Peter Tremayne - The Leper's bell

‘I am the mother of the child in question,’ snapped Fidelma, angered by the implication that she did not care about Alchú. Then she added with firmness: ‘We must proceed logically.’ At the word ‘logically’ she felt a spasm of guilt but pressed on. She raised the note again and scrutinised the text. ‘It demands that the three chieftains of the Uí Fidgente should be released…’ She counted briefly. ‘From the time stipulated, they are to be released before the end of two more days…’

‘And they are then to be allowed time to cross the border into the territory of the Dál gCais at which time Alchú will be released and not before,’ finished Colgú.

‘It seems a curious gamble,’ Eadulf commented with a frown. ‘I am inclined to agree with Fidelma that we need some proof of the child’s well-being. If someone could be dishonest and take the opportunity to make a demand for financial gain, we should consider that someone could be dishonest enough to make an equivalent demand for political gain. Power and money are not dissimilar motives.’

Fidelma glanced across at him in appreciation. Eadulf could be trusted to accept logic when confronted with it.

‘It is also a gamble whether the Uí Fidgente are to be relied upon to fulfil their part of the bargain,’ she said.

‘In that matter, I agree with you,’ Finguine rejoined.

‘It is my opinion that, whoever “they” are, they should provide some proof that they hold Alchú before we release these chieftains.’

Everyone turned to Eadulf, who had spoken quietly.

‘Come, man, it is your own son about whom we are talking,’ Capa admonished, his handsome face flushed. ‘We should be making every effort to free him and return him to Cashel.’

Eadulf turned to face Capa directly. He spoke slowly and softly.

‘Do you think that I am not aware that I speak of my own son? I hope everyone present concedes the fact that I am as much concerned in his welfare as anyone else.’ Fidelma coloured a little and there was an uncomfortable silence. She had automatically opened her mouth to explain that, under law, Eadulf was wrong. While the welfare and rearing of a child in normal circumstances was the responsibility of both parents, if the father was a cúl glas , a foreigner, a stranger to the mother’s people, the full responsibility for how the child should be raised fell on the mother. But this was a time for such facts to remain unexpressed. Eadulf was continuing: ‘But this note, as Fidelma has said, is not proof that the person who wrote it has possession of the child, nor are any guarantees offered for his release. That is, in itself, strange when demanding a ransom. We need more information before acting.’

‘You would jeopardise your own son’s life?’ asked Capa, aghast. There was a murmur of support for Capa’s protest. Fidelma held up a hand to still it.

‘Eadulf is absolutely right,’ she said firmly. ‘A note appears out of nowhere with demands; demands that might eventually lead to endangering the kingdom, for these particular Uí Fidgente chieftains are bitter and remorseless enemies who were kin to their leader Eoganán who tried to overthrown my brother from the kingship and died in that attempt. We need proof that they hold Alchú.’

Finguine’s jaw was thrust out pugnaciously.

‘And just how do we get in touch with the anonymous writer of this demand, cousin?’ he asked with a tone of sarcasm. ‘There is neither name nor location on it. There is no way that we can send a return note.’

Fidelma regarded him with equal sarcasm.

‘What you say is true, cousin,’ she replied. ‘But a little imagination will work wonders. I suspect that the writer of this note will have good communications in or around Cashel and will soon pick up our response.’

Colgú pursed his lips thoughtfully.

‘We can make an announcement in the square of the town demanding that some proof must be furnished before we contemplate releasing the three chieftains.’

Fidelma nodded agreement.

‘I would also suggest that a herald be sent to place a similar message in every inn between here and the border of the Uí Fidgente country,’ added Finguine. ‘And that the message be sent to the current chieftain of the Uí Fidgente. In that way, the word will certainly get back to the writer of this demand.’

‘But what proof could be furnished?’ Capa frowned. ‘What proof short of producing the baby himself?’

‘No difficulty in that,’ Eadulf replied immediately. ‘Perhaps some item of clothing could be shown, something Alchú was wearing when he was taken. I am sure that Fidelma and I would recognise any such thing.’

He glanced towards Fidelma who nodded quickly. ‘Let it be done at once.’

‘Who shall I order to ride to the country of the Uí Fidgente?’ demanded Capa uneasily.

‘Perhaps you will volunteer?’ smiled Finguine. There was a quiet sarcasm in his voice and Fidelma had a feeling that there was no love lost between the two men.

The handsome commander seemed affronted. ‘I am commander of the guard here and not a techtaire — a herald. Moreover, I command the Nasc Niadh , the élite guard of the Cashel kings.’

Finguine smiled broadly. ‘I admit, it may be too dangerous for you to go among the Uí Fidgente.’

Colgú was shaking his head in disapproval at both men.

‘You both know well enough that the safety of a herald is sacred and inviolable — even the most bitter enemies treat a techtaire with the utmost respect. It is not merely the law but a matter of honour that any herald has a guarantee of safe passage even through enemy territory. Capa, it is because you are my guard commander that I send you on this task. I will ask Cerball the scribe to write several copies of our demand that you may take with you. Make sure one is posted on the door of the inn here and thence all inns between here and the country of the Uí Fidgente.’ He looked towards his sister, who indicated her approval of his action.

Capa was clearly not happy at the order. He appeared to think that the role of a techtaire was beneath him. But he said nothing further, bowing his head in reluctant obedience towards the king.

‘I am sure that by this means we will find whoever wrote this ransom demand,’ Fidelma said in satisfaction. ‘And we will soon know whether it is a genuine demand or a means of tricking us into releasing our enemies.’

‘I’ll find Cerball and tell him to come here,’ Finguine offered.

Colgú agreed, adding: ‘While we wait for Cerball to draw up the notices requesting proof, Capa, you’d better fetch my standard, which you will carry as a techtaire. You will find it in the chamber at the end of the corridor where my sister’s chambers are situated.’

Fidelma and Eadulf stayed with Colgú awhile to bring him up to date with the results of their trip to Imleach and Cnoc Loinge before returning to their own chambers. As they were passing along a cloistered walkway by an open courtyard, Eadulf suddenly paused by an arch and looked across the stone quadrangle. Frowning, Fidelma paused also, glancing across Eadulf’s shoulder.

‘We weren’t told that he was back in Cashel,’ Eadulf said softly.

The object of his scrutiny was the tall, gaunt figure of a religieux, standing talking with an elderly member of the cloth.

‘Bishop Petrán,’ Fidelma observed. ‘You don’t like him very much, do you?’

Eadulf admitted as much. ‘I remember what your brother suggested about enemies within. Do you think that Petrán or any of his followers are capable of kidnapping?’

‘He is a human being, and once fanaticism takes over as our faith we are capable of anything, Eadulf,’ she pointed out. ‘But I doubt whether Petrán would have conspired to release the Uí Fidgente chieftains. He has always been loyal to the Eóghanacht and not to the Dál gCais. But I thought my brother said that Petrán had been sent on a tour of the western islands about a week ago? He could not have completed such a task already. So what has brought him back to Cashel?’