‘Did you wait to accompany the woman, Sárait, back to the village?’ Fidelma asked.
Forindain shook his head immediately. ‘I had earned my screpall and went back to the inn. I was tempted to use it for a good room there but I didn’t.’
Fidelma sighed deeply. ‘So you went back to the inn after delivering the message?’
‘I had corma and a bowl of soup. I saw some pilgrims, and heard them talking about walking to Imleach. Then I left and went to one of the barns. It was less expensive than the inn. I found a warm place among the straw. I did not wake until I heard the noise of people in the yard. I saw some warriors speaking with the pilgrims. They left. I spoke to the leader of the pilgrims and he accepted me as a travelling companion. I had a short time to look round the township and then I joined them as they set off on the highway. At that stage, I decided to play the leper’s part again as it is fine for travelling on the road but no so good in getting accommodation and food.’
‘But you heard nothing? There was no outcry?’
‘Outcry?’ The dwarf rubbed his chin. ‘There was, as I say, some fuss and some warriors seem to be searching for someone. I did not enquire too closely what it was about. I was into my leper’s role at the time so did not really speak to anyone. What am I supposed to have done?’
There was a pause and then Fidelma nodded to Eadulf who answered: ‘When Sárait left the palace, she walked to meet her murderer.’
Forindain blinked rapidly.
‘I did not kill her. I did not know her. What I said is true,’ he said.
‘There is more,’ interrupted Fidelma. ‘She was nurse to my baby and, finding no one to look after it, she carried the child with her. Since then, my baby has vanished.’
The little dwarf moaned a little.
‘I … I was not involved in this. I simply carried a message, lady. I was not part of it…’
Fidelma did not bother to reassure him.
‘I am concerned with the woman who gave you the message to take to Sárait.’
‘I told you, she was Sárait’s sister. It is she that you should be questioning.’
Fidelma regarded him thoughtfully.
‘Sarait’s sister has denied that she sent any such message. Describe this woman, so that I may compare the description.’
‘I have said, it was nearly dusk and she kept herself in the shadow of the inn.’
‘She kept in the shadows the entire time?’
Forindain considered.
‘She did come nearly into the circle of light once. That was when she gave me the note. But she had a cloak with a hood covering her features. I had the impression that she was shapely, small of stature… for a woman of normal growth, that is,’ he corrected himself. ‘Her voice was not that of a young girl. I remember…’ Forindain was suddenly excited. ‘In the light of the lantern I had a momentary glimpse of the colours of her cloak, which I thought unusual for someone to wear in such a time and at such a place.’
‘Unusual?’ queried Eadulf. ‘How so?’
‘It was a long mantle of green silk with a hood that covered her features, as I have said. And the green silk was enriched with red embroidery. The cloak was fastened with a clasp that seemed to be silver and bejewelled. I noticed she had rings on her fingers when she handed me the money but I felt those by touch and did not see them.’
Eadulf glanced questioningly at Fidelma but she seemed lost in thought.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘that certainly is not a description of Sárait’s sister. She is rather dowdy in her dress.’
Fidelma looked up from her reverie, returning his gaze for a moment.
‘Did you expect that it would be?’ she asked.
‘It merely eliminates her from involvement, that is all,’ he protested.
‘I had nothing to do with any murder, lady,’ Forindain was saying again. He was nervous and kept clutching his hands together in front of him.
‘This woman was waiting in the shadows to get someone to take a message to the palace,’ Fidelma mused. ‘It seems that it was fortuitous that you happened to come along and be willing to take the message.’
‘Fortuitous? What do you mean?’
‘How would she know that you would be there?’
The dwarf grimaced sourly. ‘Maybe she was a fortune teller,’ he snapped. ‘How would I know that?’
Suddenly Fidelma gently smiled at him.
‘Will your band of players, the crossan, continue on your travels?’ she asked, apparently changing the subject. ‘Will you now go on to Cashel?’
Forindain sighed. ‘My brother was a good player but we must go on.
There is no other means for us to make a living. We have only the play and the fairs. We will follow our original plan.’
‘So we may expect you to return to Cashel?’ she pressed.
There is a fair at Cashel at the end of next week. We shall be there, lady, unless we are forbidden because of what has happened.’
‘You are not forbidden.’ Fidelma rose from her seat. ‘In fact, I would welcome you there. You may return to your comrades, Forindain, and please accept that I am sorry for your loss.’
Forindain rose uncertainly. ‘And my brother Iubdán? Will he have justice, lady?’
‘I would advise you to adopt another name, another character. Your brother was clearly mistaken for you. Keep the fact a secret. Though I believe you might be clear of danger now that you have spoken to me. I believe it was your information that the killer wanted to suppress. Still, take no chances. Be Iubdán from now until you come to see me at Cashel.’
The dwarf hesitated. Then he gave a little bow and left the tent.
Fiachrae was shaking his head.
‘I understand nothing of this, cousin.’
‘That is best, cousin,’ replied Fidelma solemnly. ‘Nothing of what has passed here must leave this tent. I will keep you informed as I find out more. Now, as it is approaching midday, perhaps we can trouble you for some refreshment…er, of the edible kind,’ she added as Fiachrae’s gaze went to the table on which the jug of corma sat. ‘After we have eaten, we will be on our way back to Cashel.’
Fiachrae looked puzzled.
‘But the killer of the dwarf…?’ he protested. ‘Won’t you want to stay in order to find him?’
‘The person behind the killing of Iubdán will not be in Cnoc Loinge but will be found in Cashel. Do not worry, cousin. I will inform you when I have caught him.’
After Fiachrae had left to organise a meal for them, Eadulf turned with a puzzled look to Fidelma.
‘What did you mean by that?’
Fidelma looked at him with a bland expression. ‘By what, exactly?’
‘That the killer of Iubdán will be found in Cashel.’
Her lips thinned a moment. ‘I said the person behind the killing would be found in Cashel.’
Eadulf exhaled sharply. ‘So far as I can see, we have come to a dead end. Someone went to great lengths to disguise themselves and send the innocent dwarf up to the palace to inveigle Sárait out into the night to meet her killer. But at least we now learn that it was not the intention to kidnap Alchú, otherwise the message he was sent to deliver would have requested her to bring the child. It was pure chance that she could not find anyone to look after our baby and had to take him with her.’
Fidelma looked thoughtfully at him.
‘It is a good point and one that could be overlooked,’ she observed.
‘But there is now no lead. No lead at all.’
‘On the contrary,’ Fidelma contradicted. ‘I believe the description of those clothes will lead me directly to the person who wears such distinctive garments.’
Chapter Eight
Fidelma and Eadulf rode the entire way back to Cashel without exchanging more than a few words. Although they had been more at ease at Cnoc Loinge, the underlying tension between them remained. In addition, Fidelma had not been open with Eadulf about who it was in Cashel who wore such distincti
ve clothing as had been described by Forindain the dwarf. The knowledge had made her reel inside for she had counted that person as a friend. She felt she could not reveal this knowledge to anyone as yet, least of all to Eadulf. That made her feel doubly guilty about the argument they had had at Imleach. She glanced at him once or twice in surreptitious fashion as they rode along. Eadulf, his brow drawn in a permanent frown, appeared to have sunk deep into his own thoughts. Apart from her astonishment at hearing Forindain’s description of the woman who had sent the dwarf to the palace to persuade Sárait to meet her killer, Fidelma was still feeling slightly shocked at Eadulf’s outburst. Perhaps she had taken his placidity too much for granted. She had long ago realised that she was too used to having her own way, exerting authority not simply thanks to her privileged background but more to her own hard-won status as a dálaigh. The very thing that she had liked most about Eadulf was that he had accepted her faults. He seemed to absorb snappishness and outbursts of temper. That he had suddenly turned in such a fashion had astonished her, almost driving her preoccupation with her lost child momentarily from her mind.
She realised, as if it were a sudden revelation, that she needed to question herself more rigorously.
She had never really looked on herself as a religieuse. Her passion was law. It was a distant cousin, Abbot Laisran of Durrow, who had persuaded her to join the double-house of St Brigid at Kildare, for practically everyone involved in the professions and arts was to be found among the religious as had, a few generations before, their predecessors been part of the druid orders. She had not been long in learning that life in an abbey was not for her, and when the abbess of Kildare placed herself above the law Fidelma had left and returned to her brother’s capital of Cashel.
She was a dálaigh first and foremost, a princess of the Eóghanacht, and then a religieuse. She suddenly compressed her lips, for she had left wife and mother out of that equation. Her knowledge of scripture, of theology and philosophy, could scarcely be attained by many who promoted the New Faith. She knew Latin and Greek almost as well as she knew her native tongue, and she had fluency in the language of the Britons as well as a working command of the tongue of the Saxons, thanks mainly to Eadulf. But it was law that always demanded her attention. She had no problems in her life in identifying what she should be doing in that respect.
But what of being a wife and mother?
Eadulf had not been her first love. That had been Cian and he had betrayed her trust. Well, she had sorted that out, although the final strands had not come together until her recent and curious voyage to Iberia where she had gone on a pilgrimage to the tomb of the Blessed James in order to sort out her feelings about Eadulf and her commitment to the religious life. She had not reached the object of the pilgrimage in physical terms but she had realised that her feelings about Eadulf could not be dismissed as easily as she had come to the decision that being a member of the religious was simply a means to an end for her to pursue her commitment to law.
Now she had to sort out her feelings as a wife, albeit a ben charrthach. And she was also a mother. Mother! A sudden pang went through her as she realised how selfish she was being. She knew now that she had not bonded with little Alchú. It had been a painful birth and she had begun to resent the child for keeping her confined in her brother’s palace, instead of pursuing her passion for law. She knew that Eadulf suspected that she resented the birth of their baby. That made her more angry with him.
Eadulf had tried to make her drink some noxious brew made from brachlais — St John’s Wort as he called it in his own tongue. Fidelma was not stupid. She knew that the apothecaries of Éireann applied it to women who became dispirited and despondent after giving birth.
Her child had been kidnapped or worse, his nurse had been killed, and now she was trying to form some logical analysis of her thoughts and fears. Whereas other women might be tearing their hair and prostrate in grief, Fidelma remained calm and logical. It was her gift, or was it a curse? What was it that her mentor, the Brehon Morann, once told her? ‘You have a gift for logic, Fidelma, especially when it comes to your personal affairs. Try to develop your intuitive qualities, for logic can sometimes be like a dagger without a handle. It may cut the person who tries to use it.’
Deep within her she knew that she felt like screaming as any other mother would when their baby was taken from them. It was her logic that kept her from doing so, not her lack of feeling for her child. What good was there in giving way to emotion in these circumstances? It would not bring her one step nearer to discovering the truth of this mystery. There would be plenty of time for emotion later.
A line from Euripides came into her mind: ‘Logic can challenge and overthrow terror itself.’
Her features suddenly relaxed as she gave an inward sigh.
Yes, plenty of time to give way to emotion later.
Colgú had come to the gates of the palace as they rode up the slope to the great complex of Cashel. Finguine, the heir apparent, was at his side. It would have been obvious even to an inexperienced eye that there was some important news they were waiting to impart. Her heart began to beat faster.
‘You have returned in time, sister,’ called Colgú as she halted her horse.
‘In time for what? What is it?’ demanded Fidelma, quickly dismounting and facing her brother with an anxious expression. ‘Is there news? News of Alchú?’
‘There is,’ Colgú replied quickly, reaching out a hand to lay reassuring fingers on his sister’s arm. ‘The baby is alive. We have just received a note demanding ransom for him.’
Behind her, Fidelma heard Capa exclaim: ‘Then we should have waited here instead of setting off on a wild goose chase.’ She did not turn but continued to gaze apprehensively at her brother, trying to work out this new development and not succeeding.
‘A ransom note? Where is it?’
‘It is in my chambers.’ He motioned the servants forward to take the horses and then began to lead the way to the main building with Fidelma at his side. Eadulf fell in step beside Finguine and Capa brought up the rear, having dismissed Caol and Gorman to the stables.
‘So it was a kidnapping, after all?’ Capa made the statement into a question.
‘It would seem so,’ Finguine replied, his words flung back over his shoulder.
‘What manner of note is it? How was it delivered? What are its demands?’ Fidelma’s questions came out almost in a breathless rush.
‘As to the note, you will see it soon enough.’ Colgú’s voice was quiet. ‘The manner of its delivery was that it was found attached to the door of the local inn with instructions for it to be delivered here, to me. Its demands are simple. As you know, after the battle of Cnoc Áine, we took several Uí Fidgente as prisoners. Among them were three prominent chieftains, cousins of the former petty king, Eoganán. We made them hostages for the good behaviour of their people.’
Fidelma frowned impatiently. ‘And?’ she prompted. ‘What is the connection?’
‘The note demands their release,’ he replied. ‘When they are freed then Alchú will be returned to us safe and sound.’
There was a brief silence.
‘So it was some new Uí Fidgente plot.’ Capa sounded almost triumphant.
‘It looks that way,’ admitted Finguine.
Colgú led them straight to his private chambers. On the table lay a single piece of bark. Fidelma picked it up at once and scrutinised it carefully.
‘Bark, as was the material on which the note was written that was given to the dwarf, Forindain, to bring to Cashel,’ she said quietly to Eadulf.
Colgú opened his mouth to ask a question but then closed it. His sister would explain in her own time.
Bark was a fairly common material for writing. The white epidermis of birch bark had been found by ancient scribes to be separable into thin layers which, when flattened and dried, could be written on. Fidelma examined it carefully.
‘It does not appear to be written in a hand that is use
d to the forming of letters. They are almost childish in the way they have been shaped, as if the person was copying some unfamiliar forms.’
Capa laughed cynically. ‘Who said the Uí Fidgente are literate?’
Fidelma ignored him. It was Eadulf who, leaning forward, pointed out that the formation of the letters might simply be a means to disguise the authorship.
‘Why disguise it?’ Finguine seemed amused by the idea. ‘The authorship is clear: it is a message on behalf of the Uí Fidgente. That cannot be disguised.’
Fidelma replaced the note on the table and looked round. ‘Before we can accept this note as genuine,’ she said quietly, ‘what proof do we have to support that conclusion?’
They stared at her in surprise.
‘You doubt that it is genuine?’ Colgú asked, puzzled.
‘It is no secret that my baby has been stolen, Fidelma replied. ‘Why wait nearly a week before issuing such a demand? It could well be someone trying to take advantage from the situation.’
Finguine was shaking his head in disagreement.
‘Had it been a demand for financial reward, then that might be a matter for consideration. But this is a political demand. Why would anyone demand the release of the Uí Fidgente chieftains if they were not in possession of the baby?’
‘It would be dangerous to dismiss the note as not genuine,’ added Capa. ‘The child’s life is at stake.’
‘I am the mother of the child in question,’ snapped Fidelma, angered by the implication that she did not care about Alchú. Then she added with firmness: ‘We must proceed logically.’ At the word ‘logically’ she felt a spasm of guilt but pressed on. She raised the note again and scrutinised the text. ‘It demands that the three chieftains of the Uí Fidgente should be released…’ She counted briefly. ‘From the time stipulated, they are to be released before the end of two more days…’
‘And they are then to be allowed time to cross the border into the territory of the Dál gCais at which time Alchú will be released and not before,’ finished Colgú.
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