The Leper's Bell (13 page)

‘Thank you.’ Fidelma turned towards the tent the man had indicated. They had not gone far when Capa called to her.

‘Lady, do you want us to set about finding the dwarfs and discovering if they know the religieux leper?’

Fidelma drew rein.

‘I am going to talk to the chieftain here. He is Fiachrae, a distant cousin of mine - one of the Eóghanacht. But we can save time. Make your search and inquiries. See if you can find Forindain. You know his description: a dwarf in religious robes and doubtless carrying a leper’s bell.’

Gorman’s face took on a concerned look.

‘How should we approach a leper?’

Fidelma regarded him with amusement.

‘Like anyone else. Inform him that a
dálaigh
wishes to speak to him. He has a legal obligation to comply. As soon as I have made myself known to the chieftain, I will join you in the search.’

Eadulf, concentrating on what was being said, did not know exactly what happened. One minute he was seated easily on his horse, next to Fidelma, and the next his mount was rearing and whinnying as if something had startled it. Eadulf was not the best of horsemen and clung on for dear life. His powerful beast kicked out and caught Fidelma’s mount, which also reared unexpectedly, and lost its footing, its hind legs splashing back into the stream. Caught by surprise, Fidelma was catapulted backwards into the muddy waters.

Capa reached forward and grasped her horse’s head while Gorman caught at Eadulf’s mount. A moment later, both animals stood still and trembling. Eadulf and Capa immediately slid from their horses and moved hurriedly to where Fidelma still sat spluttering in the muddy waters, gasping and choking.

‘Are you all right?’ demanded Eadulf anxiously, reaching forward.

Her cheeks were bright pink with anger. She glared up at him.

‘Haven’t you learnt to control a horse yet?’ she demanded angrily.

He stepped back as if she had slapped him. Then her anger seemed to evaporate.

‘Sorry. I am bruised and muddy and soaked but doubtless my pride is more hurt than my body. Help me up out of this.’

Eadulf and Capa leant forward and drew her upright. She looked down at her muddy clothes ruefully.

‘Hardly dressed to greet my cousin,’ she murmured.

‘Your dress does not matter, Cousin Fidelma,’ came a deep, sonorous voice. A stout, round-faced, middle-aged man had approached unnoticed with some attendants. He was richly dressed and wore a gold chain of office.

Fidelma blinked. ‘Fiachrae?’

‘You are welcome to my
oirechtas
, cousin. But come, let one of my attendants lead you to my bathhouse and bring you dry clothes before you catch your death of cold. Then come and join me for some refreshment in my tent. Plenty of time to tell me what brings you to my little village.’

Fidelma glanced down at herself again. There was not much to argue about. She indicated Eadulf.

‘First, I must introduce you to … to my
fer comtha
, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham.’

The chieftain gazed with round pale eyes on Eadulf. A
fer comtha
indicated Eadulf’s status as husband on a temporary basis.

‘I have heard much of you,’ he said hesitantly, then glanced back to Fidelma. ‘I will take Eadulf under my care and you will find us in my tent.’

Fidelma nodded, turning to Capa and his men.

‘My mishap does not alter my plan. You may look at the fair.’

‘Understood, lady,’ agreed Capa, raising his hand in salute.

Eadulf picked up the feeling that Fidelma had not wanted Fiachrae to be informed of the purpose of their visit until later. The chieftain signalled to one of his attendants to take the horses of Fidelma and Eadulf and then led the way towards the large blue tent that served as his seat during the period of the fair.

The crowds that had gathered round to see what entertainment was offered by the arrival of the newcomers, realising it was no entertainment
at all, began to drift away. The chieftain turned and summoned a female servant from the crowd.

‘Follow my attendant that way, Cousin Fidelma.’ The rotund chieftain indicated a group of buildings behind the tent. ‘She will see to all your wants.’ Fidelma went without another word. The chieftain had become quite friendly to Eadulf, talking non-stop of trivialities. He tucked his arm under Eadulf’s in intimate fashion and propelled him smilingly into the tent. An iron brazier, in which a fire smouldered to give warmth on the chill day, was placed in the centre of the tent, its smoke curling up through an aperture by the main pole.

‘Now, my Saxon friend - or should I say cousin by marriage - let us have a mug of honey mead to keep out the winter cold.’

Eadulf smiled wearily and sank into a seat that the chieftain indicated.

‘That would be most welcome.’

Within a few minutes, Eadulf had realised that the chieftain was a loquacious fellow who seemed to talk for the sake of talking. He was a teller of tales whether his audience was appreciative or not.

Fiachrae passed a mug of mead to Eadulf.

‘Have you visited Cnoc Loinge before, my Saxon friend? I do not recall you and, of course, it is a long time since I last saw my cousin.’

Eadulf shook his head as he sipped the sweet mead.

‘The closest I have come to Cnoc Loinge is to Imleach,’ he replied.

‘Ah, I heard of that occasion. It was when Brother Mochta and the holy relics of Ailbe went missing.’

Eadulf simply inclined his head in confirmation.

‘Well, you will find that my little rath has a great history. It was here that the ancestor of the Eóghanacht kings asserted their independence from any unjust demands of the High King.’

It was clear that the rotund chieftain wanted to tell the story and Eadulf thought it better to assuage his pride than to make Fidelma’s task the more difficult by rudeness. Fiachrae was seated comfortably in his chair, a mug of mead in his hand, and smiling almost meditatively.

‘The lady Moncha gave birth to a son some months after her lord, Eóghan, ancestor of all the Eóghanacht, was slain in battle. The son was Fiachrae Muilleathan, and justly was he named “king of battles”.’

Eadulf smiled. ‘While I know that Fiachrae, which is your own name, means “king of battles”, as you say, I thought Muilleathan meant broad-crowned.’

The chieftain sniffed, not liking his tale to be interrupted.

‘An astrologer predicted that if the child were born on a certain day he would be chief jester of the five kingdoms of Éireann. If he was born on the following day, then the position of the stars would be more auspicious and he would become the most powerful king in the country. So when Moncha felt the birth pangs and the day of the better prediction had not yet come, she left the palace at Cnoc Rafoan and walked into the shallows of the nearby River Suir. She sat on a flat stone to delay the baby’s coming. So that day passed, and the baby came on the day when it was predicted that the child, if born then, would be a great king. But Moncha died from her efforts to delay the birth. When the infant emerged, the force of being pressed against the stone had flattened his forehead and hence he bore thereafter the sobriquet of Muilleathan or broad-crowned.’

The chieftain spoke in all seriousness and Eadulf controlled his features, which were about to give way to mirth, and merely nodded.

‘Go on.’

‘Fiachrae, or Fiacha, for he was also known by the diminutive form as a token of affection by his people, became a great king. He ruled here during the time when the great Cormac mac Art held the high kingship, which was about four centuries ago. The Uí Néill, of the sept of the Dál Riada, expelled Cormac for a time from Tara, but Fiachrae came forward and fought in his support, and Cormac regained the high kingship. For a time, all was well between the two kings, but Cormac was ill advised. An ambitious administrator told him that this kingdom of Muman, being the largest of the five kingdoms, should pay double the tribute to the High King of any other of the kingdoms. When this was demanded, Fiachrae refused.

‘Then Cormac did a very unwise thing, spurred on by the ambitions of his bad adviser. He came with an army into Muman. Fiachrae’s own army gathered here at this very spot, on this very hill which is shaped like a ship, and here it was that Cormac’s army surrounded Fiachrae’s men. Again Cormac was ill advised. His generals told him to burn out the army of Fiachrae and they set fire to the trees and bushes, but Fiachrae’s druid Mag Ruith caused a great wind to arise and the smoke was blown on to Cormac’s warriors, suffocating them and causing them to flee. Then Fiachrae gave the order for his warriors to pursue and punish Cormac’s army. Cormac had to pay reparation to Fiachrae.’

Eadulf smothered a yawn, doing his best to hide his boredom.

‘And everyone lived in happiness thereafter?’ he said.

The chieftain shook his head.

‘Life is not like a fairy story in this land, Saxon,’ he rebuked his guest, not picking up on Eadulf’s sarcasm. ‘Cormac had his revenge.’

Eadulf had glanced quickly round, wondering why Fidelma was so long in rejoining them. He realised that he should say something, and asked: ‘How?’

‘Cormac had a fosterling named Connla, son of Tadhg, lord of Éile, a rival to the Muman throne, and cousin of Fiachrae. Connla had contracted leprosy while at Tara…’

Eadulf stirred uneasily as he was reminded of the purpose in coming to Cnoc Loinge. ‘Leprosy?’

‘Indeed. And Cormac played a subtle game for his revenge. He persuaded Connla that a cure could be found if he bathed in the blood of a king who was kin to him. Connla went south and was welcomed at the court at Cnoc Rafoan and treated well by Fiachrae. Connla bided his time and one day he and Fiachrae went swimming in the Suir at Áth Aiseal, the ford of the ass. When the opportunity arose, he drove his sword into Fiachrae…’

‘And was cured of leprosy?’ Eadulf smiled.

The chieftain frowned at his flippancy.

‘Of course not,’ he snapped. ‘Connla was taken by Fiachrae’s guards but the dying king, showing his nobility, told them to spare his life and sent him to the house of the lepers in the land of the Corco Duibhne. The king died and was succeeded by his tanist Ailill Flann Bee from whose noble line descends our present king, Colgú … and, of course, your wife Fidelma.’

The chieftain suddenly smiled and cast a sideways glance at Eadulf.

‘But I hear that Fidelma is now mother to a son. How is the child? I believe his name is Alchú, is it not?’

Eadulf seized the opportunity to tell Fiachrae what had brought them to his small settlement. The chieftain’s garrulousness vanished.

‘But… but this is terrible. You should have told me immediately,’ he said. ‘This is catastrophic. A tragedy. Awful.’

Eadulf had the impression that Fiachrae’s words lacked sincerity. He felt a compulsion to point out that he had had little opportunity to tell the chieftain anything. It was only after he had told the story about the
dwarf leper that he remembered Fidelma’s reticence about revealing the reason for their presence to Fiachrae earlier.

‘Well,’ Fiachrae said after a moment or two, putting down his mug, ‘there have been no reports of itinerants or lepers of any shape or size passing through here.’

‘Fidelma thought that he might have joined the dwarfs who are here…’

Fiachrae shook his head immediately. ‘These dwarfs are
crossan.
I hardly think that a leper, or a religious of any sort, would join them.’

‘Crossan?’

‘Crossan
or
drúth
- gleemen or players. They are performing some play and the word has spread so that many people are coming to the fair from the surrounding countryside. I am told that they come from the Féis Tailltenn where they had great success in the entertainment of the High King.’

‘And none of them has been seen with a baby?’

Fiachrae was frowning. ‘You have reason to suspect these performers of the abduction of your child?’

‘There is reason to suppose that a dwarf was involved,’ Eadulf said shortly, for he was not entirely sure he agreed with Fidelma’s intuition on the matter.

‘Well, they do not have any babies with them. Nor have they come from Cashel. I am told that they came from Cluain Mic Nois and Tir dhá Ghlas, the territory of the two streams, directly north of Imleach.’

‘You seem well apprised of their movements.’

Fiachrae smiled thinly. ‘I have to be, my friend. I can take you to the top of the hill behind us and show you where the territory of the Uí Fidgente commences.’

‘So close?’ Eadulf had always associated the Uí Fidgente with a territory well to the west and slightly to the north.

‘Cnoc Áine, where we defeated the Uí Fidgente last year, is only five kilometres north of here. We are on the borderlands of the fractious clan that is always plotting against the rule of the Eóghanacht. That is why I have to take an interest in all the travellers passing through here. My people know this and have orders to tell me of any strangers passing into the country of the Uí Fidgente.’

Eadulf leaned forward with interest. ‘So you would know what travellers have come this way in the last few days?’

Fiachrae smiled complacently. ‘I do. I can tell you of a very strange person, for example, travelling with a religieux from the northern Uí Néill kingdom. He hardly knew our language, although he spoke several including the tongues of the Greek and the Roman.’

‘Ah, I have heard of them,’ agreed Eadulf. However, the chieftain was disposed to continue.

‘Brother Basil Nestorios was his name,’ he went on. ‘His companion, whose name was Brother Tanaide, told me that this Basil Nestorios was a healer from lands in the east. He boasted, or rather Brother Tanaide boasted on his behalf, that he could cure leprosy by his potions and herbs. He was a probably a madman, but most foreigners are…’

He suddenly realised what he had said and glanced at Eadulf to see if he had taken offence.

‘Anyone else?’ pressed Eadulf, ignoring the remark. ‘We are particularly interested in anyone who carried a baby with them.’

Fiachrae shook his head. ‘No one has passed here carrying a solitary baby.’