Peter Tremayne - The Seventh Trumpet

Fidelma felt the girl would have gone on chattering obliviously and so, in spite of feeling guilty, she simply turned away. On the far side of the stone-flagged courtyard, Gormán and a warrior called Enda stood with four horses already saddled. With them was the farmer, Tóla, seated on a patient ass. Rider and beast looked incongruous next to the horses, especially next to Fidelma’s favourite mount, Aonbharr. An ancient breed, he was short-necked with upright shoulders and a body with slight hindquarters and a long mane. The beast recognised Fidelma as she came into the courtyard for it gave a slight whinny and stamped one of its forefeet on the stone flags, causing sparks to fly. Fidelma called it ‘the Supreme One’, after the magical horse of the pagan Ocean God, Manannán Mac Lir, which could run across land or sea and not be killed by man or immortal. Enda was holding the mount reserved for Eadulf, which was the roan-coloured cob that he had been riding recently. Eadulf now had a fondness for the horse because it was of a docile and willing nature.

Fidelma and Eadulf were pleased that Gormán had chosen the warrior Enda to come with them because they had several times been together in dangerous situations. There was the time he had accompanied Fidelma to save Eadulf from execution from the evil and malicious Abbess Fainder in Ferna. He was another of Cashel’s élite bodyguard, not quite as reflective or intellectual as Gormán. Indeed, he was quick to flare up, but was both loyal and trustworthy, and his sword hand was ever steady in any tight corner.

After the farewells to Muirgen and Alchú, and a quick nod towards where Dúnliath stood, still smiling at them in her vacant fashion, they had all mounted and trotted out of the gate of the fortress and down into the township that lay huddled below the ancient Rock of Cashel. They skirted the base of the Rock, turning west through the streets. There were several people about, a few who greeted them, but otherwise the place was quiet apart from the sharp blow of a smithy’s hammer on his anvil in the forge. They joined the track to head northwards, measuring the pace of their horses to match that of Tóla’s ass because the small beast was far slower. There was no need to hurry for it would not take them long to cover the distance to the ford across the Arglach.

Eadulf had been right in his assessment. Fidelma could hardly suppress her excitement. For the last few weeks she had found nothing to challenge her. She had been more than simply bored: she had felt as if her mind was being withered by inactivity. After the decision of the Council of Brehons, it seemed even her fellow lawyers had avoided her. No one offered her work, not even sitting in judgement on very minor cases. She would have preferred anything rather than letting her mind lie fallow as it had been doing since she and Eadulf had returned from Lios Mór. Now the adrenalin increased as she contemplated the few facts that Tóla had been able to give her.

If the victim was, indeed, a noble of the Uí Máil of Laigin, slain within sight of Cashel, then her brother was absolutely correct. It meant trouble.

Tóla’s young son, Breac, had been relieved of his guard duty and sent back to the farmhouse with the dog and ass while the farmer remained with Fidelma and her companions to show them exactly how he had found the body. Gormán and Enda stood to one side holding the horses while Fidelma and Eadulf approached the corpse.

The finding of a murdered youth in this beautiful little glade with its gushing stream produced a curious feeling of unreality. The frothing of the water around the stepping-stones, the rustle of the leaves in the trees and even the musical warble of the smólach mór , a missel thrush, high above them in one of the trees, added to the chimerical scene. It seemed so peaceful, and yet — yet here was the corpse of someone whose life had come to a violent end, shattering the serenity of the place.

It was Eadulf who knelt to examine the body first.

‘There are no wounds in the front of this young man’s body,’ he announced, echoing what the farmer had already told them.

Fidelma cast her eyes quickly over the body and its clothing, paying particular attention to the hands, which were fair-skinned and delicate, with slender, tapering fingers. The hands and nails were carefully manicured, which was a sure sign of nobility. The long hair was neatly trimmed and the young man was cleanshaven. There was no mistaking — the clothing was of good quality, even had the jewellery, which enhanced it, not proclaimed a person of some status and wealth. Of particular interest was the fact that the man still wore his sword and dagger in their bejewelled sheaths.

‘One thing is certain from this,’ Fidelma observed softly. ‘He was not attacked from the front and did not have time to draw his weapons to defend himself.’

Eadulf nodded absently before glancing up at Tóla. ‘You said that when you turned the body over, you found rents in his clothing, and blood?’

‘I did,’ replied the farmer, feeling apprehensive. It was still uppermost in his thoughts that the body, being that of a noble — and a murdered noble, at that — was on his land and he would be liable, under law, for payment of compensation.

Fidelma guessed what was in his mind and smiled encouragingly. ‘Do not worry, Tóla. You have done well in bringing news of this to Cashel. And you also did well in realising that this unfortunate young man was someone of status. The responsibility is now ours, so just tell us everything you did, no matter how insignificant.’

Tóla compressed his lips for a moment before he replied in a slow, considered tone: ‘I had dragged the body from the stream, where it had been blocking the waters against the stepping-stones of the ford …’

‘So it was lying across the stream, but facing which way?’ interrupted Fidelma.

‘The head was towards the southern bank, towards Cashel, and it was face down in the water.’

‘So you dragged the body on to this bank?’

‘I did. Then, as I have said, not seeing any wound on the front, I turned the body over to examine the back of his head. At first I thought the young man had slipped on the crossing-stones and hit his head. Then I saw the cuts in his short cloak and jacket. And there was still blood there. I laid the body back down … it seemed an insult to leave it face down. I left it face up, as you see it now. Then I removed that brooch, which I took to be an emblem and means of identity, and went back to the farm to get my ass. I left my son and my dog to guard this place and came straight to Cashel. That is all I know.’

‘You did well, Tóla,’ Fidelma repeated. Then she turned to Eadulf and gave a nod.

Eadulf unfastened the short cape and the man’s upper garment and linen shirt. Then, with the help of Tóla, he turned the body over and finished removing the upper clothing. The cause of death was immediate to see. There were three jagged wounds in the back, all fairly close together between the shoulder-blades. They matched the jagged tears in the garments that the young man had been wearing. Eadulf examined them with pursed lips.

‘Fairly deep,’ he reflected. ‘Any one of them might have been the fatal blow.’ He glanced at Fidelma. ‘Would you say he was a tall man?’

Fidelma followed his gaze, examining the corpse from poll to feet.

‘He is certainly not short. I would say that he is slightly above average height. What makes you ask that?’

‘Whoever inflicted these wounds was taller than he was. They must have stood behind him, and even raising their dagger for the blows to descend into the area of the wounds, they would need height to gain the strength to make the cuts so deep.’