The Seventh Trumpet (31 page)

She suddenly realised that Eadulf was dozing and recalled that none of them had slept during the previous night at Liath Mór. Gormán and Enda also looked exhausted. They had to move on, but sleep must come first. Even a short nap would help before continuing their journey. Coccán’s wife interpreted the situation and led them to a side room, promising to rouse them to give them time to cross the river and reach Durlus before nightfall.

To Fidelma it seemed that her head had hardly rested on the pillow when there was a sudden shouting and the sound of a horse approaching at a gallop. At once Gormán and Enda were up, swords at the ready. But Coccán the smith appeared in the doorway and told them: ‘Put up your weapons. It is only my cousin. He is the very person that I have spoken of from the township of Eirc.’

They returned to the tavern room and a moment later a young man strode in. He was covered in dust and there was blood on his forehead. He looked exhausted. ‘Water, I pray you,’ he gasped.

He was handed a beaker of water which he drained at once.

‘What is it?’ demanded Coccán.

‘I came to warn everyone,’ the man said breathlessly. ‘They must be prepared for an immediate attack from Cronán.’

‘An attack?’ repeated Fidelma, moving forward.

The young man glanced at her in surprise and then, seeing her in the company of Coccán, nodded. ‘An attack from Liath Mór. My chieftain sent half a dozen of us to attempt to speak with Cronán this morning, to ask why he had attacked a peaceful township …’

Coccán interrupted hurriedly: ‘I have told them about the attack.’

‘We had not ridden far south when we heard a band of men riding hard in our direction. I told my men to disperse and string their bows. It was then I saw that those approaching wore the dress of Cronán’s cowled murderers. I was going to let them ride by when I saw that son of a she-devil, Anfudán, at their head. In my mind’s eye I saw the burning township of Eirc. I could not help myself, but I loosed my arrow straight into his throat! Some of his men had their swords out but my companions let loose a shower of arrows. Some fell and the rest appeared unnerved and fled the ambush. They left three dead including Cronán’s nephew. I have no regrets for them.’

‘Are you sure that Anfudán is dead?’ asked Fidelma.

‘I am sure,’ the young man confirmed grimly. ‘Now we will have stirred up a hornet’s nest. Once Cronán learns what has happened he will unleash his hordes against us. That is why we are riding in all directions to warn our people. Everyone must be prepared to abandon their homes and settlements and move towards the mountains. You know what Cronán did to our township of Eirc. He has brought fire and sword to many other Uí Duach settlements. His vengeance will now be merciless and total. You must prepare to fight or to flee for your lives.’

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A
short time later, as they continued their journey westward towards Durlus, Eadulf turned to Fidelma.

‘The matter becomes more complicated as we progress,’ he observed. ‘Added to everything else, we think we have found an abbey and uncovered a fortress run by a merciless warlord who thinks nothing of destroying an entire township.’

‘You realise that Anfudán and his men were probably chasing after us or Torna when they encountered those Uí Duach men?’

‘Yes, that is true. When we get to Durlus, will you send on to Cashel to inform Colgú?’

‘That is my intention,’ she assured him. ‘The sooner he can send warriors here to protect the Uí Duach, the better.’

‘That is one thing that bothers me,’ Eadulf reflected.

‘Only one thing?’ responded Fidelma with a ghost of a grin.

‘Cronán is obviously increasing his labourforce. Why? Why does he want these workers?’

‘It takes a lot of labourers to build the causeways and roads,’ replied Fidelma.

‘There is something else,’ Eadulf went on. ‘I presume that most of the people in Osraige are of the Faith?’

Fidelma was puzzled. ‘Of course.’

‘Why then do you suppose a condition was made that the townsfolk of Eirc were to swear allegiance to the
True
Faith and not just to serve Cronán?’

Fidelma was about to respond when she realised the emphasis that Eadulf had placed on the word, and found that she could not answer him.

The journey to the edge of Éile country before the River Suir was made without incident. They had decided to walk their horses slowly, resting now and then, just in case of the need to call upon them for sudden bursts of energy to take them out of danger. So there was a feeling of chill in the air from the oncoming autumnal evening darkness by the time they approached the river.

‘It will be sunset soon,’ Fidelma said, glancing up to the western sky. Perhaps they had stayed too long at Coccán’s village of Baile Coll. But they had needed to rest.

‘We will still reach Durlus well before dark,’ Enda told her, seeing her anxious gaze and thinking she was worried about arriving in darkness.

The river, when they came to it, was not as broad as its lower reaches and it was easily fordable. They moved across on horseback in comfortable fashion as the passage of the shallows was clearly visible under the translucent waters in spite of the lateness of the day. Even the darting brown trout caused Eadulf to think that all he had to do was dismount, bend down and catch them with his bare hands. They splashed up on to the far bank and took a moment to rest again. It seemed absurd that he could think such incidental thoughts in the dark atmosphere of the last few days.

To the south stretched the flat plains that reached down to Cashel and, for Eadulf, they were familiar and reassuring compared to the countryside through which they had just ridden. To the north was the long dark ridge of mountains stretching westward. Then he frowned as he spotted a peculiar indentation in the silhouette of the mountain range.

‘What’s that?’ he asked Fidelma, pointing towards it.

‘They call it Bearnán Éile,’ she replied immediately. ‘The Gap of the Éile. In olden times, it was where warriors defended the route into Muman when the hosts of the Northern Kingdoms tried to invade.’

‘A curious gap,’ observed Eadulf, still looking at the silhouette of the dark table-top of the mountain.

Enda, who had overheard the conversation, interrupted with a chuckle. ‘A curious legend has originated here. I heard it from the mouth of a merchant of the Éile. He was trying to belittle Cashel. The story is this: local people say that the devil was flying over this land and decided to take a bite out of the mountain-top. The people of the Éile were so pure and unblemished that it was reflected in the clean and unpolluted taste of their green fields and mountains. The devil didn’t like the taste and so, further on, he spat it out. The piece he spat out, which landed on the plain further south, was the Rock of Cashel.’

‘A silly story and one not worth its repeating,’ Fidelma said dismissively. ‘However, it is a ride south to Durlus, so let us not waste time.’

Enda grimaced at Eadulf. It was clear Fidelma did not share their sense of humour.

They moved on, proceeding at a comfortable pace down the track along the riverbank. The road was well-kept, according to law, and it was clear that the Éile were keen to impress visitors from the north when approaching their principal fortress and capital. The road was wide enough, allowing, according to law, for two large wagons to pass one another in opposite directions with ease. Hedges, weeds and brushwood were cleared or cut back and tended. Where the road passed over soft, muddy ground, planks were laid, resting on trestles so that they did not sink. It was a technique used for causeways and crossing bog land, as they had witnessed in the lands of the Osraige. Eadulf knew that, according to the
Book of Aicill
, which contained the laws on the subject, each local chieftain had to see that these highways were maintained in a proper manner.

Large sections of the way, which moved directly south, did not follow the course of the Suir but passed through a forest.

Gormán had been riding a short distance ahead of them as he had done almost since they had left Cronán’s fortress early that morning. He had volunteered to do this in order to give them warning in case of any attack. But now he suddenly turned his horse, almost rearing it on its hind legs, and came galloping back to them.

‘Take cover!’ he ordered sharply. ‘There, down there!’ He pointed to a gap between thick bushes of gorse and blackthorn which led into a depression sheltered from the roadway.

‘What is it?’ demanded Fidelma, as she and the others instantly obeyed.

‘Warriors! Coming up the road.’

They followed his instruction quickly, moving down an incline into a deep hollow and finding themselves completely hidden in a thicket reinforced with closely growing trees. They were able to halt there and sit quietly on their horses. Within a few moments the sound of cantering horses vibrated along the track and continued quickly by. Gormán had, in fact, swung off his mount and, crouching low, had moved out of the hollow to a spot where he could observe the passing of the riders without being seen. They heard the receding sounds of the party and began to relax as Gormán returned.

‘Mounted warriors, lady,’ he reported. ‘I felt it better that we do not encounter any strange warriors while we are outside the protection of Durlus.’

‘Did you see who they were?’ Fidelma asked.

‘They bore the standard of the Éile. But until we know who our enemies are, it is best to take precautions.’

‘I would agree,’ she said. ‘You saw no sign of any religious emblems carried by them?’

Gormán immediately shook his head. ‘These looked like the warriors who guard the Princess of the Éile.’

‘And they were riding north towards the Gap of Éile?’ Fidelma mused. ‘If any danger threatens Muman, that is where one would expect it to come from. I wonder if Gelgéis has already heard news from Osraige.’

‘You think that there is some threat to Durlus? Some connection with what is happening among the Osraige?’ asked Enda.

‘Until we can find out what is at the core of these matters, we have to proceed with caution. I suggest that we wait until darkness before we enter Durlus, and then proceed directly to our friend Gobán the smith.’

Eadulf looked surprised. ‘Why go to the smith and not to the fortress of Gelgéis?’

‘We don’t know yet where Gelgéis stands in these matters. I think she has lied to me about Torna. It was in one of her store sheds that my abductors left me for dead with the body of the poor ferryman’s son. Even though she expressed horror and denied knowledge of this, I want to see if Gobán can provide any more information for us before we go to see the Princess of the Éile again.’

‘Very well, lady,’ Gormán said. ‘Remembering that Gobán’s forge is on the far side of town, do you want to ride through the town or swing around it and approach from the west?’

‘Can we do so?’

‘It is not an easy route, lady, as we would have to travel on lesser roads than this one, perhaps those of the
tuagrota
category.’

Eadulf knew this was a small track usually called a ‘farmer’s road’, since farmers used these tracks as a right of way to an adjacent main road. But Fidelma was shaking her head.

‘With darkness coming on, I think we should stay on the main road. In this case it is a matter of better the path that we can see rather than go in darkness along byways we do not know.’

Gormán glanced up at the sky. ‘Then, perhaps, we should wait here for a while before proceeding. We can then move through the town after dark.’

Eadulf knew that Fidelma was not the most patient of people when there was a purpose to be fulfilled. But she could sit still for long periods when she began to meditate as the ancient priests in her country were wont to do. It was called an act of
dercad
in which the body and mind were still and rested. Fidelma slid from the back of Aonbharr, securing the beast’s reins over a bush before choosing a dry spot to be seated, cross-legged and hands in her lap. She closed her eyes.

Eadulf dismounted, following the example of securing the reins of his own horse. As if by an unspoken agreement, both warriors went to separate places where they could watch the road, while Eadulf moved to take a seat on a fallen log. Eadulf always found it hard to do nothing, merely awaiting the passing of time. He could never master the ancient
dercad
technique that Fidelma had tried to teach him. He tried to sit still but instead of closing his eyes, he let them wander around the small clearing. There was a slight breeze and he was aware of the rustling of the leaves of the hardy rowans, whose white blossoms had now transformed into bunches of red berries. Among them were their almost inevitable companions, the slim trunks and grey-white bark of the silver birches, with their hanging branches. The whisper of the trees distracted him a little.

He turned to the area of thicker growth which concealed them from the roadside. Here, dense blackthorns, with their cruel thorns, provided a basic defence, interspersed with the yellow flowers and curved spiny leaves of a gorse species that also provided evergreen cover. Eadulf suddenly caught sight of a small brown furry creature scuttling at his feet. It was no bigger than the distance between the first and second knuckles of his forefinger. A tiny shrew in search of insects for its food. A faint fluttering noise then captured his attention and a bird with a long stiff tail, down-curved bill and a distinctive stream of white around its eyes, landed at the foot of one of the nearby rowan trees.