Peter Tremayne - The Leper's bell

Fidelma shivered slightly. But she had not wanted to admit just how scared she was for Eadulf.

‘He has been in danger before, and remember how he survived Uí Fidgente when fate took me to the abbey of the Salmon of the Three Wells?’

Colgú smiled. ‘That seems many lifetimes ago, Fidelma.’

‘I feel it so,’ agreed Fidelma.

‘You had best have some supper and get to bed. Eadulf is capable of taking care of himself, but I do confess that I wish he had not left Cashel at this time.’

Fidelma had left him. She had no stomach to eat when the evening mealtime came. When she retired she found slumber difficult and it was only after many hours of wakeful agonising on the events of the day that she had finally fallen into a fitful sleep.

It was early the next morning when an attendant came to wake her.

‘Lady, the king your brother has sent me. Would you attend him in his chambers as soon as you are ready?’

Fidelma rose to a sitting position and tried to focus on the woman from under heavy lids.

‘What has happened?’ she asked, rubbing her eyes.

‘I am told that Gorman has come to the palace with something of importance connected with the baby, Alchú,’ the attendant replied.

‘Tell my brother I will join him directly,’ she said, her heart beginning to beat faster.

As the woman left, Fidelma rose from the bed, shaking her head from side to side as if the action would clear it. She still felt exhausted. What new disaster did this portend? Gorman had news of Alchú — but what news?

When Fidelma entered her brother’s chamber, she found Finguine and Gorman standing together talking with her brother. Before them, on the table, was a strip of birch bark and a single cuarán , a tiny baby shoe whose upper was of lee find , undyed wool, mounted on a small sole of half tanned hide, retaining its softness and pliability like rawhide. As her eyes fell on it, Fidelma gave an involuntary intake of breath.

She recognised the shoe as belonging to Alchú.

She snatched it up, holding it closely before her eyes, examining it to make sure. Colgú appeared a little embarrassed as he stood helplessly by.

‘I have already identified it, Fidelma. The pair was a present from me. I can confirm that because I had it made by our local cuaránaidhe’ he said, almost apologetically. ‘Indeed, I remember getting the shoemaker to make sure of the softness of the rawhide and I examined it myself. I know the patterning well.’

Fidelma straightened her shoulders. ‘Only one shoe was sent?’

Colgú glanced across to Gorman. The big warrior coughed nervously and then spread his hands almost in a defensive gesture.

‘I was the one brought it here, lady. It was found together with that note. Just the one little shoe.’

Fidelma’s eyes travelled back to the table where the strip of birch bark lay. She put down the baby shoe and picked up the note. There were only a few words on it. She noticed that it was written in the same ill-formed hand as the first note had been.

Your proof , it said simply. Now follow our previous instructions.

Fidelma turned back to Gorman with a look of interrogation.

‘Where exactly did you find this?’

‘I was passing the inn in the township this morning when the innkeeper hailed me. He found the shoe hung in a little leather bag on his door — the same place where the first note was apparently found, lady,’ the big warrior replied. ‘The note was with it.’

Her eyes went to the small leather bag. She picked it up. It had no distinguishing marks on it, a small bag of worn kidskin that fastened, sack-like, with a leather thong round its top. It was barely big enough to cover a man’s fist if pushed inside. Fidelma turned the bag inside out and peered into the creases caused by the seams. Seeds and bits of dried vegetable matter clung along them.

She made no comment but returned the bag to its original shape. Then she picked up the shoe again. It was clean. There was no sign of dirt on it at all.

‘There is no question now, cousin,’ Finguine was saying.

She turned her attention sharply to him with a frown.

‘No question? Of what?’

Finguine raised his hands in an encompassing gesture.

That this is some Uí Fidgente plot. They hold your son in return for the release of the three Uí Fidgente chieftains.’

Colgú was nodding in agreement.

‘There is nothing for it, Fidelma. We will have to release the three chieftains. We have no other way of tracking down those who hold the baby.’

Finguine looked almost apologetically at her.

‘Your brother is right. However, it is my task to point out that no guarantees have yet been offered about the return of Alchú. It seems that we now have to take the word of the Uí Fidgente that they will do so once the chieftains cross the border.’

‘We have to trust them,’ Colgú echoed in resignation.

‘Once they have crossed into the territory of the Dál gCais,’ Finguine reminded her, ‘the first note said the baby would be returned.’

‘Has Capa returned from the Uí Fidgente country yet?’ Fidelma suddenly asked.

Finguine shook his head.

‘From the swiftness of the response, we may presume that whoever holds the baby is hiding within proximity to Cashel,’ said Colgú.

Fidelma inclined her head thoughtfully.

‘It is a logical deduction,’ she admitted.

‘Well, we can follow the chieftains once they are released,’ Finguine suggested. ‘Follow them and see who contacts them and then we will know who holds the baby.’

‘That would be pointless,’ Fidelma replied. They regarded her in surprise.

‘Pointless?’ Colgú made the word into a question.

‘The chieftains, on their release, will start presumably for the country of the Dál gCais. Those who hold the child will be watching them. Doubtless watching them from the very moment of their release. What do you think they would do if they saw anyone following them?’

Colgú immediately realised the implication.

‘They would continue to hold the child. So, are you saying that we have to let the chieftains go without following them?’

Gorman had been looking thoughtful for some time. ‘Forgive me, lady, but where is Brother Eadulf? Surely he should be here with us to make this decision?’

‘Were you not in the palace yesterday?’ she asked.

‘No, lady.’ He hesitated. ‘Well, I stayed with a friend last night before returning this morning.’

Finguine looked a little embarrassed.

‘Eadulf left the palace yesterday. He left a note saying that he had found something that might resolve the mystery.’

‘Where has he gone?’

‘He rode off to the abbey of Coimán.’

Gorman appeared surprised. ‘Ridden off … without escort? That is across Uí Fidgente territory.’

Fidelma smiled tightly. ‘I think Eadulf can find his way about without an escort.’

Gorman made a whistling sound between his teeth.

‘Even so, he would have done better in these troubled times to take a warrior with him.’

Fidelma pursued her lips in annoyance.

‘I have no worries. Eadulf is capable of finding his own way.’

‘There is something else that Gorman should know,’ added Finguine quietly. ‘Bishop Petrán was found dead yesterday. Brehon Dathal thinks Eadulf poisoned him.’

Gorman burst out laughing. They looked at him in surprise.

‘It is such a ridiculous idea,’ he explained, controlling his mirth. ‘I do not know Brother Eadulf well, but I know men. Poison is not how he would deal with anyone who irritated him in a discussion on theology.’

Fidelma appraised him quickly.

‘You knew there was some antagonism between Eadulf and the bishop on matters of theology?’