Peter Tremayne - The Seventh Trumpet

‘Can I serve you further?’ asked the man, obviously used to his guests pouring their own drinks. Gormán decided to fill the mugs for all of them.

‘I presume your name is Fedach Glas?’ asked Fidelma.

The man moved his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. ‘That it is,’ he answered.

‘Then I am told that in this tavern we might find Brother Ailgesach. He is the religious who is in charge of the nearby chapel.’

Fedach Glas frowned, and his eyes flickered to a dark corner of the tavern before returning to meet her gaze. ‘Why would you seek him?’ he countered.

Enda snorted indignantly. ‘It is incumbent upon you to answer the questions of a dálaigh , especially-’

‘Especially when a hosteller is responsible to his guests,’ Fidelma interrupted, annoyed that Enda had revealed her rank.

Fedach Glas’s eyes widened a fraction. ‘A dálaigh ?’

‘Is Brother Ailgesach here?’ she repeated loudly.

A figure stirred in the gloom at a far corner of the tavern, then rose to its feet somewhat unsteadily. It moved forward a pace, supporting itself for a moment with one hand on the table at its side.

‘I am Brother Ailgesach,’ it intoned wheezily.

Taking another pace forward, the figure was revealed as a very rotund and short man clad in worn brown woollen robes. A wooden cross hung on a leather thong about his neck. The wood and the leather denoted that the wearer was not of a wealthy Order. His head was like that of a baby, plump and fleshy with red cheeks, but whether the lack of hair was due to baldness or due to his choice of tonsure was difficult to discern. The lips were so thick and red that the mouth could be described as ugly. Only the eyes were striking by being tiny pinpoints of black almost hidden in the folds of flesh around them.

‘Come forward, Brother Ailgesach,’ invited Fidelma. ‘We would speak with you about God’s work.’

The rotund religieux stopped, his fat features screwed into an expression as if he were trying to recall something.

‘I am …’ Fidelma began.

But the man suddenly raised an accusing finger at her.

‘I know you. I know you! You are the Whore of Babylon.’ His voice was rasping and breathless. ‘The Whore of Babylon — mother of harlots and the abomination of the earth!’

There was a shocked silence in the tavern, broken a second later by the thud of the woman’s ladle falling to the floor. Enda sprang to his feet with a suppressed oath and took a threatening step towards the rotund religieux. But even before he had finished that step, the man swayed before him, staggered sideways and collapsed on to the floor. Enda was on his knee beside him in a moment, turning him over to examine him. The others had risen to their feet and were gazing at the recumbent form with incredulity. Enda stood up with a sour, disapproving expression.

‘The man is drunk, lady.’

Fidelma looked at Fedach Glas with raised brows. The man understood the silent question and shrugged. ‘Brother Ailgesach has been known to indulge his taste for corma ,’ he muttered defensively.

‘And is he also known for his insults? Insults to the King’s sister ?’ snapped Enda.

Fidelma frowned, but it was too late to warn him. She had not wanted her rank to be known, other than her being a lawyer. The tavern-keeper stepped back a pace and they heard a gasp from the woman at the cauldron.

‘Forgive us, lady. I did not recognise you. You should have announced yourself. P-please …’ the tavern-keeper stammered.

Fidelma made an impatient gesture. ‘Intoxication to this degree,’ she indicated the prone form of Brother Ailgesach, ‘is reprehensible in one who aspires to be a religieux.’

The tavern-keeper looked nervous. ‘I am afraid Brother Ailgesach has been here since midday. He asked for a jug of corma and sat in the corner there. To be honest, I had almost forgotten that he was here until you asked for him, lady.’ Then, remembering she was both a dálaigh and the King’s sister, he asked: ‘Why were you looking for him?’

‘We came to ask him to perform a burial.’

Fedach Glas was surprised. ‘A burial, lady? Who is it that is dead? I have no knowledge of anyone from our local community who-’

‘A body has been found near here and we have left it in the chapel. We were told by a carpenter called Saer that Brother Ailgesach administers at the chapel and simply came here to ask him to make the arrangements.’

‘But, surely the Brother that you travel with,’ he indicated Eadulf, ‘could perform the necessary ceremonies?’

‘If needs must, then my husband will say the offices for the dead. But it is not our intention to linger here.’

Fedach Glas’s eyes widened a little; he glanced at Eadulf then back to Fidelma. ‘I had heard it said that you are married to a Saxon Brother,’ he murmured.

Eadulf sighed. ‘I am an Angle from the land of the East Angles,’ he told the man, knowing that to all the people of the Five Kingdoms he would be classed as a Saxon whether he was Saxon, Angle or Jute.

‘Is there a place where this man may sleep off his intoxication?’ asked Fidelma, as the Brother lay snoring loudly from his prone position on the tavern floor.

‘He can do so in one of the guest cabins. May I ask for someone to help carry him there?’

Fidelma looked at the heavy form of Brother Ailgesach and then at Enda and Gormán. ‘It will take both of you to carry the man,’ she said.

Gormán and Enda picked up the dead weight of the unconscious man. The tavern-keeper moved ahead of them to open the door. After they left, the woman who had been stirring the contents of the cauldron retrieved her fallen ladle and placed it to one side. Then she came nervously forward and bobbed awkwardly to Fidelma. ‘My husband is a conscientious man and fulfils his duties as a brugaid with diligence,’ she said. ‘He should not be blamed for Brother Ailgesach’s behaviour. Truly, lady, I am sorry for this transgression of the laws of hospitality.’

Fidelma had resumed her seat with Eadulf and motioned the woman to join them at the table. She hesitated before shyly seating herself opposite them.

‘I fear Brother Ailgesach will be even more sorry when he comes back to consciousness.’ Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘What is your name?’

‘I am Grella, wife to Fedach Glas.’

‘Then be assured, Grella, the behaviour of Brother Ailgesach will not reflect on you or your husband, nor on your tavern.’

‘But the strange words that he shouted at you, lady. It was a terrible insult.’

‘It would have been, had the words been meant for me. However, they were from the Holy Scripture. Does he often quote from the Scriptures when he is in his cups?’

‘He often raves as if troubled and calls out that we should all beware.’

‘Beware? Of what?’

‘Something about the sound of a trumpet.’

Fidelma was silent for a moment or two, pondering on this, before turning to the more pressing subject. ‘I was wondering whether you could supply me with some information. The body that we have found is of a stranger and cannot be identified. I would like to know if you have seen any strangers on the highway in the last day or so.’

The woman was thoughtful. ‘There are always strangers travelling on the highway. What sort of stranger was this, the one whose body you have found?’

‘He was a young man of rank.’

‘We have seen no such traveller recently. But then a young man of rank would hardly be likely to choose our poor tavern to break his journey.’

‘If not here, then where would he stay?’

‘If the man was travelling from Durlus Éile to Cashel, or in the other direction, then those are the only two places where he would find the sort of hostel to cater for the likes of him. North to south or south to north, he would not halt here. We are not grand enough.’