‘You are right, Eadulf. Much has been left unsaid between us since we returned from Rath Raithlen. That is my fault. But be patient for a little while longer. At this time, I need your strength. We will speak soon. I promise.’
Eadulf turned his gaze to the fire and fell silent.
Fidelma was grateful for his sensitivity. She felt enough of a sense of guilt already not only because of the missing child but because, for the last several months, she had been questioning her relationship with Eadulf. Since little Alchú had been born she had been in a constant state of depression. It had taken her a long time to agree to become Eadulf’s
Fidelma had long avoided the inevitable outcome of her attraction to Eadulf. She had already experienced one unhappy affair with a warrior named Cian and thought that she would never undergo the agony of falling in love again. But some inner spark had ignited when she first met Eadulf at the great Council of Whitby, even though he was a Saxon and an advocate for the acceptance of the teachings of Rome. She had tried to argue that she cared too much for Eadulf to rush into easy decisions; that she had tried to avoid any close relation because, under the laws of the five kingdoms, it would be a marriage of unequal persons. Fidelma was of royal rank and Eadulf, as a stranger in the land and not even of royal status, would not have equal property rights with his wife.
Then it seemed that all was well. She had made the decision. During the trial marriage she had become pregnant and their son Alchú was born. Had she resented the birth of Alchú? Her mind had dwelt on the freedom she had lost and she had begun to resent Eadulf and the idea of a life confined to Cashel. The request of her brother, Colgú the king, to go to Rath Raithlen and solve the mystery of the slaughtered young women had been a godsend to her. She had been dwelling on her personal problems as she and Eadulf had ridden back to Cashel having been successful in resolving the mystery. She had been considering whether she should end the trial marriage now, for the year and a day would soon be over. Then she had learnt the news about her baby son.
She gave a sharp intake of breath as the pain of the news struck her once again.
‘What is it?’ demanded Eadulf, concern on his features.
She glanced at him and grimaced.
‘I was just think of something Publilius Syrus once wrote…’
At another time Eadulf might have made some humorous aside, for Fidelma was always ready to quote a moral axiom of the former slave of Rome. She seemed to know them all by heart. Instead he just said: ‘Yes?’
‘How unhappy are they who cannot forgive themselves,’ she replied sadly.
Eadulf was about to respond when the door opened and Brother Madagan entered, then stood aside to usher in a medium-sized man in long brown woollen robes who walked with a distinctive limp. His left arm dangled uselessly at his side. He was not elderly but his features were deeply marked by experience rather than age. His long dark hair had white streaks in it and his dark eyes seemed to glow as if reflecting the horrors he had seen. His was the face of a man marred by his vicissitudes.
This is Brother Buite of Magh Ghlas,’ announced the steward.
Brother Buite limped forward and bowed briefly to Fidelma.
‘How can I help you, lady?’
Fidelma returned his gaze for a moment. ‘You know me?’
Brother Buite inclined his head. ‘I served in the army of your brother at Cnoc Áine. That was where I…’
He reached unconsciously with his right hand across his chest towards his useless left arm, and then his hand dropped back and he shrugged.
‘I know you, lady, and I know of your sorrow. I was in Cashel with my brothers on the night it happened. If there is anything I can do to relieve the pain you have but to ask.’
‘You are generous in spirit, Brother Buite,’ replied Fidelma solemnly. ‘This is Brother Eadulf. Take a seat and speak with us a while.’
The man limped to an indicated seat and sat awkwardly while Brother Madagan, at a glance from Fidelma, went to resume his seat.
‘I understand that you and your companions were in Cashel when my nurse was murdered and my baby taken. Tell me about your companions.’
Brother Buite flushed a little.
‘I will speak of myself but you must question my companions about themselves. Sufficient to say that we all met on the road not far outside Cashel and I, knowing of the shrine of Ailbe, offered to guide them here to the abbey. We spent a night at the inn in the township below your brother’s palace. I was told the following morning of the death of a nurse and the disappearance of your child, lady. But as it was clear that we had no baby with us, the noble prince Finguine allowed us to continue the journey here.’
‘Ah yes. It was Finguine who came to the inn to question your party the next morning, I believe?’
‘Just so, lady.’
And then you brought your companions here?’
‘I did.’
‘But not all of them?’
Brother Buite looked startled.
‘I believe that you travelled with a leper? But we are told that when you arrived here a leper was not in your company.’
‘Ah.’ It was a soft breath. ‘A leper did come with us.’
‘Where did this companion leave you?’
‘Just before we reached the abbey here. Five of us, the original party, proceeded to the abbey but our sixth traveller went on towards the west.’
‘This sixth companion was small and carried a leper’s bell?’
‘That is so. He was a dwarf. Because of his illness we kept slightly apart from him but he did not seem to mind.’
‘A dwarf?’ Fidelma’s eyes sparkled at the information. ‘And he was a male?’
‘The name he gave us was Forindain.’
‘He spoke?’ Eadulf asked the question with a note of surprise. Caol had said the misshapen child who came to the palace was mute. It had not occurred to him until that moment that the pilgrim Brother Buite was describing might be possessed of speech.
Brother Buite glanced at him. ‘Why wouldn’t he speak?’
Fidelma glanced warningly at Eadulf and shook her head slightly.
‘And where did Forindain join your band?’ she asked.
‘At Cashel itself.’
‘Was he staying at the inn there?’
‘Not exactly. I had the impression that he slept in a barn.’
‘Why was that?’
‘I saw him eating in the inn before we retired for the night. He did not indicate by his bell that he was a leper then. That is contrary to the rules of the Faith. It was only when we were leaving in the morning and I found him in the yard with straw on his clothing and a leper’s bell that I realised he was so afflicted. Have I transgressed some law, lady, by allowing him to accompany us?’
Fidelma leant back and examined Brother Buite’s features keenly.
‘You are troubled by my questions, Brother Buite. Let me tell you why I ask them. Sárait the nurse was apparently lured from the safety of my brother’s palace when, according to the guard on duty, a child came with a message saying that her sister needed to see her urgently. The message was false. The messenger was said to be thickset and misshapen. It was dark. The guard, Caol, thought he saw a child. I suspect that he saw the dwarf who has been travelling with you. If so, we need to speak to this Forindain.’
Brother Buite blinked rapidly. ‘Was Sárait the nurse who was killed?’ he asked in surprise. ‘Sárait who was the wife to Callada?’
‘You knew her?’ Eadulf pressed quickly.
