The Seventh Trumpet (2 page)

Tóla walked through the trees and on to the path by the stream. At once he could see that the stones of the crossing were blocked by something which caused the waters to gush around and over them. What he saw made the breath catch in his throat.

Lying in midstream, as if fallen from the stepping stones, was a body.

Tóla moved swiftly, the cold waters coming up to his knees, and reached down to take a firm grip of the body’s clothing. Tóla was a strong man, befitting one who had worked the land all his life. Even so, it was a burdensome task to pull the body back to the bank, fighting the clawing pressure of the water which tried to press it against the stepping stones. Soon, however, the body was out of the water and stretched on the bank.

Having taken a few deep breaths to recover, Tóla examined it. The man, who had not been long dead, was young and good-looking. Moreover, the clothes he wore were of good quality and they were embroidered with fine needlework. A gold chain was still around his neck and a large ring with a semi-precious stone sparkled on his finger. The man was clearly someone of rank. He wore a short, brightly coloured cloak, pinned at one shoulder with a brooch of fine workmanship crafted in the form of an emblem. His bejewelled dagger still rested in a sheath on the left side of his belt, and his sword remained in its scabbard on the right-hand side.

Tóla raised a hand to the back of his head and rubbed it in puzzlement as he gazed at the corpse. His first thought was that the young man must have slipped and fallen from the wet stepping stones, possibly hitting his head in the darkness. But what would a young man of position be doing, travelling in such a place as this and without a horse? It was all very perplexing, not to say worrying. For a youth of rank to meet his death, even by accident, on Tóla’s farmlands could mean big trouble for him. Tóla vaguely remembered something about liability under the Law of Compensation.

He knelt to see if he could find the wound, but there were no signs of cuts or abrasions to the young man’s head. It was as Tóla was turning the body over to see if there were any wounds on the back of the head that he noticed the rents and tears in the man’s clothing. At the same time, he became aware that his hand was not just wet with water but stained faintly pink. Blood. He swallowed hard. It was now obvious to him how the young man had met his death. He had been stabbed at least three times in the back.

When Tóla realised the significance of his discovery, he was alarmed: this did, indeed, mean trouble for him. It was only the whimper and the cold muzzle of his dog, the animal sensing that all was not well with its master, that caused Tóla to finally stir. The young noble, whoever he was, had been murdered on his farm, albeit on a right-of-way that was frequently used. The big man rose unsteadily to his feet and tried to control his apprehension while he considered what he should do.

He realised that he was unconsciously staring towards the Rock of Cashel, no more than a short ride to the south. There would be Brehons at Cashel; lawyers and judges. They would know what should be done. They would investigate, they would advise. Tóla had been raised with an implicit belief in the wisdom of the Brehons. He glanced down again at the body, and noted the strange design of the brooch, fixing the cloak at the shoulder of the young man. Perhaps it was an emblem of his clan? Anyway, it would surely induce a Brehon to come here to investigate. Kneeling down once more, he undid the clasp. Then, with a swift glance around, he hastened back towards the farmhouse, with his dog loping along at his side.

Cainnear saw him coming and realised immediately that something must be wrong.

‘What is it?’ she demanded.

‘Is the boy up?’ Tóla asked breathlessly, not answering her question.

‘He was getting the ass ready to move the—’

Tóla turned towards the stable building, shouting, ‘Breac!
Breac!
’

A boy, not long past the age of choice, emerged from a nearby barn and came running over, a worried look on his freckled face.

‘What is it, Father?’

‘I must go to Cashel immediately, so I will need the ass,’ Tóla told him. Then: ‘I want you to take a weapon and go down to the crossing on the stream. There is the body of a young man there.’ He ignored the gasp given by his wife. ‘Don’t touch it – and don’t let anyone else touch it, or go near it,’ he ordered. ‘I am leaving Cú Faoil with you while I am off to Cashel to bring a Brehon back.’

Breac knew better than to start asking questions. Instead, he hurried to the stable and finished saddling up their ass. Meanwhile, Tóla had exchanged a few swift words of reassurance with his wife, and then, having placed the dog’s collar in the hand of Breac as an indication to Cú Faoil that he must stay, uttering the word, ‘Guard’ several times to the animal, Tóla swung up on to the ass and, with a quick wave of his hand, set the beast in an ambling trot towards the palace of the King of Muman.

CHAPTER TWO

G
ormán stood at his ease outside the dark oak doors that led into the private chambers of the King of Muman. The kingdom was the largest and most south-westerly of the Five Kingdoms of the land of Éireann. Gormán was a youthful man, fair of skin with thick, raven-black hair, dark eyes and pleasant features. He wore the gold band, or torque, at his neck with a degree of self-conscious pride because it denoted that he was a member of the Nasc Niadh, the Warriors of the Golden Collar, who were the élite bodyguard of the Kings of Muman. Gormán had a right to be proud of his position for he had won it by his own strength and dexterity against many odds. Usually, members of the élite bodyguard were the sons of chieftains or of great warriors. Gormán had been the son of a
bé táide
, a former prostitute, but his abilities, not just those with weapons but his intelligence, had caused him to be singled out for a position of trust in the household of the King.

A figure appeared at the far end of the corridor and came towards him. He stiffened a little and then relaxed almost immediately as he recognised the King’s sister. He was still not used to seeing her dressed in anything other than the robes of a religieuse. Today she wore a tight-fitting upper garment in the manner of a short, bright blue coat that reached to the middle of her thighs. It had no collar but, from the shoulders, fastened by brooches, hung a
cochnull
, a short cloak also of bright blue but with designs in gold- and silver-coloured needlework. She also wore tight-fitting
triubhas
, trousers from the hips to ankle, so that they showed perfectly the shape of her limbs. Such trousers were held in place by a slender strap passing under the foot. They were also patterned in many bright colours. Her leather boots came above the ankles, and she carried her gloves in one hand.

Her long red hair was carefully combed, separated and plaited in three braids, wound and held in place by silver circlets. This fashion denoted someone who was leading an active life. The fact that the top of her head was covered in a small silk scarf of matching colour to her coat, provided the information that she was married or of mature age. At her waist she wore a girdle, a
críss
or belt, from which hung her comb bag, the
cíorbholg
, which all women carried, containing the articles needed for toiletry.

‘You are abroad early today, lady.’ Gormán allowed a smile of greeting to spread across his features. ‘Are you going riding?’ The manner of her dress, the fact that she held a pair of leather gloves in one hand, needed no intense thought to reach such a conclusion.

Fidelma of Cashel, sister to King Colgú, returned his smile. She had once helped defend his mother, Della, from unjust charges and since then had been a friend to both her and Gormán. The young warrior had acted as her bodyguard many times.

‘It is going to be a fine day. Better not to waste it by lying a-bed,’ she told him. ‘Anyway, I was roused very early by the sound of horsemen leaving the fortress. Was anything amiss?’

‘That was Finguine and a few companions,’ replied Gormán.

Finguine mac Cathail was the
tánaiste
, the heir apparent, to Fidelma’s brother.

‘What takes him away from Cashel so early in the morning?’

‘I believe that the Cenél Lóegairi are behind in their tribute to Cashel and, as the harvest is now over, the
tánaiste
decided it would be prudent to visit their chieftain and remind him of his due.’

The Cenél Lóegairi was a clan in the south-west of the kingdom which had a reputation for being reticent in fulfilling its obligations to the King of Cashel. Finguine was Fidelma’s distant cousin from a branch of her family known as the Eóghanacht Áine. He had become heir-elect to the kingdom four years before, after the death of the former heir-apparent, Donndubhán, who had unsuccessfully plotted to assassinate Colgú and take over the kingdom. Finguine was known for his conscientious attention to administrative work on behalf of the King.

Fidelma indicated the closed doors behind Gormán with a gesture of her hand. ‘Has my brother arisen yet?’

‘He was also up before dawn, lady, but Abbot Ségdae is already with him.’

Ségdae was Abbot and Bishop of Imleach, the premier prelate of the kingdom.

‘It’s early for the abbot to seek a meeting with my brother. I did not even know he was in Cashel.’ Disappointment crossed her features. She had been hoping to entice her brother to accompany her on her morning ride. ‘Why are there such early-morning stirrings?’

‘Abbot Ségdae arrived with the dawn, lady. He must have ridden through the night and was accompanied by only one of his brethren. He had a troubled look and demanded to see Colgú immediately.’

‘That does not bode well,’ Fidelma responded with a frown. ‘Have they left word not to be disturbed?’

Gormán shook his head. ‘None that I have been told.’

‘Then I shall enter.’

Gormán moved to the doors, rapped twice before opening it to allow Fidelma to pass through.

Inside the large chamber, where King Colgú usually received only special guests, Fidelma’s brother and his visitor were seated in chairs before a log fire. Colgú glanced up as his sister entered and greeted her with a smile. The elderly figure of Abbot Ségdae was rising to his feet from the other chair but she gestured to him to remain seated.

‘A good day to you, Sister Fidelma,’ the prelate said.

‘And to you, Abbot Ségdae,’ she replied, slipping into a vacant chair. Then she added softly, ‘Although you may recall that I have now formally left the religious so I am no longer “Sister” but once more plain Fidelma of Cashel.’

The abbot regarded her protest with humour.

‘You will always be Sister Fidelma to us,’ he told her. ‘Your reputation is already fixed throughout the Five Kingdoms so that no one can speak of Fidelma without the prefix of Sister.’

‘I am hoping that people might come to know another prefix,’ she replied undeterred.

‘Ah yes,’ sighed the abbot. ‘My regrets that the Council of Brehons of Muman did not see fit to approve your application, but the role of Chief Brehon of this kingdom is one requiring many years of application.’

Fidelma’s eyes sparkled dangerously for a moment, wondering if there was some hint of sarcasm in his voice. Then she relented.

‘I concede that Brehon Áedo does have much more experience than I do.’ Her tone was without enthusiasm. ‘Doubtless the council chose wisely in appointing him as Chief Brehon to my brother.’

Colgú stirred uneasily. He knew well that Fidelma had set her ambition to be appointed to the position of Chief Brehon of Muman. When Brehon Baithen had died, Fidelma had declared her intention to leave the religious and seek the position. However, the choice of the appointment of Chief Brehon was in the hands of the Council of Brehons, and they had chosen the elderly and more conservatively minded Brehon Áedo.

‘So what now, Fidelma? What does the future hold for you?’ queried the abbot.

‘The future? I shall carry on as before. I see no change in my life.’

‘But having left our religion …?’

‘I have not left the religion, only the religious,’ replied Fidelma crisply. ‘And since I left the Abbey of Brigit at Cill Dara, several years ago, I have acted independently of any Rule or religious authority. To be honest, and I am sure you will admit it, my recent leaving was a formality only. So that is why I see no alteration in my life in the future. There are plenty of matters that require the ability of a
dálaigh
, an advocate of the law, and I can still sit in judgement in minor cases.’

‘That is true,’ Colgú said reflectively. ‘But perhaps this is also an opportunity. You hold the degree of
anruth
, which is the second highest degree in the land. Why not take the opportunity to return to your studies and become an
ollamh
, the highest degree? That would surely improve your future chances when you go before the Council of the Brehons?’

Fidelma did not reply but her expression showed that her brother’s suggestion found little favour with her.

‘And what does Brother Eadulf think?’ the abbot pressed. His question made no attempt to disguise the fact that he knew of the tensions that had existed between Fidelma and the father of her son, little Alchú. Indeed, when she had announced her decision earlier in the year, Brother Eadulf had left to seek solitude in the community of the Blessed Rúan not far from Cashel. He had returned only at the request of King Colgú to help Fidelma resolve the matter of the murder of Brother Donnchad at Lios Mór.