The Leper's Bell (22 page)

‘So, as far as you are concerned, the story of Callada’s death was only a rumour?’

Ferloga gestured diffidently. ‘Strange stories circulate after a battle, especially when it was as bloody and as vicious as that one. Whether there was truth in it, I cannot say.’

Eadulf decided to switch the topic.

‘Did you take part in the search for Alchú?’

‘By the time I was told, which was midday on the day following the finding of Sárait’s body, there was little I could do. By then, the king’s guard had been scouring the countryside for some time.’

‘I see.’

Eadulf was disappointed, although he had known that little information would come of his visit to the inn. However, he had had just a small hope that Ferloga might have remembered some significant incident. He sat back with a sigh.

‘Well, as I am here and it approaches noon, I will eat something light. Some cheese and bread, perhaps. Or did you say your wife cooks? Ah yes, you mentioned she had some infection. I trust the salve cured that. You see, I studied the art of the apothecary at Tuaim Drecain.’

Ferloga smiled.

‘My wife is visiting her sister at the moment, Brother Eadulf. Thank you, the salve worked well. Perhaps it was a lucky thing that she came when she did to prevent me throwing out the itinerants.’

‘I thought the law of hospitality would have prevented the refusal of hospitality, not your wife.’

Ferloga flushed at being reminded of his duties under law as an innkeeper.

‘This is not a public inn, a
bruiden
, where everyone has to be accommodated. This is my own inn. I do not like itinerants. They are usually untrustworthy. Beggars. You know the sort.’

‘I thought these beggars were selling salves.’ Eadulf accented the word ‘beggars’.

Ferloga sniffed in irritation.

‘Salves, balms, herbs. They were selling things but they were itinerants nevertheless. Itinerants with their noisy, bawling child.’

‘It sounds as though you have good reason to be thankful to them.’

Ferloga was obviously reluctant to give credit.

A sudden thought occurred to Eadulf.

‘A man and wife and child, did you say?’

‘Indeed, a couple with their baby. He said that he was a herbalist and en route to the abbey of Coimán.’

‘When exactly did they pass by here?’

‘That’s easy. It was the same day that Sárait’s murder took place, but the day had scarcely darkened when they left here. That was long before Conchoille arrived. That was why I was telling him the story about them.’ Ferloga’s eyes suddenly widened. ‘You don’t think that they killed Sárait, surely?’

Eadulf did not respond to the question.

‘You say that they were itinerants. Could they have been Uí Fidgente?’

Ferloga immediately shook his head.

‘Not Uí Fidgente, that’s for sure. They had the accent of the people of Laigin. There is always a reason why people take to the road in the five kingdoms, Brother Eadulf. Usually it is because they have fallen foul of the law and cannot redeem themselves or their honour price. They cannot put down roots again and are doomed to wander.’

Eadulf drained his mug and stood up. He had made a decision.

‘Thank you for your help, Ferloga. You have been most helpful.’

The innkeeper raised his brows in question.

‘What of your food?’

‘I realise that I must return to Cashel,’ Eadulf excused himself. ‘I have remembered something I must do.’

Eadulf had ridden not more than a hundred yards when he urged the horse into a canter. Anyone who knew Eadulf would realise that this was unusual behaviour. However, he was full of excitement. A thought was irritating him, sparked by the innkeeper’s words. If he were correct, perhaps the mystery was not as insoluble as he had, at first, thought.

Fidelma was sitting frowning at the gaming board.

Conchobhar was winning the game of black raven. It was a difficult game, for the board was divided into forty-nine squares, seven by seven. In the centre of the board, the middle square stood for the royal palace of Tara and held the piece representing the High King. On the squares immediately next to the High King, north, south, east and west were
pieces representing the four provincial kings whose task was to protect the High King. On the outside squares at the edge of the board were the attacking pieces representing the forces of chaos, each piece moved on the throw of the dice. The object of the game was to ensure the safety of the High King piece by allowing it to move, through the encircling pieces, to the side of the board or to one of the four squares allotted to the provincial kings.

Usually it was a challenge Fidelma enjoyed, but today her mind was not on the game. She had already lost two defending pieces.

Conchobar, the elderly religieux whose apothecary shop stood in the shadow of the royal chapel in the palace grounds, was regarding her with a concerned expression.

Fidelma caught his eye and shrugged.

‘I am sorry, old friend,’ she said, for she had known him all her life. ‘I cannot concentrate.’

Conchobar regarded her with a sharp eye.

‘It is understandable. It does not need my arts to tell me that. Yet I had hoped the game would be a means of distraction. We will continue another time.’

Fidelma sighed deeply. She had been thinking about Eadulf’s suggestion about astrology and realised that he had simply voiced something in the back of her mind that she was trying to suppress. In her desperation she felt she should try anything within reason.

‘I would use your arts to find my child, Brother Conchobar,’ she said quietly.

The old man shook his head regretfully.

‘You know that is not possible.’

‘But you are the greatest adept in the field of making speculations from the patterns of the stars.’

‘I would not claim as much. Though I did study under Mo Chuaróc mac Neth Sémon, the greatest astrologer that Cashel has ever produced, yet my skill is not beyond criticism.’

‘I have heard that a good
réalt-eolach
, one who gathers knowledge from the stars, could cast a chart to trace the location of an object. Why not do so for my baby?’

Conchobar was sympathetic.

‘Alas, Fidelma, I once tried to teach you the art of charting the heavens and, had you stuck to it, you might have made an excellent interpreter
of the portents. The one thing that you should remember is that there is always a correct time to ask a question of the stars.’

‘What if I ask now?’

‘It would not work. Asking a question of the stars must be timed for the exact birth of the question. It is like drawing up a natal chart for a person. The chart must be timed for the exact moment and location otherwise it is useless. I do not mean just a day, or a specific day in a specific year, but the exact time of that day, for the stars move quickly through the heavens. What is correct for one person will be wrong for another born even ten minutes later in the same location.’

‘I understand that. But what are you saying?’

‘You have been asking yourself this very question for many days. How do I know the exact time when your question was born?’

Fidelma shrugged in a gesture of resignation.

‘I feel so frustrated just waiting and not being in control.’

Conchobar nodded sympathetically.

‘You have always been impatient, Fidelma.’ He smiled softly. ‘You were impatient to be out of the womb. I was in attendance at your birth and you came before the due time, screaming and bawling for attention. You were impatient to come into life, impatient to learn what you wanted to learn, impatient with all those you considered fools who were not as quick as you were.’

‘Don’t we have a saying that patience is the virtue of donkeys?’ snapped Fidelma.

Conchobar’s eyes narrowed slightly.

‘I remember a great Brehon once said that whoever had no patience had no wisdom. That Brehon was—’

Fidelma grimaced as she interrupted.

‘I know. It was my own mentor, Brehon Morann. He did not have to wait, feeling useless, while his child was prey to God only knows what dangers.’

‘Fidelma, it is a saying that if you have patience, the bee will provide you with honey. Today is a day when you should undertake no precipitous action. For this is the time when An Bech dominates the sky.’

Fidelma knew that what the Irish called the Bee was the constellation known to the Romans as Scorpio - the Scorpion.

‘Why?’ she demanded.

‘Because not only does the sun stand in Scorpio but so does Mars,
the ruler of Scorpio, as do Venus and Jupiter. All at this same time. I see that this might result in a restriction of expression for you, Fidelma. You might, with strong character, make decisions that could be for the good but might also be for the bad. Also, and be prepared, Scorpio is the zodiacal house of death.’

Fidelma paled a little. Then she grimaced.

‘You are supposed to be bringing cheer into my life, Conchobar.’

‘I am supposed to be helping you tread the path that you must tread, Fidelma. Instead of sitting here playing
brandubh
with an old man like me you ought be with your husband.’

Fidelma sniffed deprecatingly. Again Brother Conchobar looked thoughtfully at her.

‘Is there something wrong between you and our Saxon friend?’

‘There is much wrong, Conchobar.’

‘I am not your
anam chara
, but—’

‘I don’t have an
anam chara.
Not since Liadin.’

Then if you have need of a soul friend, I am willing to listen to your inmost thoughts and give my opinion.’

Fidelma lowered her gaze to the
brandubh
board. This game is child’s play to the thoughts that race around my head and I can find no sanctuary in the squares that make up the board game of my life.’

Conchobar stared at her for a moment.

‘It is hard for Brother Eadulf not only to be in a foreign country but also to be married to an Eóghanacht princess.’

‘It was his choice,’ she replied defensively.

Conchobar smiled thinly. ‘And you had nothing to do with it?’

She coloured quickly at his gentle sarcasm.

‘I tried to dissuade him, tried to…’

Conchobar’s smiled broadened.

‘I see. You were unwillingly overwhelmed and there was nothing that you could do?’

The year and a day of my marriage contract is almost up. It falls within the next week.’

‘And you plan to formally reject him? Awkward in the current circumstances, is it not?’

Fidelma compressed her lips and said nothing. Conchobar was being as devastatingly logical as she would be in his place.

‘Apart from Eadulf’s sensibilities in adapting to this lifestyle, what
are your feelings? Do not tell me that you are an unwilling partner in this. I know you too well. You have never done anything in life, Fidelma, that you did not want to do. You went into this partnership because you wanted to, not because Eadulf wanted it.’

Fidelma opened her mouth to protest and then snapped it shut. She frowned, trying to think how best she should answer the question.

At that moment the door burst open and one of the religieux came in, not even noticing Fidelma but looking straight at Brother Conchobar.

‘Come quickly, Brother Apothecary,’ he called. ‘You are needed at once.’

Fidelma rose quickly.

‘What is it?’ she demanded, her heart beginning to race.

The religieux turned, as if seeing her for the first time.

‘Sister Fidelma! It is the Bishop Petrán. I think he is near to death … if not dead.’

Chapter Eleven

B
ishop Petrán was dead. He lay on his bed, his skin pale, like tightly stretched parchment, but with a curious blue tinge on his lips. There was nothing that Brother Conchobar could do except pronounce him dead.

Two of Bishop Petrán’s attendants, young brothers of the Faith, were present in the chamber, obviously anguished by the death of their elderly mentor. Fidelma had accompanied Brother Conchobar to the bishop’s room primarily out of curiosity. The previous day the bishop had seemed in remarkably good health and his argument with Eadulf had demonstrated his mental agility. She was about to ask Brother Conchobar what he thought the cause of death was, but as she framed the question the door suddenly opened and Brehon Dathal, the chief judge of Muman, came in followed by Finguine, the tanist.

Brehon Dathal glanced about him in an officious manner, frowning in annoyance when he saw Fidelma.

‘I shall take over the investigation of this matter, Fidelma,’ he said sharply, as if she would argue with him.

She smiled thinly. ‘You are welcome to do so, Dathal, although there is no investigation as yet. I merely came along with Brother Conchobar for I was playing
brandubh
with him when he was called to attend the bishop by these young brothers.’

Brehon Dathal turned to Brother Conchobar. ‘I see that Bishop Petrán is dead. What was the cause of death?’

Brother Conchobar simply shrugged. That I cannot tell you for certain at this moment. I have not begun a thorough examination.’