Peter Tremayne - The Seventh Trumpet

Everyone was moving towards the door when Fidelma’s sharp tone of command halted them.

‘Stay where you are, please. Eadulf and I will examine the body. Fedach Glas, you will come with us to show us where Brother Ailgesach is.’

‘But …’ began the tavern-keeper.

‘I am taking charge as a dálaigh ,’ Fidelma said with quiet authority. ‘Eadulf has been trained in the apothecary’s art. I shall need his advice. Gormán, you and Enda will remain here.’

Outside, Fedach Glas conducted them towards one of the small log cabins which apparently provided overnight accommodation for the tavern guests. He pushed open the door and went inside with Fidelma and Eadulf following. The small dormitory room contained four wooden cots arranged along the walls on either side. They could see the rotund form of Brother Ailgesach stretched on the cot nearest the door.

The tavern-keeper waited by the entrance while Eadulf went forward to examine the corpse.

The body lay flat on its back, the hands slightly clenched as if they were trying to form fists, but both arms rested in a straight line on either side. Eadulf saw traces of vomit around the mouth and across the front of the robes. The eyes were closed although the mouth was slightly open. The body appeared to be in repose.

Eadulf immediately searched for any signs of life, but the body was already growing cold, the skin slightly mottled. He noticed dried blood around the nostrils. Then Eadulf, wrinkling his nose in distaste, bent forward and tried to ease the mouth further open, peering inside. He sighed and rose, turning round to face them.

‘Brother Ailgesach is certainly dead,’ he announced.

‘And the cause?’ asked Fidelma quietly.

‘To all appearances, it would seem that he went to sleep in a drunken stupor and choked on his own vomit.’

Fedach Glas, standing behind them, was looking anxious.

‘Am I responsible for this?’ he muttered.

Fidelma turned to the tavern-keeper. ‘In what manner do you mean — responsible?’ she asked.

‘I am a tavern-keeper. I served him with the drink. And now he has died in my tavern. Isn’t there some law …?’

‘As I understand the laws relating to drunkenness, you have no responsibility in this. Only if you had forced the man to drink against his will would you be culpable. As this was clearly not the case, then you are exonerated from any recompense to his family.’

Fedach Glas looked relieved.

‘I would go back to the others,’ Eadulf suggested to him. ‘I need to speak with Fidelma so that we can clarify the matter.’

Eadulf opened the door of the cabin for the tavern-keeper and watched him for a moment as he hurried back to the main building.

‘What is wrong?’ Fidelma asked, after he had closed the door.

‘I believe Brother Ailgesach was murdered,’ replied Eadulf as he turned back to the corpse. ‘It is unusual that the eyes are closed, for someone who has just had a seizure and choked on their own vomit.’

‘Perhaps Biasta closed the eyes. That is something I have seen people do automatically when confronted with death.’

‘Well,’ continued Eadulf, ‘for one who goes to sleep full of alcohol and is seized by sickness, choking on his own vomit, the corpse is quite composed. If you were choking, even when almost incapable with drink, you would move your hands upwards, fighting for air, striving to clear your mouth and throat. The hands, as you observe, are calmly placed on either side of the body.’

‘But there is vomit on the front of his clothes,’ observed Fidelma. ‘Surely that is indication enough how he choked?’

Eadulf raised the man’s head carefully from the pillow. The cloth underneath was stained with vomit and flecks of blood.

‘That is the point. Perhaps Biasta came in and found Brother Ailgesach choking on his own vomit face downwards . Then he turned the body over, put the pillow neatly under the head and composed the corpse … requiescat in pace .’ Eadulf was rarely given to sarcasm.

Fidelma stood for a moment gazing sombrely down at the corpse of the rotund religieux before saying, ‘It still does not point to the conclusion of murder, Eadulf.’

‘Then I think this will prove it. You will notice that, unusually, there are two pillows behind his head. The soiled one and one that is only a little soiled. And look at the other cot.’ He pointed. ‘It has no pillow.’

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘My suggestion is that someone came in here and held a pillow over the man’s face. His struggle for air produced a paroxysm of vomiting and bleeding from the nose and mouth. The result was that he asphyxiated. The killer then rearranged the body, laying the arms by the side, closing the eyes and putting the pillow behind the head, hoping it would not occur to anyone that if he had choked on vomit while lying face upwards, there would hardly be vomit and blood on the pillow behind his head.’

‘And I suppose Brother Ailgesach was too drunk to stir when the killer came in and calmly removed the pillow from behind his head and commenced to suffocate him?’

Eadulf shook his head. ‘A pillow is missing from the next bed.’

‘And so?’

‘The killer grabbed the pillow from the next bed to smother him with. That is the soiled one. After the deed, the killer realised that the pillow on his victim’s bed was also soiled. So he could not put either pillow back on the next bed. They were both soiled and this would be noticed. So he left the two pillows on Brother Ailgesach’s bed and hoped no connection would be made.’

Fidelma nodded slowly in approval. ‘You’ve touched the thing with a needle,’ she said, using an old saying, meaning that he had spotted matters correctly. ‘And the suspect has to be Brother Biasta?’

‘Who else? The only other choice is the tavern-keeper.’

‘We must tread this path with care, Eadulf,’ she said thoughtfully and suddenly sat down on the edge of the other cot, still staring at the dead religieux.

‘But his guilt is almost beyond question,’ protested Eadulf.

‘“Almost” is a word that contains many questions.’

‘But …’

‘You forget that we came here to find out who the dead envoy was and why he was killed. There are so many questions I would have dearly wished to ask Brother Ailgesach. You see, instinct tells me these matters are connected.’

‘We have a case against Brother Biasta which also needs to be answered,’ said Eadulf. ‘Why, he might even be the killer of the noble as well as his cousin.’

‘Oh, we will ask him questions, have little fear of it,’ Fidelma promised. ‘However, I do not want to put Biasta in a corner so that he sees no way out. Not yet anyway. I want to find out what else he knows. Maybe he can identify the people who stayed with his cousin last night.’

‘So how shall we approach this matter?’

‘We will pretend that we have noticed nothing untoward and that we accept the theory that Brother Ailgesach has choked on his own vomit. We will express curiosity about him, which is natural, and see if Brother Biasta will lead us anywhere.’

Eadulf smiled without humour. ‘Like playing a fish with a line,’ he sighed. ‘But remember, fish can be elusive and slither off your hook.’

Fidelma smiled reflectively. ‘Since we talk in fishing similes, Eadulf, I remember what an old mentor of mine once told me about the art. When you have a strong fish that wants to run, let it run. Let its fear and strength work for you. Then, when it is weak and exhausted, only then do you haul it in.’

Eadulf shrugged. ‘I’ll be surprised if this fish will lead us anywhere.’