Fidelma had long avoided the inevitable outcome of her attraction to Eadulf. She had already experienced one unhappy affair with a warrior named Cian and thought that she would never undergo the agony of falling in love again. But some inner spark had ignited when she first met Eadulf at the great Council of Whitby, even though he was a Saxon and an advocate for the acceptance of the teachings of Rome. She had tried to argue that she cared too much for Eadulf to rush into easy decisions; that she had tried to avoid any close relation because, under the laws of the five kingdoms, it would be a marriage of unequal persons. Fidelma was of royal rank and Eadulf, as a stranger in the land and not even of royal status, would not have equal property rights with his wife.
Then it seemed that all was well. She had made the decision. During the trial marriage she had become pregnant and their son Alchú was born. Had she resented the birth of Alchú? Her mind had dwelt on the freedom she had lost and she had begun to resent Eadulf and the idea of a life confined to Cashel. The request of her brother, Colgú the king, to go to Rath Raithlen and solve the mystery of the slaughtered young women had been a godsend to her. She had been dwelling on her personal problems as she and Eadulf had ridden back to Cashel having been successful in resolving the mystery. She had been considering whether she should end the trial marriage now, for the year and a day would soon be over. Then she had learnt the news about her baby son.
She gave a sharp intake of breath as the pain of the news struck her once again.
‘What is it?’ demanded Eadulf, concern on his features.
She glanced at him and grimaced.
‘I was just think of something Publilius Syrus once wrote…’
At another time Eadulf might have made some humorous aside, for Fidelma was always ready to quote a moral axiom of the former slave of Rome. She seemed to know them all by heart. Instead he just said: ‘Yes?’
‘How unhappy are they who cannot forgive themselves,’ she replied sadly.
Eadulf was about to respond when the door opened and Brother Madagan entered, then stood aside to usher in a medium-sized man in long brown woollen robes who walked with a distinctive limp. His left arm dangled uselessly at his side. He was not elderly but his features were deeply marked by experience rather than age. His long dark hair had white streaks in it and his dark eyes seemed to glow as if reflecting the horrors he had seen. His was the face of a man marred by his vicissitudes.
This is Brother Buite of Magh Ghlas,’ announced the steward.
Brother Buite limped forward and bowed briefly to Fidelma.
‘How can I help you, lady?’
Fidelma returned his gaze for a moment. ‘You know me?’
Brother Buite inclined his head. ‘I served in the army of your brother at Cnoc Áine. That was where I…’
He reached unconsciously with his right hand across his chest towards his useless left arm, and then his hand dropped back and he shrugged.
‘I know you, lady, and I know of your sorrow. I was in Cashel with my brothers on the night it happened. If there is anything I can do to relieve the pain you have but to ask.’
‘You are generous in spirit, Brother Buite,’ replied Fidelma solemnly. ‘This is Brother Eadulf. Take a seat and speak with us a while.’
The man limped to an indicated seat and sat awkwardly while Brother Madagan, at a glance from Fidelma, went to resume his seat.
‘I understand that you and your companions were in Cashel when my nurse was murdered and my baby taken. Tell me about your companions.’
Brother Buite flushed a little.
‘I will speak of myself but you must question my companions about themselves. Sufficient to say that we all met on the road not far outside Cashel and I, knowing of the shrine of Ailbe, offered to guide them here to the abbey. We spent a night at the inn in the township below your brother’s palace. I was told the following morning of the death of a nurse and the disappearance of your child, lady. But as it was clear that we had no baby with us, the noble prince Finguine allowed us to continue the journey here.’
‘Ah yes. It was Finguine who came to the inn to question your party the next morning, I believe?’
‘Just so, lady.’
And then you brought your companions here?’
‘I did.’
‘But not all of them?’
Brother Buite looked startled.
‘I believe that you travelled with a leper? But we are told that when you arrived here a leper was not in your company.’
‘Ah.’ It was a soft breath. ‘A leper did come with us.’
‘Where did this companion leave you?’
‘Just before we reached the abbey here. Five of us, the original party, proceeded to the abbey but our sixth traveller went on towards the west.’
‘This sixth companion was small and carried a leper’s bell?’
‘That is so. He was a dwarf. Because of his illness we kept slightly apart from him but he did not seem to mind.’
‘A dwarf?’ Fidelma’s eyes sparkled at the information. ‘And he was a male?’
‘The name he gave us was Forindain.’
‘He spoke?’ Eadulf asked the question with a note of surprise. Caol had said the misshapen child who came to the palace was mute. It had not occurred to him until that moment that the pilgrim Brother Buite was describing might be possessed of speech.
Brother Buite glanced at him. ‘Why wouldn’t he speak?’
Fidelma glanced warningly at Eadulf and shook her head slightly.
‘And where did Forindain join your band?’ she asked.
‘At Cashel itself.’
‘Was he staying at the inn there?’
‘Not exactly. I had the impression that he slept in a barn.’
‘Why was that?’
‘I saw him eating in the inn before we retired for the night. He did not indicate by his bell that he was a leper then. That is contrary to the rules of the Faith. It was only when we were leaving in the morning and I found him in the yard with straw on his clothing and a leper’s bell that I realised he was so afflicted. Have I transgressed some law, lady, by allowing him to accompany us?’
Fidelma leant back and examined Brother Buite’s features keenly.
‘You are troubled by my questions, Brother Buite. Let me tell you why I ask them. Sárait the nurse was apparently lured from the safety of my brother’s palace when, according to the guard on duty, a child came with a message saying that her sister needed to see her urgently. The message was false. The messenger was said to be thickset and misshapen. It was dark. The guard, Caol, thought he saw a child. I suspect that he saw the dwarf who has been travelling with you. If so, we need to speak to this Forindain.’
Brother Buite blinked rapidly. ‘Was Sárait the nurse who was killed?’ he asked in surprise. ‘Sárait who was the wife to Callada?’
‘You knew her?’ Eadulf pressed quickly.
Brother Buite inclined his head. ‘I met her only once. It was Callada, her husband, that I knew. He was a popular fellow. He fought at Cnoc Aine and died there. I saw Sárait when she came in search of his body. I did not realise that she was the nurse who had been killed.’
‘As a matter of interest, do you know how this Callada died?’
Brother Buite glanced suspiciously at Eadulf, who had asked the question.
‘You mean, have I heard of the rumours that spread after the battle? Rumours that he had been found with an Eóghanacht spear in his back? I heard them. Indeed, it was Cathalán who commanded us and who pointed out that a spear has no allegiance — it is the man who wields the spear. Any one — Uí Fidgente or Eóghanacht — could have picked up the spear that transfixed Callada. But I know the rumours persisted.’
‘We are more concerned to hear about your pilgrims and how they fell in with this dwarf who gave his name as Forindain,’ Fidelma interrupted.
‘I will tell you what I know, lady,’ replied the former warrior. ‘My fellow pilgrims and I had reached Cashel, and heari
ng Bishop Ségdae was there we went to the palace and asked a blessing and permission to continue our pilgrimage to see the holy relics of Ailbe. Then we went to the inn to eat before taking a room there. As I have said, that was when I first saw the dwarf, but there was no indication then that he was a leper. In the morning, Prince Finguine came to the inn and asked if we had been disturbed during the night. Some of us had been awoken by the sounds of warriors moving about. He told us that there had been a killing and that a child was missing.
‘After he left, I went into the yard and found the dwarf. He was, as you say, small and misshapen and clad from poll to toe in his robes. He told me his name was Forindain and that he was also on the road to Imleach. When I told him that was where we were heading, he asked if he could join us. But then he warned me not to come close for he carried the curse of leprosy as well as being malformed from childhood. I said that he was welcome to join us for we are equal under God.’
He paused, as if remembering something else.
The dwarf asked us when we were departing for Imleach. When I said after we had broken our fast, he replied with satisfaction that this was well for he had something to see. When we were ready to depart, he was in the yard and walked some paces behind us. In this fashion, we came to Imleach.’
‘Did this Forindain tell you where he came from?’ asked Eadulf. ‘Did he tell you anything at all about himself?’
Brother Buite shook his head. ‘All I could tell was that he was originally from the kingdom of Laigin.’
‘You learnt nothing else about him?’
‘He kept himself to himself. Whenever anyone came too near, he would jangle that little bell of his as warning. We had our own cares and left him well alone. He followed behind us, always keeping a distance away.’
‘What manner of person was he?’ Fidelma pressed. ‘Happy, outgoing, sad, morose, good-tempered or ill-tempered?’
Brother Buite shrugged. ‘Hard to say. He was not loquacious, that is for sure. He kept his head cowled. I do not think I saw his face once. He was always in shadows. He moved agilely enough, in spite of jerking motions when he walked. He had thick, stubby hands — strong hands. Oh … I had almost forgotten. When he spoke, he spoke with a lisp as if his tongue was too large for his head.’
‘How did this Forindain come to leave you?’ she asked.
The leader of the pilgrims passed his good hand across his chin, as though to brush away an annoying insect.
‘I suppose I assumed that when Forindain said he was on the road to Imleach, he meant that he was coming to the abbey. Outside the township here, he simply bade us farewell. I did ask where he was going. He said that his road now took him further to the west. So we left him at the crossroads outside the town. That was the last we saw of him and that was where our interest in him stopped.’
‘And when did you part company?’
‘About three days ago.’
Fidelma was quiet for a while, nodding silently. Then she suddenly smiled.
‘You have been most helpful, Buite. I need not detain you or your companions.’
Brother Buite hesitated. ‘Do you believe that this Forindain was involved with the murder of Sárait and the kidnapping of…?’ His voice trailed off and he raised a shoulder and let it fall.
Fidelma’s voice was emotionless. ‘Belief is to regard what has been told one as being true. It is to be persuaded without final proof. That is not the task of a dálaigh, Brother Buite of Magh Ghlas. One seeks out truth through fact and not through opinion.’
Brother Buite flushed a little. Eadulf at once felt contrite, and hurried into speech.
‘We are following all leads, however obscure and faint, and hope that somewhere along the way they will turn into those facts that we are looking for. We have questions that this Forindain can answer, that is all. Thank you for being so helpful.’
He smiled reassuringly at him and Brother Buite returned the smile before Brother Madagan ushered him from the chamber. Eadulf turned to Fidelma.
‘Well, at least we know that the dwarf Forindain is not the so-called child seen by Caol, the guard at the palace,’ he said emphatically.
Fidelma raised an eyebrow in query.
‘How so?’
‘Because Forindain had the power of speech, even though Brother Buite claims he spoke strangely, with a lisp. The child who came to the palace was mute. Caol said so.’
‘And how did Caol know?’
Eadulf was impatient, not understanding her point.
‘Because the child produced a note which said it could not speak?’ Fidelma went on. ‘And we must believe this because a note was produced? Belief is not fact, as I have just told Brother Buite.’
Eadulf considered the point. ‘Do you have reason to believe that the child was lying to Caol?’
She shook her head. ‘If the child or the dwarf were part of a plot to kill Sárait or abduct our baby, of course it would be lying. Anyway, nothing should ever be accepted on face value without checking. That is the rule of the Brehon.’
‘An axiom of Brehon Morann?’ replied Eadulf, a little sharply. ‘I know. Well, that does not get us anywhere. This leper has disappeared taking the western road. He might be anywhere now. He might or might not have been the person who delivered the note to Sárait and even if he did he might or might not have been involved in the murder and kidnapping. There are too many ifs and buts. Where do we go from here?’
There was a dry cough from the shadows. They had forgotten Brother Madagan.
‘If I might make a suggestion…?’ The steward came forward smiling. ‘I think your first priority is to refresh yourselves and, as the sky is darkening, to spend the night here before you travel on.’
Fidelma smiled tiredly.
‘A good idea, Brother Madagan. We are too tired to think logically tonight. We will seek refreshment in food and contemplation.’
Brother Madagan turned towards the door.
‘I will order a chamber to be prepared for you,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Your warrior companions can sleep in the guests’ dormitory. Would you like to wash? It will not be long before the bell sounds for the evening meal.’ At the door, he hesitated and turned back. ‘I could not help but hear that you were interested in a dwarf.’
‘A particular dwarf,’ Fidelma said sharply. ‘Why?’
Brother Madagan made a gesture with his shoulder that was not quite a shrug.
‘Only that there was a group of drúth passing through the town a few days ago and there were dwarfs among them.’
‘Drui?’ queried Eadulf, not quite hearing the pronunciation and thinking the steward had mentioned druids.
Brother Madagan shook his head and corrected him.
‘No, drúth — jesters, jugglers and gleemen. Those who travel the country to entertain and amuse with music, songs, stories and acrobatics.’
‘When did they pass through here?’ asked Fidelma. ‘Before or after the pilgrims arrived?’
‘Oh, the day before, I think. They entertained in the town for one night and then moved on. One of our brethren attended the entertainment and told me that they played the story of Bebo and Iubdán, which seemed much suited to their talents.’
‘It would be a good choice of story,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘But the little person whom we seek was, according to accounts, a leper and a religieux.’
Brother Madagan shrugged. ‘It was a thought. They said that they were going on to the Hill of the Ship. There is a fair there tomorrow. It is not very far west from here.’
‘I know it. The chieftain is a distant cousin of mine. I’ll bear it in mind, Brother Madagan. Thank you.’
Later, in their chamber, Eadulf asked: ‘What did you mean when you said that the story of Bebo and Iubdán was a good choice of story? I do not understand.’
Fidelma was combing her hair and paused.
‘A good choice for little people to play? It is one of the ancient tales. Iubdán was king of the Faylinn-’
&nbs
p; ‘I’ve heard of many people in these kingdoms but not the Faylinn,’ interrupted Eadulf.
They are what we call the little people. A diminutive race that live in a parallel world. The story goes that Iubdán is able to travel to Emain Macha, the capital of the kingdom of Ulaidh. His wife Bebo comes with him. Iubdán clumsily falls into the porridge, which has been prepared for the breakfast of the king of Ulaidh, Fergus mac Léide. He cannot get out of the porridge bowl and is captured by Fergus. However, Fergus falls in love with Bebo, who comes to plead for her husband’s life. Bebo is very beautiful, and they have an affair while he keeps her husband locked up. Bebo and Iubdán were his prisoners for a year and a day before he offered them freedom in exchange for Iubdán’s most prized possession.’
‘Which was…?’ demanded Eadulf when she paused.
‘A pair of enchanted shoes which enabled the king to travel over water as easily as over dry land.’
‘And did they get their freedom?’
‘They did so, after a year and a day…’
Fidelma’s voice trailed off. A year and a day. She stirred uneasily at her thoughts about her marriage. Her own year and a day, which marked the time when she must decide her future with Eadulf, was rapidly nearing and yet how could she make any decision in the current situation? Her mind was already confused about her relationship and even now more confused by the tragedy of Alchú.
Eadulf had not noticed her sudden melancholy. He was continuing to talk.
‘I have noticed here that dwarfs are not usually treated as figures of fun. It is different in other lands.’
Fidelma stirred herself and continued combing her red tresses. She tried to turn her mind away from her dark thoughts and concentrate on what Eadulf was saying.
‘Why should they be regarded as other than people? Are they so different? In the days before the New Faith, two of the old gods, the children of Danu, were dwarfs. Luchta was one of the three great wrights who crafted shields and spearshafts. Abcán, whose very name means “little dwarf’, was a poet to the gods and goddesses and used to sail a curious metal boat on the waters of Eas Ruadh, the red cataract, which lies in a great river to the north of here. And you will find that little folk are often employed as poets and musicians at the great courts. Even Fionn Mac Cumhail had a harpist named Cnú Deireóil who was a dwarf. He was very handsome, with golden hair and such a sweet voice that he could lull you to sleep by the sound of his singing. Those who are small in stature are not necessarily small in mind.’
The Leper's bell sf-14 Page 8