Peter Tremayne - The Leper's bell

‘Ah, I pray that it may continue to be so, Aona,’ replied Fidelma in solemn humour. ‘Better peace than conflict, eh?’

Capa looked irritated at being excluded from this friendly exchange. His handsome features seemed disdainful of the intimacy between Fidelma and the innkeeper.

‘Landlord, fetch us food and drink,’ he said officiously.

Fidelma turned to him and only Eadulf saw the swift look of annoyance cross her features before it was gone.

‘Aona, let me present Capa. Capa now holds the position that you once held.’

Capa frowned, not understanding, colouring at the implied rebuke. Then he peered at the old innkeeper with an expression of surprise as memory came to him.

‘Are you Aona who was commander of the guard of Cashel in the days of my grandfather? Aona whose deeds and combats are still spoken of?’

Behind Capa, Caol and Gorman were regarding the old innkeeper with something approaching awe. They were both young men, full of pride at being chosen to wear the golden necklet of the élite bodyguard of Cashel. But over their fires, at night, they had also heard of the deeds and valour of the great warriors who had gone before them and whose image they wanted to live up to.

The old innkeeper chuckled at their expressions.

‘I am Aona who once served as commander of the guard,’ he replied. ‘But you make me sound positively ancient, my young warrior.’ His grey eyes glinted like steel as he regarded the younger man. ‘So you are now commander of the guard, eh? Well, command is not merely in the strength of one’s muscles, young friend. Let us hope your mind is as agile as your body.’

Capa’s chin came up defensively.

‘I pride myself that Colgú has no cause to complain of me,’ he retorted.

I am glad to hear it,’ Aona assured him calmly. Then he glanced swiftly to Fidelma and winked. ‘You are fond of quoting Publilius Syrus, lady. Didn’t he say that there is but a step between a proud man’s glory and his disgrace?’

He gave the quotation in the original Latin and Capa apparently did not understand it. Fidelma restrained a smile for she knew that Aona had also spotted what she felt was Capa’s weakness — his arrogance. She turned and indicated that Capa and his men should seat themselves and order something to drink. She and Eadulf moved towards the fire while Aona, in answer to their request, placed a jug of reddish-coloured ale called leann , distilled from rye, and some pottery drinking vessels before the three warriors. They fell to with unconcealed eagerness. Fidelma motioned Aona to join them.

‘Before we sample your stew and your famous corma , Aona, have you heard or seen anything unusual on this road? You see…’

Aona interrupted with a shake of his head.

‘You do not have to explain, lady. I have heard of your distress. If there is anything I can do, you have only to command. There have been only a few travellers on the road from Cashel.’

Fidelma’s features expressed silent gratitude.

‘We are trying to pick up some lead,’ she explained. ‘Something to give us a clue to where my baby has been taken. I want to question some pilgrims who will have taken this road.’

Aona raised a hand and pushed back his hair, letting it run through his fingers.

‘Pilgrims? They did not venture near my tavern for which mercy, in truth, I uttered a prayer of thanks.’

‘Why would that be?’ Fidelma asked in surprise.

‘The pilgrims took the western road to Imleach but one of them, who walked in the rear, rang a leper’s bell to warn of his approach. I watched them cross the ford and pass through the settlement without stopping and, I would say, much to everyone’s relief.’ He held up a hand. ‘Do not lecture me on charity, lady. I have charity as much as the next man but even so I could not help feeling gratitude when they passed on, with the leper, without asking for alms or hospitality.’

‘But you saw them pass by?’ Eadulf pressed quickly. ‘Was one short in stature — perhaps a child or a youth?’

‘I only saw them from a distance. Even then they were clad from poll to foot in their robes. They wore cowls. I think that the one with the bell might have been shorter than the others. It was hard to tell. No one was carrying a baby, though.’ He frowned, tugging at his ear. ‘During this week it has been quiet on this road, lady. I’ve scarcely seen a dozen travellers and half of those are known to me. From some of them, I learnt about your baby’s disappearance. Of the strangers with babies … there was an itinerant herbalist with his wife and two babies in a wagon. I was fishing on the river so noticed their arrival. They came from the north, though, along the road from Cappagh, and joined the Cashel road just by the bridge.’

‘When was that?’ asked Eadulf.

‘Four or five days ago.’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘They had two babies with them, you say?’

Aona nodded.

‘No matter,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘Has anyone else passed here? Any other strangers?’

‘Two more only. A short time before the apothecary and his wife, two religious passed here. One was from the northern kingdom, travelling with a stranger from beyond the seas. They rode good horses. The stranger from beyond the seas was unlike any foreign religious that I have seen.

At first, I thought him to be a Greek, because I have encountered several of those who have passed on their way to Imleach. Yet he was not quite the same as a Greek…’

That was probably the Persian,’ Eadulf intervened by way of explanation. ‘Was the one who came from the north a brother from the abbey at Ard Macha?’

Aona grimaced indifferently. ‘He could well have been, Brother Eadulf. He was a proud young man and mentioned with pride his king, Blathmac mac Máel Cobo…’

‘Of the Dál Fiatach of Ulaidh,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘How long did they stay here?’

‘Long enough for a meal. They said that they were passing on to Colmán’s abbey on the western coast.’ Aona paused and glanced at the warriors. ‘If you will excuse me, lady, I’d better attend to the food. I presume young Adag is looking after your horses?’

On learning this was the case Aona disappeared, to quickly reappear with bread, freshly baked, and hot bowls of savoury mutton stew.

Eadulf joined the others as they fell to the bowls of steaming soup. While they were so engaged, Aona went round filling pottery mugs with corma , the fiery barley distilled alcohol that he personally brewed on the premises. Eadulf remembered the first time he had been at Aona’s inn and how he had nearly choked as the fiery liquid left him gasping for breath. He asked for a jug of water and met with Aona’s knowing grin.

‘I see you remember my corma well, Brother Eadulf.’

Fidelma sat on a window seat, watching the rain splattering down and nibbling pensively on a dish of fruit that Aona had tempted her with.

Presently, when they were all more relaxed and oblivious of the thunderstorm raging outside, Fidelma and Eadulf drew their chairs before the fire and settled down with Aona to talk more about old times. Adag, having fed and settled the horses, came in then, pausing to shake the rain off his heavy woollen cloak.

‘Do you still reckon on an hour until the storm passes, youngster?’ Capa called cynically.

Adag grinned, unembarrassed. ‘Not much more than an hour, warrior. The mountain hid the full extent of the storm clouds from me. But already there is blue showing behind the clouds, so it will soon pass,’ he added confidently.

Amid the soft conversation of the warriors and the crackle of the fire there appeared a lull in the exchange of the old comrades. Then Aona said sadly: ‘I was unhappy to hear that it was Sárait who had been murdered. A sad family.’