The Leper's Bell

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘It is still all surmise,’ Brehon Baithen pointed out.

  ‘Yet this surmise fell into place when Gobnat made a major slip,’ replied Fidelma. She turned towards Capa’s wife with a soft smile of triumph.

  Gobnat was concentrating with a frown, trying to remember what she had said.

  ‘I was in your house the other night looking for Conchoille. You and Capa seemed worried by your dog’s digging in the yard.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t we be annoyed at the dog?’

  ‘No one had mentioned or described the cloak worn by the woman who sent the message to the palace that night. Only Forindain, whom you thought dead, had seen it and described it. Only Delia and myself knew the description of the cloak, and only we two knew that it was missing from her trunk … and, of course, one other person - the person who stole it and was wearing it when she gave the false message to Forindain.

  ‘Thinking that Forindain had been killed, you turned to me and said: “Perhaps some other person will be able to identify the woman who pretended to be me. It should be easy to find someone who wears such a distinctive cloak.” Those were your exact words.’

  Gobnat shrugged. ‘So what? Forindain, as you say, was not killed. He described to you the cloak that the woman who sent him to the palace had been wearing and it was a cloak belonging to that whore…’ She was indicating Delia when she stopped. She blinked as she realised what she had said.

  Fidelma continued calmly. ‘No one, at that time, had mentioned anything about a woman in a distinctive cloak. How could Gobnat know, unless…?’ She left the question hanging in the air.

  There was a moment’s silence and then Capa rose. His voice came out in a scream of rage.

  ‘It was her … her…’ he yelled, pointing to his wife. ‘She did it and what could I do but protect her? I am not responsible for the deed. I am innocent of it. My role was to protect her…’

  Gobnat collapsed as the realisation of her situation dawned on her.

  When some order had been restored, Brehon Baithen turned to Fidelma.

  ‘You said, however, that a dog had solved the puzzle. How was this?’

  ‘It was Capa’s hound that brought it all together,’ Fidelma agreed solemnly.

  Brehon Baithen raised his eyebrows in query. ‘I do not see…’

  ‘First, when Forindain was called by the woman standing in the shadows, a hound had leapt, probably in play, at him. But the woman called it away. That of itself was nothing. Then, what woke Corb and Corbnait in the wood and led them to find Alchú abandoned there? It was the howling of a hound and the sound of someone calling it away. When I saw Capa’s hound digging in the yard, I was surprised that it seemed to upset both Capa and Gobnat. I suspect that it was where Gobnat initially hid the cloak and the remaining baby shoe. That night, Gobnat dug them up and did what she had initially intended - she waited until dark and reburied them in Delia’s yard. She could not have planned it better, for I was there when the hound came along and dug them up again. But why would a hound dig up these particular clothes? The answer was that Gobnat had worn them and her scent, which the hound recognised, was on them. That is what attracted the dog to them.’

  ‘A most complicated business, Fidelma,’ mused Brehon Baithen. ‘You, and of course Brother Eadulf, are to be congratulated on bringing this matter to a successful conclusion.’

  Fidelma suddenly grinned; it was her mischievous grin. It had been a long time since she had been able to grin.

  ‘I think the hound deserves the congratulations. Sometimes dogs are more intelligent than humans.’

  Two days later, Fidelma and Eadulf sat stretched before the hearth in their chamber. A fire crackled, keeping out the winter chills. They both sipped mulled wine from goblets replenished from a pottery jug, which stood warming by the fire. Little Alchú was peacefully asleep in a corner of the room. Suddenly, Fidelma uttered a deep sigh.

  ‘Si finis bonus est, totum bonum erit.’ she said quietly. ‘I remember saying that to Gormán before we started out to Imleach.’

  ‘If the end is good, everything will be good. What is happening with Gormán and Delia?’

  ‘Gormán will overcome his sorrow, for that is the way of things. He has no reason to be ashamed of Delia for she is a good mother and a good friend.’

  ‘Haec olim meminisse iuvabit,’ muttered Eadulf. Time, indeed, was a great healer and most wounds could be healed by its passage. ‘But there is still something that I do not understand. Do you remember when we discussed matters with the council I said that the first mystery was why Sárait took our baby with her that night when she could have left him with one of several women in the palace? And you agreed with me. Yet you said at the hearing that she thought Alchú would protect her from harm. How did you know that?’

  ‘Like most things, the answer was simple,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Delia confirmed that after Sárait had been raped - by Capa, as we now know - she feared further harm. She believed that no harm would come to her while she was looking after the king’s nephew. Mistakenly she thought the rank of the child would protect her. Hatred is a great leveller. Gobnat hated her too much to let that stand in the way.’

  ‘And Conrí and his men have departed for their home?’ Eadulf said, after a moment or so of reflection.

  Fidelma confirmed it with a nod of her head.

  ‘Let us hope that some period of peace may now begin between our peoples. And your friend Brehon Dathal has now officially retired to his little rath by the River Suir,’ she added mischievously. Eadulf pulled a face that set her laughing. ‘Anyway, Brehon Baithen is a good man. He will serve my brother well. And so will Caol as new commander of his guard. And tomorrow we are invited to the fair on the green below to see Forindain and his company of crossan play the story of the Faylinn. If there is someone who deserves our sympathy it is the little dwarf who lost his brother. Capa has much to answer for.’

  ‘Yet slaughter is a warrior’s philosophy and art,’ pointed out Eadulf. ‘We train warriors to kill on our behalf in order to protect our society and us. But in creating the killing instinct in the warrior, surely we create something that is not easily controlled. A warrior can as easily kill on his own behalf, when he feels there is cause, as he can kill for his chief’s cause. Telling a man raised in the philosophy of slaughter not to kill is like telling a bird not to fly. It becomes his first choice as a reaction and not his last. That was Capa’s way of trying to protect himself and Gobnat.’

  Fidelma was not convinced.

  ‘Not all warriors are like that. I have known many who are honourable.’

  ‘Perhaps. But are they exceptions or the rule? Many are not so honourable and we should not be surprised when they show their nature.’

  ‘In that case perhaps my brother should not have handed over Cuirgí and Cuán to Conrí. They are certainly trained killers. Of all of them, I felt only Crond had some saving grace, but in the end even he would have killed me.’

  ‘Which proves my point. Anyway, Conrí is going to have them tried by the Brehon of the Uí Fidgente so that they can be stripped of their chieftainships. He feels that it is a way to heal the wounds between his people and yours.’

  ‘Let us hope so.’

  ‘And what of Muirgen and Nessán?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘When do they head back to Sliabh Mis?’

  ‘If you agree, they will not. I was going to bring this up later. Muirgen will make a very good nurse to young Alchú and my brother has herds on the slopes of Maoldomhnach’s Hill that need a good pastor.’

  Eadulf’s eyes widened in surprise.

  ‘Have they agreed to this?’

  Fidelma gave a gesture of affirmation.

  ‘We now await your approval of the idea. If so, Nessán can head back to Sliabh Mis to make the necessary arrangements for closing their homestead and dispersing their flock before rejoining his wife. Muirgen seems to have taken to life in Cashel with some enthusiasm. And perhaps we can find an orphan for them to foster as their own a
s well. Perhaps someone for Alchú to go into fosterage with.’

  ‘Fosterage?’ Eadulf frowned.

  ‘You know our laws now, Eadulf. When Alchú reaches the age of seven we must send him to fosterage until he is seventeen. Under the law, we must send him to some chieftain or learned person who will tend to his welfare and education. This is our custom, intended to make our people strong by creating bonds between families.’

  ‘Have I nothing to say in the matter?’ Eadulf felt a pang of his old frustration.

  ‘Not under our law,’ she replied gently. ‘Alchú is the son of a eu glas, a foreign father, and therefore it is up to me as mother to make the arrangements for fosterage. It is our custom and our law.’

  ‘Which raises a point…’ began Eadulf.

  ‘It does,’ said Fidelma, looking suddenly serious. ‘In a few days’ time, our trial marriage comes to an end. The year and a day is up and I shall no longer be a ben charrthach and you will cease to be my fer comtha”

  Eadulf knew the terms well. He waited silently. He had known for some time that this day would come.

  ‘Well, Eadulf, we must make a decision. Do you want me to become a cétmuintir?’

  Eadulf looked at her. He realised that she was smiling. A cétmuintir was the first contracted wife. The partner of a permanent relationship. Eadulf put down his goblet of wine and reached out both his hands to her with a growing look of amazement.

  ‘Let’s talk about it,’ he said softly.

  Historical Afterword

  In the previous fourteen books of the Sister Fidelma series, it has been my custom to include a historical note at the beginning as I have felt that for most readers the setting of the series, in seventh-century Ireland, would be unfamiliar. By now, I think that most people who pick up a Fidelma book will know the general background and that a weighty historical foreword now gets in the way of the story. The forewords remain in the previous editions and may also be found on the website of The International Sister Fidelma Society at www.sisterfidelma.com Further information may be found in the Society’s thrice-yearly magazine The Brehon, distributed free to all members of the Society wherever they may be.

  Suffice to say that the books accurately reflect the society, the law system, and the Celtic Church of seventh-century Ireland, and while some matters may still come as a surprise to readers, nevertheless this was the system that existed, as supported by the evidence of the surviving Irish law manuscripts and an extensive early medieval literature.

  In deference to continued requests, the pronouncing guide, the list of principal characters and the map of Fidelma’s world remain part of the present volume.

  The action of The Leper’s Bell take place immediately following the events in Badger’s Moon, during the month of Cet Gaimred, the first of the winter moons, which approximates to the modern month of November, in the year AD 667.

  Pronunciation Guide

  As the Fidelma series has become increasingly popular, many English-speaking fans have written wanting assurance about the way to pronounce the Irish names and words.

  Irish belongs to the Celtic branch of the Indo-European family of languages. It is closely related to Manx and Scottish Gaelic and a cousin of Welsh, Cornish and Breton. It is a very old European literary language. Professor Calvert Watkins of Harvard maintained it contains Europe’s oldest vernacular literature, Greek and Latin both being a lingua franca. Surviving texts date from the seventh century AD.

  The Irish of Fidelma’s period is classed as Old Irish; after AD 950 the language entered a period known as Middle Irish. Therefore, in the Fidelma books, Old Irish forms are generally adhered to, whenever possible, in both names and words. This is like using Chaucer’s English compared to modern English. For example, a word such as aidche (‘night’) in Old Irish is now rendered oiche in modern Irish.

  There are only eighteen letters in the Irish alphabet. From earliest times there has been a literary standard but today four distinct spoken dialects are recognised. For our purposes, we will keep to Fidelma’s dialect of Munster.

  It is a general rule that stress is placed on the first syllable but, as in all languages, there are exceptions. In Munster the exceptions to the rule of initial stress are a) if the second syllable is long then it bears the stress; b) if the first two syllables are short and the third is long then the third syllable is stressed - such as in the word for fool, amadán, pronounced amad-awn; and c) where the second syllable contains ach and there is no long syllable, the second syllable bears the stress.

  There are five short vowels - a, e, i, o, u - and five long vowels - á, é, í, ó, ú. On the long vowels note the accent, like the French acute, which is called a fada (literally, ‘long’), and this is the only accent in Irish. It occurs on capitals as well as lower case.

  The accent is important for, depending on where it is placed, it changes the entire word. Sean (Shawn) = John. But sean (shan) = old and séan (she-an) = an omen. By leaving out the accent on his name, the actor Sean Connery has become ‘Old’ Connery!

  These short and long vowels are either ‘broad’ or ‘slender’. The six broad vowels are:

  a pronounced ‘o’ as in cot á pronounced ‘aw’ as in law

  o pronounced ‘u’ as in cut ó pronounced ‘o’ as in low

  u pronounced ‘u’ as in run ú pronounced ‘u’ as in rule

  The four slender vowels are:

  i pronounced ‘i’ as in hit í pronounced ‘ee’ as in see

  e pronounced ‘e’ as in let é pronounced ‘ay’ as in say

  There are double vowels, some of which are fairly easy because they compare to English pronunciation - such as ‘ae’ as say or ‘ui’ as in quit. However, some double and even triple vowels in Irish need to be learnt.

  ái pronounced like ‘aw’ in law (dálaigh = daw-lee)

  ia pronounced like ‘ea’ in near

  io pronounced like ‘o’ in come

  éa pronounced like ‘ea’ in bear

  ei pronounced like ‘e’ in let

  aoi pronounced like the ‘ea’ in mean

  uai pronounced like the ‘ue’ in blue

  eoi pronounced like the ‘eo’ in yeoman

  iai pronounced like the ‘ee’ in see

  Hidden vowels

  Most people will have noticed that many Irish people pronounce the word film as fil-um. This is actually a transference of Irish pronunciation rules. When l, n or r is followed by b, bh, ch, g (not after n), m or mh, and is preceded by a short stressed vowel, an additional vowel is heard between them. So bolg (stomach) is pronounced bol-ag; garbh (rough) is gar-ev; dorcha (dark) is dor-ach-a; gorm (blue) is gor-um and ainm (name) is an-im.

  The consonants

  b, d, f, h, 1, m, n, p, r and t are said more or less as in English

  g is always hard like the ‘g’ in gate

  c is always hard like the ‘c’ in cat

  s is pronounced like the ‘s’ in said except before a slender vowel when it is pronounced ‘sh’ as in shin

  In Irish the letters j, k, q, w, x, y or z do not exist and v is formed by the combination of bh.

  Consonants can change their sound by aspiration or eclipse. Aspiration is caused by using the letter h after them.

  bh is like the ‘v’ in voice

  ch is a soft breath as in loch (not pronounced as lock!) or as in Bach

  dh before a broad vowel is like the ‘g’ in gap

  dh before a slender vowel is like the ‘y’ in year

  fh is totally silent

  gh before a slender vowel can sound like ‘y’ as in yet

  mh is pronounced like the ‘w’ in wall

  ph is like the ‘f’ in fall

  th is like the ‘h’ in ham

  sh is also like the ‘h’ in ham

  Consonants can also change their sound by being eclipsed, or silenced, by another consonant placed before it. For example na mBan (of women) is pronounced nah m’ on; i bpaipéar (in the paper) i b’ap’er and i gca
thair (in the city) i gcathair.

  p can be eclipsed by b, t

  t can be eclipsed by d

  c can be eclipsed by g

  f can be eclipsed by bh

  b can be eclipsed by m

  d and g can be eclipsed by n

  For those interested in learning more about the language, it is worth remembering that, after centuries of suppression during the colonial period, Irish became the first official language of the Irish state on independence in 1922. The last published census of 1991 showed one third of the population returning themselves as Irish-speaking. In Northern Ireland, where the language continued to be openly discouraged after Partition in 1922, only 10.5 per cent of the population were able to speak the language in 1991, the first time an enumeration of speakers was allowed since Partition.

  Language courses are now available on video and audio-cassette from a range of producers from Linguaphone to RTÉ and BBC. There are some sixty summer schools and special intensive courses available. Teilifís na Gaeilge is a television station broadcasting entirely in Irish and there are several Irish-language radio stations and newspapers. Information can be obtained from Comhdháil Náisiúnta na Gaeilge, 46 Sráid Chill Dara, Baile Atha Cliath 2, Eire.

  Readers might also like to know that Valley of the Shadow, in the Fidelma series, was produced on audio-cassette, read by Marie McCarthy, from Magna Story Sound (SS391 - ISBN 1-85903-313-X).