The Seventh Trumpet (19 page)

‘So someone might have known that these storehouses were unused?’

Gobán hesitated and Gormán interpreted the pause: ‘You are thinking that the storehouses are in full sight of the quays. If they were used in daylight it would have to be noticed and reported to the Lady Gelgéis.’

Gobán shrugged helplessly as he pondered the matter.

‘What do you know of a leper who begs along the quays?’ Eadulf suddenly asked, changing the subject.

‘An old man with scarcely the use of his legs?’ asked Gobán, and when Eadulf nodded confirmation he went on: ‘That is Leathlobhair, or so we call him.’

‘Half-leper?’ Eadulf translated the name literally.

‘Indeed. He has begged along the quayside ever since I can remember. I think he has a cabin in the rough glen just west of the township. Why do you ask about him?’

‘Because it was Leathlobhair who saw Fidelma being taken into the storehouse from the river and alerted us to the fact.’

‘In return for …?’ The smith smiled cynically.

‘For food.’

‘He would not be so altruistic as to provide information for nothing. However, neither would he lie. And so this was how you came to find the Lady Fidelma?’

‘It was.’

‘And did Leathlobhair see where the men who placed her there went after they had left?’

‘He said they got back into their boat and let the current take it southwards.’

The smith pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘That would take them away from the township and the fortress. So it is clear they were not of the people of Durlus nor acting for Gelgéis, otherwise they would have gone into the town or up to the fortress.’

‘At the moment, nothing is clear to me,’ Eadulf sighed. ‘We must wait for Fidelma to recover her senses and see if she can enlighten us.’

He rose and went across to the bed where Fidelma was lying. She was now breathing normally, and seemed in a deep, natural sleep.

‘That is good,’ he whispered in satisfaction. ‘Sleep can be a great healer.’

There was but one bed in the smith’s cabin, but he had sheepskin rugs to act as mattresses and these he spread on the floor before the fire and, with their woollen cloaks as blankets, the men stretched themselves out to get what rest they could. It was a long time before Eadulf could allow slumber to overtake him. He heard the rising snore of the smith and the deep breathing of Gormán long before he too fell asleep. Even then he dreamed of fast-flowing rivers, of Fidelma drowning, and shadowy figures descending on him with a knife. And then …

Then he was aware of the crackle of the fire and movement.

He blinked and sat up with a sleepy yawn. It was daylight and Gobán the smith was cooking something over the fire. Eadulf peered round for Gormán, but the warrior’s place was empty. Then he looked at the bed. Fidelma was gone. He was on his feet in a moment, gazing around. Sleep had vanished from his mind.

‘Where is—?’ he began.

The door of the cabin suddenly opened and Fidelma stood there, wet-haired, with a linen cloth and her comb bag in her hands and a smile on her features.

‘Where have you been?’ Eadulf rapped out.

‘Not quite the greeting I expected,’ she replied primly. ‘Gobán has a small spring at the back of the cabin where one can wash and recover a sense of being human. Thankfully, you recovered my
marsupium
, Eadulf, and hence I was able to find my comb bag.’ Then her features broke into a smile, and she put down her things and turned to embrace him. Gobán bent to his cooking, pretending not to notice them as they kissed. ‘For pursuing the abductors and saving my life, thank you is not an adequate phrase,’ she whispered.

Eadulf felt a little foolish at his anxiety. ‘I was just worried. How are you feeling?’

‘Famished. Gobán here is preparing a meal so that I can break my fast – which fast I feel has lasted a lifetime. The soreness has gone from my throat. My lungs are properly full of air, and whatever you gave me has stimulated me into life again.’

‘Where is Gormán?’ he then asked nervously, changing the subject.

‘I saw him checking the horses,’ Fidelma replied, seating herself at the wooden table.

Eadulf picked up the sheepskin rugs, rolled them to one side and joined her.

‘We have much to ask you,’ he told her.

‘As I, in turn, have much to ask you. But it can wait until Gormán joins us and we can indulge our appetites over Gobán’s meal. He has told me roughly how you came here. It is a miracle that you were guided to this forge of all places. A heaven-sent coincidence that I knew his sister, Sister Poitigéir at Cill Dara, and was able to render her a service.’

The door opened and Gormán entered. He paused to sniff the aromas from Gobán’s cooking appreciatively. Breakfast was usually a light meal, for the principal meal of the day was the
prainn
, which was taken in the evening. Usually, at midday the
eter-shod
, or middle meal, was also a light meal. But this morning, in view of Fidelma’s hunger, Gobán was basting trout with honey on an
indeoin
or gridiron. There was fresh bread, for apparently Gobán had an arrangement with a neighbour to bring him bread while, in exchange, she could call on his services as a smith. There was also butter, plenty of honey, a dish of apples and hazel-nuts, and a pitcher of cold water from his spring or a jug of ale to drink.

At their enthusiastic comments, Gobán smiled deprecatingly. ‘After my wife departed this world, I had to maintain myself,’ he said, as he gave them wooden platters and indicated that they should help themselves. There were even basins of water provided, for the custom was to use a knife in the right hand and eat with the fingers of the left hand, cleaning them in the water and drying them with a
lámbrat
or hand cloth.

Eadulf was not as hungry as the others and so took the opportunity to narrate what had happened to Gormán and himself since they awoke to find Fidelma and the young man, Torna, gone. Once more Fidelma regarded him with grateful eyes.

When he had finished, Fidelma had completed her meal and was sitting back sipping at a beaker of water.

‘Now it is time for your tale,’ prompted Eadulf softly.

‘There is little in the telling,’ she replied. ‘Little, that is, you have not guessed.’

‘Better that we hear it from your lips.’

Gormán nodded vigorously. ‘Indeed, lady. What has happened to you is a great outrage against the honour of the Eóghanacht. I am responsible to your brother, the King, for your welfare.’

Fidelma smiled briefly.

‘We were, as you recall, all asleep on the riverbank. I was disturbed by our horses. Aonbharr was fretful. I woke just in time to see the shadows of men behind you both as you slept. You, Eadulf, had begun to stir but things happened so quickly. The men hit you both on the head …’

Eadulf ruefully rubbed his head. ‘And a sharp blow it was. However, Gormán suffered the worst.’

At once Fidelma looked concerned. ‘I should have enquired about that sooner.’

‘It was nothing, lady,’ Gormán reassured her. ‘I’ve had a split skull before. Thanks to friend Eadulf’s skills, the abrasions have begun to heal and the throbbing of the hammers in my skull receded.’

‘Just as I would expect from one with his fine skills,’ she said gravely, a smile at the corner of her mouth.

‘What did you do then?’ demanded Eadulf uncomfortably.

‘I sprang to my feet. It was still dark but the moon was up so I could see the attackers, although I could not distinguish their features clearly. I heard a noise behind me, swung round and saw Torna fighting with another man, but a fourth was coming towards me. As you know, I am trained in the
troid-sciathagid
…’

The Battle through Defence was an old form of unarmed combat which it was said had first been taught by the Druids in the days before the New Faith had come to the land. However, although many of the practices of the Old Religion had been forbidden, this technique was taught to travelling religious as a means of defending themselves against robbers without resorting to the use of weapons and breaking their religious vows not to take a life.

‘And what happened?’

‘I let the man come at me and used the momentum of his attack to send him flying into the man who had knocked you unconscious. I heard him scream. Later I realised my attacker had knocked into the man who held a knife and this had cut his hand.’

‘So that’s why they needed another rower when they reached the ferryman’s house,’ muttered Gormán.

‘Go on,’ Eadulf urged, ignoring the comment.

‘I heard a cry from behind me; turned and saw Torna falling to the ground. His attacker was holding a club. I made ready to face the man. Then I must have been hit on the head as well. Everything thereafter seems to have passed in a semi-waking dream. I know I was bound and that awful gag placed in my mouth. There were snatches of conversation.’

‘Such as?’

‘Torna seemed to have recovered and was telling them to leave me alone as I was not his companion.’

Eadulf looked up quickly. ‘Not his companion?’

‘I know that they laughed at him. Someone else replied that they were paid to capture him and his woman.’

‘But it tells us something, surely,’ said Eadulf. ‘It tells us that you were not the object of their abduction. They did not know who you were.’

‘That is true,’ agreed Fidelma.

‘Why would a poet be worthy of abduction? And who was the companion that they thought you were?’ asked Gormán.

Fidelma sighed deeply. ‘Torna is the mystery. The only thing he told me was that he had been in love with a girl, her parents had disapproved of him and he and she had eloped. She was apparently drowned trying to escape with him across a river, although he survived. After that, he said he became a wandering bard. That is all he told me of himself. So why did these people appear out of nowhere and attack our party and abduct him?’

‘You’ll recall that a man and a woman stayed with Brother Ailgesach, the night the envoy was killed?’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘Maybe they thought that you and Torna were that couple.’

‘But they both were on horseback going north. Torna said he was looking for a boat to go south.’

‘Are we
sure
that you were not the intended victim?’ added Gormán. ‘After all, you are sister to the King of Cashel.’

Fidelma shook her head quickly. ‘They did not know who I was. They thought I was just his companion.’

‘When did they finally learn their mistake?’

‘I do not think it was until we reached the place where they left me.’

‘They did not find out before?’

‘I did come round a few times before then. Once I heard the man, the one whose hand had been injured, moaning and saying that he could not row much further in such strong currents. An argument ensued. The injured man wanted us thrown overboard to lessen the weight. The man in charge repeated that they had been paid to bring both man and woman. I heard something about picking up another rower who could be disposed of later.’

Eadulf grimaced ruefully. ‘They did that, right enough. They killed Enán, the poor ferryman’s son whom they persuaded to go along. We found his body in the storehouse with you last night: they had cut his throat. But what you say presents another mystery. Who would know that Torna was on the riverbank that night? Although there was moonlight, it was not that bright, so how did they find us in the dark? They must have known he was there.’

Fidelma looked grim. ‘You’ll be a Brehon yet, Eadulf,’ she said. ‘Well, it was darkness that saved my life. I came to again when I was being carried into what I now know to be the storehouse. The sacking was removed from my face. A lamp was lit and held over me, and someone swore violently. “This is not her! Anyway, you have handled this woman too roughly. She is near death.”’ I should be grateful that the speaker had little knowledge of the physician’s art. Another voice said: “Let’s slit her throat and be on our way.”’ Fidelma paused for a moment before continuing. ‘Then the man who seemed to be their leader said: “No need for that. She’ll be dead soon.” The sack was drawn back over my face and, indeed, I lay like one already dead. In fact, I passed out again. And then you came.’

Eadulf uttered a soft whistle. ‘Thank Providence that they did not learn their mistake. But so many questions! This web is as tangled as ever.’

‘We must resolve this mystery,’ Fidelma said quietly. ‘Why did they want Torna? Who was he and who was the woman they mistook me for? Were they looking for the couple who stayed with Ailgesach? Why is a wandering bard so important to be thus abducted? Where did they take him?’

‘The witness who saw the abductors arrive at the shed said a religieux was waiting for them. After two sacks, which contained you and Torna, were bundled into the storehouse, the four abductors came out with Torna and the religieux, and climbed into the boat. They had killed Enán and left you to die. They all went downriver again.’

‘They went south?’ queried Fidelma.

‘Yes. Perhaps the religieux was Biasta,’ suggested Gormán.

‘Logical thinking,’ Fidelma approved, ‘but it brings us nowhere near to solving this mystery.’

‘You said that Torna had a problem with the parents of the girl he eloped with,’ Gormán pointed out. ‘Can that help us? Perhaps there was some blood feud generated by this.’

‘You mean her parents hired these people to abduct him?’ Eadulf shook his head cynically.

‘It could happen,’ said Gormán. ‘Especially if she was some noble’s daughter.’

‘I thought your laws have covered such matters so that there is no recourse to vengeance?’ Eadulf queried. ‘Even if the girl objects to the elopement, if she is forced to cohabit with the man, then the abductor must pay the girl’s honour price. If the girl died during the abduction then the punishment is honour price and body price. But if the girl went with him willingly, a voluntary abduction or elopement, then the family of the girl are not so entitled.’

Fidelma seemed pleased with Eadulf. ‘That is true,’ she told him, and then added, ‘Well done. Your knowledge of our law increases by the day. Anyway, it does dispose of that argument.’

Gormán said moodily, ‘I can see nothing that fits together. The murdered envoy from Laigin, the matter of Brother Ailgesach and Biasta, now the abduction of a poet and a mysterious woman who should have been with him.’