The Seventh Trumpet (35 page)

‘Are you looking for me, cousin?’ He greeted her with a smile.

‘I am still looking for your foster-father.’

‘I am sure that he is resting in his chamber.’

‘Do you know where that is?’

‘Up these stairs, turn to the right and his chamber is at the end of the passage. Shall I come with you?’

‘There is no need,’ she replied.

The young warrior raised a hand to his forehead in a vague salute and left them. They ascended the stairs and turned into the passage. Eadulf rapped sharply on the door at the far end. There was no answer, but some sound caught Eadulf’s ear.

‘There is someone in there,’ he said, raising his fist and hammering on the door. Moments passed without any answer so he grasped the ring-handle and twisted it. It opened easily and they stood on the threshold peering in. The room was well lit from a tall window.

Drón was lying on his back on the floor just under the open window. His chest was covered in blood, and blood was still bubbling from the side of his mouth. He was coughing a little. While there was no sign of a weapon, it was clear that he had been stabbed several times in the chest just below his breastbone. Fidelma stood back to allow Eadulf to kneel down at the man’s side. A cursory glance told Eadulf enough. He raised his face to Fidelma and shrugged eloquently.

‘He’s still alive, but …’

Fidelma bent down. ‘Drón, who did this to you?’

The pale eyes tried to focus but the effort was too much. Between coughing and choking on the blood, Drón strove to form words.

‘Too … too late,’ he managed to articulate. ‘Ét … Étain …’

Then blood spurted like a fountain from the corner of his mouth, and a strangled sound came from him as his body convulsed in its death throes. Then he lay still.

Eadulf’s expression was stern. ‘Do you think that Sillán has been here before us? He kills Drón and then attempts to kill you.’

Fidelma did not respond immediately. Instead she rose and walked to the chamber door and closed it. Then she walked back to the window and glanced out.

‘Sillán might have come to the gate to deliver his message for me, but he then went to ambush me on the far side of the river. This killing was but recently done. There was no way he could recross the river and accomplish this deed. This looks like the work of a separate hand.’

‘If so, it is surely a curious coincidence,’ replied Eadulf. ‘Anyway, we must inform Spealáin, the steward, at once.’

Fidelma put out her hand to stop him. ‘Did you hear his last words?’ she said.

‘I did. It was Étain. Wasn’t that the name of one of his wives?’

‘Ah, so it was,’ she said thoughtfully.

‘Maybe his last thoughts were of her?’

‘Maybe.’

‘At least we know that
she
did not kill him,’ added Eadulf as an attempt at dark humour.

Fidelma peered around the chamber. There was no sign that Drón had struggled with his assailant before receiving the fatal blow. Everything was neat and tidy; even the man’s bed had not been disturbed.

‘Go in search of the steward,’ she said finally. ‘I’ll see if I can find anything else here. The only thing we can be sure of is that the killer came in by the door. The window is too high above the ground outside. Oh, Eadulf, tell the steward to ask Gelgéis to break this news to Drón’s daughter.’ She frowned suddenly. ‘Her life might be in danger too. Spealáin should have a care for her welfare.’

‘That is, if Gelgéis and her household are not mixed up in this matter,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘How can we trust anyone?’

‘You are right to remind me of that fact.’ Fidelma was serious. ‘I am convinced that many answers to our questions will be found here.’

‘Here and not Liath Mór?’ Eadulf was surprised.

‘Here,’ Fidelma repeated firmly. ‘Find Spealáin while I see if I can find anything that will help us.’

Eadulf hurried off on his errand.

Fidelma returned to the body and examined it carefully. All she could tell was that Drón had been facing his killer at the time when he had been stabbed. His dagger was still sheathed and there were no other weapons to hand. She noticed his sword standing in a corner near the bed. She went to look at it. It was obviously where he had placed it when he came to the room. It was now clear to her that he had let the killer come inside and there was no suspicion of any impending attack until the person struck. That indicated that he knew his killer. Nothing else provided any other clue at all. She went back to where the body lay under the window, feeling baffled and frustrated. Another mystery or part of the same mystery – and nothing to provide a link!

As she stood there, a sound came up through the open window. It was a soft footstep on the flagstones below.

She leaned out and glanced down into the small passage that ran under the window. A figure was moving quickly by. It took her only a moment to recognise the young man. She gave a gasp.

He heard the sound and turned, looking up to see where it came from. His eyes widened in astonishment as they met her own.

‘Torna!’ she exclaimed.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

G
elgéis greeted Fidelma and Eadulf with a worried expression as they entered her chamber. Spealáin, her steward, stood to one side with Bishop Daig of Durlus. They obviously shared her anxiety. She waved them to seats without rising herself. That she had forgotten the etiquette of greeting the King’s sister was a token of her concern at the recent news.

‘This is a bad business,’ were her first words.

‘Have you informed Dúnliath?’ Fidelma asked.

‘I have indeed. Bishop Daig has tried to give her comfort but she has withdrawn to her chamber with her grief.’

‘And has Ailill been informed? He is commander of Drón’s bodyguard.’

‘He has, and is making preparations.’

‘What preparations?’ Fidelma was puzzled.

Gelgéis looked at her in surprise. ‘Why, to take the body of Drón back to Gabrán for the
aire
, the watching, and the funeral obsequies due to a chieftain of Gabrán. Dúnliath intends to join them as soon as she has composed herself.’

It was custom that a day and a night were usually given over to a vigil for the corpse of a noble before burial at midnight on the next available day. Fidelma knew that it would take a few days to reach Gabrán.

‘She cannot leave,’ Fidelma said quietly but firmly.

Gelgéis’s expression now was one of bewilderment mixed with irritation. ‘Who is to say she may not?’ she demanded aggressively. ‘I have agreed to her request to do so.’

‘With respect, lady, the matter is not in your hands. It is a matter of law.’

‘Law? May I remind you, lady, that you are not in your brother’s court now, to dictate what is or what is not the law! This is Durlus Éile and I have my own Brehon by whom I will be guided.’

Fidelma’s eyes narrowed; a sign of warning to those who knew her. ‘I am acting by commission of my brother, the King of all Muman, and believe this is—’

‘Your belief is no concern of mine, Fidelma. My own Brehon will determine the cause of Drón’s death and who is responsible,’ snapped Gelgéis, unnerved by events.

‘Your own lawyer … who is he?’ asked Fidelma mildly.

‘He is named Brocc. He is well-qualified to handle this matter.’

‘Ah, I think I have heard of him. But I am told he is qualified only to the level of
cli
.’ There was a pause and Gelgéis’s brow furrowed. She sensed what Fidelma was about to say.

‘I suppose you hold higher authority over his qualification?’

Fidelma smiled tightly. ‘I am qualified to the level of
anruth
, as well you know,’ she said.

Gelgéis sighed with resignation: ‘So, are you assuming authority over this matter?’

‘I am.’

‘Then we must await your orders.’ She glanced at her steward and Bishop Daig, saying with faint sarcasm: ‘We must all cooperate with Fidelma of Cashel.’

The two men shuffled uncomfortably but said nothing.

Fidelma did not even look at them. ‘My orders are firstly that Dúnliath and her retinue must remain at Durlus until my investigation is concluded.’

‘And secondly?’

Fidelma held Gelgéis’s eyes with her sharp gaze as she spoke. ‘Secondly, you will now produce the man called Torna.’

It was Bishop Daig who answered her. ‘I think that you have asked once before about a man called Torna and were told that no one in Durlus knows anyone by that name.’

‘Then perhaps you know him as Tormeid? By whichever name you know him, I want him produced.’

She saw Gelgéis’s eyes widen at the sound of the name. It was only a slight movement before her features tightened into a mask. This time it was Spealáin who spoke. ‘I am confused, lady. When you were here a few days ago I recall that you told us that this person, Torna, had been taken against his will into Osraige. Why would he now be here?’

‘He was taken to the Abbey of Liath Mór across the river in Osraige and made prisoner there. However, he managed to escape. I saw him a short while ago in the passage that runs below Drón’s chamber, just after Eadulf and I found the body of Drón. So please do not waste time playing word-games with me, nor pretend that he is not in this fortress!’

Gelgéis was silent, staring at the floor. The others waited uneasily for her response.

‘The time for prevarication is over, lady,’ prompted Fidelma. ‘I speak not only as sister to the King but as a
dálaigh
, and there is little need for me to remind you that there are penalties for one who ignores the request to speak the truth. Torna, as I know him, or Tormeid, as I think you know him, is one who, by whatever name he bears, has suffered the events that I have told you about – abduction, imprisonment at Liath Mór, escape and arrival here in your fortress. Do you deny knowledge of him?’

She caught sight of Bishop Daig’s glance towards Gelgéis and said, ‘I see that some spark of memory is now awoken in you, Bishop.’

‘I know of no one called Torna,’ he muttered stubbornly.

‘That was
not
the last question I asked,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘As a Bishop, you will recall that you should not bear false witness. That is part of the Faith as well as our law.’

Bishop Daig flushed. ‘I do not think you need lecture me about matters appertaining to the religious, Fidelma of Cashel. As I recall, you have formally renounced your vows in this matter.’

‘My vow is to uphold truth and the law, and that was made long before I entered a religious community and found it as corrupt inside its walls as the world is outside! So I ask you again – and please consider my question before you answer it.’

Bishop Daig flicked a tongue over his dry lips.

Gelgéis intervened before he could reply. ‘Are you accusing this man, Tormeid, of the murder of Drón of Gabrán?’

‘How can I decide that until I have questioned him?’ Fidelma replied, sensing that she was finally breaking through the barrier of denial.

Gelgéis then said: ‘Can you tell me something of what you know about Tormeid?’

Eadulf groaned inwardly as he recognised another prevarication. Nonetheless, Fidelma stretched almost lazily in her chair.

‘Let us concede that the real name of the man I know as Torna is Tormeid of the Uí Duach. He pretended to be a poet and knew Torna was the name of a famous bard. Tormeid, however, was a warrior. I saw, even in the darkness on the riverbank, how he attempted to fend off the abductors that night.

‘Not everything he said was a lie when we camped with him by the river, and so I have interpreted what he said using some of the information that we have gathered recently. I believe I can recount his background. Cronán is not well disposed to the Uí Duach clan and had asserted his authority over them. Tormeid told me that he had been taken prisoner during warfare between his clan and a powerful chieftain. That powerful chieftain was, of course, Cronán. Cronán had seized many of the Uí Duach and made slaves of them –
daer-fuidir
.’

She paused. There was a quiet tension in the room as everyone waited for her to continue the story. Gelgéis cleared her throat a little and motioned to her to go on.

‘So there was Tormeid, a prisoner – a slave – in the fortress of the Lord of Gleann an Ghuail … a
daer-fuidir
. There he fell in love. The girl was called Muirne. Unfortunately, Muirne was Cronán’s daughter. They were about to be betrayed by a fellow prisoner whom Tormeid had consulted and so they eloped. They were crossing a river, which I believe was the Suir, when the girl was drowned.’

Eadulf leaned forward eagerly and added: ‘Hence, when Cronán’s project for the rebuilding of the Abbey at Liath Mór as a fortress was coming to fruition, he insisted that it would be renamed Dún Muirne in his daughter’s memory – even though it was his action that caused her death.’

Fidelma observed from Gelgéis’s expression that she was right. ‘Tormeid reached the far bank in safety. He came here in the land of the Éile but was unable to return to his own clan, the Uí Duach. So he took service with you on this side of the river. Am I correct, thus far?’

The ruler of the Éile blinked rapidly and blushed.

‘You tell a good story, Fidelma,’ was all she replied.