The Leper's bell sf-14

by Peter Tremayne

  He rode towards the complex. Before the abbey’s walls was a broad green. His heart beat faster when he saw a covered wagon drawn up nearby, away from the buildings of the little settlement. Two horses were grazing nearby. There was a fire lit close to the wagon, and a man was stirring something in a small cauldron that hung on a tripod over it. Seated on the step of the wagon was a woman feeding a baby from her ample bosom. Under an awning Eadulf saw a table on which various herbs and plants were arrayed, and strips of dried plants were hanging from poles. It was clearly the stall of a herbalist. Scarcely daring to believe his luck at tracking down those he sought, Eadulf guided his horse towards the wagon and dismounted.

  The man straightened from where he had been stirring the cauldron. He was of middle age, with thin, dark features. He smiled as he surveyed Eadulf’s attire.

  ‘God be with you, Brother.’

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph be your guides,’ replied Eadulf solemnly. ‘I am called Eadulf.’

  He watched for any hint that the name might mean something to the man, but it did not appear to carry any significance. Instead, he was waved to a seat by the fire.

  ‘Come, join us, for the day is chill, Brother Eadulf. I perceive that you are a Saxon. I am called Corb and that is my wife Corbnait. What manner of potion or balm do you seek, my friend?’

  Eadulf regarded the herbalist for a moment. He glanced at the woman with the baby, who smiled in greeting to him. Then he decided not to prevaricate.

  ‘In truth, Corb, I came in search of you and your wife. I have followed you from Cashel.’

  The woman’s smile changed into an anxious look and it seemed she held the baby more tightly to her breast.

  ‘We have done nothing wrong,’ she said at once. The man threw her what was clearly a warning glance.

  ‘I did not say you had,’ replied Eadulf mildly. ‘Is there any reason why I should think so?’

  ‘What do you want with us?’ demanded the man called Corb, slightly belligerently. ‘Have you followed us in search of cures?’

  ‘You have come from Cashel.’ Eadulf made it a statement.

  ‘We are from the kingdom of Laigin. It is true that our route here lay through Cashel.’

  ‘I see you have a fine, bouncing baby there.’

  Corbnait blinked nervously.

  ‘God was good to me,’ she muttered. ‘I am blessed with my son.’

  Eadulf tried not to sound excited.

  ‘So this is your only child?’

  ‘It is. We call him Corbach.’

  ‘Yet you have been seen travelling on the road with two babies.’ Eadulf’s voice was suddenly sharp.

  The woman gave an audible gasp and her features went pale. Corb tried to sound defensive.

  ‘Who says so?’ he demanded.

  Eadulf smiled up at him. ‘Come, herbalist. Do you remember travelling through Cashel?’

  Corb hesitated. ‘We did not travel through Cashel.’ He placed an accent on the word.

  ‘By Cashel, round Cashel. Do not play semantics with me. Do you remember going into an inn for food — Ferloga’s inn, just south of Cashel?’

  The herbalist’s lips thinned. ‘If you check with the innkeeper’s wife at that place, she will tell you that we only had one baby.’

  ‘Exactly so.’ Eadulf’s voice was tight. ‘That is what brought me all this way after you. You only had one baby when you were at Ferloga’s inn. Yet witnesses along the road saw that your wife carried two babies. How did this miracle come about?’ He sat back and stared interrogatively at the herbalist and then at his wife.

  Corbnait was clearly confused.

  ‘We cannot be accused of anything,’ she suddenly said. ‘The child was unwanted.’

  Eadulf sighed deeply. He hid the smile of satisfaction.

  ‘I think that you should start to explain,’ he said softly. ‘Where did you pick up this “unwanted” child?’

  The man seemed about to protest but the woman shook her head.

  ‘The Saxon brother has followed us from Cashel, husband. We must tell the truth.’ She turned to Eadulf. ‘My husband, Corb, is a herbalist and we are poor. We rely on what we sell by way of cures and potions. My husband was expelled from his clan several years ago, as was I. You see, we eloped. We were both married to others at the time but we could not help our love for one another. So our union was forbidden and our child born of this union is outcast. That is why we have taken to the roads, selling where we can without hope of settling down in one place.’

  She paused. The herbalist was nodding in agreement with her account.

  ‘Go on,’ Eadulf said. ‘What happened in Cashel?’

  Corb took up the story.

  ‘We wanted to stay at the inn for it was a cold night. Ferloga’s inn, that is. But while the innkeeper’s wife would have been happy to accommodate us in exchange for a medicine that I had given her, a salve for a lesion on her leg, the innkeeper was still hostile. He would have none of us. So we left the inn and drove our wagon further along the road towards Cashel. Night was upon us but we found a small track by a stream and turned along it, coming to a clearing. We decided to stay in our wagon for the night.’

  ‘You lit no fire? Surely that is unusual?’ Eadulf asked.

  ‘Perhaps,’ replied the man. ‘But I was uneasy about attracting attention. Some people, like the innkeeper, dislike those who take to the roads. I did not even unharness the horses but threw a blanket over them as they stood in the shafts. I meant only to sleep for an hour or so and then move to the north-east so that we might avoid passing through Cashel. I wanted to avoid any hostility.

  ‘It was well before midnight when I was awoken. It was a clear night and I could see from the position of the moon and stars that it was still fairly early. Something had disturbed me. A hound was howling nearby.’

  His wife, Corbnait, nodded in agreement. ‘The hound also awakened me. Then I heard someone shouting.’

  ‘I thought someone might be in trouble,’ continued Corb, ‘and so I took my staff and, leaving my wife in the wagon with our young one, I decided to walk back along the track. I could hear no further noise from the hound or the shouting voice. But I was no more than a hundred and fifty metres from the wagon when I heard a sound to my right. I stopped. I know enough about babies to recognise the sound of a baby’s cry, though, in honesty, this infant was not crying as such. It was more or less gurgling — the sort of noise babies make, not unhappy, not distressed. I peered round. There seemed to be no one about, for the moon was high and bright in spite of the time of year. I began to move forward and almost immediately I saw the light covering of a shawl.’

  Eadulf was leaning forward now. ‘And?’ he pressed eagerly.

  ‘There it was — an abandoned baby.’

  ‘What makes you think it was abandoned?’

  The herbalist laughed harshly. ‘The baby was alone in the middle of a wood. There was no one else around. What was worse was that it was placed well away from the main roadway to Cashel, even well off the woodland path that I had turned my wagon down. Had I not been disturbed, the child would never have been discovered. It would have died of the chill or worse … for there are wolves and other animals wandering the woods.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘What could I do? I picked it up and took it back to my wife. It seemed well nourished and its clothing bore the signs of wealth. Why it had been abandoned, I do not know. It worried us. Clearly there were evil people about. So we decided to move on right away and continued along the path round Cashel, crossing northwards. At dawn we stopped and slept again.’

  ‘And you say this happened before midnight? The sound of the hound, the shouting and the discovering of the baby?’

  ‘It did.’

  ‘It was a fine, healthy baby,’ the woman added. ‘No more than six months of age with fine strands of red hair across its forehead. He was wrapped in woollens that indicated wealth.’

  The herbalist was suddenly
firm.

  ‘Now, Saxon, what is your interest in this?’ he demanded. ‘We have told you much but you have told us nothing. We will say no more until you have told us what you want with the child.’

  Eadulf regarded them both gravely.

  ‘The baby is Alchú, son of the lady Fidelma of Cashel. Its nurse was murdered close to where you say you were in your wagon. The child disappeared after her death. I have tracked it to you.’

  The woman gave a little scream, and lifted a hand to her mouth to smother it. The herbalist blinked, his determination faltering.

  ‘And … and what is this matter to you, Saxon?’ he said hesitantly, still trying to sound defensive.

  ‘I am Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. I am the child’s father.’

  There was a shocked silence. Then the woman started sobbing.

  ‘We swear that we had no hand in this matter other than what we have told you,’ she managed to utter between the choking sounds of her distress.

  ‘It is as my wife says; the story we told you is true,’ added her husband. ‘We know of no murder.’

  ‘Then I suggest you now produce my son.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘We cannot,’ cried the woman.

  Eadulf went cold.

  ‘Cannot?’ His voice grated.

  ‘We no longer have the child,’ said the herbalist in a flat tone.

  Fidelma had frozen in her saddle as Conrí, war chief of the Uí Fidgente, approached her.

  ‘We are well met again, Fidelma of Cashel. We were riding to Cashel when one of my men spotted you entering the woods and we thought that we would come to meet you. In truth, it was you I sought.’

  Fidelma tried to still her pounding heart, recovering from her shock and forcing herself to appear nonchalant.

  ‘What business have you at Cashel, Conrí? Or, indeed, with me?’

  The warlord’s face was serious. ‘To put an end to a lie,’ he replied sharply.

  ‘A lie?’

  ‘The other day your brother sent a techtaire to the land of the Uí Fidgente with a message that was posted at every wayside inn. It told my people that we must prove that we hold your child, a babe called Alchú, and show that he was safe and well, before you released three of the chieftains of the Uí Fidgente whom your brother has held as hostages since our defeat at Cnoc Áine.’

  Fidelma controlled her expression as she met the warlord’s gaze.

  ‘My brother, Colgú of Cashel, did send such a message. Do you come in response to it?’

  Conrí’s eyes narrowed in anger. ‘I do.’

  Fidelma’s mouth was dry. ‘And will you return my child?’

  ‘I will not, for the simple reason that we are not guilty of any kidnapping.’

  ‘But…’ Fidelma began in a surge of emotion, but the Uí Fidgente warlord held up a hand.

  ‘Listen to me, Fidelma of Cashel. I had barely returned to my people when your herald arrived. No Uí Fidgente knows of this matter. You may think the worst of us, for we have long been in enmity, but we are not beasts that take children as hostages. As children are sacred to you, they are equally sacred and dear to us. I have made inquiries among the clans. No one, I repeat, not even those who have suffered in the recent war at your brother’s hands, would use the innocence of a child to cause you suffering. I pledge this is the truth by the innocence of my own two sons.’

  His voice was low but intense and Fidelma stared at him, trying to comprehend what he was saying.

  ‘But the demand for the release of the Uí Fidgente chieftains to secure the release of my son…? After our herald’s demand for proof, we were sent Alchú’s little shoe. The three chieftains were released and given horses to ride back to their country. We now await the release of my child.’

  Conrí was frowning.

  ‘You have already released the three chieftains? You mean Cuirgí, Cuán and Crond are free?’

  ‘They were released yesterday at midday,’ Fidelma confirmed.

  The warlord was shaking his head as if in disbelief.

  ‘There is something very wrong here, Fidelma. Let me be honest with you. Some of my people have been led into wars against the Eóghanacht that have brought death and destruction on them. Eoganán and his family, who plotted to overthrow your brother and seize the kingdom, have led them. Eoganán paid with his life for that ambition at Cnoc Áine, as did many of his clan. Indeed, for every member of his family that died, one hundred of the Uí Fidgente died by their folly. We are a decimated people, Fidelma. The three chieftains whom your brother captured at Cnoc Áine were fanatical followers of their kinsman, Eoganán. Cuirgí, Cuán and Crond are no loss to my people.’

  Fidelma was frowning, following his words and trying to understand what he was saying.

  ‘What do you mean, Conrí? You are warlord of the Uí Fidgente.’

  Conrí smiled quickly. ‘I was elected to lead the remnants of my people after our great defeat. But cannot a warlord have wisdom? Is it not a saying of the ancients that peace is better than even an easy war?’

  ‘Go on. I still do not follow you.’

  ‘We do not want the release of the old chieftains. We do not want them to start stirring enmities and hatreds. We want a time of peace. We want to build up our crops, our herds and flocks and start to live again. For those reasons, it was not the Uí Fidgente who kidnapped your son to secure the release of those who have led us so badly in the past.’

  Fidelma was silent for a while.

  ‘Perhaps there are some among you who have taken this means to secure their release without your knowing?’

  Conrí shook his head. ‘While I can accept that as a possibility, I do not think it is probable. I came here, with a few of my men, at the request of my people to tell you the truth, and to offer our help. If it is shown that anyone of the Uí Fidgente are involved in such a plot, then we will punish them.’

  Fidelma exhaled sharply.

  ‘The punishment is enacted by law,’ she said automatically, ‘and prescribed by law.’

  Conrí frowned, glancing up through the trees as if searching for something.

  ‘It must be well after noon,’ he muttered. ‘Do you know what route the chieftains took?’

  Fidelma hesitated a moment or two before replying.

  ‘They were supposed to ride north from Cashel to join the Suir. I think that they were crossing at the ford by what is called the High Hill, Ard Mael, and heading through the mountains of Slieve Felim.’

  ‘Once through those mountains, they will be within an easy ride of our country,’ the Uí Fidgente war chief muttered reflectively. ‘I think they’ll have skirted the mountains to the south and headed up through the valley of the Bilboa.’ He suddenly snapped his fingers. ‘If my men and I took the route across the shoulder of Cnoc an Loig and along the road past Cnoc an Báinsí, we could intercept them at Crois na Rae before dawn tomorrow.’

  Fidelma looked at him in surprise. ‘Then what?’

  ‘If there is some evil plan and they and their accomplices are responsible for the kidnapping of your child, we shall discover it. Whatever befalls, if your child has not been returned by tomorrow, you will know that whoever was responsible did not intend to keep their word. There was to be no exchange.’

  Fidelma’s face became a taut mask hiding her anguish. What Conrí was saying was correct.

  Conrí reached forward a hand and touched her lightly on the arm.

  ‘I am sorry for your troubles, Fidelma of Cashel. Believe me. But this matter must be resolved. When we find the chieftains and those responsible, where may we find you? At Cashel?’

  Fidelma was about to confirm it but then changed her mind. ‘It is not exactly safe for Uí Fidgente warriors to be seen near Cashel at the moment. My horse is exhausted and I was going to seek rest at my brother’s hunting lodge, which is not far from here, at a place called the Well of the Oak Grove. It is only a few miles in that direction.’ She indicated with a wave of her hand. ‘The kee
per of the lodge has a son whom I can send back to Cashel with a message that I am resting there for two nights. When you have discovered your quarry you will find me there. But the day after tomorrow I must start back for Cashel.’

  Conrí gave her a quick smile of reassurance.

  ‘With God’s grace, lady, we will find you at the Well of the Oak Grove before tomorrow evening.’

  He raised his hand in salute to her and then urged his horse along the path towards the west, followed by his companions.

  She felt a curious pang of isolation after they had departed. Now her thoughts were even uneasier than before as she turned the events over in her mind. There were only two possibilities. Conrí was lying to her. Or, if he spoke the truth, there was some plot among the Uí Fidgente to overturn Conrí and the new chiefly house by reinstating the three hostage chiefs, which would mean a return to war between the Uí Fidgente and the Eóghanacht. Her lips thinned as she contemplated the prospect. She sat thinking for a few moments. Then she sighed when she realised that she could come to no conclusions. She eased her tired horse into motion.

  Eadulf was aghast as he regarded the herbalist and his wife.

  ‘You no longer have Alchú? What did you do with him?’

  The woman looked nervously at her husband.

  ‘Speak!’ demanded Eadulf in a tone of anger as he rose from his seat, almost in a threatening manner.

  ‘Had we known what you have just told us, we would have come directly to the palace of Cashel, believe me,’ muttered the herbalist.

  ‘Speak!’ demanded Eadulf again. ‘What happened?’

  The man raised a shoulder as if to indicate helplessness.

  ‘Believe me, Brother, we thought the baby had been abandoned. We sold the child to a worthy protector.’

  ‘Sold …?’

  Eadulf sat back down abruptly. The shock took all animation from him. He looked wordlessly from one to the other of them.

  ‘You see, we had our son,’ went on the herbalist. ‘Our own flesh and blood. We thought that we had been the instrument of saving the other baby for a reason … to help us, as it is a hard life travelling from settlement to settlement in the hope of selling cures and potions and salves. When we fell in with the lord of… you see, it was a means of obtaining some money so that we might settle in one place.’