was not as wide as some he had observed. It was wide enough for only one large cart to pass at any time, although with plenty of clearance on either side for single horses or people travelling on foot.

Eadulf guessed that the highway leading over the bridge would be classed as a
ró-shét
made for horses, chariots or carts. Their horses’ hooves echoed hollowly on the wooden planks as they crossed over. Eadulf noticed appreciatively that the bridge was well kept, and then remembered that the laws of the country were very specific on the maintenance of roads, causeways and bridges. There was still no sign of any people about and the land on this northern side of the river seemed deserted, although in the distance he could see the buildings of the township.

‘That is Durlus Éile,’ confirmed Gormán, noting his interested gaze.

Eadulf felt his breath quickening. ‘Let us go straightway to the quayside and see if we can trace the boat,’ he said.

Gormán disagreed. ‘That is not a good plan, my friend. I would suggest that we find a place to stable our horses and then go with circumspection to the quayside. We would not want the abductors to recognise us before we recognised them.’

Eadulf was about to protest when he realised that Gormán was right. Now they were coming to this township they would have to use stealth until they knew whom to trust and whom not.

From its approaches, the place appeared to be far smaller than Cashel. The main difference was that it was built on one bank of the river. Numerous wooden houses on the west bank constituted the township, and from these rose a small hill whose summit was dominated by the ramparts of a stone fortress. The grey walls stood proud and dominant, facing out over the town and river. Below the fortress, they could see the roof of a wood-built chapel. There were several larger buildings as well. Some distance before the entrance to the main town was spread an area of barns and open fields. They were approaching this area when Gormán reached across and tapped Eadulf’s arm, then pointed. A short distance down a track descending towards the riverside, Eadulf saw what appeared to be a blacksmith’s forge. At the back of the forge was a small field, with two horses grazing in it.

‘That would be an ideal place to leave our horses,’ the warrior said.

‘Could we trust the smith?’ asked Eadulf.

‘Only one way to find out.’

Gormán led the way along the short track and halted before the forge. The fire seemed to be dying and the anvil stood silent and unused. But at their call a thin, wiry man with a shock of fair hair emerged from the gloom of the building beyond. He wore the leather apron over his shirtless torso which denoted his profession. His pale eyes glanced over their horses, doubtless assessing the quality of them, before focusing on Gormán. They rested for a moment on his golden torque and warrior’s apparel.

‘How may I serve you, lord?’ he asked, straightening himself in a respectful attitude.

‘We seek a place to fodder and stable our horses for a while,’ replied Gormán. ‘Would this be such a place?’

The smith grinned and nodded.

‘It would – and it would be an honour to care for such fine beasts as those that you ride. Especially that one,’ he gestured at Aonbharr. ‘I have never seen a finer animal. Yet it has no rider. I trust there has been no accident?’

‘Who are you?’ asked Gormán, not responding to the question.

‘My name is Gobán and this is my smithy. I presume from your torque and the direction you have come from, that you hail from Cashel?’

Gormán swung down and faced the man. ‘You have a sharp eye, my friend.’

‘Your manner proclaims you to be a warrior of Cashel, even if your golden collar did not betray that fact.’