The Leper's bell

Chapter Thirteen

The Well of the Oak Grove was a pleasant little vale that Fidelma had known from childhood. It was a spot where she and her best friend Liadin, who had grown up to be her anam chara, used to play. Fidelma felt a quick pang of anguish as she thought about her soul friend. If only Liadin had not tried to involve her in her murderous plot against her husband and child. The law was supposed to be about rehabilitation of the wrongdoer, about forgiveness, for was it not said that everyone has some means of redemption in them? Yet Fidelma could find no way of forgiving her friend for her betrayal of her.

Some centuries before in the five kingdoms, when somebody was thought beyond redemption and refused to work for the welfare of the clan to restore his honour and pay the necessary reparation to his victims, then, reluctantly, the old Brehons were left with no other course than to put the wrongdoer in a boat, give him water and food for one day, and tow him out of sight of land, casting him adrift to be left to the mercy of the wind and the waves.

The old storytellers told that such a wrongdoer had been named MacCuill, an unrepentant thief and murderer who dwelt in the land of Ulaidh. The Brehons had duly cast him adrift. But the wind and tide washed him ashore on an island sacred to the old ocean god, Mannánan Mac Lir. Having survived, he saw the error of his ways, converted to the New Faith and ended his days as a bishop on the island. And the people of the island had since called him ‘blessed’ and prayed for his spiritual intercession in their affairs. In Fidelma’s eyes, the story was told merely to demonstrate that even in those who were perceived as the worst of criminals there existed a hope of rehabilitation even when they were thought to be beyond redemption.

She returned her mind to her surroundings.

It was an idyllic spot. A thick oak wood spread itself through the vale and a tiny stream sang its way through the centre of the trees and crossed a clearing. To one side of this clearing rose a log-built hunting lodge, constructed for the kings of Muman so long ago that it was not recorded exactly when. The woods around were the habitation of good game, of wild deer, boar, pigs and other animals, and the stream carried trout as well as princely salmon.

It had become a tradition for the kings of Muman to place a brugaid, a lodge keeper, there for such times as the king and his friends decided to use its facilities. In winter no one would be using the place, but Fidelma knew that Duach, the lodge keeper, would be there anyway. She could send his son Tulcha to Cashel with her message. She crossed the stream and halted before the lodge.

‘Duach! Tulcha!’ she called.

The buildings looked deserted. No one came out.

Could Duach have deserted the hostel? One heard many things in Cashel and she knew that Duach had been here just a few months ago. She had known him since she was a little girl; surely someone would have mentioned if Duach had left her brother’s service. She slid from her horse and stared up at the shuttered windows and closed doors.

She called again.

This time she caught the soft sound of the blowing of a horse in the stable building, impatiently expelling air through its nostrils. Her own mount caught the sound, twitching its ears and stamping a forefoot.

Frowning, she walked to the stable door and tried it. It swung open and she glanced inside. There were four horses there and she noticed, curiously, that three of them looked strangely familiar to her.

‘Duach? Tulcha?’ she called again.

One of the horses appeared skittish, a little nervous. It moved backward, kicking up the straw. As the stalks fell away, she caught sight of a human foot and lower leg. Eyes wide, she moved forward.

There was a body concealed in the horse’s stall.

She bent to examine it, and her hand came automatically up to her mouth in a gesture of astonishment and horror. The body of Duach lay there, his eyes wide and staring in death. Someone had cut his throat. Then she saw the second body. It was young Tulcha. She gasped, suddenly remembering why the three horses were familiar.

At the stable door the shadowy forms of three men stood, blocking the entrance.

‘Well, now,’ came the sneering tones of Cuirgí of Ciarraige, who had recently been the hostage of her brother. ‘Well, now, it seems, my friends, that we have our own hostage now. We have a female whelp of the Eóganacht delivered into our hands. Now, indeed, have the fates been kind to us. Now, indeed, can we make our way safely back to our homeland so that we can pursue our path of vengeance against Cashel.’

Eadulf was peering at the shocked features of the steward of the abbey of Coimán.

‘Where might I find this Uaman the Leper?’ he repeated.

‘What business do you have with that spawn of Satan?’ whispered the steward. ‘I would rather give you directions to the gates of Hell itself.’ Then he gasped again. His eyes widened as he guessed the reason for Eadulf’s enquiry. ‘You cannot mean that the herbalist has given the baby into Uaman’s custody?’

‘I do mean that. And now I must retrieve my son. So where can I find this man? He seems well known to you.’

The steward’s face was pale.

‘He is well known to most people in this area, Brother Eadulf. Even in the days when Eoganán ruled the Uí Fidgente, Uaman, his son, was lord of the passes of Sliabh Mis. He was not yet a leper in those times but a warrior son of Eoganán, who, as you may know, was a ruthless tyrant who tried to overthrow the Eóghanacht of Cashel. Eoganán met his end at Cnoc Áine…’

‘I know.’ Eadulf nodded impatiently. ‘But what of Uaman?’

‘He was Eoganán’s youngest son and adviser and withal even worse than the despot himself. He made life unbearable among the abbeys and religious houses of the kingdom. He would come against us with warriors and demand tribute from us. But God punishes debauchery.’

Eadulf frowned momentarily.

‘Ah, you mean the leprosy?’

‘Just so. Even before Cnoc Áine, he had contracted the scourge. Yet he somehow retained his power and, until the Uí Fidgente were overthrown, he remained lord of the passes here. After the defeat of his ill-fated father, he retreated into this corner of the kingdom where he still remains a tyrant and is followed by a small band of warriors. Thank God, not so many as he could command before. Now he has hardly six to guard him — poor, demented souls. They follow him because their souls and flesh are rotten as well as his. His soul is evil and decayed on the inside as his skin is decayed on the outside.’

‘Does he still raid the area?’

‘We are too strong for him now. But with only a few warriors he still controls the roads along the great peninsula to the north of us where the lands of the Corco Duibhne lie. The peninsula stretches nearly fifty kilometres into the wild western sea, mountainous and bleak, with tracks so narrow that he can force travellers to pay tribute to him for the privilege of passing through.’

‘Surely the chieftain of the Corco Duibhne can challenge him? If he has only six men to guard him, then he can surely be overthrown with ease.’

‘Not so easily, my friend. Uaman dwells in an impregnable fortress. It is a great stone stronghold whose walls rise like a round tower on a small island and is built in such a way that even great armies could not gain entry.’

‘Tell me more about this place.’

‘The Tower of Uaman?’

‘Where does it lie?’

‘Not far from here, Brother Saxon. You take the track north of our abbey, round the great bay you see before you, passing before the mountain range you find rising to your right. The road runs westwards and is straight and narrow. At high tide, on your left, you will see an island. It has no name but Inse.’ Eadulf knew this was the word signifying an island. ‘It is cut off at high tide but at low tide it becomes almost a peninsula, for the sand dunes stretch all the way to the grassy knoll on which the Tower of Uaman rises.’ The steward suddenly grasped Eadulf by the sleeve, tugging at it. ‘Come to our watchtower, Brother Saxon. Then you may see the Tower of Uaman in the distance.’

‘It is so near?’ asked Eadulf in surprise and some relief.

‘We may see it across the bay,’ replied the steward, ‘but it is a lengthy ride round the coast.’

Sure enough, from the top of the abbey’s tower, Eadulf could see across the grey waters of the bay what seemed to be a black tower in the distance, just visible against the darkness of the mountains behind. From that angle, it looked as if the tower was set on the mainland on the northern side of the bay.

‘It doesn’t look so impregnable to me,’ he remarked.

The steward shook his head quickly.

‘Do not be misled, Brother Saxon. The stretch of sand that links it to the mainland appears to be firm enough when the tide is out but there are beo-gainneamh to beware of. An entire army can disappear.’

Eadulf did not understand and said so. ‘Do you mean reeds?’

The steward shook his head. ‘Gainneamh’ he repeated.

‘Ah, sand,’ Eadulf corrected himself, now recognising the word. ‘But beo-gainneamh! That means living sand?’

The steward nodded. It took Eadulf a few moments to realise this must mean quicksand. He shivered slightly.

‘Even with the tide out, the tower is dangerous to approach. It is a natural fortification. And when the tide comes in, it comes in so rapidly that treacherous waters can cover the entire sandy link from mainland to island in moments. Indeed, the chief of the Corco Duibhne tried to assault the tower once and lost a dozen men in one attempt.’

‘Well, I don’t intend to attack him, only seek him out to demand information leading to the return of my child.’

The steward raised his eyebrows.

‘You do not demand from Uaman. You avoid him. You say that you want to ask him to return your child? In that case, get Colgú to raise a massive army — that is the only way that Uaman will return anything that is not his.’

Eadulf shook his head. ‘I appreciate your warning, Brother Steward. But perhaps he does not realise whose child it is? Why would such a man want to keep a baby? And sometimes a single man speaking with the tongue of logic can encompass what an army will fail to do.’

‘I will pray for you, Brother Saxon, as I have prayed for the other brothers of the Faith who have preceded you.’

Eadulf raised his brows in surprise.

‘Other brothers of the Faith? What do you mean?’

‘A week or so ago there was a brother from Ulaidh travelling with a strange brother from some distant land. I think he was a Greek. They came here asking, as you have done, for Uaman. I told them where they could find him and they went on their way. They promised to return within a few days. They have not.’

Eadulf rubbed his temple. ‘I have heard of these brothers upon the road. What would they want with Uaman?’

The steward shrugged expressively. ‘The stranger did not speak our language well but his companion told me that he was a healer from the east who had been visiting our shores and specialised in the scourge under which Uaman suffered. A message had been sent to him to bring this healer to Uaman and a reward was promised should he alleviate his suffering.’

‘Perhaps they left by some other route?’

The steward smiled sadly. ‘They promised to come back this way for the stranger promised to instruct us in the ways of the Faith as practised in his country. I fear for them, truly I do.’

Eadulf thought for a moment and then smiled without humour.

‘Well, it seems that I shall have to be careful with this lord of the passes, this Uaman. I thank you for the information, Brother Steward. As a good friend of mine would say — praemonitus, praemunitus?’

‘Forewarned is forearmed,’ translated the steward, still serious. ‘Be so, Brother Saxon. Be forearmed and above all be careful.’

Fidelma stared at the three armed Uí Fidgente, disguising her growing horror as she realised that they must have killed the hostel keeper and his son. She tried to maintain a commanding demeanour.

‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded. ‘You are supposed to be heading for your own country so that your friends will release my son.’

Cuirgí gave a short bark of laughter. ‘You don’t think we fell for that trick, do you?’

Fidelma was genuinely puzzled. ‘Trick?’

‘Ransom notes and the like. A ruse, that’s all, to get us out of your brother’s protection so that some of his supporters can waylay us on the road and slaughter us. That would solve a problem for your brother, wouldn’t it?’

Fidelma’s eyes widened at the fanciful suspicion.

‘But… but it is no trick. My son really has-’

Cuirgí cut her short.

‘Then what are you doing following us? We purposely took the path away from the Suir and the road to the land of the Uí Fidgente so that we would avoid ambush. We thought that we would conceal ourselves here until it was safe … but you must have been following us closely. Who else is with you?’

Fidelma was shaking her head in bewilderment.

‘I came here by accident. I did not follow you,’ she protested. ‘And the ransom demand is genuine. If you do not go back to the land of the Uí Fidgente, if you do not cross the border, your confederates will kill my son.’

‘Do you think we are fools? If this exchange — us for your son — were genuine then we would have been informed. It would have been easy enough to smuggle messages into our prison. This is some trick to lure us away and kill us.’

‘But, I tell you…’ She paused. Was there some other force at work here? Conrí had said he had been sent on behalf of the Uí Fidgente to disclaim all knowledge of the kidnap. She fell silent as she tried to reason out the possibilities.

Cuirgí glanced at his companions with triumph on his features.

‘I thought so. Her silence admits the plot. Crond, scout the paths here and see if there is any sign of anyone accompanying this Eóghanacht bitch. Cuán, help me tie her up. At least her presence will provide us with a safe passage to our own country.’

‘But-’ Fidelma began to protest.

Cuirgí suddenly reached forward and slapped her across the cheek. It was a hard, stinging slap and made her dizzy.

‘Silence! No more words from you!’

Fidelma stumbled back and, before she could recover her senses, Cuán had expertly tied her hands with cord. He began to drag her out of the stable and towards the main building.

‘Put her above stairs for the time being and make sure she is secured,’ came Cuirgí’s instruction.

‘What if she has companions?’ demanded Cuán as he half pushed, half dragged her across the main room of the lodge.

‘Then they will be given a choice. To withdraw and let us proceed in safety, or else be given her body.’ Cuirgí laughed without humour. ‘I think even Colgú will make the right choice.’

‘Listen to me. You are making a mistake…’ Fidelma cried once more but a rough hand was clamped across her mouth. Cuirgí looked on with an approving sneer.

‘Make sure she is secured and cannot cry out to alarm her friends.’

She was dragged up the staircase to the top floor of the lodge and pushed into one of the sleeping chambers. She could not help feeling it a strange irony that she was put into the very room where she had slept as a child and felt so safe and protected. Now she was a trussed and helpless prisoner.

Cuán was no amateur when it came to ensuring that his victim was bound so as to be completely helpless. He secured her hands behind her and trussed her at the ankles. Then he tore a strip of linen from the cover of the adart, or pillow, and tied it firmly across her open mouth.

‘Comfortable?’ he grinned viciously, and then he pushed her helplessly back on the lepad, the wooden bed. She gazed back coldly.

What if Cuirgí and Conrí were both wrong? What if there was some new Uí Fidgente plot to have the chieftains released and neither knew about it? What if her son was going to be sacrificed to their mistrust and lack of knowledge?

She waited until Cuán went downstairs and then she gently tried the bonds. They were very tight. She exhaled in frustration. She felt no movement against them in her feet or wrists. Resigned, she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, her mind racing as she tried to think of some plan of escape.

Some time later, she was not sure how long, there was a shout from downstairs.

‘Crond is coming back!’

She heard the sound of a horse arriving outside the building, and identified Cuirgí’s voice.

‘What news?’

‘No sign of anyone,’ replied another voice that she supposed was Crond’s. ‘I went up to the hill yonder, where you can see the approaches through the woods into this vale. There is no movement. I would take my oath that the woman was on her own.’

‘It is not your oath that will be taken if she is not,’ sneered Cuirgí.

‘So I would not be making a mistake when my own life is what I should lose,’ snapped back the other, apparently not intimidated. ‘We are secure here for the moment. Perhaps the woman spoke the truth, that she was alone and stumbled on us by accident.’

‘More fool her if she did,’ a third voice joined in. That was Cuán, the man who had tied her up.

‘Very well.’ Cuirgí’s assertive tone showed that he was in command. ‘If we accept that the Eóghanacht bitch came here by accident, then the fates have been on our side. All we have to do is wait awhile and then continue our journey back to our homeland.’

‘But what if some of our supporters have truly kidnapped this woman’s child?’ It was Crond who voiced Fidelma’s thought.

Cuirgí laughed. ‘You believe that tale? We would have known about it.’

‘I grant you that you have put up a good argument against it, but… but what if it were true?’

‘What if it is so? There will be one less Eóghanacht in Muman and we are still free.’

‘If it is true, Cuirgí, and the child dies, by tomorrow all the warriors of Cashel will be searching for us to redden their weapons with our blood,’ Crond argued.

‘And does that frighten you?’ sneered Cuirgí. ‘We have fought the Eóghanacht before.’

‘I am an Uí Fidgente of the same proud lineage as you, Cuirgí!’ Crond replied angrily. ‘I am prepared to shed my blood in our cause. But I am not prepared to shed it wastefully. If I am to be hunted down and killed, I do not wish to be remembered as someone who died in reparation for a child’s death. Do you?’

‘That is a point, Cuirgí.’ This time it was Cuán. ‘While we wait here, the entire countryside might be roused against us and our journey home become impossible.’

There came a chuckle from the older chieftain.

‘You forget that we have the sister of Colgú to secure us a safe passage. Anyway, I have told you before … if there was such a plot to free us we have friends who could have bribed someone to get a message to us. That old jailer used to take bribes to pass messages in and out and even bring us luxuries. We would have heard something. This is an Eóghanacht plot. I am sure of it.’

Listening to them, Fidelma groaned inwardly. She had to admit that Cuirgí was making a good point. If someone had gone to all those pains to construct the kidnapping then it would have been an obvious move to inform those involved about what was happening. But if this was not a means of releasing the Uí Fidgente, what was it? Who was behind it?

The three men had removed themselves to the room below and their voices had become muffled. Fidelma was aware that darkness was spreading across the window. The hour was growing late.

She had intended to send poor Tulcha to Cashel to inform them where she was staying. When she did not show up, and no message from her was received, she wondered what her brother would do. Might he guess that she could be at the hunting lodge? She tried to move into a more comfortable position. The gag was making her feel sick.

She must have dozed in her exhausted state for the next thing she knew the room was lit with an oil lamp. Someone was removing her gag. She coughed and gasped for breath. Powerful hands reached under her arms and pulled her into a sitting position with her back against the wooden headboard of the tolg, or bedstead.

Crond was sitting on the edge of the bed looking down at her with a humourless smile on his lips.

‘What time is it?’ she finally gasped when she had cleared her throat.

Crond chuckled in amusement.

‘Not very late, lady. It is well before midnight. I thought that you might like some food. We wouldn’t want you getting weak. There is a long journey to the land of the Uí Fidgente before us.’

Fidelma blinked rapidly. ‘When are you starting out?’

Crond shrugged. ‘Whenever Cuirgí thinks it safe enough. Perhaps tomorrow; perhaps the next day.’

Fidelma glanced at the bowl of stew and drinking mug that he had placed on the side table.

‘If I am to remain bound, you will have to help me eat and drink. If not, then release my hands so that I can feed myself,’ she said.

Again Crond chuckled.

‘Oh, I shall feed you, lady. I have little else to do and we would not want you to get any foolish ideas, would we?’

‘The cords are cutting into my flesh,’ she protested.

‘I don’t doubt it,’ Crond assured her. ‘Cuán has a remarkable talent for binding people so that they stay bound.’ He reached forward and took the mug, raising it against her lips. ‘I presume you would like to drink first?’

The drink was mead. It was slightly sour but her throat was dry and irritated after the hours that the linen gag had been tied across her mouth. She sipped eagerly.

When he put down the mug she licked her lips and regarded the Uí Fidgente with speculation, wondering if she could persuade him to help her.

‘I think you are more intelligent than your companions, Crond,’ she began.

The man raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

‘I think so too, lady. But what makes you say so?’

‘I heard you arguing with Cuirgí. Truly, my brother made no plot to lure you out of Cashel to kill you. My nurse Sárait was murdered and my child stolen. We did received a ransom note demanding your release and saying that once you crossed the border then my son would be returned.’

Crond’s face was impassive. ‘Why should I believe you?’

‘Because I think you know that I am speaking the truth. Whoever holds my son is going to kill him if you do not do as they have instructed. They will believe that my brother still holds you prisoners. I do not want my son to die.’

Crond shrugged. He leant to the side and took the bowl of stew and a spoon. He held out a spoonful.

‘Cuirgí makes a good point, lady, that if this were genuine, we would have been informed. I can confess to you that we have had messages smuggled in to us before now. It was simple. Your old jailer is easy enough to bribe.’

‘And he will be brought to account for that,’ Fidelma snapped in irritation, forgetting her position for a moment.

Crond smiled in admiration.

‘You have spirit, lady, I’ll say that.’

‘My son’s life is at stake.’

‘Our lives are at stake,’ he pointed out bluntly. ‘We are not going to squander them without cause.’

There was a movement at the door. It was Cuirgí. He stood leaning against the door jamb with folded arms.

‘You seem to be getting along well with the prisoner, Crond,’ he observed coldly.

Crond looked up in amusement.

‘Is it forbidden to talk as I feed our prisoner, then?’

‘That depends on the subject of conversation,’ returned Cuirgí. ‘It is well known that this woman has a tongue of silver. She is a dálaigh and is it not said that a good lawyer will turn black into white and white into black? Pay no attention to her words, Crond.’

Crond grimaced cynically. ‘After two years in an Eóghanacht prison, I am not liable to be beguiled by the words of this woman, Cuirgí. However, the sooner we reach our homeland, the better I shall like it.’

Cuirgí nodded thoughtfully, his sharp eyes on Fidelma.

‘Finish feeding her and come down. We need to discuss our route. Cuán knows the lands north of here and has an idea.’

‘When do we leave here? Tomorrow?’

Cuirgí shook his head. ‘If we wait a further day, they will think we have already reached-’ He cut himself short as he glanced at Fidelma. ‘We will talk about this below. Be quick finishing here.’

He stayed for a second or two more and then disappeared. Fidelma heard him going down the stairs. Crond returned to feeding her. He winked at her and whispered softly: ‘So, lady, it looks as if you’ll be spending a little more time in this cramped condition.’

‘My hands and feet are numb, Crond,’ she said. ‘Can’t you loosen these bindings? If I am left like this, I won’t be able to walk or ride when the time comes. Surely you can see that I can’t escape?’

Crond hesitated, and then he realised that she was right. He put down the bowl and bent to her ankles to release the bindings a fraction, so that they were still secure but no longer biting tightly into her flesh. She could feel the blood flowing into her limbs and an almost painful sensation as if pins and needles were coursing through her flesh. Crond turned her over and repeated the exercise with her wrists. She sighed as her cramped arms began to tingle. Setting her back against the bed frame, he finished feeding her the stew and then gave her another drink. Then he stood up.

He looked at the discarded gag for a moment and she saw his glance.

‘Who am I going to call out to?’ she asked sarcastically.

He hesitated and then smiled.

‘It will be a long night, lady. Sleep well.’

Then he was gone. She lay on the bed for a long time listening to the noise of their voices drifting up from below before she started to wriggle her bonds. Although Crond had loosened them, they were still secure. Try as she might, she could make no headway in making them slack enough to enable her to manipulate her hands out of them. It was some time before she gave up and found herself dozing again. The next thing she knew, the grey light of dawn was seeping into the room.