Peter Tremayne - The Leper's bell

Eadulf clapped him on the shoulder.

‘It will be good to have your company.’

They had reached the doors of the tower now, still standing open, with the bodies of the slain warriors lying where they had fallen. Gormán glanced around.

‘I would leave them to the disposal of the villagers, Brother,’ he said, as he saw Eadulf about to make a move to shift them. ‘Let us do what we have come to do first.’

‘I will go to the Evil One’s apartment and gather my medicine chest,’ the physician said immediately.

‘I will take Gormán and release the warrior we left in your cell. We will meet by the stables — there.’ Eadulf thrust out his hand towards the wooden structure at the side of the courtyard that was obviously a stable. Basil Nestorios agreed and disappeared on his task, while Eadulf led Gormán along the narrow corridor until they came to the wooden door of the cell. He banged on the door.

‘Do you hear me in there?’ he cried.

A muffled voice answered in surprise. ‘I hear you. Let me out.’

‘We will do so. But do not try to resist. Your master is dead. Do you understand? Uaman is dead. Your comrades are all slain. Do you wish to escape with your life?’

There was a silence.

‘Do you hear?’

‘I hear,’ came the muffled voice.

‘The people from the settlement that stands on the mountainside are coming here soon. They mean to destroy this evil place. We will let you out, give you horse, and the rest is up to you. Do you understand?’

‘I understand.’

Eadulf glanced at Gormán, who had drawn his sword and stood ready. Then he threw the bolts back and pushed the door open.

A moment later, the warrior emerged. He looked drawn and tired, and his weapons were sheathed. Eadulf addressed him sternly.

‘Precede us to the stables and do not attempt anything, for there is nothing to be gained.’

‘You have my word,’ muttered the man.

They were first to arrive at the stable. There were eight horses in the stalls. Eadulf gestured towards them.

‘Take the one which belongs to you and begone before the people arrive.’

The warrior said no more. He went to an animal, saddled it, and led it into the courtyard. Then he turned hesitantly to Eadulf.

‘You have my thanks, Brother.’

‘You could give me better thanks if you knew aught of the baby that your master took and how he disposed of him,’ Eadulf said, not expecting to receive any useful information. The Uí Fidgente warrior grimaced.

‘I was not with Uaman when that happened. I heard that he had bought some baby from a travelling herbalist and his wife a week or so ago and then took it by himself up into the mountains. He returned a day later without the baby. I did not ask what he had done with it. No one would dare question Uaman. May I go now, Brother?’

Eadulf waved him away. ‘As you go, remember that your life is spared by the grace of the Eóghanacht, to whom you should owe your thanks and allegiance.’

The warrior swung up on his horse, raised a hand in acknowledgement and then rode out fast through the gates and across the sand.

A moment later, Basil Nestorios rejoined them. He carried large saddle bags of a strange design in one of which, Eadulf saw by the hastily fixed straps, was a small wooden chest. The physician grinned.

‘I have my belongings.’ He held out his hand to reveal several gold pieces. ‘And I have taken these as payment for my services. Exactly what I am owed. There is plenty more, if you want. But it is cursed gold. I would rather leave it for the people this Evil One has wronged.’

Eadulf glanced at Gormán. ‘I would agree with that sentiment,’ he said.

‘Let us saddle the stranger’s horse,’ Gormán said to Eadulf. ‘We can release the rest.’

Basil Nestorios pointed to two of the beasts.

‘That one is mine, the other belonged to poor Brother Tanaide. I should return it to Laigin.’

They were harnessed in a moment with Gormán’s expert help. They released the other animals and saw them galloping across the sands towards the distant shore.

They were halfway to the shore themselves, with Basil Nestorios leading both horses, when a crowd of people came bursting through the trees, carrying scythes, billhooks and staffs, and crying like hunters after their prey. Gormán moved forward to intercept them, his hand held up.

‘Peace, my friends. You remember that it was I who brought you the news of Uaman’s death? These are my companions, who have been his prisoners.’

A burly man, whose manner of dress proclaimed him to be a blacksmith, glanced quickly at them.

‘I recognise you, warrior. You and your companions have no need to fear us. Pass on your way and peace follow you on your road.’ Then, turning to his rowdy comrades, the burly smith waved them on towards the tower.

Having collected their own mounts from their makeshift camp, Gormán and Eadulf led their companion up through the forest and along the track towards the mouth of the high valley that led into the tall, dark mountains.

Once beyond the tree line, where the woods gave way to more open shrub land, and long stretches of heather, Gormán paused, resting easily on his horse. The others followed his gaze as he looked back. From the higher elevation they could look down on the quiet blue seas, so different from this distance from the turbulent tides that had borne their enemies away. Even the island, with its grey stone tower, looked peaceful from here … except already plumes of black smoke were rising from it. The people of the settlement were wreaking their vengeance on the stronghold of Uaman the Leper, the Evil One, as Basil Nestorios still insisted on calling him.

It was dusk by the time they reached the small hamlet round the ford on the river. It was too dark to see the standing stone by which they would know they were in the right place, but Gormán stopped before a small forge at which a solitary blacksmith was still working, bending horseshoes on his anvil with hammer and tongs.

‘We are looking for a man called Ganicca. Is this where he dwells?’

The blacksmith gave them an encompassing glance.

‘You are strangers in this country.’ It was a statement, not a question.

‘We are.’

‘Ganicca is to be found in the last dwelling over there.’ The smith gestured with his hammer towards three buildings on the river bank.

Gormán thanked him and they moved towards the house that he had indicated. As they halted before it, Gormán called out. A thin, reed-like voice invited them in and so they dismounted.

It was light and warm within the dwelling. A fire blazed in the hearth and oil lamps provided the light. An elderly man sat in a chair by the fire, over which a small pot simmered with the aromatic smell of meat and vegetables arising from it. The man had a shock of white hair and parchment-like skin. His eyes were bright, and of an indeterminable colour.

‘Welcome, strangers,’ he said.

‘Blessings on this house and those who dwell within it,’ Eadulf answered formally.

The man chuckled appreciatively. ‘We do not often have strangers in these parts. You are a religieux, I see.’

‘I am. We are come in search of one called Ganicca.’

‘And who would be searching for Ganicca?’ queried the old man.

‘My name is Brother Eadulf…’

‘Ah, the husband to the lady Fidelma of Cashel, sister to Colgú, king of Muman. I have heard of Eadulf. A Saxon. And you say that you are this man?’

‘I am. This is Gormán, a warrior of the bodyguard of King Colgú. This other is Brother Basil Nestorios from faraway Persia. I presume that you are Ganicca who, it is reported, knows all that is worth knowing in these parts?’