The Leper's bell

Now Sárait has been murdered and Alchú, my nephew, has been abducted.’

Brother Eadulf replied with a shake of his head. ‘Unless you possessed some precognition of the event, what blame is there? You did not know, any more than we could know, what would happen in our absence. How could you tell that our son’ — he emphasised the pronoun softly as an intended rebuke to Fidelma’s brother — ‘would be abducted?’

Colgú was not dissuaded from his personal anguish. He did not even respond to the subtle censure for ignoring Eadulf’s position as father of Alchú.

‘You say that Fidelma is now sleeping?’

Brother Eadulf made an affirmative gesture. ‘With the help of a little sedative that I prepared — an infusion of heartsease, skullcap and lily-of-the-valley.’

‘I know nothing of such apothecary’s arts, Eadulf.’

Eadulf grimaced. ‘What small healing art I have learnt is thanks to my study at Tuaim Drecain, in the kingdom of Breifne.’

Colgú forced a sad smile. ‘Ah yes; I forget that you have spent time in our greatest medical school. So my sister sleeps? How is her state of mind?’

‘As to be expected, she is in great agitation and anguish. At first she couldn’t take in what had happened, but for the last two days she has been scouring the countryside questioning all in the vicinity of the place where Sárait was slain and the baby taken. Questioning but learning nothing. It is as if the earth has swallowed the child along with the person who committed this evil act.’

‘Evil, indeed,’ agreed Colgú in a soft voice.

He stood up abruptly and returned to stand before the fire in the same pose he had been in when Brother Eadulf entered, back to the fire, feet apart, hands clasped behind him.

‘Eadulf,’ he said after a moment, as if he had been contemplating what he should say. ‘I have sent for you because I have summoned my inner council, my closest advisers, to discuss this matter. I have seized this opportune time because I felt it wise to discuss this matter without my sister’s presence.’ He hesitated. ‘My sister is too emotionally involved. During these last two days I have watched her wander in distraction, rushing hither and thither asking questions but not stopping to reflect on matters because her heart is in panic for her child.’

Brother Eadulf felt a surge of guilt. For two days he had been trying to persuade Fidelma to pause and take stock. It was true, as Colgú said, that she was in a state of frenzy. However, he said defensively: ‘Fidelma is a trained and qualified dálaigh, Colgú. You know her reputation. If Fidelma cannot solve this conundrum, who can?’

The king gestured with his hand, half in defence, half in acknowledgement of what Eadulf said.

‘My sister’s reputation has spread through the five kingdoms of Éireann for the mastery of her investigations into mysteries and puzzles that no other minds can solve. And your own name, Eadulf, is firmly associated with that reputation. But this is her child of whom we speak.’

‘And mine,’ put in Brother Eadulf with quiet emphasis.

‘Of course. But a mother — any mother — has emotions that sometimes prevent cold logic when it comes to a discussion of her baby. In sending men out to search, I had to rely on you to try to describe what baby clothes were missing, so that we might get an idea of what Sárait had dressed the child in before she took him out that night. Fidelma could not bring herself to examine his clothing to see what was missing.’

Eadulf silently agreed that it was true. He had had to search through the little chest wherein they kept Alchú’s baby clothes, trying to remember what had been there in order to recall what he might have been dressed in. Fidelma was too upset to do so.

‘Well, Eadulf,’ Colgú continued, ‘you are the father of the child. That is true. But a man is more phlegmatic than a woman, and you especially, Eadulf, since I have known you, have been like a rock in a turbulent sea. Equable and self-controlled.’

Brother Eadulf sighed deeply. He did not feel cool-headed and balanced but he was inclined to agree with the young king that these last two days Fidelma had let her anxieties overwhelm her training as a clinical investigator of mysteries. However, his own emotional attachment to Fidelma made him feel as if he were betraying her by agreeing with Colgú.

‘What are you proposing?’ he asked quietly.

‘That my council meet and we all — my advisers, you and I — sit down and discuss what we know of this matter. The facts first. Then what possibilities there are of discovering who might be responsible for the crime. The others stand ready outside. Do you agree on this course, Eadulf?’

Brother Eadulf thought for a moment more and then shrugged.

‘We cannot continue without a plan,’ he agreed. ‘Nor should we do nothing at all. So the idea is acceptable to me.’

Colgú, without a further word, turned and reached for a small silver hand bell. Almost before its jangle had ceased, the door was thrown open and in came several men. Eadulf rose to his feet for, although he was the husband of Colgú’s sister, his status in the kingdom of Muman was that of a stranger; a distinguished stranger, but still a foreigner to the kingdom, a visitor from the land of the South Folk, among the kingdoms of the Angles and Saxons.

They entered in order of precedence. The handsome young prince, Finguine, cousin to Colgú, was tanist or heir apparent to the kingship. Then came the elderly Brehon Dathal, chief legal adviser to the king, and with him was Cerball the Bard, the repository of all the genealogies and history of the kingdom, carrying a leather satchel. Ségdae came next, bishop of Imleach, comarb or successor of the Blessed Ailbe, who first brought Christianity to Muman. Behind them came Capa, chief warrior of Cashel as well as commander of the King’s élite corps of bodyguards, each of whom was distinguished by the golden torque or collar that he wore round his neck. Moreover, Capa had been brother-in-law to the murdered nurse, Sárait. These were Colgú’s closest advisers in the governing of the biggest of the five kingdoms of Éireann.

Colgú made his way to a round oak table on the far side of the room and sat down.

There will be no ceremony. Seat yourselves and we will talk as equals, for in this council we are all equal. Eadulf — you will be seated next to me, here on my left.’

Eadulf hid his surprise at this intimate gesture before the members of the king’s council. Yet no one seemed either shocked or put out by this honour shown to someone who was a stranger. If the truth were known, it was Eadulf’s own insecurity that kept his status in the forefront of his mind. After all, although the father of Fidelma’s son, he was only her fer comtha, not a ‘full-husband’. The marriage laws of the five kingdoms were complicated and there were several definitions of what constituted proper wedlock. There were, in fact, nine different types of union, and while the status and rights of husband and wife between Eadulf and Fidelma were recognised under the law of the Cáin Lánamnus, it was still a trial marriage, lasting a year and a day. After that time, if unsuccessful, both sides could go their separate ways without incurring penalties or blame. Eadulf was well aware of the temporary nature of his position.

The members of the council took their seats round the table and there was an uncomfortable silence before Colgú, looking round to make sure they were all settled, spoke.

‘You all know why you are summoned. Let us start off by recording the facts as we know them.’

Cerball, as bard and recorder, cleared his throat at once. The facts are simple. Sárait, a nurse, was slain and the child in her care was abducted. The child was the baby Alchú, son of Fidelma of Cashel and Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, a stranger to this kingdom. And this terrible event occurred four nights ago.’

There was a pause.

‘Now let us add to those facts,’ said Colgú. ‘Sárait had served as a nurse in this palace of Cashel for nearly six months. My sister had chosen her when she needed a wet nurse on the birth of her child. Is this not so, Eadulf?’

Eadulf glanced up in surprise at being addressed in council by the king. Colgú smiled encouragingly as he correctly guessed the reason for the Saxon’s hesitation.

‘You have permission to speak freely at any time during these proceedings,’ he added.

Eadulf inclined his head. ‘It is true. Sárait was well regarded by both Fidelma and me. Fidelma trusted her to the extent that she made her wet nurse to our baby. When we were asked to journey to Rath Raithlen, we entrusted Alchú without qualms into her care.’