The Seventh Trumpet (21 page)

‘I was not exactly expecting to come, Gelgéis, but my footsteps led me here. Allow me to introduce my husband, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, in the country of the South Folk.’ She paused and added with a smile: ‘He is an Angle.’

The blue eyes turned on Eadulf as he bowed slightly. This time Gelgéis did not return the courtesy, for protocol did not demand it. She switched her gaze back to Fidelma.

‘I had heard that you had married a stranger, and one of the religious. I have also heard that you have withdrawn from the religious and sought the office of Chief Brehon to your brother, the King.’

The words were softly spoken and Eadulf wondered if they disguised some antagonism.

‘Then you will also have heard,’ Fidelma replied, equally softly, ‘that I was not successful in the matter but remain a
dálaigh
still able to pursue the law.’

‘Indeed?’ The girl smiled. ‘News has a propensity to travel quickly but, alas, it often reaches its destination in a form different to that in which it starts out. I hear that it is said that there will soon be a royal wedding feast in Cashel?’

‘I, too, have heard such speculation,’ replied Fidelma blandly, ‘but I am not able to confirm or deny it.’

‘Indeed?’ Gelgéis frowned thoughtfully for a moment. ‘I believe that the people of Gabrán are already celebrating. But then the clans of Osraige can be impulsive. As they are our close neighbours, we are often caught up in their capricious behaviour. Doubtless, then, you have met the Lady Dúnliath?’

‘I have, indeed.’ Fidelma felt a momentary annoyance at being distracted from the purpose of her visit.

‘A pleasant girl,’ sighed Gelgéis, ‘but not overly endowed with intelligence. Oh, do not look so shocked, lady,’ she hurried on, observing Fidelma’s expression. ‘I have already met her, since she accompanied her father Drón here on her way to Cashel. She gives the impression that she has little time for pursuits of the mind. However, I suspect that she is far from just stupid.’

‘If my brother, the King, does choose her for his wife, I think that it would mean that she is very
far
from stupid,’ replied Fidelma coldly. Then she frowned. ‘How is it they passed through Durlus on their way to Cashel? It is not a direct route.’

‘I understand that the Lady Dúnliath expressed a desire to visit our poor market here. We often get merchants from the north bringing interesting goods to sell.’ She paused. ‘I trust your brother, Colgú, is well?’

‘He is well, lady.’ Fidelma wondered if there was anything unspoken that she should read into the query.

Gelgéis turned towards one of her female attendants who were standing in the background and beckoned her forward. ‘But forgive me, lady. Let me offer you both refreshments as I hear that you have arrived at my fortress on foot. I hope nothing untoward has happened to your horses, as it is a long way from Cashel to Durlus Éile.’

‘Rest assured that we have not walked all the way from Cashel. In fact, I came a good part of the way by boat.’

A puzzled look passed over Gelgéis’s features.

‘An odd mode of travel and not a safe one,’ she said rather coolly. Fidelma realised that Gelgéis’s glance had fallen to her sleeve. There was a tear in it which she had not noticed. But Gelgéis was continuing: ‘It would increase both the distance and the time, and your rowers must be exhausted for they would be rowing against the current of the river.’

Fidelma’s smile broadened. ‘I do not think we need fear for the exhaustion of the rowers.’

The Princess seemed a little at a loss, and when Fidelma did not offer any further explanation, she conducted them to some chairs before the hearth and indicated they be seated, saying, ‘Well, sooner you than me. I nearly lost my life swimming in a river. These days, I always travel on horse rather than entrust myself to a boat. I hate the water. Anyway, what brings you to Durlus Éile?’ she asked, changing the subject. ‘It is many a year since I saw you, Fidelma. Usually I hear of you passing on the road to Tara or proceeding somewhere else, but never coming to Durlus Éile.’

‘You were invited to our wedding,’ Fidelma reminded her.

‘Alas, I had an ague at that time. I was assured my envoy explained matters to your brother, the King. But at least I am well enough to attend your brother’s nuptials.’

‘I am sorry to hear that you were not well enough to attend my wedding. One should be careful of one’s health and well-being. Eadulf here has the gift of healing, having studied at Tuaim Brecain. Without his knowledge I might well have suffocated last night.’

Once again a puzzled frown flickered on Gelgéis’s features as she glanced at Eadulf but then addressed her remarks to Fidelma.

‘Suffocated? Well, I am pleased to see that you have recovered, lady. But you have not spoken of the purpose of your visit. Are you simply passing through Durlus?’

‘I am looking for someone.’

‘And this someone is …?’ She paused while two attendants came in with a pitcher of ale and some freshly baked breadcakes. When they had departed, she repeated: ‘Who do you seek?’

‘Is the name Brother Biasta known to you?’

Gelgéis immediately shook her head. ‘The name means nothing to me. Obviously, he is a religieux. If so, my bishop here might know, He is called Daig. I can call him in, if you like.’

‘I would appreciate that,’ agreed Fidelma.

Gelgéis gestured across to Spealáin, her steward, who had remained present throughout, at a discreet distance.

‘Why are you trying to find this religieux?’ she asked when he had hurried off to find the bishop.

‘I’ll explain further when Bishop Daig arrives. It will save me explaining twice,’ Fidelma replied, and immediately turned the conversation to inconsequential matters such as the artwork on one of the tapestries.

Bishop Daig was a small, chubby man, with full red cheeks and tufts of silver-white hair around a bald pate. His eyes were soft blue but one held a slight cast. He looked like someone who should be constantly laughing, but his features at that moment were actually set and wary.

‘Brother Biasta? The name means nothing to me. Where does he come from?’

Fidelma countered the question with another.

‘Perhaps you know Brother Ailgesach?’ This brought an immediate reaction. A startled look was exchanged between Gelgéis and the bishop. ‘So you have heard his name before?’ she pressed.

‘Brother Ailgesach?’ It was the bishop who answered for both of them. ‘We both know poor Brother Ailgesach. He was here in Durlus Éile only a short time ago, but he has gone south to Fraigh Dubh. Perhaps I know him better than most. You see, we both studied at the Blessed Brendan’s community at Biorra.’

‘Why do you say “poor”?’ Fidelma asked sharply.

Bishop Daig uttered a slight sigh. ‘Drink, that is why. But you must have passed his little chapel at Fraigh Dubh if you have come from Cashel?’

For a moment Fidelma did not answer but then asked: ‘Can you tell me anything about him?’

‘Would it not be more fitting to address such questions directly to Brother Ailgesach himself?’ intervened Gelgéis.

‘It would be impossible to ask anything of him,’ Eadulf said dryly. Then, as they turned to stare at him, he added: ‘He is dead.’

There was a sharp intake of breath from Gelgéis. She averted her head so that it was difficult to see her expression. Bishop Daig’s eyes had widened in surprise and then he slowly shook his head with a sad expression.

‘I suppose the drink was his downfall? Poor man.’

‘That is the second time you have used that word,’ pointed out Fidelma. ‘In what manner do you think he became so poor?’

‘You mean, what drove him to drink?’

‘Yes, precisely that,’ replied Fidelma irritably. ‘You say that you studied with him at Biorra. Please – tell us what you know.’

‘I know that Brother Ailgesach was a kind and caring person. He had ambition to become a physician but was unable to complete his studies, lacking as he was in the aptitude to wield the physician’s knife, which is as necessary as the ability to hand out potions.’

Eadulf, having studied the healing arts, knew well that the ancient laws made clear provision about qualified physicians and there were severe penalties for those who tried to practise without qualification. Eadulf knew of no other people in the lands he had travelled where such detailed laws applied. The lawmakers seemed to know that it was easy to deceive people who were ill and, desperately seeking a cure, would grasp at anyone who claimed that they were able to heal them. Indeed, even qualified physicians were responsible for the well-being of their patients, and if their treatments went wrong, if a wound that the physician treated broke open within a certain time, the physician had to refund his fees, or pay compensation, and allow a better physician to be brought into the case.

‘So after he failed to become a physician?’ Fidelma prompted.

‘He offered to help look after the sick; to nurse them.’

‘At Biorra?’

‘Initially. Then he left the abbey and wandered to the land of the Eóghanacht Áine in the west.’

‘In a religious house?’

‘In a house of the territory.’

Eadulf knew that the
forus tuaithe
, or ‘house of the territory’, was one of the many secular hospitals for common use, governed by strict rules of the law of the Brehons. It was claimed that the great queen, Macha Mong-Ruadh, who had become ruler of all the Five Kingdoms at Tara in the times beyond memory, had ordered the first hospital to be set up in the place that still bore her name – Emain Macha. Now there were hospitals and leper houses to be found in most territories of the Five Kingdoms. They were all under the patronage of local nobles. The laws were very specific. The hospital was to be clean, ventilated, have running water, be accessed by four doors, and have a staff of trained physicians. If people could not afford to pay for the food, medicine and the attendance of the physician, it was provided. The poor had no fear of being refused treatment, for the law stated that the patient’s relatives or the clan itself were liable for the
folach-othrusa
or sick maintenance. Anyone who was injured was maintained by those who had caused the injury.

‘So he worked looking after the sick as an attendant in a
broinbherg
.’ Fidelma used the popular euphemism for a hospital – ‘House of Sorrow’. It had been the name of Macha’s first foundation. ‘Then what?’

‘I had news of him from time to time. I heard that he had volunteered to go on to another hospital further west, and lately I was told that he had started drinking while he was looking after the sick at that place.’

‘Do you know where that was?’

‘He went to serve the unfortunates in Gleann na nGeilt.’

Eadulf frowned at an elusive memory. ‘I have heard of that place before.’

Bishop Daig went on: ‘It is called the Glen of Lunatics. It is a place among the western mountains where many unfortunates are consigned, those whose minds have passed beyond the reality of our world. Those who have lost their reason.’

Eadulf suddenly recalled where he had heard of it. It was the place where one of the murderers whom he and Fidelma had uncovered at Lios Mór had been consigned when it was clear they were insane.

‘Is it not a dangerous place?’ he asked.

‘The lunatics are guarded not only for their own protection but for that of others,’ explained Bishop Daig. ‘Those who tend to their needs are volunteers and poor Brother Ailgesach was one of those who took on this task. He was there nursing the demented for many years, and doubtless it was that experience which turned him to an excess of drink.’

‘So he eventually left Gleann na nGeilt – what then?’ asked Fidelma.

‘That was only a short time ago. Abbot Ségdae of Imleach, under whose auspices Gleann na nGeilt is governed, found him a place where it was thought his duties would not be too arduous and would allow him to recover. It was the small chapel at Fraigh Dubh. That was just two weeks or so ago. Now you tell me that he has drunk himself to death.’

‘Eadulf said he was dead, not that he drank himself to death,’ corrected Fidelma. Before the surprised bishop could answer she went on: ‘So having known Brother Ailgesach for so long, and studied with him at the Abbey at Biorra, I do not understand why you say that you do not know Brother Biasta.’

Bishop Daig looked bewildered, replying, ‘I have told you that I have never heard the name. Who is he?’

‘He told us that he was a cousin of Ailgesach and studied with him at Biorra.’

Bishop Daig was obviously puzzled and he looked towards Gelgéis as if seeking guidance. ‘I can assure you that there was no one called Biasta who studied with us at Biorra. Who did you say this man was?’

‘He claimed to be a cousin of Ailgesach and said that they were of the Muscraige Tíre from Tír Dhá Ghlas by the red loch.’

The bishop was regarding her as if she were mad.

‘You are clearly mistaken, lady. Ailgesach was of the Éile and from this very town – indeed, as am I. He was not from Tír Dhá Ghlas.’

‘Then Ailgesach was not the son of pious farmers?’ Eadulf said heavily, knowing what the answer would be.

‘Where did you get such false information? Ailgesach was the son of a merchant boatman on the river here. The father was drowned when he was young. We went to the Abbey of Biorra to study together. He had no cousin called Biasta, so far as I was aware, and certainly no one of that name studied with us at Biorra.’

Somehow Fidelma was not surprised at this news but she asked a further question. ‘I presume, then, that there is no one called Biasta in Durlus Éile?’

‘We have told you that it is a name that neither of us is acquainted with,’ Gelgéis said tightly, breaking her long silence. It was obvious that the news of the death of Ailgesach had affected her, for her face was very pale. ‘Indeed, no one of the Éile would call a child by that name.’

Fidelma started. She had not realised the connection before. The word
biasta
meant a monster. How stupid of her to overlook the fact.

‘You said Brother Ailgesach came here not long ago?’ Fidelma went on, trying to pick up a thread.

‘Bishop Daig told you, he came here a few weeks ago. What is the meaning of these questions that you are asking, Fidelma? Is there some mystery here that we should know? After all, Ailgesach was from this township. You said he is dead – but you also said that he did not die from an excess of alcohol. What
did
he die of?’