The Leper's Bell (26 page)

The morning after Eadulf ’s departure, Fidelma had risen with a thousand thoughts cascading through her mind. For the rest of the day, following the departure of the Uí Fidgente chieftains, she had wandered the palace, pacing nervously, unable to settle to anything. Nothing distracted her from the worries that flooded her mind. Even old Brother Conchobar had not returned and Brehon Dathal was growing impossible. She found herself moving irritably from one room to another, from one place to the next. Now, as she rose to face a new day, she realised she could not go through yet another period of inactive frustration.

She went to the chapel and was relieved that there was no one about. Taking a seat in a dark corner, she closed her eyes, feeling the silence encompassing her.

She tried to concentrate, to clear her mind, seeking refuge in the art of the
dercad
, the action of meditation by which countless generations of the ascetics of her people had achieved the state of
sitcháin
, or peace, quelling extraneous thoughts and mental irritations. She tried to relax and calm the riot of thoughts that troubled her mind. Fidelma had been a regular practitioner of the ancient art in times of stress. Yet it was a practice which many leading religious in the churches of the five kingdoms were now denouncing. Even the Blessed Patrick, a Briton who had been prominent in establishing the Faith here, had expressly forbidden some of the meditative forms of self-enlightenment. However, the
dercad
, while frowned upon, was not as yet proscribed.

It was no use. The one time when she needed patience, she could not engage the ancient techniques. She surprised herself, for she had thought herself an adept in the method.

She rose abruptly and left the chapel.

Almost without knowing it she found herself at the stables. There was no one about, and she uttered a prayer of thanks for it. She wanted to be alone. To face the fears that dwelt in her mind. She found her horse, her favourite black mare, and after a short time she was leading it out through the gates of the palace complex.

The guards were standing around awkwardly.

‘Lady,’ one saluted her, ‘we have a duty to ask you not to go out alone. Not with the possibility of Uí Fidgente about.’

‘And your duty is therefore done,’ Fidelma replied curtly. ‘Have no concern. I am only going out for a ride.’

Before the man could protest, she had mounted and was urging the horse down the slope from the gates. The township which had grown up around the ancient fortress of the Eóghanacht, the capital of their great kingdom of Muman, lay to the south of the limestone rocky hill on which the palace rose, towering nearly two hundred feet above the plain which surrounded it. Instead of making for the township, she turned along the track that led round the rock and northward across the plain. Once out of the shadow of the palace complex, she dug in her heels and gave her mount its head.

Fidelma had learnt to ride almost before she could walk. She loved the experience of being at one with such a powerful beast, rider and horse working together in unison, speeding across the plain. Leaning forward, close to the mare’s neck, she cried words of encouragement as it thundered forward, and sensed the animal’s enjoyment at the lack of
restriction, the freedom of movement, being able to fly like the wind without constraint.

It was only when she felt the sweat on the beast’s neck, and began to hear a slightly stertorous note enter its breathing, that she started to draw rein, to slow its pace and ease it to a trot, so that the sudden deceleration would not harm it. She finally reined it to a halt where the River Suir was joined by the Clodaigh, rushing down from the distant peak of Cnoc an Loig. She glanced up at the sun and realised it was well after noon and that her early morning ride had taken her many kilometres north of Cashel. Indeed, she realised to her surprise that she had come so far that, at this time of year, it would be dark by the time she had ridden back, and her horse was already tired from the exertion.

She sat undecided. Her brother kept a hunting lodge a few kilometres to the south-east at a vale called the Well of the Oak Grove, beside a little stream whose spring gave the spot its name. She could, at least, get a meal there before heading back to Cashel. The lodge was used as a hostel for those her brother chose to send there. There was no reason to ruin a good horse by riding it when it was so exhausted. She felt cheered by her decision.

She leant forward and patted the beast’s neck reassuringly, and then turned its head in the direction of the woods that surrounded the hunting lodge.

The way was, at least, across flat ground, for the great plain that spread north of Cashel stretched almost undisturbed as far as the eye could see from the top of the great rock on which the Eóghanacht palace stood. She walked her horse carefully along the track, which she knew led to her destination, moving slightly eastward through the forest.

Now that she had slowed her pace, and her mind was not preoccupied with the thrill of the gallop, her thoughts turned again to Eadulf and she felt both guilt and anxiety. Guilt for her own attitude and anxiety about the matter of Bishop Petrán. And why had Gorman ridden to the west? She was sure that he had gone after Eadulf - but why? Did Gorman believe that Eadulf was guilty? Brehon Dathal had said he would send someone after Eadulf. Had he instructed Gorman to go? And there was Gormán’s relationship with Delia. He claimed that he had loved Sárait. But he appeared intimate with Delia and Delia was surely twice his age. She shook her head in confusion.

What it came down to in the end was her attitude to Eadulf. Why did she not take him into her confidence and discuss things with him as she had in the early days? Why did she find herself indulging in constant contention with him? She knew deep within her that she had many faults - she did not like to share, not even confidences; she liked to work things out on her own without discussion with others. It was not just Eadulf she did not confide in. She was too self-centred.

She did not like revealing her emotions. Showing passion had hurt her when she was a young student. That was what made her reticent with Eadulf, or so she told herself. There were moments when she felt warm and tender towards him. And then a word, a look, and she felt the bitter words tumbling out and his responses causing more bitter words until she felt such anger that she could hardly control herself. Was there something wrong with her? Or was it simply a wrong chemistry between them? Or was it something simple - as simple as Eadulf’s being a foreigner? He wanted to return to his own land where he had status and she wanted to remain in her country where
she
had status and, moreover, where she could practise the occupation she loved most - the pursuit of the law. If there was to be some compromise, she could not make it. A trip to Rome, a trip to the Saxon kingdoms, had been enough for her. She could never live anywhere but Muman. This was her country, her life. There could be no concessions on her part, but would Eadulf ever compromise? He would surely see it as submission.

Could there be any future for them as man and wife?

It was the one time she felt that the ascetics were right. The religious should not marry but lead a life of celibacy. Once again she was starting thinking about the fact that the end of the trial marriage was approaching, when, under the law, without renewing their vows, she and Eadulf could claim incompatibility and go their separate ways.

It happened without warning and she momentarily cursed her lack of those senses that should have warned her.

Suddenly, two mounted warriors emerged on to the track, blocking the path before her. There was a sound behind her and glancing swiftly over her shoulder she saw a dozen or so more gathering on the path at her back. She did not need a close examination of the banner and arms they carried to realise they were Uí Fidgente.

She turned back to face their leader.

He was a tall, well-muscled man, with a shock of black hair, grey eyes and the livid white of a scar across his left cheek.

Her eyes widened in surprise.

‘Conrí!’

Conrí, warlord of the Uí Fidgente, smiled complacently as he came forward.

When Eadulf awoke, the morning was bright but cold. A frost lay on the ground and only a few wispy clouds, high up, stood out against the soft blue of the sky, hardly moving at all. There was no wind to speak of. Eadulf set out early from the inn and crossed into the valley beyond. Within a few hours he began to smell the salt tang of the open sea. He could just see a strip of blue slightly to the south-west.

The road was easy and before long he spotted the grey buildings of an abbey complex standing where a river emptied into a bay. Around the abbey were several buildings, a small settlement which stretched on both sides of the river. To the north-west of these he saw foothills rising swiftly into tall and spectacular mountains.

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.