Peter Tremayne - The Leper's bell

Brother Madagan, seeing Eadulf’s puzzled look, leant forward in agreement.

‘His kingdom is not what we would call Christian. The land is a long peninsula, mountainous and wild, and Slébéne’s capital is so isolated, at the end of the peninsula, that few venture to it. It is said to be an evil place.’

Eadulf smiled wryly. ‘I think I have enough experience dealing with non-Christians to worry little about them. Christian or not, people do not vary one from another simply because of religion. When I was in Rome, I went to see a play called Asinaria. The lesson was that pride and avarice are the causes of man’s evil to man, not religion. Man is a wolf to man.’

Fidelma was bitter.

‘Lupus est homo homini,’ she murmured. ‘Yet the author, Titus Plautus, mistook the main point — wolves do not attack one another. Only man attacks his own kind without cause.’ Then she rose abruptly. ‘Let us see the leader of the pilgrim band, Brother Madagan.’

Apparently the pilgrims from Cashel were, at that moment, praying in the chapel that housed the relics of the Blessed Ailbe. The steward suggested that Fidelma and Eadulf remain in his chambers while he went to fetch their leader, Brother Buite.

Eadulf expressed his surprise. ‘Praying in the chapel? You don’t mind a poor body afflicted with leprosy wandering freely about the abbey?’

It was Brother Madagan’s turn to look surprised.

‘What makes you think that any of these pilgrims have leprosy?’ he queried.

Fidelma turned sharply to him.

‘Among the band of pilgrims that came from Cashel there was supposed to be one that looked like a misshapen child who rang a leper’s bell. Is he not among this band?’

Brother Madagan shook his head. ‘No such misshapen pilgrim was among them. Certainly no leper came with them. But Brother Buite did say that they had come through Cashel recently.’

Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully and glanced towards Eadulf. Then she shrugged and turned back to Brother Madagan.

‘We will hear what Brother Buite has to tell us.’

Fidelma and Eadulf sat together in silence for a while, Fidelma leaning back in the comfortable wooden chair of the steward while only her tapping fingers, drumming a strange but rhythmic tattoo, showed her agitation. It was the first time they had been entirely alone for some time

‘At some stage, we must talk,’ Eadulf finally said.

Fidelma closed eyes momentarily and Eadulf waited for some outburst.

‘About what?’ Her voice was equally soft.

‘About ourselves. There is much left unsaid.’

She turned round and he was surprised at the sad smile that broke on her features.

‘You are right, Eadulf. Much has been left unsaid between us since we returned from Rath Raithlen. That is my fault. But be patient for a little while longer. At this time, I need your strength. We will speak soon. I promise.’

Eadulf turned his gaze to the fire and fell silent.

Fidelma was grateful for his sensitivity. She felt enough of a sense of guilt already not only because of the missing child but because, for the last several months, she had been questioning her relationship with Eadulf. Since little Alchú had been born she had been in a constant state of depression. It had taken her a long time to agree to become Eadulf’s ben charrthach , his wife for a year and a day. It was one of the nine forms of recognised marital relationship in which the woman’s status and rights were acknowledged under the law of the Cáin Lánamnus.

Fidelma had long avoided the inevitable outcome of her attraction to Eadulf. She had already experienced one unhappy affair with a warrior named Cian and thought that she would never undergo the agony of falling in love again. But some inner spark had ignited when she first met Eadulf at the great Council of Whitby, even though he was a Saxon and an advocate for the acceptance of the teachings of Rome. She had tried to argue that she cared too much for Eadulf to rush into easy decisions; that she had tried to avoid any close relation because, under the laws of the five kingdoms, it would be a marriage of unequal persons. Fidelma was of royal rank and Eadulf, as a stranger in the land and not even of royal status, would not have equal property rights with his wife.

Then it seemed that all was well. She had made the decision. During the trial marriage she had become pregnant and their son Alchú was born. Had she resented the birth of Alchú? Her mind had dwelt on the freedom she had lost and she had begun to resent Eadulf and the idea of a life confined to Cashel. The request of her brother, Colgú the king, to go to Rath Raithlen and solve the mystery of the slaughtered young women had been a godsend to her. She had been dwelling on her personal problems as she and Eadulf had ridden back to Cashel having been successful in resolving the mystery. She had been considering whether she should end the trial marriage now, for the year and a day would soon be over. Then she had learnt the news about her baby son.

She gave a sharp intake of breath as the pain of the news struck her once again.

‘What is it?’ demanded Eadulf, concern on his features.

She glanced at him and grimaced.

‘I was just think of something Publilius Syrus once wrote…’

At another time Eadulf might have made some humorous aside, for Fidelma was always ready to quote a moral axiom of the former slave of Rome. She seemed to know them all by heart. Instead he just said: ‘Yes?’

‘How unhappy are they who cannot forgive themselves,’ she replied sadly.

Eadulf was about to respond when the door opened and Brother Madagan entered, then stood aside to usher in a medium-sized man in long brown woollen robes who walked with a distinctive limp. His left arm dangled uselessly at his side. He was not elderly but his features were deeply marked by experience rather than age. His long dark hair had white streaks in it and his dark eyes seemed to glow as if reflecting the horrors he had seen. His was the face of a man marred by his vicissitudes.

This is Brother Buite of Magh Ghlas,’ announced the steward.

Brother Buite limped forward and bowed briefly to Fidelma.

‘How can I help you, lady?’

Fidelma returned his gaze for a moment. ‘You know me?’

Brother Buite inclined his head. ‘I served in the army of your brother at Cnoc Áine. That was where I…’

He reached unconsciously with his right hand across his chest towards his useless left arm, and then his hand dropped back and he shrugged.

‘I know you, lady, and I know of your sorrow. I was in Cashel with my brothers on the night it happened. If there is anything I can do to relieve the pain you have but to ask.’

‘You are generous in spirit, Brother Buite,’ replied Fidelma solemnly. ‘This is Brother Eadulf. Take a seat and speak with us a while.’

The man limped to an indicated seat and sat awkwardly while Brother Madagan, at a glance from Fidelma, went to resume his seat.

‘I understand that you and your companions were in Cashel when my nurse was murdered and my baby taken. Tell me about your companions.’

Brother Buite flushed a little.

‘I will speak of myself but you must question my companions about themselves. Sufficient to say that we all met on the road not far outside Cashel and I, knowing of the shrine of Ailbe, offered to guide them here to the abbey. We spent a night at the inn in the township below your brother’s palace. I was told the following morning of the death of a nurse and the disappearance of your child, lady. But as it was clear that we had no baby with us, the noble prince Finguine allowed us to continue the journey here.’

‘Ah yes. It was Finguine who came to the inn to question your party the next morning, I believe?’