Peter Tremayne - The Leper's bell

Fidelma leaned forward with a frown.

‘You mean that she was physically beaten?’

‘There were bruises on her body. She came to me because she wanted advice from someone who knew the worst as well as the best of a man’s capability.’

‘Did she tell you who had assaulted her?’

‘Alas, she did not. It was someone who was in love with her but she felt repelled by him. She believed that he was the man who had killed her husband, Callada. He was trying to force his attentions on her. Indeed, he had raped her. She had fought back but he was too strong.’

Fidelma sat back with wide eyes.

‘If the man killed her husband at Cnoc Áine, he could only have been a warrior known to Cashel.’

‘She did not say who he was,’ repeated Delia. ‘But the rape was forceful.’

‘Forcor is a heinous crime against a woman.’

There were two types of rape recognised by the law. Forcor was forceful rape using physical violence while sleth covered all other situations. Sleth was especially associated with drunkenness, and sexual intercourse with a woman who was too drunk to consent was regarded as just as serious an offence as forcible rape.

‘She would not tell me the identity of the man but she wanted someone she could talk to without recrimination or condemnation. That was when we became friends and from then on she often used to call here to drink sweet mead and talk. But what is it that I can do for you, lady? You do not visit me often. Is it something you would speak of concerning your child?’

Fidelma felt embarrassment. There was a curious bond between the two women but it was true that Fidelma did not visit often, even though Delia lived no more than ten minutes from the palace of Cashel. Fidelma had once represented Delia when she had been raped, so it did not surprise her that Sarait had sought Delia out when she was in similar straits. Fidelma suddenly found herself thinking of Eadulf ‘s reaction when she had told him the story of Delia. His response had been prompted by the fact that Delia had been a prostitute, a bé-táide , or woman of secrets as it was euphemistically called in the language of the Éireannach. Fidelma had been irritated by Eadulf’s sarcasm at the idea of a prostitute’s being raped. She had snapped at him: ‘Cannot a woman be raped simply because she is a prostitute?’ The laws of the five kingdoms allowed that, even if a woman was a bé-táide , if rape was proved then she could be compensated by half of her honour price. After Fidelma had won the case, Delia had rejected her previous life and was reinstated fully in society, inheriting this little house in Cashel from her father. However, Fidelma knew that many people in the township still treated her with contempt and she had more or less become a recluse in her own home. Fidelma closed her eyes for a moment. She felt a little guilty that she did not visit more often and when she came to Delia’s house it was usually at night and in secret.

‘Can you recall our last meeting?’ Delia prompted suddenly.

‘I can,’ Fidelma confirmed.

The older woman sighed. ‘You were kind in ensuring that I was compensated when my house was smashed by the warriors of Donennach while I was hiding Brother Mochta and the holy relics of Ailbe.’

‘But do you remember what you said as we parted?’

‘That I also remember well. I said that solitude was the best society and a short abstinence from solitude urges the sweet return to it.’

Fidelma nodded, having remembered the words well. ‘And I replied that we are all of us condemned to solitude but some of our sheltering walls are merely our own skins and thus there is no door to exit from solitude into life.’

Delia was regarding her with sympathy.

‘You have felt solitude since your baby was stolen?’

Fidelma felt a sudden anguish, like a pain in her stomach. She did her best to disguise it; to ignore it.

‘I need to ask you a question, Delia.’

‘You do not need my permission to ask it.’

‘Then let me remind you of an unpleasant time, for it is necessary to my question. Do you recall when I represented you when you sought compensation-’

‘I remember how you defended me, yes,’ replied Delia shortly.

‘You came to the court wearing a green silk cloak with a hood. It was enriched with red embroidery and fastened by a clasp of bejewelled silver. It was quite beautiful.’

Delia looked at her thoughtfully and nodded.

‘Do you still have that robe?’

Delia hesitated a moment and then bowed her head in affirmation. ‘I have not worn it since I gave up being … gave up being a bé-táide”

‘But you still have it?’

‘I have.’

‘Will you show it to me?’

Again Delia hesitated and then shrugged. She stood up and went to a wooden chest in the corner of the room and bent down to open it. It seemed to be full of clothes and she began to take them out and lay them on the ground. They were rich garments and Fidelma did not have to ask how Delia had accumulated them. They were the memories of her past life.

Suddenly she heard Delia’s sharp intake of breath.

‘What is it?’ she demanded.

‘I don’t know. I think someone has been looking through this chest. One of the dresses is torn, the sewing ripped at the seam. It was not like that when I packed these clothes away.’

‘Which was when?’

‘Just after the case in which you defended me. I have not wanted these garments of my past life since then.’

‘Find the green silk cloak.’

Fidelma’s voice was suddenly harsh. Delia glanced questioningly at her and then bent again to the trunk. When she had turned everything out she sat back on the floor with a puzzled expression.

‘It is not here.’

Fidelma sighed deeply. ‘I rather suspected that it might not be.’

Delia looked at her with a deepening frown.

‘What do you mean? I think you owe me some explanation,’ she demanded.

‘Delia, where were you on the night that Sárait was killed?’

The woman’s lips trembled a little.

‘Am I being accused of something?’

‘Please, Delia.’ Fidelma’s voice was now soft and coaxing. In other circumstances she would have been harsh, demanding, but she knew Delia too well. ‘I will explain if you answer a couple of questions.’

‘So far as I recall, I was here. I am usually here.’

‘Can anyone vouch for that?’

Delia seemed to hesitate a moment and then shook her head. ‘I was alone.’

Something made Fidelma feel that her friend was not being truthful. She decided to let it pass for the moment.

‘When was the last time that you saw your green cloak?’

‘As I have said, I put it away in this chest when I ceased to be a bé-táide , which was, as you know, three years ago. I have not bothered to look at it since.’

‘Why keep it, then? You could have sold it. It is a very valuable cloak.’

Delia shrugged. ‘We do many things in life that are not logical, lady. You have seen these clothes that I have kept. They are a reminder of times past… to remind myself of what I was.’

‘You are not aware of anyone breaking into your house? Perhaps the cloak could have been stolen?’

Delia shook her head. ‘There is no reason why anyone should break in here. I never keep a locked door — it is open to anyone to come and go as they please.’

‘And you have left the house with the door unlocked?’

Fidelma well knew that locking doors was not a custom among the local people. However, the doors of nobles and professionals were secured on either side by a bolt or more usually by an iron lock — a glais iarnaidhi. When the Blessed Colmcille went to preach to the pagan King Brude of the Picts, he found that the king had caused all the doors of his fortress to be locked against him. Colmcille uttered a prayer which caused the iron locks to be miraculously opened. Why she suddenly thought of the story, she did not know.