The Leper's Bell (23 page)

Brehon Dathal glanced down at the corpse.

‘Blue lips, blue lips,’ he muttered. ‘Surely a sign of poison?’

‘Not necessarily,’ the old apothecary protested.

‘Always in my experience,’ Brehon Dathal replied testily.

‘I had not realised that you are a qualified physician,’ replied Brother Conchobar blandly.

Brehon Dathal was bending over the corpse and did not appear to hear him. Brother Conchobar coughed loudly to attract his attention.

‘I need to do some further tests in my workroom.’

Brehon Dathal turned away from the bed and sniffed.

‘Superfluous. Clearly poison but, if you want to waste time, I have no objection. I am proceeding with the fact that he was poisoned and that this is a case of murder.’

Astonished, Fidelma gazed at him. ‘Isn’t that a little … a little precipitate?’ she said quietly.

Brehon Dathal stared at her in irritation.

‘I thought you were not involved in this matter?’

‘Neither am I.’

‘Then I need not detain you.’ He turned sharply to the two young religieux. ‘When did you discover the bishop?’

‘We came a short while ago to escort him to luncheon. We found him thus. I went to fetch Brother Conchobar while my companion stayed with him.’

‘When did you last see him alive?’

‘Shortly after he had performed the morning’s dismissal. He said he was feeling tired for it was only the day before yesterday that we had returned from the west coast.’

‘Apart from fatigue after his journey, he was in good health?’

‘Bishop Petrán was always in good health. He was never tired and this morning was the first time I had ever heard him admit to fatigue.’

‘Just so, just so,’ muttered Brehon Dathal. ‘So we can say that the poison was administered when he returned to his chamber…?’

Brother Conchobar let out a gasp of protest.

‘I have not yet stated a cause of death. I need to examine—’

Brehon Dathal waved him aside.

‘A formality, a formality that is all.’ He was already looking at a couple of pottery mugs on a side table. He picked them up and sniffed suspiciously at them. Behind his back, Finguine glanced across to Fidelma and raised his eyes to the ceiling with a shrug. Brehon Dathal was stroking his chin. ‘He came in, drank the poison in innocence and thus died.’

Suddenly he swung back to the two religieux. ‘Did the bishop have any enemies that you know of? Has he been in recent arguments?’

One of the two young men glanced at Fidelma before dropping his gaze. ‘On our return to Cashel, he was seen to have a very fierce argument,’ he said quietly.

‘With whom?’ pressed Brehon Dathal eagerly.

‘With the Saxon. The same Saxon with whom he had a fierce argument nearly a month ago.’

‘The Saxon?’ demanded Brehon Dathal.

‘He means Eadulf,’ Fidelma said quietly. She had gone suddenly cold at the implied accusation.

‘That’s right. With Brother Eadulf,’ confirmed the religieux.

‘What were these arguments about?’

‘I can tell you that…’ began Fidelma but Brehon Dathal waved her into silence.

‘Let an unbiased witness speak. You are the wife to this Saxon and therefore will present a bias in his favour.’

‘I think it was on matters of religious disagreement,’ said the brother. ‘They argued with harsh words and I know that on both occasions, when I attended the bishop afterwards, he was upset and went so far as to say that Cashel was the poorer when the sister of the king consorted with a—’

‘I cannot listen to this!’ snapped Fidelma.

Brehon Dathal turned on her disapprovingly.

‘I have already suggested that your presence here is not needed. You may go, and tell Brother Eadulf to hold himself ready to answer some questions.’

Finguine glanced sympathetically at her as she left. Behind her she heard old Brother Conchobar demanding permission to remove Bishop Petrán’s body so that he could examine it properly.

Eadulf was not in their chambers when she glanced in. She hurried down the grey stone corridor, trying not to run. Crossing the yard she saw Caol, the warrior, grooming a horse.

‘Have you seen my husband, Caol?’ she asked him, slightly breathless.

The warrior smiled in greeting as he stood up, brush in hand.

‘Not so long ago. I’ve just rubbed his horse down before he left again.’

She stared at him.

‘Left
again?’
she said with emphasis.

The warrior nodded. ‘He went out early this morning, after breakfast. He said he was going for a ride but I think he went to see Conchoille, the woodsman. Then he came back, apparently in a hurry, and asked me to prepare his horse to go out again. While I was doing so, he disappeared for a short while, returning with a filled saddle bag, and then was off.’

Fidelma was standing still in her astonishment. ‘With a full saddle bag?’

‘It looked as though it was packed for a long trip.’

‘Did you see which way he went when he left Cashel?’

‘I did not. I needed to start rubbing down my own horse.’ He gestured to the horse that he had been attending to.

Fidelma paused for a moment before turning and making her way to the main buildings, again trying not to run. She returned to her chambers. Entering, she peered round more carefully this time. There was a note on the pillow of their bed, left in such a manner that it should have been immediately spotted. It was from Eadulf.

I
could not wait. I have a lead, which I think it important that I should follow. I need to go to the abbey of Coimán in the west. I may be gone several days.

She sat down abruptly, head in hands, and groaned aloud.

For Fidelma, the rest of the day passed in a turmoil of thought. Her mind was not only filled with worry for Alchú but now for Eadulf as well. She even found herself thinking the unthinkable. Had Eadulf really left Cashel to follow a clue or was Brehon Dathal’s suspicion correct? She had witnessed the verbal violence of his anger against old Petrán and she had seen his unusual explosive temper on several occasions now. Had he been involved in the killing of the elderly bishop? Surely Eadulf had not killed Petrán! That was a ridiculous idea. But why had he vanished from Cashel at this particular time?

When Brehon Dathal had come to their chambers to question Eadulf and she had shown him the note, a triumphant gleam had come into the judge’s eye. She knew exactly what he was thinking. The old Brehon had left saying that he would have to send someone in search of Eadulf. That could have only one interpretation. Brehon Dathal believed in Eadulf’s guilt. She had gone to her brother, who was discussing the matter with Finguine.

Colgú had regarded her anxious features sympathetically.

‘I cannot interfere in the actions of a Brehon while pursuing an investigation, Fidelma. You know that well enough.’

Finguine had softened the blow a little by adding: ‘Brehon Dathal should have waited for Brother Conchobar’s report before making his mind up about poison.’

‘Why hasn’t Brother Conchobar finished his examination?’ she demanded angrily.

‘Brother Conchobar has just been called to Lios Mhór on some errand of mercy. The living require his medical skills as well as the dead,’ Colgú replied. ‘He told his assistant that he had completed his examination of Petrán’s body, but no one seems to know what conclusion he had reached.’ He glanced anxiously at his tanist. ‘Finguine and I have been discussing this matter. We have become worried about Dathal’s behaviour recently. I think it might be time to consider his retirement as Chief Brehon. It has been noticed that he is too fond of leaping to conclusions before he is apprised of all the facts. I think it is a sign of age. He and Bishop Ségdae are constantly at one another’s throats. It is not good to have that conflict in government.’

Fidelma shook her head immediately. ‘That must not happen until Eadulf’s name is cleared of this accusation. You can imagine what stories will spread if you dismiss Dathal while this matter is outstanding.’

It was Finguine who answered.

‘Yet it will be for the good of the kingdom that it is done, cousin.’

‘But not for the good of Eadulf,’ she replied.

‘We were hoping to get your advice as a
dálaigh
about how to enforce Dathal’s retirement,’ Colgú said.

‘I cannot advise you on that, brother, at a time when I have such vested interests. I do believe Brehon Dathal has acted precipitately in the case of Petrán’s death but then I would have to say that, wouldn’t I? You might imagine what a good
dálaigh
would make of the purpose behind my advice if I agreed with you.’

Colgú regarded his sister with an expression of sorrow.

‘You are right. We should not have mentioned it,’ he said. ‘Nevertheless, it is on my mind and must soon be dealt with. Dathal was - is - a just man and has been a good guide for this kingdom. But, as I say, I have had several recent reports of bad judgements.’

‘At the moment things rest with Brother Conchobar. When will we hear his report?’

‘When he returns from Lios Mhór. Meanwhile, what news of Eadulf?’

‘None except the note he left me.’

‘What could have possibly sent him to the abbey of Coimán?’ Her brother was puzzled. ‘And alone? He has to cross Uí Fidgente territory to get to it and if it is true that we have to contend with some Uí Fidgente plot, then he could be in a great deal of danger.’

Fidelma shivered slightly. But she had not wanted to admit just how scared she was for Eadulf.

‘He has been in danger before, and remember how he survived Uí Fidgente when fate took me to the abbey of the Salmon of the Three Wells?’

Colgú smiled. ‘That seems many lifetimes ago, Fidelma.’

‘I feel it so,’ agreed Fidelma.

‘You had best have some supper and get to bed. Eadulf is capable of taking care of himself, but I do confess that I wish he had not left Cashel at this time.’

Fidelma had left him. She had no stomach to eat when the evening mealtime came. When she retired she found slumber difficult and it was only after many hours of wakeful agonising on the events of the day that she had finally fallen into a fitful sleep.

It was early the next morning when an attendant came to wake her.

‘Lady, the king your brother has sent me. Would you attend him in his chambers as soon as you are ready?’

Fidelma rose to a sitting position and tried to focus on the woman from under heavy lids.

‘What has happened?’ she asked, rubbing her eyes.

‘I am told that Gorman has come to the palace with something of importance connected with the baby, Alchú,’ the attendant replied.

‘Tell my brother I will join him directly,’ she said, her heart beginning to beat faster.

As the woman left, Fidelma rose from the bed, shaking her head from side to side as if the action would clear it. She still felt exhausted. What new disaster did this portend? Gorman had news of Alchú - but what news?

When Fidelma entered her brother’s chamber, she found Finguine and Gorman standing together talking with her brother. Before them, on the table, was a strip of birch bark and a single
cuarán
, a tiny baby shoe whose upper was of
lee find
, undyed wool, mounted on a small sole of
half tanned hide, retaining its softness and pliability like rawhide. As her eyes fell on it, Fidelma gave an involuntary intake of breath.

She recognised the shoe as belonging to Alchú.

She snatched it up, holding it closely before her eyes, examining it to make sure. Colgú appeared a little embarrassed as he stood helplessly by.

‘I have already identified it, Fidelma. The pair was a present from me. I can confirm that because I had it made by our local
cuaránaidhe’
he said, almost apologetically. ‘Indeed, I remember getting the shoemaker to make sure of the softness of the rawhide and I examined it myself. I know the patterning well.’

Fidelma straightened her shoulders. ‘Only one shoe was sent?’

Colgú glanced across to Gorman. The big warrior coughed nervously and then spread his hands almost in a defensive gesture.

‘I was the one brought it here, lady. It was found together with that note. Just the one little shoe.’

Fidelma’s eyes travelled back to the table where the strip of birch bark lay. She put down the baby shoe and picked up the note. There were only a few words on it. She noticed that it was written in the same ill-formed hand as the first note had been.

Your proof
, it said simply.
Now follow our previous instructions.

Fidelma turned back to Gorman with a look of interrogation.

‘Where exactly did you find this?’

‘I was passing the inn in the township this morning when the innkeeper hailed me. He found the shoe hung in a little leather bag on his door - the same place where the first note was apparently found, lady,’ the big warrior replied. ‘The note was with it.’

Her eyes went to the small leather bag. She picked it up. It had no distinguishing marks on it, a small bag of worn kidskin that fastened, sack-like, with a leather thong round its top. It was barely big enough to cover a man’s fist if pushed inside. Fidelma turned the bag inside out and peered into the creases caused by the seams. Seeds and bits of dried vegetable matter clung along them.

She made no comment but returned the bag to its original shape. Then she picked up the shoe again. It was clean. There was no sign of dirt on it at all.

‘There is no question now, cousin,’ Finguine was saying.

She turned her attention sharply to him with a frown.

‘No question? Of what?’

Finguine raised his hands in an encompassing gesture.

That this is some Uí Fidgente plot. They hold your son in return for the release of the three Uí Fidgente chieftains.’

Colgú was nodding in agreement.

‘There is nothing for it, Fidelma. We will have to release the three chieftains. We have no other way of tracking down those who hold the baby.’

Finguine looked almost apologetically at her.

‘Your brother is right. However, it is my task to point out that no guarantees have yet been offered about the return of Alchú. It seems that we now have to take the word of the Uí Fidgente that they will do so once the chieftains cross the border.’