The Leper's bell

Chapter Nine

Fidelma left the palace alone, in spite of the protests of the guards on duty at the gate who wanted to send a warrior with her as escort, in view of the perceived threat from the Uí Fidgente. She rode down the hill into the township below. Dusk was settling across the buildings and a thin mist was just rising, making everything seem gloomy and chill. She made her way across the nearly deserted square. At the far end was the inn on whose door she could see the demand for proof that the abductors had Alchú. It was tacked to the doorpost, illuminated by the lantern light, for every inn, whether in the country or in the town, was required by law to hang a lantern outside during the hours of darkness. She presumed that Cerball had finished his work and that Capa had now set off to get these notices set up as instructed.

The noise of music and laughter came from the inn. It sounded carefree and boisterous. The thought crossed her mind that perhaps she should have let Eadulf know where she was going. She became aware of a group of children outside the inn; two or three older children who she guessed were awaiting one or other of their parents who were inside. They seemed engrossed in some game by the light of the lantern. She made a sudden decision and called to them.

‘Would one of you like to earn a pingín by taking a message up to the palace?’

The tallest child, a boy, looked up at her.

‘Only a pingín?’ he protested. ‘It was worth a screpall last time.’

Fidelma gazed at him in surprised silence for a moment. Then she said: ‘Last time?’

‘You asked me if I would take a message to the palace before, and you promised to pay me a screpall. Last week, it was.’

‘Are you sure it was me?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Well,’ the boy hesitated, head to one side, ‘it was a woman in a fine cloak. Can’t be sure. She was in the shadows by the corner of the inn there.’

‘But you didn’t accept her offer?’

‘I didn’t. I was about to when my dad came out of the inn. That’s where he is now. I had to take him home. Too much corma’

His companions were chuckling but apparently the boy did not mind.

Fidelma experienced a feeling of both excitement and satisfaction. The question that had been irritating her for a while was answered. How was it that the woman had chosen the dwarf to take the message? She had just learnt the answer. It was an accident. The mysterious woman had been waiting to choose someone who would not question her. She had deliberately kept in the shadows so as not to be recognised. She had tried to get this boy to take it and he could not. Then the dwarf had come along.

‘Anyway,’ the boy was still speaking, ‘I’m not running errands for less than you promised before.’

Fidelma did not bother to reply but tossed the youth a little bronze pingín coin. Deep in thought, she let her horse walk on. She was still pensive when she came to a house on the edge of the township. The building stood a little way apart from the others; a medium-sized structure with its own outhouse and barn. Dark had descended now but the warmth of the township kept the rising mist at bay.

A short distance from the house Fidelma came out of her reverie and suddenly reined in her mount. Outside the very house that was her destination, she saw the dark shape of a tethered horse. Even as she was wondering whether to go on, the door opened. A lantern hung over the porch and by its light she recognised the tall, broad-shouldered warrior with black hair. It was Gorman. He stood for a moment holding the hand of the woman who remained on the threshold.

‘Take care of yourself, Gorman,’ came the woman’s voice. ‘Do nothing precipitous.’

The warrior replied in a low voice but Fidelma could not hear the words. Then he bent forward with an intimate embrace before he mounted his horse and was gone into the night. Thankfully he did not come towards the township along the road where Fidelma had halted. After waiting a few moments, she continued on to the house. She slid from her horse and slipped the reins over the post by the door.

Her footsteps creaked on the wooden plank of the porch and at once the door was flung open.

‘Gorman, have you-’

The woman who stood there allowed her voice to fade away as her eyes fell on Fidelma. She suddenly seemed embarrassed.

‘Good evening, Delia.’

A woman of short stature stood framed in the doorway. Her look of dismay quickly changed into a smile of welcome. She was in her forties, yet maturity had not dimmed the youthfulness of her features or the golden abundance of her hair. She was clad in a close-fitting dress that emphasised a good figure whose hips had not broadened and whose limbs were still shapely.

Fidelma took the hands that the older woman held out in greeting to her.

‘Fidelma! It is good to see you.’

‘It has been a long time, Delia,’ Fidelma returned.

The woman looked deeply into Fidelma’s eyes. Her expression was one of deep sympathy.

‘I have heard of your sorrow. Is there any further news of Alchú?’

Fidelma shook her head and Delia stood aside, motioning her to enter the house.

‘Take a seat, lady. There, that seat close by the fire, for the day is chill. A drink? There is corma or I have a sweet drink made from the flowers of trom, the elder tree.’

Fidelma seated herself and opted for a drink of elderflower wine. Delia brought the drink and sat down opposite her.

‘I am sad for you, and also sad that my friend has lost her life in this tragedy.’

Fidelma did not hide her surprise. ‘Your friend?’

‘Sárait.’

‘I did not know that you knew Sárait.’

Delia frowned for a moment. ‘I thought that was why you had come to see me.’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘The reason can wait for a moment. Tell me more about you and Sárait. When did you become friends?’

‘Oh, after her husband was slain … or rather murdered.’

‘So you have heard the rumours about his death at Cnoc Áine? From whom?’

‘From the mouth of Sárait herself.’

‘She knew that he had been murdered?’

‘She would not say much but … well, let me tell you what I know. Sárait was always pleasant to me, even when I was a bé-táide, a prostitute. Her sister, Gobnat, was too prim and proper. She would always ignore me and she still does. But Sárait was a kindly and a friendly soul. Some months after her husband was killed she came to me and she was in a state of anguish. It looked as if she had been beaten.’

Fidelma leaned forward with a frown.

‘You mean that she was physically beaten?’

‘There were bruises on her body. She came to me because she wanted advice from someone who knew the worst as well as the best of a man’s capability.’

‘Did she tell you who had assaulted her?’

‘Alas, she did not. It was someone who was in love with her but she felt repelled by him. She believed that he was the man who had killed her husband, Callada. He was trying to force his attentions on her. Indeed, he had raped her. She had fought back but he was too strong.’

Fidelma sat back with wide eyes.

‘If the man killed her husband at Cnoc Áine, he could only have been a warrior known to Cashel.’

‘She did not say who he was,’ repeated Delia. ‘But the rape was forceful.’

‘Forcor is a heinous crime against a woman.’

There were two types of rape recognised by the law. Forcor was forceful rape using physical violence while sleth covered all other situations. Sleth was especially associated with drunkenness, and sexual intercourse with a woman who was too drunk to consent was regarded as just as serious an offence as forcible rape.

‘She would not tell me the identity of the man but she wanted someone she could talk to without recrimination or condemnation. That was when we became friends and from then on she often used to call here to drink sweet mead and talk. But what is it that I can do for you, lady? You do not visit me often. Is it something you would speak of concerning your child?’

Fidelma felt embarrassment. There was a curious bond between the two women but it was true that Fidelma did not visit often, even though Delia lived no more than ten minutes from the palace of Cashel. Fidelma had once represented Delia when she had been raped, so it did not surprise her that Sarait had sought Delia out when she was in similar straits. Fidelma suddenly found herself thinking of Eadulf ‘s reaction when she had told him the story of Delia. His response had been prompted by the fact that Delia had been a prostitute, a bé-táide, or woman of secrets as it was euphemistically called in the language of the Éireannach. Fidelma had been irritated by Eadulf’s sarcasm at the idea of a prostitute’s being raped. She had snapped at him: ‘Cannot a woman be raped simply because she is a prostitute?’ The laws of the five kingdoms allowed that, even if a woman was a bé-táide, if rape was proved then she could be compensated by half of her honour price. After Fidelma had won the case, Delia had rejected her previous life and was reinstated fully in society, inheriting this little house in Cashel from her father. However, Fidelma knew that many people in the township still treated her with contempt and she had more or less become a recluse in her own home. Fidelma closed her eyes for a moment. She felt a little guilty that she did not visit more often and when she came to Delia’s house it was usually at night and in secret.

‘Can you recall our last meeting?’ Delia prompted suddenly.

‘I can,’ Fidelma confirmed.

The older woman sighed. ‘You were kind in ensuring that I was compensated when my house was smashed by the warriors of Donennach while I was hiding Brother Mochta and the holy relics of Ailbe.’

‘But do you remember what you said as we parted?’

‘That I also remember well. I said that solitude was the best society and a short abstinence from solitude urges the sweet return to it.’

Fidelma nodded, having remembered the words well. ‘And I replied that we are all of us condemned to solitude but some of our sheltering walls are merely our own skins and thus there is no door to exit from solitude into life.’

Delia was regarding her with sympathy.

‘You have felt solitude since your baby was stolen?’

Fidelma felt a sudden anguish, like a pain in her stomach. She did her best to disguise it; to ignore it.

‘I need to ask you a question, Delia.’

‘You do not need my permission to ask it.’

‘Then let me remind you of an unpleasant time, for it is necessary to my question. Do you recall when I represented you when you sought compensation-’

‘I remember how you defended me, yes,’ replied Delia shortly.

‘You came to the court wearing a green silk cloak with a hood. It was enriched with red embroidery and fastened by a clasp of bejewelled silver. It was quite beautiful.’

Delia looked at her thoughtfully and nodded.

‘Do you still have that robe?’

Delia hesitated a moment and then bowed her head in affirmation. ‘I have not worn it since I gave up being … gave up being a bé-táide”

‘But you still have it?’

‘I have.’

‘Will you show it to me?’

Again Delia hesitated and then shrugged. She stood up and went to a wooden chest in the corner of the room and bent down to open it. It seemed to be full of clothes and she began to take them out and lay them on the ground. They were rich garments and Fidelma did not have to ask how Delia had accumulated them. They were the memories of her past life.

Suddenly she heard Delia’s sharp intake of breath.

‘What is it?’ she demanded.

‘I don’t know. I think someone has been looking through this chest. One of the dresses is torn, the sewing ripped at the seam. It was not like that when I packed these clothes away.’

‘Which was when?’

‘Just after the case in which you defended me. I have not wanted these garments of my past life since then.’

‘Find the green silk cloak.’

Fidelma’s voice was suddenly harsh. Delia glanced questioningly at her and then bent again to the trunk. When she had turned everything out she sat back on the floor with a puzzled expression.

‘It is not here.’

Fidelma sighed deeply. ‘I rather suspected that it might not be.’

Delia looked at her with a deepening frown.

‘What do you mean? I think you owe me some explanation,’ she demanded.

‘Delia, where were you on the night that Sárait was killed?’

The woman’s lips trembled a little.

‘Am I being accused of something?’

‘Please, Delia.’ Fidelma’s voice was now soft and coaxing. In other circumstances she would have been harsh, demanding, but she knew Delia too well. ‘I will explain if you answer a couple of questions.’

‘So far as I recall, I was here. I am usually here.’

‘Can anyone vouch for that?’

Delia seemed to hesitate a moment and then shook her head. ‘I was alone.’

Something made Fidelma feel that her friend was not being truthful. She decided to let it pass for the moment.

‘When was the last time that you saw your green cloak?’

‘As I have said, I put it away in this chest when I ceased to be a bé-táide, which was, as you know, three years ago. I have not bothered to look at it since.’

‘Why keep it, then? You could have sold it. It is a very valuable cloak.’

Delia shrugged. ‘We do many things in life that are not logical, lady. You have seen these clothes that I have kept. They are a reminder of times past… to remind myself of what I was.’

‘You are not aware of anyone breaking into your house? Perhaps the cloak could have been stolen?’

Delia shook her head. ‘There is no reason why anyone should break in here. I never keep a locked door — it is open to anyone to come and go as they please.’

‘And you have left the house with the door unlocked?’

Fidelma well knew that locking doors was not a custom among the local people. However, the doors of nobles and professionals were secured on either side by a bolt or more usually by an iron lock — a glais iarnaidhi. When the Blessed Colmcille went to preach to the pagan King Brude of the Picts, he found that the king had caused all the doors of his fortress to be locked against him. Colmcille uttered a prayer which caused the iron locks to be miraculously opened. Why she suddenly thought of the story, she did not know.

‘I always leave my door unlocked. Only at night, I draw the bolt shut.’

‘So anyone might have come in at any time and taken the cloak?’

‘I suppose so. Now, are you going to tell me what this is all about?’

Fidelma compressed her lips for a moment.

‘On the night Sárait died and my baby was taken, she was lured from the palace by a false message. A dwarf went to her and told her that her sister wanted to see her urgently.’

‘Gobnat? She hardly spoke to her sister.’

‘You know her that well?’

‘Everyone in the township knows her. Gobnat is one of those righteous women who still refuse to acknowledge my existence. She is supposed to be very moral, a pillar of the Faith.’

Fidelma stretched before the fire.

‘You sound as if you do not like her?’

‘I am merely irritated by her attitude. But then many people are.’

Fidelma looked at Delia curiously. ‘What do you mean?’

Delia shrugged quickly. ‘I mean her inflated self-esteem as if she is far better than other women here. Her conceit has grown immensely now that her husband, Capa, is captain of the élite warriors that guard your brother.’

‘My mentor, the Brehon Morann, used to say that pride is but a mask covering one’s own faults.’

Delia smiled humorously. ‘If anyone has a true reason for pride, it is you, Fidelma. You are wise and learned and your deeds are known in all five kingdoms of Éireann.’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘When I went to attend the law school of Brehon Morann, the first thing I had to do was part with self-conceit. Admitting one knew nothing and would never know more than a fraction even if one spent an entire life in contemplation and study, was the start of learning. Otherwise it would have been impossible to learn even what I thought I already knew.’

Delia tried to bring Fidelma’s mind back to the matter in hand.

‘You mentioned that a dwarf went to the palace. Are you trying to track down this dwarf?’

Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘I have already done so. He told me a story that I believe. I believe it because the poor creature’s brother paid for its veracity with his life.’

‘And that story is?’

‘That the dwarf was passing through Cashel on that night and was asked to deliver the message to Sárait by a woman — a woman dressed in a green silk cloak, enriched with red embroidery.’

She was watching Delia’s face carefully. She was surprised to see a look of relief relax her features.

‘Then the dwarf will be able to identify the wearer of this garment and prove who it was.’

‘Not exactly,’ replied Fidelma. ‘You see, while the light of a lamp fell on the woman’s clothing, it did not reveal her features. All he could see was that she was not youthful but had a good figure. The woman paid him to take the message to Sárait.’

Delia began to look a little strained and pale again.

‘I see now why you have come to me with your questions,’ she said. ‘You think that I am that woman. However, other women could have cloaks of green silk with red embroidery.’

Fidelma indicated the chest of clothes.

‘The fact that you cannot produce your cloak seems to indicate that it was the cloak in question.’

‘It does not mean that I was wearing it.’

‘True. Can you add anything to your explanation of where you were that night?’

Delia hesitated.

‘Fidelma, you have befriended me when others shunned my company. You defended me when others would have condemned me. By that friendship I swear this, that I am not the woman whom you seek. I know nothing of the matter other than that I once possessed a green silk cloak and now it is gone.’

Fidelma looked intently at her for a moment or two.

‘Speaking as your friend, Delia, I believe you. But in this matter, I have to speak as a dálaigh. I have to try to find out when this cloak was stolen from you and have some corroboration of where you were on the night Sárait was killed.’

Delia raised her arms in a helpless gesture.

‘I know nothing of law, lady. You must do as you must. I will answer your questions so far as I am able but I can tell you nothing further that will help you in this matter.’

‘You cannot tell me where you were on that night or provide me with the name of anyone who would vouch for you?’ she pressed.

‘I can say nothing more on that subject,’ Delia replied firmly.

Fidelma sighed deeply.

‘Very well. I do believe you, Delia, but I must do what I must to find my child. You can appreciate that.’

Delia impulsively leant forward and touched Fidelma’s arm.

‘Believe me, I am a mother, too. I would do the same were I in your place. I have not had a happy life. When I was young, I had ambitions to marry and have children. That was denied me. My problem, if you like, was that I always fell in love with the wrong man. I gave love and trust, and those men took them from me and then left me with nothing but angry memories. That was how I was led into being a bé-táide, seeking to revenge myself on men.’

‘I cannot see,’ Fidelma replied with a frown, ‘how prostitution is a form of revenge on men?’

Delia chuckled, a sound without any humour.

‘It makes men come cap in hand, seeking women’s favours and having to pay for the privilege. That is revenge for all those women whom they force their attentions on, whom they claim mastery over, simply because they are their husbands.’

‘Women do not have to put up with men’s pretensions in that field,’ admonished Fidelma. ‘Under law, women have the right to separate and to divorce.’

Delia was still bitter.

‘Law is logical. Sometimes the law is only as good as human nature. What happens between a man and wife within the bedroom is often beyond the reach of the law.’

‘A woman does not have to be afraid. If a man threatens or inflicts physical violence on his partner it is grounds for an immediate divorce. Likewise, if the man circulates lies about his partner and holds her up to ridicule-’

Delia cut her short.

‘You do not understand, lady. I know you have a perfect marriage and I wish you well in it. But the minds of men and women are not always logical. Sometimes a woman will bear ills that logic might dictate are easily curable in law because of her feelings for her partner. Not everything can be cured by logic’

Fidelma felt a sudden overwhelming weariness. Then, she could not help it, tears sprang into her eyes. She tried to blink them away.

Delia gazed at her in surprise.

‘Why, lady, what is amiss?’ she asked, leaning forward, a hand on Fidelma’s arm.

Fidelma found that she could not speak.

‘Oh, forgive me, lady, I am too selfish.’ Delia seemed truly in distress. ‘I forgot this was about your missing child. How can I be so unthinking?’

Fidelma tried to recover her poise. Then she sighed.

‘Oh, Delia, it is not just Alchú’s loss that has cast me into an abyss I can see no way out of.’

The woman stared at her for a moment, lost in thought. Then she shook her head.

The Saxon brother? Your husband? Is he the cause of this grief, lady?’

‘It is more that I have been upsetting him by my vanity, Delia,’ she replied brokenly.

The woman regarded her with an appraising look.

‘Tell me about it,’ she instructed.

At first Fidelma hesitated and then, slowly at first, but with growing abandon, she began to tell Delia about the situation that had evolved between herself and Eadulf. It flooded out. As she spoke, she began to realise that it was a long time since she had talked to a woman, someone she could trust. In fact, Fidelma had not had an anam chara, a soul friend, since the disgrace of her friend Liadin, who had once been as a sister to her. They had grown up together and when they had reached the ‘age of choice’, when they had become women under the law, they had become soul friends, sworn to be spiritual guides to one another as was the custom of the Faith in Ireland. Liadin had married a foreign chieftain, Scoriath of the Fir More, who had been driven from his own lands to dwell among the Uí Dróna of Laigin. Liadin had acquired a lover and become involved in the murder of her husband and son and betrayed her oath to Fidelma. Since then, Fidelma had not accepted anyone as a soul friend.

Now all her fears, her hopes and her worries, came out in a rush like a dam breaking and the waters gushing forth.

For some time after she had finished speaking, Delia sat quietly.

‘The one thing that I have learnt, lady, is never to advise someone on a course of action when it comes to a relationship between a man and a woman,’ she said at last. ‘From what you say, the pursuit was all on the Saxon’s side. He must take the greater responsibility. Is there not an old saying among our people, lady, that a man who marries a woman from the glen marries the whole glen? Did your man not realise that when he married you he had to marry who you were, and that meant he had to accept you were of the Eóghanacht?’

‘Perhaps he did not understand exactly what it entailed.’

‘He cannot blame you for his lack of knowledge, lady.’

‘He is not happy here, Delia, nor could I be happy in his country.’

‘There is always a compromise to be found between two extremes.’

‘But what compromise?’

‘That is for discussion between yourself and your man.’

‘It is not that easy.’

‘Perhaps it is because you are trying to find a route by logic. The shortest cut through emotional problems is often to let your feelings show you the road. When you have seen the choice before you then it is time to make a decision.’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘Where the heart leads, logic must go also.’

‘You may see the problem through logic, lady, but you will understand truth through your emotion. It is emotion that has taught people how to reason.’

Fidelma suddenly rose with a brief smile. ‘You are a wise woman, Delia.’

Delia rose also. ‘Wisdom has not made me rich.’

‘Wisdom excels all riches, Delia.’

‘That is as may be, lady, but for now I am a former bé-táide under suspicion of encompassing the death of Sárait.’

Fidelma looked Delia straight in the eye.

‘My instinct tells me that you are not involved. Yet it also tells me something else. It tells me that you are holding something back.’

Delia flushed. ‘I can assure you that I am innocent of any involvement in the killing of Sárait or the disappearance of your baby. You are the last person I would inflict hurt upon.’

Fidelma inclined her head for a moment.

‘I will accept that until it is proved otherwise,’ she said quietly, before turning towards the door. At the door she halted as a thought occurred to her. ‘Promise me this, Delia, that you will not mention anything to anyone about the garment that is missing or my interest in it.’

Delia smiled wryly.

‘That I can easily do. I did not even know it was missing until you asked me to look for it. The garment that you are interested in, and the fact that it is missing, will remain a matter strictly between the two of us.’

Fidelma smiled.

‘Let it be so,’ she said softly before she left.