The Seventh Trumpet (30 page)

Gormán chuckled and slapped his thigh in appreciation. ‘And yet, my friend, you will not quit until you have reached your goal. That is a sign of perseverance in the pursuit of truth, which anyone should be proud of.’

‘If we resolve this mystery, Eadulf,’ Fidelma, riding alongside him, leaned over and laid a hand on his arm, ‘I guarantee that we shall not move out of sight of the great Rock of Cashel for a long, long while.’

‘If I recall, our journey started by the finding of a body almost under the shadow of your brother’s palace. Now see where we have been led.’ Eadulf gestured across the flat boggy plains.

‘Then the sooner we start for Durlus, the sooner we will arrive.’

‘Which leads me to suggest, lady, with the sun being high, not having broken our fast this morning, we might usefully stop at the next tavern we come across,’ suggested Enda.

‘I doubt there are many taverns within this country,’ replied Fidelma sceptically. ‘Nevertheless, I think you have made a good suggestion … if we find one. It is always good to pick up any local gossip. We might be able to find out more about Cronán.’

They continued onward in silence through the almost desolate countryside and then started to notice slight changes as more trees began to grow and the ground became firmer. The distant mountains were becoming clearer as they approached. They forded several streams before they came to one which was quite wide but not so deep that they could not cross it on horseback. This was undoubtedly the Black River. On the far side, Gormán let out a grunt of satisfaction and pointed. Among some thinning trees ahead they could see some cabins and hear the sound of a hammer striking an anvil. Then they saw movement of animals and people.

‘A small settlement,’ Gormán announced unnecessarily. ‘Let’s hope they have a tavern rather than asking hospitality from farmers.’

A shout from the woods told them that their approach had been spotted and they were aware of several men taking up farm implements – scythes, rakes, hammers, whatever came to hand. They moved slowly forward to what appeared to be the entrance of the small settlement while women were gathering the children who had been playing and drawing them back towards the shelter of the cabins.

‘They seem a nervous set of folk,’ murmured Eadulf.

‘Don’t touch your weapons,’ Fidelma ordered, noticing that Gormán and Enda’s hands were near their sword-hilts. ‘Let me go first.’

As they trotted up the track, they saw that trees encircled a dozen cabins, almost as if planted as a protective wall. One of the huts was obviously a smith’s forge; smoke was lazily circling from the fire before it.

‘Halt there, strangers!’ instructed a strong, firm voice. The speaker was a tall, well-muscled man, who held a blacksmith’s hammer across his chest in a ready position. His leather apron and sleeveless jacket proclaimed his profession. Not only was his face cleanshaven, but his head as well. Fidelma brought her horse to a halt and her companions followed her example.

‘Peace and health to you, smith,’ she greeted.

The man’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘You know me?’

Fidelma laughed in amusement. ‘It would take someone with no sight in their eyes to mistake you as other than a smith. Or do you often put on that garb and take up a smith’s hammer to mislead passing strangers?’

One or two of the men standing close by smiled at this. The smith shifted uncomfortably. Obviously he did not want to appear a fool in front of his fellows.

‘What do you want here?’ he demanded gruffly.

‘We were looking for a tavern to refresh ourselves on our journey to Durlus. If there be no tavern, then we would seek some hospitality; that is all.’

The group of men looked at each other and there was a perceptible loosening of their grip on their weapons.

‘You seem very nervous, my friends,’ Fidelma continued. ‘Is there a reason why you would treat travellers in this manner which contravenes the laws of hospitality?’

Only the smith had not made any indication of changing his suspicious gaze.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, sister to Colgú, and these are my companions. Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, and Gormán and Enda of my brother’s bodyguard.’

The names effected an immediate change on the smith and his companions. At once they put down their makeshift weapons and the smith came forward with his head lowered respectfully.

‘Your pardon, lady. These are worrying times. You are welcome to the Baile Coll, the township of Coll of the Uí Duach. I am Coccán. As you rightly say, I am the smith here. I am also the tavern-keeper and many other things beside. Please, step down and let us offer you refreshment, as poor as it is.’

He turned and signalled a young boy to come forward to hold Fidelma’s horse as she dismounted. The boy then gathered the reins of the four horses and led them towards a fenced paddock.

Already the atmosphere had changed and become relaxed and normal. The women had released the children back to play, although most of them came over to stare at the strangers while the womenfolk returned to their various chores.

Coccán led the way into a building next to his forge which turned out to be used as a tavern.

‘Why the suspicious welcome, Coccán?’ Fidelma was saying as she seated herself.

‘Merchants passed this way yesterday, lady, coming from Durlus, across the river. They spoke of large armies riding out of the west, burning and destroying.’

Gormán glanced at Eadulf. ‘Perhaps they were the same merchants who were in Durlus Éile the other day,’ he muttered.

‘We too have heard such stories,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘But we were informed that these so-called armies are just bandits. They are far to the west of here and not likely to threaten this area.’

‘Perhaps it is a question of each time a merchant tells a story, the numbers multiply and thus increase the wealth of the tale,’ Enda said cynically.

Fidelma had noticed that the smith still looked uncomfortable.

‘You are not telling me the entire truth, Coccán,’ she went on quietly. ‘Is there some other threat that worries you? As you are of the Uí Duach, I can only presume that it is due to the tales we have heard of the enmity of Cronán?’

‘And you would not be wrong, lady.’ The words were spoken by a large woman who came forward with jugs of ale and mugs, and some meats, bread and apples.

‘Cronán of Gleann an Ghuail is not well disposed towards our people, lady,’ shrugged the smith.

The woman who had been serving the ale gave a sniff. ‘Why not tell her?’ she said to the man in a harsh voice.

Fidelma glanced from the woman to the smith. ‘I am not only the sister of your King, but I am a
dálaigh
. You need have no fear of me.’

The woman placed her large hands on her hips. ‘There you are.’ She addressed her husband. ‘What better protection could you seek than that? Speak, man!’ She turned apologetically to Fidelma. ‘My husband only hesitates because he is fearful for our people here. Our clan has suffered much of late.’

‘So what troubles you, Coccán? Who threatens this place?’

The smith sighed. ‘It is as my wife says. This little settlement of ours could be wiped out in the blink of an eye. We have no one to protect us. That is why I feared to speak.’

‘You have my word that no one will harm you so far as I can speak on behalf of my brother the King.’

‘A township due south-east of here was destroyed only a few days ago. One of the survivors came here to tell us.’

Fidelma’s eyes widened a little. ‘An entire township destroyed? Are you saying that Cronán did this?’

‘His men were responsible,’ Coccán told her. ‘Several people were slaughtered. The rest were carried off to his fortress. One of the survivors was my own cousin. He and half-a-dozen other men escaped and are now seeking shelter at the rath of the chieftain of the Uí Duach, or rather what remains of his rath, which is not far from here. My cousin told us that the township was summoned by a group of strange religious. The leader of these religious told them that the settlement must provide all able-bodied men to join them in a great crusading army. That they must gather with weapons within two days and swear an oath to fight in the name of the True Faith. In addition, the women and children were to gather all their goods and treasures and bring them with them. They had two days only, otherwise retribution would be levelled against them.’

‘So what happened?’

The smith gestured unhappily. ‘The chieftain of the settlement laughed outright. He told them that only Tuaim Snámha, the Prince of Osraige, had the power to summon the clans for a hosting, and only then in time of dire need. He had seen no fiery cross summoning any of the clans of Osraige, so by what right did a religious have to do so and call down retribution on them if they did not obey?’

‘And then?’

‘The religieux, who was cowled the whole time, as were his companions, simply said that the word had been given. If the trumpet was sounded seven times, then they should beware. How the people responded to it was up to them. If they made a wrong choice, then the word of their example would be spread across the land of Osraige, and it would serve the religious just as well to inspire others to join them.’

‘Are you saying that it was these religious who fired the township?’ asked Eadulf.

‘They allowed the people two days, as they warned, but those in the township just thought they were crazy and dismissed the threat. On the third day, the township found itself surrounded. Out of nearly sixty people, ten were killed and the others taken prisoner. That is, except my cousin and some friends who escaped, as I have said, and that was because they had left the settlement to tend to their traps in the wood, thus were spared the fire and sword that their companions suffered. Those young men have now sworn blood vengeance and taken up arms as warriors. It will do them no good. Six against the hundreds that Cronán has to command.’

There was a silence and then Fidelma asked: ‘You said that they were ordered to present themselves with weapons in two days and the women and children were to bring goods and treasures. At which spot were they meant to gather?’ She had a feeling that she knew the answer before he gave it.

‘To the Abbey of Liath Mór.’

Fidelma was not surprised. ‘Liath Mór,’ she said heavily. ‘I have given my word that my brother will free the Uí Duach hostages there. What was the name of the township that was destroyed?’

‘It was called Eirc, and it is due south of this place in Uí Duach country.’

‘And was your cousin able to identify any of these cowled religious who first issued the threat to the township?’

‘Indeed he was. He recognised the leader as Cronán’s nephew Anfudán.’

Fidelma was thoughtful for a moment and then she asked: ‘The words that your cousin used – are you sure he said, “If the trumpet was sounded seven times”? Or did he speak of the “seventh trumpet”? This is important.’

Coccán raised a hand to his forehead as if to massage his brow.

‘It might well have been as you say. I heard this story from my cousin. He might have confused the words but I am sure the figure seven was used in it.’

Eadulf glanced at Fidelma. ‘That is not the first time we have heard about a seventh trumpet.’

‘It was what Brother Ailgesach was raving about in his delirium,’ Enda put in. ‘“Beware the seventh trumpet.”’

‘It is from the holy writings,’ Fidelma explained. Then she sighed deeply. ‘There is something dark and evil in these matters. Something that I …’ She addressed the smith. ‘When did Cronán first start to raid the Uí Duach?’

The man spread his hands helplessly. ‘The best of our warriors have been taken or killed over several years as the fortress of Cronán and his roadways have risen to dominate the Osraige lands to the south.’

Coccán’s wife added: ‘It began many years ago. Cronán started to raid the Uí Duach lands and take prisoners to use as labour to build his fortress. Some of the hot-headed warriors of the Uí Duach marched on Cronán to demand reparation. He defeated them easily and seized them as well. He declared most of them as
daer-fuidir
to work in his fortress.’

‘It is amazing that no word of this has come to my brother in Cashel,’ Fidelma said.

Coccán shrugged. ‘This is an isolated territory. Just bog land. No one cares about this place or its people. We get few travellers, for the highways pass around our lands and not through them. Anyway, people have become too scared to speak. Those that do speak out disappear.’

‘Tell me more of this Cronán. Does anyone know his purpose?’

The smith actually burst out with a sharp laugh. ‘Lady, he is Cronán of Gleann an Ghuail, Lord of the Hills of Sliabh Ardachaidh. His purpose is conquest and power. He simply marched into the buildings of Liath Mór several years ago, threw out the community, declared himself Abbot and forced men to start building a great fortress under the guise that it was an abbey. He now controls all the northern marshland of Osraige.’

‘Well, whether chieftain or abbot, the religious are not above the law of this land,’ Fidelma said angrily. ‘Surely your own prince, Tuaim Snámha of Osraige, would bring the man to order? Has no one made representations to him?’

‘Cronán claims the support of the Prince of the Osraige and so we must accept his authority.’

‘No one has contacted Cashel and told the King how matters fare here?’

‘What would distant Cashel care about a few poor people in a bog land of no worth?’

‘Even the poorest in our society have rights and will receive protection from any despot, be he King or Abbot.’

‘That may be so in an ideal world where people respect the law,’ interposed the wife of Coccán with a bitter smile. ‘In our world, lady, it does not happen. I know it is so written in law, but that does not mean it is so done in practice. To stand up against the wishes of King and Chieftain, who calls himself an abbot, is like trying to flood your field by throwing stones in the nearby river.’

Fidelma’s frustration was apparent by her sharp exhalation of breath.

‘Well, my brother, the King, shall hear about this and there shall be an accounting. I promise you that, as both the King’s sister and as a
dálaigh
.’