Peter Tremayne - The Leper's bell

However, for such a small fair, there were a lot of people attending. It was probable that most of the population of the outlying areas had come to attend or participate in the sports or be entertained by the travelling players.

The stalls were crowded with people selling their wares, from farmers selling goats and pigs to those selling fruits and baked produce such as pies. Above the hubbub and shouting of the crowds came the sound of music. Here and there an airfidig or solitary minstrel wandered, singing ballads and reciting poetry, while in one corner a group of musicians, including a cruit or harp player, a cnamh-fhir or bone man who played bone castanets, and a drummer, entertained a crowd, with cuirsig , pipes and flutes.

Fidelma’s sharp eye caught a small stage. It was empty but had obviously been erected for an entertainment. A notice attached to a pole read, ‘The Love of Bebo of the Faylinn to be played here.’ So the dwarfs were still here, she noted with satisfaction. Of course, it did not mean that the leper, Forindain, was with them, but she felt intuitively that she would find him.

She drew her horse to a halt and called to a man, who looked like a local, who was standing by a stream that meandered along the edge of the fairground where people could water their horses. This man, however, held a great wolfhound on a lead, and it was lapping at the waters.

‘Greetings, my friend. Where is the suide-dála , the convention seat, and will your chieftain be there?’

The man, tall with ginger hair and the look of a smith rather than a farmer, glanced quickly at her with bright blue eyes, his gaze travelling from her attire to the golden necklets of her companions announcing them to be the élite of the king of Cashel’s warriors. He inclined his head in obeisance.

‘You are welcome to Cnoc Loinge, lady.’ He had obviously deduced that she was no mere religieuse but someone of importance. ‘If you follow this stream here you will come to the convention seat by the camán field, the large blue tent, where our chieftain, Fiachrae, takes his rest before the game starts.’

‘Thank you.’ Fidelma turned towards the tent the man had indicated. They had not gone far when Capa called to her.

‘Lady, do you want us to set about finding the dwarfs and discovering if they know the religieux leper?’

Fidelma drew rein.

‘I am going to talk to the chieftain here. He is Fiachrae, a distant cousin of mine — one of the Eóghanacht. But we can save time. Make your search and inquiries. See if you can find Forindain. You know his description: a dwarf in religious robes and doubtless carrying a leper’s bell.’

Gorman’s face took on a concerned look.

‘How should we approach a leper?’

Fidelma regarded him with amusement.

‘Like anyone else. Inform him that a dálaigh wishes to speak to him. He has a legal obligation to comply. As soon as I have made myself known to the chieftain, I will join you in the search.’

Eadulf, concentrating on what was being said, did not know exactly what happened. One minute he was seated easily on his horse, next to Fidelma, and the next his mount was rearing and whinnying as if something had startled it. Eadulf was not the best of horsemen and clung on for dear life. His powerful beast kicked out and caught Fidelma’s mount, which also reared unexpectedly, and lost its footing, its hind legs splashing back into the stream. Caught by surprise, Fidelma was catapulted backwards into the muddy waters.

Capa reached forward and grasped her horse’s head while Gorman caught at Eadulf’s mount. A moment later, both animals stood still and trembling. Eadulf and Capa immediately slid from their horses and moved hurriedly to where Fidelma still sat spluttering in the muddy waters, gasping and choking.

‘Are you all right?’ demanded Eadulf anxiously, reaching forward.

Her cheeks were bright pink with anger. She glared up at him.

‘Haven’t you learnt to control a horse yet?’ she demanded angrily.

He stepped back as if she had slapped him. Then her anger seemed to evaporate.

‘Sorry. I am bruised and muddy and soaked but doubtless my pride is more hurt than my body. Help me up out of this.’

Eadulf and Capa leant forward and drew her upright. She looked down at her muddy clothes ruefully.

‘Hardly dressed to greet my cousin,’ she murmured.

‘Your dress does not matter, Cousin Fidelma,’ came a deep, sonorous voice. A stout, round-faced, middle-aged man had approached unnoticed with some attendants. He was richly dressed and wore a gold chain of office.

Fidelma blinked. ‘Fiachrae?’

‘You are welcome to my oirechtas , cousin. But come, let one of my attendants lead you to my bathhouse and bring you dry clothes before you catch your death of cold. Then come and join me for some refreshment in my tent. Plenty of time to tell me what brings you to my little village.’

Fidelma glanced down at herself again. There was not much to argue about. She indicated Eadulf.

‘First, I must introduce you to … to my fer comtha , Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham.’

The chieftain gazed with round pale eyes on Eadulf. A fer comtha indicated Eadulf’s status as husband on a temporary basis.

‘I have heard much of you,’ he said hesitantly, then glanced back to Fidelma. ‘I will take Eadulf under my care and you will find us in my tent.’

Fidelma nodded, turning to Capa and his men.

‘My mishap does not alter my plan. You may look at the fair.’

‘Understood, lady,’ agreed Capa, raising his hand in salute.

Eadulf picked up the feeling that Fidelma had not wanted Fiachrae to be informed of the purpose of their visit until later. The chieftain signalled to one of his attendants to take the horses of Fidelma and Eadulf and then led the way towards the large blue tent that served as his seat during the period of the fair.

The crowds that had gathered round to see what entertainment was offered by the arrival of the newcomers, realising it was no entertainment at all, began to drift away. The chieftain turned and summoned a female servant from the crowd.

‘Follow my attendant that way, Cousin Fidelma.’ The rotund chieftain indicated a group of buildings behind the tent. ‘She will see to all your wants.’ Fidelma went without another word. The chieftain had become quite friendly to Eadulf, talking non-stop of trivialities. He tucked his arm under Eadulf’s in intimate fashion and propelled him smilingly into the tent. An iron brazier, in which a fire smouldered to give warmth on the chill day, was placed in the centre of the tent, its smoke curling up through an aperture by the main pole.

‘Now, my Saxon friend — or should I say cousin by marriage — let us have a mug of honey mead to keep out the winter cold.’

Eadulf smiled wearily and sank into a seat that the chieftain indicated.

‘That would be most welcome.’

Within a few minutes, Eadulf had realised that the chieftain was a loquacious fellow who seemed to talk for the sake of talking. He was a teller of tales whether his audience was appreciative or not.

Fiachrae passed a mug of mead to Eadulf.

‘Have you visited Cnoc Loinge before, my Saxon friend? I do not recall you and, of course, it is a long time since I last saw my cousin.’

Eadulf shook his head as he sipped the sweet mead.

‘The closest I have come to Cnoc Loinge is to Imleach,’ he replied.

‘Ah, I heard of that occasion. It was when Brother Mochta and the holy relics of Ailbe went missing.’

Eadulf simply inclined his head in confirmation.

‘Well, you will find that my little rath has a great history. It was here that the ancestor of the Eóghanacht kings asserted their independence from any unjust demands of the High King.’