Peter Tremayne - The Leper's bell

Listening to them, Fidelma groaned inwardly. She had to admit that Cuirgí was making a good point. If someone had gone to all those pains to construct the kidnapping then it would have been an obvious move to inform those involved about what was happening. But if this was not a means of releasing the Uí Fidgente, what was it? Who was behind it?

The three men had removed themselves to the room below and their voices had become muffled. Fidelma was aware that darkness was spreading across the window. The hour was growing late.

She had intended to send poor Tulcha to Cashel to inform them where she was staying. When she did not show up, and no message from her was received, she wondered what her brother would do. Might he guess that she could be at the hunting lodge? She tried to move into a more comfortable position. The gag was making her feel sick.

She must have dozed in her exhausted state for the next thing she knew the room was lit with an oil lamp. Someone was removing her gag. She coughed and gasped for breath. Powerful hands reached under her arms and pulled her into a sitting position with her back against the wooden headboard of the tolg , or bedstead.

Crond was sitting on the edge of the bed looking down at her with a humourless smile on his lips.

‘What time is it?’ she finally gasped when she had cleared her throat.

Crond chuckled in amusement.

‘Not very late, lady. It is well before midnight. I thought that you might like some food. We wouldn’t want you getting weak. There is a long journey to the land of the Uí Fidgente before us.’

Fidelma blinked rapidly. ‘When are you starting out?’

Crond shrugged. ‘Whenever Cuirgí thinks it safe enough. Perhaps tomorrow; perhaps the next day.’

Fidelma glanced at the bowl of stew and drinking mug that he had placed on the side table.

‘If I am to remain bound, you will have to help me eat and drink. If not, then release my hands so that I can feed myself,’ she said.

Again Crond chuckled.

‘Oh, I shall feed you, lady. I have little else to do and we would not want you to get any foolish ideas, would we?’

‘The cords are cutting into my flesh,’ she protested.

‘I don’t doubt it,’ Crond assured her. ‘Cuán has a remarkable talent for binding people so that they stay bound.’ He reached forward and took the mug, raising it against her lips. ‘I presume you would like to drink first?’

The drink was mead. It was slightly sour but her throat was dry and irritated after the hours that the linen gag had been tied across her mouth. She sipped eagerly.

When he put down the mug she licked her lips and regarded the Uí Fidgente with speculation, wondering if she could persuade him to help her.

‘I think you are more intelligent than your companions, Crond,’ she began.

The man raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

‘I think so too, lady. But what makes you say so?’

‘I heard you arguing with Cuirgí. Truly, my brother made no plot to lure you out of Cashel to kill you. My nurse Sárait was murdered and my child stolen. We did received a ransom note demanding your release and saying that once you crossed the border then my son would be returned.’

Crond’s face was impassive. ‘Why should I believe you?’

‘Because I think you know that I am speaking the truth. Whoever holds my son is going to kill him if you do not do as they have instructed. They will believe that my brother still holds you prisoners. I do not want my son to die.’

Crond shrugged. He leant to the side and took the bowl of stew and a spoon. He held out a spoonful.

‘Cuirgí makes a good point, lady, that if this were genuine, we would have been informed. I can confess to you that we have had messages smuggled in to us before now. It was simple. Your old jailer is easy enough to bribe.’

‘And he will be brought to account for that,’ Fidelma snapped in irritation, forgetting her position for a moment.

Crond smiled in admiration.

‘You have spirit, lady, I’ll say that.’

‘My son’s life is at stake.’

‘Our lives are at stake,’ he pointed out bluntly. ‘We are not going to squander them without cause.’

There was a movement at the door. It was Cuirgí. He stood leaning against the door jamb with folded arms.

‘You seem to be getting along well with the prisoner, Crond,’ he observed coldly.

Crond looked up in amusement.

‘Is it forbidden to talk as I feed our prisoner, then?’

‘That depends on the subject of conversation,’ returned Cuirgí. ‘It is well known that this woman has a tongue of silver. She is a dálaigh and is it not said that a good lawyer will turn black into white and white into black? Pay no attention to her words, Crond.’

Crond grimaced cynically. ‘After two years in an Eóghanacht prison, I am not liable to be beguiled by the words of this woman, Cuirgí. However, the sooner we reach our homeland, the better I shall like it.’

Cuirgí nodded thoughtfully, his sharp eyes on Fidelma.

‘Finish feeding her and come down. We need to discuss our route. Cuán knows the lands north of here and has an idea.’

‘When do we leave here? Tomorrow?’

Cuirgí shook his head. ‘If we wait a further day, they will think we have already reached-’ He cut himself short as he glanced at Fidelma. ‘We will talk about this below. Be quick finishing here.’

He stayed for a second or two more and then disappeared. Fidelma heard him going down the stairs. Crond returned to feeding her. He winked at her and whispered softly: ‘So, lady, it looks as if you’ll be spending a little more time in this cramped condition.’

‘My hands and feet are numb, Crond,’ she said. ‘Can’t you loosen these bindings? If I am left like this, I won’t be able to walk or ride when the time comes. Surely you can see that I can’t escape?’

Crond hesitated, and then he realised that she was right. He put down the bowl and bent to her ankles to release the bindings a fraction, so that they were still secure but no longer biting tightly into her flesh. She could feel the blood flowing into her limbs and an almost painful sensation as if pins and needles were coursing through her flesh. Crond turned her over and repeated the exercise with her wrists. She sighed as her cramped arms began to tingle. Setting her back against the bed frame, he finished feeding her the stew and then gave her another drink. Then he stood up.

He looked at the discarded gag for a moment and she saw his glance.

‘Who am I going to call out to?’ she asked sarcastically.

He hesitated and then smiled.

‘It will be a long night, lady. Sleep well.’

Then he was gone. She lay on the bed for a long time listening to the noise of their voices drifting up from below before she started to wriggle her bonds. Although Crond had loosened them, they were still secure. Try as she might, she could make no headway in making them slack enough to enable her to manipulate her hands out of them. It was some time before she gave up and found herself dozing again. The next thing she knew, the grey light of dawn was seeping into the room.

Eadulf had left his horse tethered loosely to a bush in a copse. He had spent the night at the abbey and at first light had taken the track in the direction of the Tower of Uaman. He had found the crossing point without trouble and decided to leave his horse hidden among the trees and approach on foot. He tethered his horse loosely as he had learnt from Fidelma. If he did not return before the beast started to fret, he was confident that the animal would be able to pull free, but he knew the horse was a patient steed and would only leave the spot when hunger or danger threatened.