Colgú sniffed in disgust. ‘I have already said so. I do not understand how that impression was put about. He and Dúnliath were totally safe in Cashel. You are not saying that he was lured here as part of this conspiracy? Lured here to be killed? I think it is high time you told me what this so-called conspiracy is all about, and who is involved.’
‘That I shall do shortly,’ Fidelma replied. ‘But perhaps we can now see the Lady Étain first?’
Gelgéis reached for her hand-bell to summon Spealáin.
‘You’ll excuse me if I do not accompany you to see this madwoman?’ she said. ‘I do not know her and have no wish to do so. She is responsible for so much evil, and I would rather not look upon such madness.’
Spealáin entered with Caol behind him, who confirmed that the prisoner was locked inside a chamber below in the fortress. They conducted Colgú, with Fidelma and Eadulf, to a stout wooden door outside which one of Spealáin’s own men stood on guard. Before throwing the bolts, Caol said softly for Fidelma’s benefit: ‘She is restricted for her own benefit as well as yours, so do not be shocked at her appearance.’
‘That is understood,’ Fidelma acknowledged.
The chamber was certainly no cell. A shaft of late-afternoon sunlight came through the window, and it would have been a pleasant room had it not been for the solitary occupant. A large chair stood in a corner and in it was seated a figure. Rather, the figure was strapped to the chair with manacles of iron restricting her wrists and ankles. Her hair was matted and tangled; there was blood on her face and on her clothing, which was torn and soiled.
Fidelma’s breath caught in her throat as she viewed the pitiful creature that huddled before her. Her mind went back to when she had first met Étain of An Dún. Was it only a few months before at Lios Mór? Then she had been a tall, imposing figure with traces of her former youthful beauty. The sharp blue eyes, which once were like gimlets, piercing into their minds, were now pale and without lustre. Now there were telltale marks of age around them. A few months ago it was only by peering closely that Fidelma had seen that the woman used berry juice to darken her brows and hair, which had been braided and elaborately dressed; held in place with gold circlet pins. Now her hair was dishevelled, dirty-grey — even white — and caked in places with blood and dirt.
Fidelma glanced with a frown at Caol. ‘Can she not have been allowed to bathe and have a little dignity?’
Caol stiffened at her rebuke. ‘She is quiet now, lady, but this mood does not seem to last for long. She can become like a hound out of hell itself. I have never seen her like for ferocity. I would not place you in such harm’s way.’
Fidelma knew Caol well enough to accept that he did not act without a good reason. She took a pace forward and cleared her throat. ‘Lady Étain, do you know me?’
There was scarcely any movement, hardly even of natural breathing, but Fidelma became aware of the eyelids flickering and then those pale eyes were trying to focus on her.
‘It is I, Fidelma of Cashel,’ Fidelma said softly.
The woman tried to raise one of her manacled wrists in salutation but she could not lift it very far. She gave a deep sigh. There was an elaborate dignity in the gesture.
‘I regret that I have to receive you thus, lady.’
‘Are you able to answer some questions?’
‘Questions? There are no questions to be asked. Just believe and all will be well. Caeli enaran gloriam Dei!’
‘Indeed, the heavens do bespeak the glory of God, but we must also ask questions that are unrelated to matters of the Faith. I would speak about your cousin, Cronán.’
Colgú and Eadulf both started at the information. Eadulf dimly remembered that Cronán had said something about a cousin of his marrying a noble of the Déisi, but …
‘He is your cousin, isn’t he?’ asked Fidelma.
The woman was almost whispering now. ‘He is a grand abbot. He told me the truth about the seventh angel. I shall soon mount to the throne of this world, for it is my destiny to ensure that all see the glory of God and the truth of His message.’
‘I would like to know how you and Cronán set about this task,’ Fidelma said.
A sudden flash of recognition crossed the woman’s face, and her eyes changed from pale to bright blue. She was staring malignantly at Fidelma as if seeing her for the first time.
‘I recognise you, Whore of Babylon!’ Her voice grew harsh and venomous. The malevolent face then turned to Eadulf, causing him to take a step backwards. ‘This woman is responsible for the death of the Prophets and Apostles!’ she shouted. ‘She is a dwelling place of evil, a cup full of iniquities.’
Caol made to go towards Étain as she writhed and twisted against her bonds. Fidelma reached out a hand to stay him.
‘She is quoting from Scripture,’ she explained quietly. ‘It signifies nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ Étain was slobbering, the spittle on her lips. ‘And their dead bodies shall lie in the streets of their great city … and the people and the clans … they shall see the dead bodies … but they will not be able to put the dead into graves, for there will be so many.’ Her voice rose to a croaking crescendo. ‘The seventh trumpet sounds; the kingdom of this world will become the kingdom of our Lord.’
‘The seventh trumpet,’ muttered Eadulf. ‘So that was the code of their conspiracy?’
Fidelma glanced sadly at the woman who had collapsed back in the chair after her violent tussle against her bonds. She was muttering and weeping. But there was nothing else they could do. They left and went outside. When Caol bolted the door, there was a troubled look on Fidelma’s face.
‘Is there nothing we can do? No balm that will keep her quiet?’ Her question was directed at Eadulf.
‘For such a state as that woman is in, it is hard to say what will help her. We could try lily of the valley, maybe fennel, or a mixture of both in an infusion.’ He spread his hands almost helplessly. ‘Perhaps the best thing is to induce sleep.’
‘I am sure Gelgéis has an apothecary here,’ Colgú said, turning to Caol. ‘Go and ask for such potions as Eadulf suggests. But ensure that the woman remains restrained.’
‘I have seen enough not to be reminded of that duty,’ muttered Caol as he left them.
‘And now we must have some answers, Fidelma,’ Colgú said briskly. ‘You started off with the death of an unknown Laigin noble outside Cashel. How has it developed to this …?’ He spread his arms to encompass everything.
‘That I believe I can now answer. Let us see if Gelgéis will allow us to meet in her personal reception chamber again, this time with her advisers and with Brehon Áedo and Bishop Ségdae.’
The chamber seemed crowded. It was not made to accommodate the nine people who filled it. Gelgéis had vacated her usual chair of office for Colgú to sit in while she had taken a chair close by Áedo, the Chief Brehon of Muman. The latter sat next to Gelgéis’s own Brehon, Broce of the Éile. Next to him was Abbot Ségdae and Bishop Daig. Spealáin stood by the door which he closed after attendants had brought refreshment for everyone.
‘So where shall we start in unravelling this mystery?’ Colgú asked the question directly of his sister.
She said: ‘Let us start with the decision of Brehon Áedo …’
The Chief Brehon of Muman glared at Fidelma. ‘What do you mean?’ he growled. ‘What have I to do with this conspiracy?’
Fidelma answered with a reassuring tone. ‘Let us hope that you have nothing to do with it, except indirectly. But cast your mind back a few months. We were all at the Abbey of Lios Mór, investigating a particularly gruesome murder. I presented the case. You will recall?’
The Chief Brehon uttered a curt, ‘Of course! It was shown and judged that the Lady Étain of An Dún was guilty of the murder of her own son and, indeed, of others.’