Peter Tremayne - The Leper's bell

Fidelma gave an intake of breath showing her impatience.

‘I am sure we are not interested in curses, apothecary, nor, at this moment, in the rights and wrongs of our culture and our church.’ She glanced to where the body lay on the table on which the apothecary had conducted his investigation. It was now clothed in the robe again and laid out in a manner ready for burial. The small child-like form was a pathetic sight.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Herbalist, we need to take over your shop for a few minutes. Will you wait outside with my guard? Fiachrae, remain with me. Eadulf, ask Capa to tell the crossan to come in.’

Eadulf escorted the disgruntled herbalist to the door and looking out saw Capa and his men standing with a group of half a dozen small people in garish clothing who were obviously the gleemen.

‘Let them come in now,’ he called to Capa.

The warrior nodded and the gleemen moved forward curiously, passing Eadulf into the apothecary’s hut and peering about.

They had hardly set foot inside the door when a wail suddenly came from one of them, who had pointed towards the body on the table. A great outcry arose from the others, anguish and despair rending the air. Fidelma had no need to ask if they recognised the dead man.

One of them ran forward, tugging at the body as if to ascertain whether it was alive or not. Fidelma saw a strong likeness between his face and that of the corpse. Of the gleemen, he seemed the most distraught, and it was pitiful to see his distress.

She moved forward and laid a hand on his shoulder.

‘I am sorry to have done this without forewarning. I just wanted to know if you or any of your companions would recognise the body.’

The dwarf, blinking back tears, gazed up at her. His grief was plain.

‘Of course I recognise him. He was my brother and one of our company.’ He spoke as many of his companions did with a slight lisp in his speech.

‘And his name was Forindain?’

The dwarf stared at her for a moment and then shook his head.

‘His name was Iubdán. Forindain was a part that I played.’

Fidelma hid her bewilderment. ‘Your name is Forindain?’

‘I am known as such,’ replied the dwarf. ‘None of these are our real names. We use the names of the characters we play. I play Forindain in our little love tale of Bebo.’

‘You are not a religious, Forindain?’

‘That is the part of my character — Brother Forindain the Leper who betrays the Fay linn in the story. Why do you ask this…?’ The little man’s eyes wandered to the body of his brother, taking in the costume he wore. ‘Ah, I see.’

Fidelma pursed her lips for a moment.

‘Which is more than I do. Forindain, I am sorry for the death of your brother. Believe me. But I am a dálaigh , and I am concerned to find out how and why he was killed…’

‘Was he murdered?’ demanded the dwarf, suddenly noticing the mark of the ligature round his brother’s neck. ‘Who would kill a crossan , a travelling player, who had no enemy in the world?’

‘That is what I must find out. Come with me to Fiachrae’s tent and let me discuss this with you and then, I promise, I will let you and your fellows mourn in peace.’

The crossan hesitated, glanced again at his brother’s body, and turned to his companions.

‘We must contain our grief for a moment. One of you must go and inform the people that we must cancel our play. Another must ask that the body of our friend, my brother, be wrapped in a recholl , a shroud, and we need someone to prepare the fuat , the bier, to bear him to his grave. I also need to speak to the chieftain, Fiachrae, and find out where he can be buried. Do these things, my friends, that I ask of you while I go and speak with this learned dálaigh. When they are done, then we, together, may start on the time of watching and make this coming night into day with the blaze of our torches while we raise our voices in the traditional caoine ”

Fidelma was surprised by the intense cadences of his voice, the articulate phrases of his speech, until she realised that she had been overlooking the fact that the little man was a player, one of the crossan.

Fiachrae led the small party back to the convention seat. Fidelma had despatched Capa and his men to refresh themselves until such time as they were called for. In the tent, Fiachrae indicated that everyone should sit, and called for an attendant to bring corma. To his obvious surprise everyone else refused it while he, himself, poured a liberal measure of the fiery alcohol into his mug.

‘You are in charge here, cousin,’ he said. ‘Handle it in your way.’

‘Thank you, Fiachrae,’ Fidelma replied solemnly. She had been prepared to do so anyway. She turned to the dwarf. ‘Now, how shall I address you? As Forindain?’

The crossan inclined his head. ‘Since I joined the travelling players, it has become my name, Sister. My parents cast me out as soon as they could legally dispose of me … my brother and I, that is. We were fostered by an obláire , the chief of a company of players, and taught his skills so that we could use those attributes nature endowed us with for the entertainment of our fellows. You may call me Forindain as, after such a passage of time, I can answer to no other name.’

Thank you. You know this is Fiachrae, the chieftain of Cnoc Loinge, and this is Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, in the land of the South Folk beyond the seas.’

Forindain’s gaze swept them all before returning to Fidelma.

‘And you are a dálaigh , you say?’

‘My name is Fidelma, Fidelma of Cashel.’

Forindain blinked in recognition. ‘Are you sister to Colgú, king of Muman?’ he asked quietly.

‘I am. And you know of me?’

‘I have heard that you are a great dálaigh!

‘Nothing else?’

The dwarf frowned. ‘Is there anything else that I should know?’ he countered.

Fidelma was silent for a moment. Then she said: ‘Let us speak of your brother, Iubdán. Tell me about him.’

‘Little to tell. His life paralleled mine until it was cruelly taken away. Since we were fostered by the obláire we have been among the same crossan. We ran our small company of players together.’

‘And when did Iubdán join you here at Cnoc Loinge?’

Forindain frowned momentarily. ‘Join us? He came with the company. I joined the company here and-’

He paused abruptly and stared at her. Then his face went pale and a hand came up to his throat.

‘What troubles you, Forindain?’ Fidelma asked, trying to read what he was thinking by the expression in his amber-coloured eyes. Then she suddenly made an intuitive leap.

‘You were the one who came here from Cashel and not your brother, weren’t you?’

‘I will tell you my story, Fidelma of Cashel,’ Forindain said slowly, ‘and now I should like that drink of corma , Fiachrae.’

Bewildered, Fiachrae rose and poured the drink. The dwarf swallowed it in one quick mouthful.

‘We were performing in Tailltenn, before the High King himself,’ he began reflectively. ‘We had planned a tour which took in the township by the abbey of Cluain Mic Nois and then that of Tír dhá Ghlas before we came here. We also planned to go to the town of Ros Cairbre and others, working our way east along the coast to Ard Mhór and then up to Cluain Meala and Cashel the capital itself.’

Fidelma sat back, regarding him thoughtfully.

‘And why tell us this itinerary?’

‘Our company set out from Tailltenn all together, but at Tír dhá Ghlas, the land of the two streams, where we played before the settlement around the monastery there, I left the company.’