The Seventh Trumpet (5 page)

Fidelma found herself, not for the first time, musing on the fact that he bore little resemblance to his daughter. And yet … there was something about that mouth, the thin lips, the expression … that marked their relationship; something indefinable. She had heard that Drón had been married twice and there were stories that he kept women in his household. It was rumoured that his daughter, Dúnliath, had actually been raised by his
dormun
, or concubine, and not by her own birth mother. Fidelma wondered how a man she found so repugnant had been able to attract women to him.

The second figure was her cousin Ailill. He stood deferentially behind Drón as befitted a foster-son. Ailill’s grandfather, Fingen, had been Fidelma’s father’s brother. Until Ailill had arrived in Drón’s retinue, she had not seen him since he was a child. He had been sent to be fostered at Drón’s own fortress at Gabrán, as was the custom to strengthen bonds of kingship in her culture; a practice from remote times followed among all classes of society. Children were sent away to be reared and educated, and those who undertook the task became foster-parents of the child. Now Ailill had grown into a handsome young man of twenty; very tall, with dark, red hair that bespoke his Eóghanacht inheritance, and light blue eyes. He smiled shyly at her in greeting.

‘You seem preoccupied, lady?’ Drón repeated, and Fidelma realised she had been dwelling so deeply on her thoughts that she had not responded.

‘Excuse me, Drón. I am, indeed, preoccupied. I have a commission from my brother which is going to take up my time.’

‘I am sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to inviting you to join Ailill and myself for a hunt today. I thought we could organise a party to see if we could find red deer to compensate for his wasted day yesterday.’

‘Wasted day?’ queried Fidelma absently.

Ailill said sheepishly, ‘I went out hunting on my own yesterday and tracked a magnificent deer all afternoon and evening but, regretfully, had to return to Cashel empty-handed.’

Drón smirked at the discomfiture of his foster-son. ‘He returned well after last night’s feasting and so had to make do with cold meat and cheese. That is why we have taken pity on him today and will organise a hunt as recompense for his failure. Are you sure you cannot join us?’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘I am afraid it is not possible.’

‘A pity. I was hoping to get better acquainted with those who will be my daughter’s new family.’ Fidelma felt the irritation rise in her as the noble continued, ‘Although your cousin, Ailill, here, is as much a son to me as foster-son, so the rights and privileges of your family are not entirely unknown to me and my daughter. After all, Ailill’s own father was once King of Cashel.’

Behind Drón’s shoulder, Ailill gave her a grimace, expressing his disapproval at the impropriety of the remark.

Fidelma needed no reminder that Ailill’s father, Mánach, had succeeded to the kingship and ruled for over twenty years following her father’s death. Mánach had died eight years before, after which another cousin had succeeded, only to succumb to the Yellow Plague. Thus, her brother Colgú became King. Succession was often a tangled skein which was not merely passed through the bloodline but, by the consent of the family, through the electoral processes of the
derbhfine
, a council usually consisting of three generations from the last King, who then appointed the head of the household according to his ability to fulfil the demands of office.

‘There will be plenty of opportunity for us all to get to know one another in good time,’ she replied distantly.

‘Let us hope so,’ Drón said. ‘When my daughter is installed in this grand fortress I shall doubtless be a frequent guest at Cashel.’

Fidelma fought madly to think of some polite, neutral response.

Thankfully, at that moment, Eadulf appeared. He greeted Drón and Ailill briefly before addressing Fidelma. ‘Apparently Muirgen is in the courtyard with Alchú. Gormán has taken our bags down.’

Drón’s smile was thin. ‘So you are both leaving Cashel? It sounds important, this commission of your brother’s.’

‘A matter concerning the law,’ Fidelma said briefly, not answering his implied question. ‘So if you will excuse us …?’ Without waiting for a response she turned, with Eadulf following her, and made her way down the flight of stone steps that descended into the main courtyard.

As they neared the body, Eadulf whispered: ‘I am afraid I don’t like Drón any more than you do. What is it about people that makes you know instinctively that you cannot trust or make friends with them?’

Fidelma glanced at him and sighed. ‘I feel sorry for my young cousin. Ailill is made to follow Drón about as if he were a servant.’

‘He is over the age of choice,’ replied Eadulf, ‘and is supposed to be Drón’s bodyguard. He seems a pleasant enough young man, anyway. I am sure if he felt things were bad, he would simply leave Drón’s service. The choice is up to him.’

Muirgen, the nurse, was waiting to bid them goodbye, holding little Alchú by the hand. In spite of their journey only being a short one, Fidelma had insisted that Muirgen be prepared, just in case they could not return for a long period. For a few moments they paused to say goodbye to Alchú, who stood with a stubborn look on his features, for he knew what this ritual portended. The set of the little boy’s face seemed to say that he would not give way to the welling unhappiness he felt. Eadulf still experienced guilt at seeing his son clinging tightly to the hand of Muirgen.

Fidelma was about to say her farewells when she noticed that Dúnliath had joined them. The girl’s smile was apologetic as usual.

‘Are you going riding so early, lady?’ she asked, gazing round at them in wonder. ‘Or is it some hunt? My father was talking about a hunt earlier.’

‘Not a hunt, lady,’ replied Fidelma, hoping she would not pursue the question. ‘I have duties to fulfil as a
dálaigh
.’

‘Of course, I forget that you are so clever,’ sighed the girl without guile. ‘I am not clever at all. On a day such as this, I prefer to sit in the garden and listen to tales of wonder and magic and love. I have found that one of your bards knows the tale of the courtship of Étain, a beautiful tale of immortal love. My mother was named Étain. Do you know the story, lady?’

‘I have heard it,’ replied Fidelma irritably.

‘Étain the wife of Midir was turned into a fly and—’

‘I know the story!’ Fidelma repeated. ‘I am glad that you have found someone to tell it to you. But I must depart immediately.’

The apologetic smile spread. ‘Of course, I am sorry to delay you. It is so wonderful being here in Cashel that I …’

Fidelma felt the girl would have gone on chattering obliviously and so, in spite of feeling guilty, she simply turned away. On the far side of the stone-flagged courtyard, Gormán and a warrior called Enda stood with four horses already saddled. With them was the farmer, Tóla, seated on a patient ass. Rider and beast looked incongruous next to the horses, especially next to Fidelma’s favourite mount, Aonbharr. An ancient breed, he was short-necked with upright shoulders and a body with slight hindquarters and a long mane. The beast recognised Fidelma as she came into the courtyard for it gave a slight whinny and stamped one of its forefeet on the stone flags, causing sparks to fly. Fidelma called it ‘the Supreme One’, after the magical horse of the pagan Ocean God, Manannán Mac Lir, which could run across land or sea and not be killed by man or immortal. Enda was holding the mount reserved for Eadulf, which was the roan-coloured cob that he had been riding recently. Eadulf now had a fondness for the horse because it was of a docile and willing nature.

Fidelma and Eadulf were pleased that Gormán had chosen the warrior Enda to come with them because they had several times been together in dangerous situations. There was the time he had accompanied Fidelma to save Eadulf from execution from the evil and malicious Abbess Fainder in Ferna. He was another of Cashel’s élite bodyguard, not quite as reflective or intellectual as Gormán. Indeed, he was quick to flare up, but was both loyal and trustworthy, and his sword hand was ever steady in any tight corner.

After the farewells to Muirgen and Alchú, and a quick nod towards where Dúnliath stood, still smiling at them in her vacant fashion, they had all mounted and trotted out of the gate of the fortress and down into the township that lay huddled below the ancient Rock of Cashel. They skirted the base of the Rock, turning west through the streets. There were several people about, a few who greeted them, but otherwise the place was quiet apart from the sharp blow of a smithy’s hammer on his anvil in the forge. They joined the track to head northwards, measuring the pace of their horses to match that of Tóla’s ass because the small beast was far slower. There was no need to hurry for it would not take them long to cover the distance to the ford across the Arglach.

Eadulf had been right in his assessment. Fidelma could hardly suppress her excitement. For the last few weeks she had found nothing to challenge her. She had been more than simply bored: she had felt as if her mind was being withered by inactivity. After the decision of the Council of Brehons, it seemed even her fellow lawyers had avoided her. No one offered her work, not even sitting in judgement on very minor cases. She would have preferred anything rather than letting her mind lie fallow as it had been doing since she and Eadulf had returned from Lios Mór. Now the adrenalin increased as she contemplated the few facts that Tóla had been able to give her.

If the victim was, indeed, a noble of the Uí Máil of Laigin, slain within sight of Cashel, then her brother was absolutely correct. It meant trouble.

CHAPTER FOUR

T
óla’s young son, Breac, had been relieved of his guard duty and sent back to the farmhouse with the dog and ass while the farmer remained with Fidelma and her companions to show them exactly how he had found the body. Gormán and Enda stood to one side holding the horses while Fidelma and Eadulf approached the corpse.

The finding of a murdered youth in this beautiful little glade with its gushing stream produced a curious feeling of unreality. The frothing of the water around the stepping-stones, the rustle of the leaves in the trees and even the musical warble of the
smólach mór
, a missel thrush, high above them in one of the trees, added to the chimerical scene. It seemed so peaceful, and yet – yet here was the corpse of someone whose life had come to a violent end, shattering the serenity of the place.

It was Eadulf who knelt to examine the body first.

‘There are no wounds in the front of this young man’s body,’ he announced, echoing what the farmer had already told them.

Fidelma cast her eyes quickly over the body and its clothing, paying particular attention to the hands, which were fair-skinned and delicate, with slender, tapering fingers. The hands and nails were carefully manicured, which was a sure sign of nobility. The long hair was neatly trimmed and the young man was cleanshaven. There was no mistaking – the clothing was of good quality, even had the jewellery, which enhanced it, not proclaimed a person of some status and wealth. Of particular interest was the fact that the man still wore his sword and dagger in their bejewelled sheaths.

‘One thing is certain from this,’ Fidelma observed softly. ‘He was not attacked from the front and did not have time to draw his weapons to defend himself.’

Eadulf nodded absently before glancing up at Tóla. ‘You said that when you turned the body over, you found rents in his clothing, and blood?’

‘I did,’ replied the farmer, feeling apprehensive. It was still uppermost in his thoughts that the body, being that of a noble – and a murdered noble, at that – was on his land and he would be liable, under law, for payment of compensation.

Fidelma guessed what was in his mind and smiled encouragingly. ‘Do not worry, Tóla. You have done well in bringing news of this to Cashel. And you also did well in realising that this unfortunate young man was someone of status. The responsibility is now ours, so just tell us everything you did, no matter how insignificant.’

Tóla compressed his lips for a moment before he replied in a slow, considered tone: ‘I had dragged the body from the stream, where it had been blocking the waters against the stepping-stones of the ford …’

‘So it was lying across the stream, but facing which way?’ interrupted Fidelma.

‘The head was towards the southern bank, towards Cashel, and it was face down in the water.’

‘So you dragged the body on to this bank?’

‘I did. Then, as I have said, not seeing any wound on the front, I turned the body over to examine the back of his head. At first I thought the young man had slipped on the crossing-stones and hit his head. Then I saw the cuts in his short cloak and jacket. And there was still blood there. I laid the body back down … it seemed an insult to leave it face down. I left it face up, as you see it now. Then I removed that brooch, which I took to be an emblem and means of identity, and went back to the farm to get my ass. I left my son and my dog to guard this place and came straight to Cashel. That is all I know.’