The Seventh Trumpet Read Free Page A

need further information about his thoughts, it would be better to ask him.’
    Abbot Ségdae’s cheeks reddened a little and he smothered a cough while Colgú shook his head in disapproval.
    ‘Abbot Ségdae has only the good of our family and the kingdom at heart, Fidelma,’ he rebuked in a soft tone. ‘Indeed, that is what brings him here so early in the morning.’
    It was obvious to her that her brother was trying to guide the conversation into other channels. Fidelma obliged him, for she was wondering why the abbot had ridden through the night to seek him out.
    ‘Is there some matter that affects the well-being of either?’ she asked innocently. ‘I thought it might be arrangements for some more pleasant occasion that brought Abbot Ségdae hither?’
    Her brother actually blushed. Drón, Lord of Gabrán in Osraige, and his daughter, Dúnliath, had been guests at Cashel for three days now and Colgú had confessed to Fidelma that he was going to discuss the terms of a marriage contract with him. Fidelma had tried to put aside the fact that she had taken a dislike to the arrogant noble and regarded his daughter with indifference. She was trying to rationalise what she saw as her prejudice and accept that what would make her brother happy would be for his good and, therefore, the good of the kingdom.
    ‘There is news of unrest coming out of the lands of the Uí Fidgente,’ said Abbot Ségdae. ‘That is what brought me here.’
    ‘That is nothing new,’ Fidelma replied lightly. ‘The Uí Fidgente have always caused trouble to our family and to the unity of the kingdom.’
    The princes of the Uí Fidgente in the north-west of the kingdom had long claimed they should be in the line of the rightful rulers of the kingdom – and not the Eóghanacht, descendants of Eóghan Mór. They even claimed their line descended from Cormac Cass, the elder brother of Eóghan, and hence they called themselves the Dál gCais, descendants of Cass. Beyond their clan lands, however, they found little support for their claims. It had not been many years ago that Colgú had to take the field with his loyal warriors against Prince Eoghanán of the Uí Fidgente and his allies to quell their insurgency. For as long as Fidelma could remember, if there was any plot or mischief in the kingdom, it was usually inspired by the discontent of the princes of the Uí Fidgente.
    ‘I thought,’ she continued, ‘that since Donennach became their ruler, and agreed a treaty with Cashel, there had been peace among them?’
    ‘This time we cannot be sure that the Uí Fidgente are behind this unrest,’ the abbot sighed.
    ‘What unrest do we speak of?’ Fidelma asked.
    After a glance at the King, as if seeking permission to speak, the abbot explained. ‘We hear that several villages and farmsteads around the territory of the Uí Fidgente have been set ablaze and many killed. The news only reached Imleach yesterday morning. That is why I set out to bring the information to your brother.’
    ‘What is the specific information that you have received?’ pressed Fidelma. ‘Burning villages and farmsteads – who reported this to you?’
    ‘The first account came by way of a merchant who had seen several homesteads in ashes. He then saw an entire settlement that had been torched.’
    ‘Where was this?’
    ‘A settlement on the banks of An Mháigh.’
    ‘As I recall, that is a fairly long river. Was he more specific?’
    ‘The settlement that was destroyed was near a crossing called the Ford of the Oak, Áth Dara.’
    ‘That is certainly in Uí Fidgente territory,’ Colgú confirmed, ‘but if memory serves, it is on the very border of their territory, for the eastern side of the river is the territory of our cousin Finguine of the Eóghanacht Áine.’
    ‘Did this merchant make enquiries as to what had happened at this ford?’ Fidelma asked.
    ‘Alas, there was no one left other than corpses. The men, women and children had all been cut down or