Peter Tremayne - The Seventh Trumpet

‘Then …’ Gormán was white-faced as he turned to the door.

‘Wait! We can leave Colgú’s protection to Caol,’ called Fidelma, halting him. ‘Our task is to find Étain and her companion.’

Outside in the corridor, ignoring the crumpled body of the warrior, they paused, uncertain of their direction. Then Gormán sucked in his breath and pointed. There were smudge-marks of blood on the stone floor. Someone, either Étain or her rescuer, had trodden in the blood of the guard and moved on, not noticing.

Gormán eased his sword out and led the way, following the trail. At the end of the passage, the trail turned down another short passage and ended before a stout wooden door. There were no locks on it. The young warrior motioned them back and reached forward. The door pushed open easily. A flight of steps led down into what was obviously a cellar or small vault. They could see a flickering light at the bottom.

‘Wait here!’ whispered the warrior. ‘I’ll go down first.’

They knew better than to object. Gormán moved noiselessly down the stone steps, his sword held ready in front of him. Then he disappeared from their sight. There was a long silence and Eadulf fidgeted uneasily. Fidelma was about to call down when Gormán’s voice came up to them.

‘It’s all right, but you had better come and see this.’

Eadulf went first down the steps and into the cellar, which was lit by an oil lamp. Gormán was standing before what seemed to be a mound of clothing on the floor in front of him.

‘What is it?’ demanded Eadulf.

Gormán stood back and gestured to the huddled figure at his feet.

Fidelma let her breath escape in a long deep sigh. ‘It’s Étain,’ she said softly.

‘A single stab wound in the heart,’ confirmed Gormán.

Eadulf took the oil lamp from its resting-place and held it above the figure so that they could see better.

‘Did you …?’ Fidelma looked up at Gormán.

‘God forbid, lady. I am no killer of old women,’ protested the warrior. ‘I came down here and saw this bundle of clothing, or so I thought. I discovered it was a body and made a quick search, but there is no one else here.’

‘The wound is still bleeding, the body warm.’ Eadulf had peered closer. ‘And …’ his voice rose sharply, ‘she still lives!’

He gently thrust Fidelma aside, handing her the lantern, and knelt beside the woman. Even as he did so, he realised that it was too late. The Lady Étain of An Dún was breathing her last but, in that moment, she was conscious and her pale eyes became wide and staring. A strange understanding entered them. She was trying to speak. Eadulf raised her head a little with one hand behind it, and bent his ear to her trembling lips. Words came as a painful breath followed by a long rattling sigh and she was dead.

Eadulf laid the woman’s head back on the bloody flags, then slowly rose to his feet.

‘Did she say anything?’ Fidelma demanded.

‘I believe she was thinking of her family in her last moment.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because she said two words — “my daughter” — that’s all.’

Fidelma stared at him and he saw comprehension dawning in her eyes. Then she quickly addressed Gormán. ‘Find Spealáin and inform him of this matter. He can remove the body. I will let my brother and Gelgéis know.’

Eadulf followed her as she hurried away.

‘What is it?’ he demanded as they raced back towards the guest quarters.

‘I have just realised that my brother is still in danger,’ she panted.

They found Caol standing outside the guest chamber which had been assigned to Colgú.

‘Didn’t I tell you not to leave my brother’s side?’ Fidelma’s voice was raised in anger.

Caol was shocked, for he had never heard her sound so angry or upset before. ‘It’s all right, lady,’ he protested. ‘The King is not alone. He told me to wait outside.’

‘Did I not make my instructions clear? Not alone? Who is with him?’

‘Why, the Lady Dúnliath.’

To his surprise, Fidelma physically pushed him aside and hurled herself at the door. It was secured from the inside.

‘Break it in!’ Her agitation galvanised Caol into action.

Caol threw himself at the door. The wood around the lock cracked and splintered and gave, precipitating him into the room, followed a moment later by Fidelma.

Dúnliath had been wrapped in an embrace with Colgú and now she spun away and stared at them with cold fury on her face. Colgú himself stepped back in utter astonishment.

‘By the …!’ he roared. ‘What does this mean, sister?’ His voice was low and ominous.

‘I am thankful to find you unharmed, brother.’ There was relief in her voice, but she knew that Colgú was possessed of a temper equal to her own.

‘Of course I am unharmed!’ he snapped. ‘There are boundaries that even you may not trespass across. What do you mean by this outrageous behaviour?’

‘I gave specific instructions to Caol not to leave your side until I said so.’

‘That’s not his fault. I ordered him to leave as I was not alone.’

‘And I instructed him not to leave your side, no matter who was with you,’ replied Fidelma with equal firmness.

‘I was with my betrothed, Fidelma. How dare you …?’

Dúnliath had controlled her shock and anger now. Her features had resumed their usual benevolent expression.

‘Come, beloved,’ she said to Colgú, ‘don’t be angry with your sister. That she is so concerned with your welfare is much to be praised. She was worried for your safety.’

‘Yet your worry was unnecessary,’ Colgú ranted at Fidelma. ‘Caol was outside and Ailill is in the next room. I had but to call, and either of them could have reached us if it were necessary. And why would it be necessary? The only way to surprise me in here would be an attack through this window, and that is a long climb from the courtyard. I doubt anyone would risk it. So now we have a splintered door as the result of your concern, and that must be repaired. You will have to apologise to Gelgéis and to her steward.’

Fidelma did not reply but stood looking around the chamber. She tried to keep her expression neutral as she examined the features of the fair-haired girl.

‘Alas, lady, I have some sad news for you and that precipitated my anxiety for my brother.’ She saw the girl’s face tighten, but she said nothing.

‘What sad news, Fidelma?’ Colgú asked curiously.

‘Dúnliath’s mother has been found dead.’

Apart from a further tightening of the girl’s face, she remained silent, immovable.

‘Dúnliath’s mother?’ Colgú was puzzled. ‘Found dead? Where? How do you know? I have no understanding of this.’

‘In a vault in this fortress,’ replied Fidelma.

Colgú remained bewildered. Then he looked at the girl. ‘Who is your mother, Dúnliath?’

The girl did not reply. She had become as rigid as a statue. It was left to Fidelma to supply the answer. ‘Étain of An Dún,’ she said quietly.

Colgú’s gasp of astonishment was louder than that of Eadulf and either Caol or Gormán.

‘I thought your mother had died a long while ago,’ he said to Dúnliath.

Fidelma did not take her eyes from the girl.

‘Dúnliath told me some time ago in Cashel that her mother’s name was Étain. Drón of Gabrán married twice. His second wife was the mother of Dúnliath, who left him. Dúnliath was then raised by his dormun , a concubine.’

There was a growing noise along the corridor and Spealáin and his guards were crowding at the door. Fidelma turned to Eadulf, who was the only one unmoved by the revelation, and asked him to assure them that Colgú was well and to wait at the end of the corridor. When he had done so, she found Colgú was staring incredulously at Dúnliath.