‘That is why I have asked that the body be examined by someone who can confirm my suspicion.’
Back in the chieftain’s tent, Fiachrae went immediately to the jug of mead, pouring himself a large measure. Then he remembered his manners and turned, jug in hand, to Fidelma and Eadulf.
‘Will you join me?’
This time Eadulf shook his head while Fidelma accepted.
‘A small measure,’ she added when she saw that her cousin was prepared to be generous with his liquor.
‘This has put a black cloud in the sky of our fair, cousin,’ muttered Fiachrae. ‘Who is this little religieux and who killed him? The slaughter was done in my territory and I am responsible for finding the evildoer.’
‘As a dálaigh, even though just visiting your territory, I take responsibility in that matter, cousin,’ Fidelma assured him.
‘But who is he?’ demanded Fiachrae. His eyes widened as if a thought had suddenly struck him. ‘I nearly overlooked something. I’d better inform the crossan, the little gleemen, just in case they know this dwarf.’
‘Good for you!’ exclaimed Fidelma. ‘I was nearly forgetting … ask them to gather at the place where the herbalist is making his examination. But on no account let them enter until I have seen the herbalist.’
When Fiachrae left, Eadulf leant quickly forward to Fidelma.
‘I have formed a theory. The young warrior, Gorman — he had the ideal opportunity to kill the dwarf.’
She returned his gaze evenly.
‘Why would you think that, Eadulf?’
‘He was more than keen to accompany us. He admitted he was in love with Sárait and wanted vengeance. Those are good reasons.’ His eyes widened suddenly. ‘If Aona is right, why, Gorman might even have been responsible for the death of Sárait’s husband Callada, and-’
Fidelma interrupted him. ‘I think we are racing ahead without evidence. It is fascinating to speculate but as I have often told you, Eadulf, speculation without facts will take us nowhere. Why would he kill the dwarf? We have no knowledge that the dwarf killed Sárait, only that a figure, which Caol deemed a misshapen child, brought a message to her and she went out of the palace in answer to it. We are working on supposition.’
Eadulf looked glum. ‘I had forgotten it was Caol who saw the misshapen child that night. Perhaps he recognised the dwarf and…’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘Let’s stop speculating until we hear further,’ she said.
It was not long before Caol summoned them to the herbalist’s shop. It was a wooden hut hung with dried herbs and flowers and a fire smouldered in a hearth at one end, enhancing the thick aromatic atmosphere to the point where Eadulf started to cough and even Fidelma had to catch her breath. Even though it was still daylight, the interior was lit with lamps as the small windows let in hardly any light.
The herbalist was old and querulous.
‘Well, the dwarf is dead,’ he snapped as they entered, peering in shortsighted fashion at them. ‘Dead,’ he repeated. ‘Why am I bothered further?’
Fidelma moved forward to face the old man.
‘A fool can tell that he is dead. I instructed that you look for signs of any affliction.’
The herbalist stared myopically at her.
‘Of course he was afflicted,’ he snapped. ‘He was a dwarf, wasn’t he?’
‘Again that is obvious,’ replied Fidelma sharply. ‘Did he suffer from leprosy?’
‘Did he … what?’ The herbalist was even more irritable. ‘I am being asked to teach a class in basic medicine?’
Fiachrae had joined them and moved close to the herbalist.
This is the sister of King Colgú, a dálaigh of the courts. Answer her questions in civil fashion or you may find that you will no longer be practising your art here,’ he said quietly.
The herbalist blinked, peering once again at Fidelma.
The dwarf did not suffer from leprosy,’ he said shortly.
‘So far as you could tell, has he ever done so?’
‘He has never done so. You do not, so far as I have knowledge, recover from of such a pestilence, even though some strangers claim such miraculous cures.’
Fidelma compressed her lips.
That is exactly what I wanted to confirm.’ Then she frowned. ‘What do you mean about strangers claiming cures?’
The old man sniffed in deprecation.
‘A day or so ago, a stranger came through here… his companion translated his words as he did not have much of our language. His companion told me that he was a healer in his own land. He claimed he knew of various herbs which might cure the disease. I knew none of them except burdock, but that I only know as a plant whose juices can be used to treat burns and sores.’
‘And we eat the young stalks in salads,’ added Eadulf, who, having spent some time studying the apothecary’s art, knew a little of such matters. ‘But what were the others that this stranger spoke of?’
The herbalist glanced at him in disfavour.
Things with strange foreign names. Not even the blessed Fintan of Teach Munna in Laigin was able to cure himself once he contracted the disease. I heard Bishop Petrán once argue that Fintan was cursed with the affliction because, during the great Synod of Magh Lene that was held when I was a young man some thirty-five years old, Fintan had argued against Rome’s authority. He went so far as to criticise some of the pronouncements of the Bishops of Rome, such as their approval of the Edict of Lyons when it was decreed that lepers should be cast out of society and go about ringing bells to warn others of their coming.’
Fidelma gave an intake of breath showing her impatience.
‘I am sure we are not interested in curses, apothecary, nor, at this moment, in the rights and wrongs of our culture and our church.’ She glanced to where the body lay on the table on which the apothecary had conducted his investigation. It was now clothed in the robe again and laid out in a manner ready for burial. The small child-like form was a pathetic sight.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Herbalist, we need to take over your shop for a few minutes. Will you wait outside with my guard? Fiachrae, remain with me. Eadulf, ask Capa to tell the crossan to come in.’
Eadulf escorted the disgruntled herbalist to the door and looking out saw Capa and his men standing with a group of half a dozen small people in garish clothing who were obviously the gleemen.
‘Let them come in now,’ he called to Capa.
The warrior nodded and the gleemen moved forward curiously, passing Eadulf into the apothecary’s hut and peering about.
They had hardly set foot inside the door when a wail suddenly came from one of them, who had pointed towards the body on the table. A great outcry arose from the others, anguish and despair rending the air. Fidelma had no need to ask if they recognised the dead man.
One of them ran forward, tugging at the body as if to ascertain whether it was alive or not. Fidelma saw a strong likeness between his face and that of the corpse. Of the gleemen, he seemed the most distraught, and it was pitiful to see his distress.
She moved forward and laid a hand on his shoulder.
‘I am sorry to have done this without forewarning. I just wanted to know if you or any of your companions would recognise the body.’
The dwarf, blinking back tears, gazed up at her. His grief was plain.
‘Of course I recognise him. He was my brother and one of our company.’ He spoke as many of his companions did with a slight lisp in his speech.
‘And his name was Forindain?’
The dwarf stared at her for a moment and then shook his head.
‘His name was Iubdán. Forindain was a part that I played.’
Fidelma hid her bewilderment. ‘Your name is Forindain?’
‘I am known as such,’ replied the dwarf. ‘None of these are our real names. We use the names of the characters we play. I play Forindain in our little love tale of Bebo.’