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  Eadulf frowned. ‘You say “him”. Are you certain of the child’s sex? In which case, presumably, you could see enough to tell whether the child was girl or boy?’

  The warrior glanced at him and hesitated before replying.

  ‘Speak up, man!’ snapped Brehon Dathal.

  The child was clad in a robe from poll to ankle, a cowl being around its head. Yet I would say that it was male.’

  ‘Why so? And why, not being able to perceive the features, did you also say that you doubt whether you had seen the child before?’ Brehon Dathal said pointedly.

  ‘The same answer applies to both questions. The child, in spite of the robes, seemed thickset in appearance and walked with a curious waddling gait. I believe that no girl would be so thickset, and that figure and gait would have been known to me if it were a child I had seen in the township or the palace. So I therefore concluded it was a stranger.’

  Brehon Dathal sniffed irritably.

  ‘It behoves you only to tell us the facts,’ he rebuked the warrior. ‘This is speculation.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ intervened Bishop Ségdae with a smile, ‘it is a logical conclusion to have drawn.’

  ‘You told Capa that the child was mute,’ went on Brehon Dathal, a tone of sarcasm entering his voice. ‘How did you conclude that? Speculation again?’

  ‘That is simple, learned Brehon. The child did not talk but handed me a piece of birch bark on which was written “I am sent to see Sárait”. By signs and grunting noises the child indicated that he could not speak. I told him how to find her chamber.’

  ‘And you didn’t retain this piece of bark?’ asked Eadulf.

  The warrior shook his head. ‘There was no reason for me to do so.’

  ‘In what form was the writing?’

  The warrior looked perplexed.

  ‘Was it in the old form that you call ogham script or in the new script?’ Eadulf explained.

  ‘I cannot read the ogham,’ replied the warrior. ‘But I have been taught to read by the monks of Lios Mhór. The message was written in the new script that we now learn, and in bold letters.’

  ‘Then what happened?’ asked Brehon Dathal.

  ‘A short while later, the child returned through the gate and did not respond to my salutation, from which I felt that he was not only dumb but hard of hearing. He disappeared into the night and I presumed at the time he was heading down the hill to the township. A short time elapsed and then Sárait came hurrying through the gates with a baby in her arms and told me that she had been called urgently to see her sister and would return shortly should anyone enquire after her or the child. She told me there was no one with whom she could safely leave the baby so she was taking it with her. That is all I know of these matters until someone came from the village on the orders of Capa to say Sárait’s body had been discovered.’

  ‘Which was when?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘Towards the end of my period of duty, just before midnight.’

  ‘Yet Sárait had told you that she would return shortly and she had not returned by midnight. Were you not worried for her?’

  Caol shook his head. ‘She had told me that she was visiting her sister. Everyone knows Gobnat. Her husband stands before you, the commander of the king’s guards. Capa would have seen her safely back to the palace.’

  There was a silence. Then Colgú dismissed the warrior and turned to Capa.

  ‘You may bring in your wife.’

  The woman who entered looked slightly awed by the company. She was an attractive woman, although no beauty. Her features were perhaps a little too sharp and angular for that. Eadulf could recognise something of Sárait in her sister. Gobnat had a certain amount of strength in her features, almost a defiance, that was not possessed by the dead nurse. Sárait was softer, Eadulf thought, while Gobnat’s mouth was firmly set. She exchanged a quick glance with her husband, as if seeking reassurance, then came to stand somewhat stiffly before the king.

  ‘Do not be nervous, Gobnat.’ Colgú smiled quickly. ‘You know all of us and we have spoken with you severally during these last few days. You also know that we share your sorrow over the death of your sister.’

  The woman bobbed as if performing a curtsey.

  ‘I do, my lord. Thank you.’

  The Brehon Dathal was sterner than the king.

  ‘We want you to place in evidence your knowledge of the events of Sárait’s death. We are told that she received a message telling her that you wanted to see her urgently. Not finding anyone to take care of the baby, she took him with her and went to see you.’

  Gobnat shook her head. ‘Not so, lord. All I know is that Conchoille, the woodsman, came to my door and told me that he had found my sister’s body,’ she said in a broken voice. ‘I could not believe it as she lived and worked here, in the safety of the palace. Conchoille said that she was in the woods outside the village. My husband sent a message to the palace and went with Conchoille to recover the body. Between them they brought it to my house.’

  ‘And you had not sent your sister a message that evening asking her to come to see you as a matter of urgency?’ asked Bishop Ségdae in a more kindly voice than Brehon Dathal had employed.

  ‘I had not.’

  ‘You did not send a message by a child?’ pressed Brehon Dathal, determined not to be left out.

  ‘I have told you. I did not.’ Gobnat stood twisting her hands together, clearly upset by the elderly judge’s tone.

  ‘You do not know any such child as is said to have delivered the message to Sárait?’ Brehon Dathal seemed to wish to labour the matter.

  ‘An improper question,’ snapped Bishop Ségdae. ‘The witness was not here when the description was given by Caol.’

  Brehon Dathal flushed and Colgú hurriedly intervened again to keep the peace.

  ‘This is not a court of law, so we do not have to be so formal. However, I think that we may accept Gobnat’s word that she did not send any message to her sister at that time.’

  ‘What time did the news come to you of the discovery of Sárait’s body?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘My husband and I were about to retire for the night. That was just before midnight.’

  ‘And your husband had been with you since when?’ asked Brehon Dathal.

  Gobnat frowned quickly before answering.

  ‘He had returned from the palace for the evening meal. That was a few hours after dusk had fallen. We had eaten, talked a little and were preparing for bed, as I have said.’

  Bishop Ségdae was nodding sympathetically.

  ‘It is as Capa says,’ he said heavily for Brehon Dathal’s benefit. Then he turned to the warrior. ‘I suppose that you have asked throughout the township and surrounding countryside whether anyone recognised the description of the child given by Caol?’

  ‘It was my first thought to make such enquiries, lord,’ replied Capa.

  ‘In that case,’ Colgú intervened ‘that is all, Gobnat. Thank you for attending.’ He glanced at Capa. ‘Would you bring in Conchoille?’

  The woodsman who came to stand before them was of an indiscernible age, neither young nor elderly. He was muscular beneath his leather jerkin and his clear nut-brown skin demonstrated that he pursued an outdoor life. He displayed no awe at being confronted by the most prominent men of the kingdom.

  ‘We just want to record the circumstances in which you found the body of Sárait,’ Colgú said.

  The man folded his arms across a broad chest and gazed thoughtfully at them.

  ‘I have told the story several times.’

  Brehon Dathal’s brows gathered in an angry frown and he opened his mouth to speak but Bishop Ségdae, turning a broad smile on the man, spoke first.

  ‘Indulge us by telling it one more time and we will try to make this the last.’

  Conchoille shrugged indifferently. ‘There is little to tell. I had been cutting wood by the place known as the rath of quarrels, south of here—’

  ‘We know the plac
e, Conchoille,’ snapped Brehon Dathal testily. ‘It is not much more than a mile south from here.’

  ‘I had finished my day’s work,’ went on the woodsman, unperturbed. ‘By the time I finished clearing up it was dark and so I set off for the township.’

  Brehon Dathal leant forward quickly. ‘It is dark in the late afternoon at this time of year. We have heard that it was shortly before midnight that you knocked on the door of Capa and Gobnat’s cabin with news of your discovery. Now, estimating the time you finished work and set off for the township, and the time you spent presumably at the place where you found the body, even a slow walker would have been knocking at Capa’s cabin many hours before you did so. Explain this anomaly?’

  Conchoille looked in bemusement at the elderly judge. ‘I do not understand such big words. Should I not be allowed to tell the tale in my own way?’

  Brehon Dathal looked scandalised at the retort. Once more Colgú decided to intervene.

  ‘We are interested in the truth but I can understand Brehon Dathal’s question,’ he said. ‘Why did you take so long to get from your place of work, find the body and arrive at Capa’s house?’

  ‘Along the path before you enter the dark patch of woods is the inn of Ferloga. I no longer have a wife. It is my custom, therefore, at the end of my day’s work to have my evening meal and a drink in Ferloga’s inn if I am in that vicinity. So there I ate, and after I had exchanged a story or two with Ferloga I continued my journey to the village. I have told this story before.’ He glanced with meaning at the elderly Brehon Dathal.

  ‘Continue,’ prompted Colgú.

  ‘The path beyond the lantern that lights the sign of Ferloga’s inn is dark, especially where it winds into the woods.’

  ‘Did you not have a lantern?’ queried Brehon Dathal pedantically.

  The woodsman looked pained. ‘Only a fool would not carry a lantern through the woods at that time. Remember that we have plenty of wolves roaming those woodlands.’

  ‘I just want it made clear in the record,’ snapped Brehon Dathal defensively.

  ‘I had a lantern and it was lit,’ returned Conchoille solemnly. ‘I was coming to the outskirts of the township when I tripped over something on the path. I raised my lantern and saw that it was a shawl. A shawl of good quality, so I bent to pick it up. The first thing I realised was that it was bloodstained. Then the edge of the circle of light from the lantern caught something white on the ground. It was an arm. Then, as I moved nearer, I saw the body … it was Sárait. She was dead.’

  ‘And you knew it was Sárait?’ queried Bishop Ségdae.

  Conchoille sighed deeply. ‘Everyone in the village knew Sárait. She was a fine, comely woman and a widow. Many men would start counting how much they could afford by way of a coibche when their eyes fell on her.’

  A coibche was the principal dowry paid by the prospective husband to the bride’s family. After a year, the bride’s father had to give one third to the girl who retained this as her personal property.

  ‘Were you able to see how she had died?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘Not then. Only that there was blood about the head.’

  ‘What did you do then?’ demanded Brehon Dathal.

  ‘I ran to raise the alarm. I went directly to the house of Capa. I knew he was husband to Gobnat, Sárait’s sister. Capa ordered his wife to remain in the cabin while he came with me, and along the way we saw someone making their way to the palace so Capa told him to raise the guard there. Capa and I carried the body back to his cabin. It was in the light of the cabin that we saw that the head had been battered and there were some stab wounds in the chest. Later, when Caol and his guards arrived, we heard that Sárait had left the fortress with the baby, Alchú. We returned to the woods and searched but there was no sign of the child.’

  Capa was nodding slowly in agreement.

  This is true,’ he intervened. ‘I had no idea about the missing baby until Caol told me. Some neighbours, who had heard the commotion, joined us. It was clear that Sárait had not been killed by wild woodland animals, which is what we first thought when Conchoille told us that he had found her body. As he said, we went back to the spot and searched by lantern light but there was no sign of the baby. We searched again at first light but once more there was nothing to be found. Men were despatched the next day to spread the word, riding east to Gabrán, south to Lios Mhór, west to Cnoc Loinge and north to Durlas.’

  Brother Eadulf had been sitting, head forward, listening to the evidence that he had already heard in emotional exchanges with Fidelma during the last two days. But now he felt more detached, as if he were hearing the facts for the first time. A thought occurred to him.

  ‘Conchoille, you have said that you were working to the south of the township?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And you came across Sárait’s body towards the edge of the woods, south of the township as you were returning to it?’

  ‘That is what I said.’

  Brother Eadulf rubbed his chin reflectively.

  ‘What is it, Eadulf?’ queried Colgú.

  ‘I can confirm that Conchoille led us to a spot on the track south of the township,’ Capa put in, looking curiously at the Saxon.

  ‘We seem to be overlooking a curious puzzle here,’ Eadulf said slowly.

  ‘I don’t see—’ began Brehon Dathal officiously.

  ‘This fortress stands to the north of the township, correct? You leave the gateway, as Sárait did with the baby, and walk down along the track which leads to the township, and she was found south of the township on the track beyond?’

  Brehon Dathal exhaled impatiently. ‘What is your point?’

  It was Finguine, the tanist, who had said nothing so far in the council, who spoke. His voice was tinged with bewilderment.

  ‘I understand the point. Sárait had been summoned urgently to her sister, Gobnat. Gobnat lives in the township.’

  ‘But Gobnat said she had not summoned her,’ Brehon Dathal pointed out.

  True. But Sárait did not know that. Why, then, did she go through the township to be found murdered beyond it in the woods? Why take the child so far? What persuaded her to go past her sister’s house?’

  There was a silence. Then Brehon Dathal smiled as if explaining to an idiot.

  ‘She must either have been forced to do so or she knew the message did not come from her sister.’

  Eadulf leant forward quickly. ‘Are we saying that Sárait told a lie to the guard? That she was really going to some other assignation?’

  ‘Summon the woman Gobnat again,’ ordered Brehon Dathal while they were considering the point.

  ‘Have you done with me, my lords?’ queried Conchoille. He had been waiting patiently during this discussion.

  ‘You may wait outside,’ Colgú told him absently.

  Gobnat was ushered back into the chamber.

  ‘We have a puzzle that you may help us with,’ Brehon Dathal began. ‘You say that you did not summon your sister to your house?’

  ‘That is so, lord.’ She nodded quickly.

  ‘And did you see her at all that evening, any time after dusk in the afternoon, that is?’

  ‘I did not summon her.’

  ‘That is not what I said. Did you see her?’

  ‘I did not. My sister and I are not very close and I cannot say that she is a frequent visitor to my house.’

  Capa was frowning at her, and now he interrupted.

  ‘My lords, we have already established that my wife did not send for her sister. I can confirm it.’

  ‘But if Sárait believed that Gobnat had summoned her, she would have made her way directly to your house?’ Finguine asked.

  Gobnat shrugged indifferently.

  ‘Where is your house situated?’ pressed the tanist.

  ‘Everyone knows that,’ the woman replied. ‘It is in the square near the smith’s forge.’

  ‘And to get to the path that leads south to Ferloga’s inn and Rath na Drí
nne, one would have to pass through the township?’

  ‘Of course, and—’

  ‘And that is where your sister was found slaughtered,’ Bishop Ségdae said softly, a frown crossing his face. It was not a question.

  ‘And are you sure that your sister did not come to your house that evening before passing to the track beyond?’ demanded Brehon Dathal. ‘Is there a chance she might have come there and neither you nor Capa, if he was there at the time, heard her?’

  ‘She did not. Capa and I heard nothing until Conchoille arrived.’

  Capa was frowning.

  ‘I do not understand this questioning of my wife, my lords. Do you doubt the truth of what she and I—’

  It was Brother Eadulf who replied.

  ‘A learned dálaigh once told me that a great legal philosopher, the Brehon Morann, said that thought is a human weapon by which reality is captured. During these last few days we have been endeavouring to find facts and we heard those facts but we did not think about them. We have been manacled by activity, but now our thoughts must set us free to find reality.’

  While the others stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language, Colgú grimaced ironically.

  ‘I swear, Eadulf, that you are beginning to sound like my sister.’

  Eadulf smiled wanly. ‘That is a great compliment, Colgú, because she is the dálaigh that I am quoting.’

  ‘I still do not understand what you mean, Brother Eadulf,’ Capa said.

  Eadulf leant back, his hands palm downward on the table before him.

  ‘We should be trying to let our thoughts run with the facts we have. By thinking about them, ideas might come. Some we can dismiss, others might lead us to new paths. For example, if Sárait left the fortress, carrying the baby Alchú, in the belief that it was in answer to a summons from her sister, Gobnat, why did she not go to see Gobnat … make her way to Gobnat’s house? Instead, she appears to skirt around the village and head away from her sister’s home.’

  ‘But, as we have been told, Gobnat never sent the message,’ the Brehon Dathal pointed out irritably.