The Seventh Trumpet (29 page)

G
ormán 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.’