Peter Tremayne - The Leper's bell

Eadulf thought for a moment and then smiled without humour.

‘Well, it seems that I shall have to be careful with this lord of the passes, this Uaman. I thank you for the information, Brother Steward. As a good friend of mine would say — praemonitus, praemunitus? ’

‘Forewarned is forearmed,’ translated the steward, still serious. ‘Be so, Brother Saxon. Be forearmed and above all be careful.’

Fidelma stared at the three armed Uí Fidgente, disguising her growing horror as she realised that they must have killed the hostel keeper and his son. She tried to maintain a commanding demeanour.

‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded. ‘You are supposed to be heading for your own country so that your friends will release my son.’

Cuirgí gave a short bark of laughter. ‘You don’t think we fell for that trick, do you?’

Fidelma was genuinely puzzled. ‘Trick?’

‘Ransom notes and the like. A ruse, that’s all, to get us out of your brother’s protection so that some of his supporters can waylay us on the road and slaughter us. That would solve a problem for your brother, wouldn’t it?’

Fidelma’s eyes widened at the fanciful suspicion.

‘But… but it is no trick. My son really has-’

Cuirgí cut her short.

‘Then what are you doing following us? We purposely took the path away from the Suir and the road to the land of the Uí Fidgente so that we would avoid ambush. We thought that we would conceal ourselves here until it was safe … but you must have been following us closely. Who else is with you?’

Fidelma was shaking her head in bewilderment.

‘I came here by accident. I did not follow you,’ she protested. ‘And the ransom demand is genuine. If you do not go back to the land of the Uí Fidgente, if you do not cross the border, your confederates will kill my son.’

‘Do you think we are fools? If this exchange — us for your son — were genuine then we would have been informed. It would have been easy enough to smuggle messages into our prison. This is some trick to lure us away and kill us.’

‘But, I tell you…’ She paused. Was there some other force at work here? Conrí had said he had been sent on behalf of the Uí Fidgente to disclaim all knowledge of the kidnap. She fell silent as she tried to reason out the possibilities.

Cuirgí glanced at his companions with triumph on his features.

‘I thought so. Her silence admits the plot. Crond, scout the paths here and see if there is any sign of anyone accompanying this Eóghanacht bitch. Cuán, help me tie her up. At least her presence will provide us with a safe passage to our own country.’

‘But-’ Fidelma began to protest.

Cuirgí suddenly reached forward and slapped her across the cheek. It was a hard, stinging slap and made her dizzy.

‘Silence! No more words from you!’

Fidelma stumbled back and, before she could recover her senses, Cuán had expertly tied her hands with cord. He began to drag her out of the stable and towards the main building.

‘Put her above stairs for the time being and make sure she is secured,’ came Cuirgí’s instruction.

‘What if she has companions?’ demanded Cuán as he half pushed, half dragged her across the main room of the lodge.

‘Then they will be given a choice. To withdraw and let us proceed in safety, or else be given her body.’ Cuirgí laughed without humour. ‘I think even Colgú will make the right choice.’

‘Listen to me. You are making a mistake…’ Fidelma cried once more but a rough hand was clamped across her mouth. Cuirgí looked on with an approving sneer.

‘Make sure she is secured and cannot cry out to alarm her friends.’

She was dragged up the staircase to the top floor of the lodge and pushed into one of the sleeping chambers. She could not help feeling it a strange irony that she was put into the very room where she had slept as a child and felt so safe and protected. Now she was a trussed and helpless prisoner.

Cuán was no amateur when it came to ensuring that his victim was bound so as to be completely helpless. He secured her hands behind her and trussed her at the ankles. Then he tore a strip of linen from the cover of the adart , or pillow, and tied it firmly across her open mouth.

‘Comfortable?’ he grinned viciously, and then he pushed her helplessly back on the lepad , the wooden bed. She gazed back coldly.

What if Cuirgí and Conrí were both wrong? What if there was some new Uí Fidgente plot to have the chieftains released and neither knew about it? What if her son was going to be sacrificed to their mistrust and lack of knowledge?

She waited until Cuán went downstairs and then she gently tried the bonds. They were very tight. She exhaled in frustration. She felt no movement against them in her feet or wrists. Resigned, she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, her mind racing as she tried to think of some plan of escape.

Some time later, she was not sure how long, there was a shout from downstairs.

‘Crond is coming back!’

She heard the sound of a horse arriving outside the building, and identified Cuirgí’s voice.

‘What news?’

‘No sign of anyone,’ replied another voice that she supposed was Crond’s. ‘I went up to the hill yonder, where you can see the approaches through the woods into this vale. There is no movement. I would take my oath that the woman was on her own.’

‘It is not your oath that will be taken if she is not,’ sneered Cuirgí.

‘So I would not be making a mistake when my own life is what I should lose,’ snapped back the other, apparently not intimidated. ‘We are secure here for the moment. Perhaps the woman spoke the truth, that she was alone and stumbled on us by accident.’

‘More fool her if she did,’ a third voice joined in. That was Cuán, the man who had tied her up.

‘Very well.’ Cuirgí’s assertive tone showed that he was in command. ‘If we accept that the Eóghanacht bitch came here by accident, then the fates have been on our side. All we have to do is wait awhile and then continue our journey back to our homeland.’

‘But what if some of our supporters have truly kidnapped this woman’s child?’ It was Crond who voiced Fidelma’s thought.

Cuirgí laughed. ‘You believe that tale? We would have known about it.’

‘I grant you that you have put up a good argument against it, but… but what if it were true?’

‘What if it is so? There will be one less Eóghanacht in Muman and we are still free.’

‘If it is true, Cuirgí, and the child dies, by tomorrow all the warriors of Cashel will be searching for us to redden their weapons with our blood,’ Crond argued.

‘And does that frighten you?’ sneered Cuirgí. ‘We have fought the Eóghanacht before.’

‘I am an Uí Fidgente of the same proud lineage as you, Cuirgí!’ Crond replied angrily. ‘I am prepared to shed my blood in our cause. But I am not prepared to shed it wastefully. If I am to be hunted down and killed, I do not wish to be remembered as someone who died in reparation for a child’s death. Do you?’

‘That is a point, Cuirgí.’ This time it was Cuán. ‘While we wait here, the entire countryside might be roused against us and our journey home become impossible.’

There came a chuckle from the older chieftain.

‘You forget that we have the sister of Colgú to secure us a safe passage. Anyway, I have told you before … if there was such a plot to free us we have friends who could have bribed someone to get a message to us. That old jailer used to take bribes to pass messages in and out and even bring us luxuries. We would have heard something. This is an Eóghanacht plot. I am sure of it.’