Peter Tremayne - The Leper's bell

‘Well, at least we know that the dwarf Forindain is not the so-called child seen by Caol, the guard at the palace,’ he said emphatically.

Fidelma raised an eyebrow in query.

‘How so?’

‘Because Forindain had the power of speech, even though Brother Buite claims he spoke strangely, with a lisp. The child who came to the palace was mute. Caol said so.’

‘And how did Caol know?’

Eadulf was impatient, not understanding her point.

‘Because the child produced a note which said it could not speak?’ Fidelma went on. ‘And we must believe this because a note was produced? Belief is not fact, as I have just told Brother Buite.’

Eadulf considered the point. ‘Do you have reason to believe that the child was lying to Caol?’

She shook her head. ‘If the child or the dwarf were part of a plot to kill Sárait or abduct our baby, of course it would be lying. Anyway, nothing should ever be accepted on face value without checking. That is the rule of the Brehon.’

‘An axiom of Brehon Morann?’ replied Eadulf, a little sharply. ‘I know. Well, that does not get us anywhere. This leper has disappeared taking the western road. He might be anywhere now. He might or might not have been the person who delivered the note to Sárait and even if he did he might or might not have been involved in the murder and kidnapping. There are too many ifs and buts. Where do we go from here?’

There was a dry cough from the shadows. They had forgotten Brother Madagan.

‘If I might make a suggestion…?’ The steward came forward smiling. ‘I think your first priority is to refresh yourselves and, as the sky is darkening, to spend the night here before you travel on.’

Fidelma smiled tiredly.

‘A good idea, Brother Madagan. We are too tired to think logically tonight. We will seek refreshment in food and contemplation.’

Brother Madagan turned towards the door.

‘I will order a chamber to be prepared for you,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Your warrior companions can sleep in the guests’ dormitory. Would you like to wash? It will not be long before the bell sounds for the evening meal.’ At the door, he hesitated and turned back. ‘I could not help but hear that you were interested in a dwarf.’

‘A particular dwarf,’ Fidelma said sharply. ‘Why?’

Brother Madagan made a gesture with his shoulder that was not quite a shrug.

‘Only that there was a group of drúth passing through the town a few days ago and there were dwarfs among them.’

‘Drui?’ queried Eadulf, not quite hearing the pronunciation and thinking the steward had mentioned druids.

Brother Madagan shook his head and corrected him.

‘No, drúth — jesters, jugglers and gleemen. Those who travel the country to entertain and amuse with music, songs, stories and acrobatics.’

‘When did they pass through here?’ asked Fidelma. ‘Before or after the pilgrims arrived?’

‘Oh, the day before, I think. They entertained in the town for one night and then moved on. One of our brethren attended the entertainment and told me that they played the story of Bebo and Iubdán, which seemed much suited to their talents.’

‘It would be a good choice of story,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘But the little person whom we seek was, according to accounts, a leper and a religieux.’

Brother Madagan shrugged. ‘It was a thought. They said that they were going on to the Hill of the Ship. There is a fair there tomorrow. It is not very far west from here.’

‘I know it. The chieftain is a distant cousin of mine. I’ll bear it in mind, Brother Madagan. Thank you.’

Later, in their chamber, Eadulf asked: ‘What did you mean when you said that the story of Bebo and Iubdán was a good choice of story? I do not understand.’

Fidelma was combing her hair and paused.

‘A good choice for little people to play? It is one of the ancient tales. Iubdán was king of the Faylinn-’

‘I’ve heard of many people in these kingdoms but not the Faylinn,’ interrupted Eadulf.

They are what we call the little people. A diminutive race that live in a parallel world. The story goes that Iubdán is able to travel to Emain Macha, the capital of the kingdom of Ulaidh. His wife Bebo comes with him. Iubdán clumsily falls into the porridge, which has been prepared for the breakfast of the king of Ulaidh, Fergus mac Léide. He cannot get out of the porridge bowl and is captured by Fergus. However, Fergus falls in love with Bebo, who comes to plead for her husband’s life. Bebo is very beautiful, and they have an affair while he keeps her husband locked up. Bebo and Iubdán were his prisoners for a year and a day before he offered them freedom in exchange for Iubdán’s most prized possession.’

‘Which was…?’ demanded Eadulf when she paused.

‘A pair of enchanted shoes which enabled the king to travel over water as easily as over dry land.’

‘And did they get their freedom?’

‘They did so, after a year and a day…’

Fidelma’s voice trailed off. A year and a day. She stirred uneasily at her thoughts about her marriage. Her own year and a day, which marked the time when she must decide her future with Eadulf, was rapidly nearing and yet how could she make any decision in the current situation? Her mind was already confused about her relationship and even now more confused by the tragedy of Alchú.

Eadulf had not noticed her sudden melancholy. He was continuing to talk.

‘I have noticed here that dwarfs are not usually treated as figures of fun. It is different in other lands.’

Fidelma stirred herself and continued combing her red tresses. She tried to turn her mind away from her dark thoughts and concentrate on what Eadulf was saying.

‘Why should they be regarded as other than people? Are they so different? In the days before the New Faith, two of the old gods, the children of Danu, were dwarfs. Luchta was one of the three great wrights who crafted shields and spearshafts. Abcán, whose very name means “little dwarf’, was a poet to the gods and goddesses and used to sail a curious metal boat on the waters of Eas Ruadh, the red cataract, which lies in a great river to the north of here. And you will find that little folk are often employed as poets and musicians at the great courts. Even Fionn Mac Cumhail had a harpist named Cnú Deireóil who was a dwarf. He was very handsome, with golden hair and such a sweet voice that he could lull you to sleep by the sound of his singing. Those who are small in stature are not necessarily small in mind.’

Eadulf was silent for a moment.

‘I noticed that when you speak of them you always use the term abacc , while some people use the terms droich and drochcumtha. Which is the proper term for a small person?’

‘Abacc is the better word for them, for it carries no connotation of anything bad or misshapen about a person,’ she said. That implies an arrogance on the part of the speaker which is unworthy.’

Eadulf moved to the window and looked out at the dark cloistered courtyard beyond. One of the abbey’s brethren was going round lighting the torches that hung in their iron braziers on the walls. Eadulf peered up at the patch of blackness above the courtyard and sighed.

The month of Cet Gaimred,’ he used the Irish name, ‘and the clouds are so thick and dark that we cannot see this first of the winter moons.’ He shivered abruptly. ‘I am never happy at this time of year,’ he said.

Fidelma glanced across at him.

‘You cannot deny the natural order of things. Before rebirth there is always a period of darkness. That is why we consider our year begins with the darkness of winter. It is a time when we can rest and contemplate as Nature does before springing forth anew into light and growth.’