Peter Tremayne - The Leper's bell

Eadulf nodded, feeling, in spite of himself, sympathy for the woman in her plight.

‘Then bring him to me.’

Muirgen nodded slowly. ‘Tell me, before you take him, what name does the child bear?’

Eadulf hesitated. ‘His name is Alchú and, as I have said, he is my son. My son and the son of Fidelma of Cashel, sister to Colgú, king of Muman.’

Nessán made a whistling sound through his teeth in reaction to the news. His wife was nodding thoughtfully.

‘That explains much. Uaman was of the Uí Fidgente and that was why he insisted on our calling the baby Díoltas.’

‘Vengeance?’ Eadulf said grimly. That certainly suited his twisted, cruel mind. Come, let me see the child.’

He made to move to the hut but Nessán laid a strong restraining hand on his arm.

‘What will happen to us, Brother Eadulf? What will happen to my wife and me? Will Colgú of Cashel punish us?’

Eadulf regarded them both with sympathy and shook his head.

‘I cannot see a crime here for which you should be punished. Uaman, who claimed chieftainship in these mountains, gave you the baby. He asked you to look after the child and you have done so. Where is the crime?’

Nessán sighed deeply, raising a hand almost in supplication.

‘It is just that we wanted a child so much and our prayers have never been answered.’

‘Are there no orphans that need fostering?’ Gormán asked rhetorically. ‘I would have thought that your chieftain would have been able to assist in that. There is always some dilechta or orphan that needs a home.’

‘No one wants to give a child to a shepherd. I am but a lowly sencleithe , a herdsman who does not even own his own herd. There is no one lower than I am except those who have lost their rights by transgressing the law, the cowards and the hostages. I cannot bear arms or have a say at the clan assembly.’

‘We have never been able to appeal to the chieftain of the Corco Duibhne, for Uaman has dominated the passes on this peninsula for many years. Is he truly dead?’ Muirgen added again.

‘Uaman is truly dead,’ Eadulf repeated solemnly, aware that the couple needed reassurance. Gormán, standing behind him, coughed impatiently.

‘We are wasting time, Brother Eadulf,’ he muttered.

The woman turned immediately and darted into the hut. When she reappeared, she had Alchú in her arms. There were tears in her eyes as she smiled down at the sleeping child before handing it to Eadulf.

Eadulf looked down at the baby, tears rimming his own eyes for a moment. He felt a constriction in his throat as he looked upon the son he had once thought never to see alive again. He sniffed, and grinned fiercely to fight back the tears.

‘You have looked after him well, Muirgen,’ he conceded.

The woman inclined her head. ‘I have done my best.’

‘When I return to Cashel, I will talk to the Chief Brehon about your situation. Perhaps your prayers may be answered. There must be something that can be done for you.’

It was clear from their expressions that they did not believe he meant a word of what he was saying, but they smiled politely. He told the woman that he would allow her a few moments to say her farewells to the sleeping baby. It was then that Basil Nestorios drew him aside.

‘I believe that this is your first child, Brother Saxon?’

Eadulf looked puzzled but answered in the affirmative. The physician smiled gently.

‘I thought so. How far is it to Cashel? A few days’ ride?’

‘What are you saying?’

‘You are meaning to carry the child on a horse? A baby of that age will not find such a means of transportation comfortable. It never does to shake a baby too much.’

‘We will take it slowly. We can probably pick up a wagon at the abbey of Coimán. That will be easier on him.’

The physician continued to smile. ‘And how is the child to take nourishment?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you require a trophos? ’

Eadulf had not heard the Greek word before. ‘Take nourishment…?’ Then it dawned on him. On the journey from Cashel to the abbey of Coimán, the herbalist’s wife had acted as wet nurse to the child. Of course, the baby needed a wet nurse for the journey back. He glanced to where Muirgen was saying her farewells to the child. The solution appeared simple. Then another thought struck him. He stood in contemplation a moment or two before turning to Gormán.

‘You said that you were at Cnoc Áine, didn’t you? Callada, Sárait’s husband, was killed there, wasn’t he?’

The tall warrior nodded impatiently. ‘I did, and Callada was slain during the battle. Now,’ he glanced at the sky, ‘if we want to get back to the village by the ford before dark, we should start soon, Brother Eadulf.’

‘When was that battle?’ insisted Eadulf. ‘Remind me.’

‘It took place in the month of Dubh-Luacran, the darkest time of the year,’ replied Gormán, puzzled by his excitement.

Eadulf waved an impatient hand. ‘But when? How long ago?’

‘We lack but two months before it will be exactly two years since the battle.’

Eadulf exhaled slowly.

‘We should be on our way, Brother,’ Gormán chided again.

Eadulf brought himself back to the present and smiled at Basil Nestorios. He suddenly felt in buoyant mood.

Thank you for your good advice, my friend. Trophos , eh?’ He turned to the shepherd’s wife. ‘Muirgen, I have been reminded of the child’s care. Will you be his wet nurse on the journey back to Cashel? You will be well paid for your trouble.’

The woman was startled by the abruptness of the offer. She glanced at her husband.

‘I have never left these mountains in my life,’ she began.

‘Your husband can accompany you, and I will ensure that you are both rewarded and escorted on your return to ensure your safe passage,’ Eadulf said to pre-empt any further debate.

‘And we will receive compensation?’ Nessán wore a thoughtful expression.

‘And I will argue your case before the Brehon Dathal,’ Eadulf conceded.

The shepherd and his wife exchanged another glance and then a silent agreement passed between them.

‘My sheep are in the lower pasture for the winter. I need only inform my neighbour that we shall be gone awhile and that he will be compensated for looking after them. I can be away for a few weeks before I need to return.’

Eadulf thrust his hand into the leather purse he wore at his belt and drew forth two screpalls.

‘Give him this on account.’

Nessán hurried off. The neighbour and his wife had already come out of their hut to watch what the strangers were doing, and the business was soon concluded. It was not long before the procession set off on the first leg of their journey back to Cashel. Muirgen, with the baby slung in a shawl in front of her, was seated on Basil Nestorios’s spare horse, which the physician led with a rein from his own mount. Nessán rode pillion behind Gormán, and Eadulf led the way.

Eadulf felt a real sense of elation. A sense of achievement. He had retrieved Alchú — his child — entirely through his own efforts and powers of deduction. It was his achievement and no other’s. He smiled as he recalled a saying of his father, who had been hereditary gerefa of the South Folk before him. ‘Remember, my son, that when you raise your sword, it is not enough merely to aim it. You must hit your target.’ He had ridden away from Cashel with only a suspicion of the target. Now he was returning thither having accomplished what all Cashel had been trying to achieve for well over a week. He could quote Fidelma’s favourite philosopher at her — what was it Publilius Syrus had written? Great rivers can be leapt at the source. He had found the source and leapt the great river and would return in triumph.