The Leper's bell

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.’