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  ‘So what caused Sárait to go in the opposite direction unless she knew that her sister had not sent the message and she lied to Caol? If so, who was she going to see and why take the child?’

  ‘She could have been forced,’ Capa pointed out.

  ‘At what stage?’ replied Eadulf. ‘The child who had delivered the message had left the palace before her. Caol saw no one forcing her when she went.’

  ‘She could have been forced once she came into the township and before she could reach our house,’ Capa said. ‘That is the simple explanation.’

  ‘True enough,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘Although at that hour, even in the dark, there would still be people about in the main square. The occasional lantern or light would provide illumination. So whoever forced her, if she was so forced, would be taking a risk of being seen.’

  ‘Such risk-taking is not unknown,’ commented Bishop Ségdae.

  ‘I point this out as something we should think about,’ Eadulf replied. ‘We have heard the facts and now, in thinking about them, we should be able to see before us a path of questions along which we must progress to the truth.’

  Brehon Dathal’s tone was disparaging as he looked at Eadulf.

  ‘And do you feel that you are chosen to lead us along that path, Saxon?’

  ‘That is unfair,’ snapped Bishop Ségdae. ‘Eadulf has a right to say what he feels as father of the missing child.’

  ‘That is just my point,’ returned Brehon Dathal with a sneer. ‘Because he is the father, he is too emotionally blinded. He will see what he wants to see and it is no use quoting Brehon Morann’s philosophies to justify himself. The same goes for Fidelma. She may be a dálaigh but any attempt by her to lead an inquiry into her own baby’s kidnapping is doomed to failure. I will take charge of this case.’

  ‘You will not.’

  The words were spoken softly. A tall, red-haired woman in her late twenties had slipped into the chamber unnoticed and stood regarding Brehon Dathal with her green eyes flashing with a curious fire.

  Eadulf rose hurriedly and in concern.

  ‘Fidelma!’

  Chapter Three

  Before anyone else could move, Fidelma had walked across and taken a vacant seat at the table without being asked. Not only was she sister to Colgú but being a dálaigh, qualified to the level of anruth, she could sit unbidden in the presence of provincial kings and even speak before they did. Eadulf dropped back into his seat looking worried. Was only he aware of her red-rimmed eyes and haggard features?

  ‘I thought that you were sound asleep,’ he muttered.

  Fidelma grimaced. ‘No thanks to your noxious brews that I am not,’ she replied, but there was no bitterness in her voice. ‘I know that you meant well, Eadulf. But I have slept enough. There is much to be done.’

  Brehon Dathal was frowning in irritation. ‘Certainly there is, but not by you. You must hand over to one who is not emotionally involved in this case.’

  ‘Do you think that I have not the ability to investigate my own son’s disappearance?’ she replied coldly. ‘And has Eadulf lost the capacity to follow logic because the subject of the inquiry is his child? Many times we have been entrusted with investigations on which the safety of this kingdom has hinged. Does that now count for nothing?’

  Brehon Dathal’s cheeks crimsoned at her challenge.

  ‘You and the Saxon are too emotionally involved,’ he protested again.

  Fidelma smiled grimly. ‘That only enhances our determination and resolve to find the culprits.’

  ‘I am Chief Brehon of this kingdom and I—’

  Colgú raised a hand to still him. ‘Let us not quarrel at this stage, for we are being sidetracked. We are all involved in this matter. Brother Eadulf was making an interesting point when we interrupted him. We can at least hear what he has to say.’

  Eadulf glanced at Fidelma but she was still regarding Brehon Dathal with ill-concealed anger.

  ‘I was merely saying that considering the evidence we have heard, being able to reflect calmly on it, a path of questions should come to our minds,’ he said.

  ‘And does it?’ prompted Bishop Ségdae. ‘Do questions come to mind?’

  ‘Well,’ said Eadulf, ‘let us start with the first assumption that came to all our minds when we first heard of this event. We immediately thought that someone wishing to kidnap Alchú attacked Sárait. We immediately thought that she was killed trying to prevent the kidnapping.’

  ‘What other assumption is there?’ demanded Brehon Dathal, still irritable.

  ‘Let us take it step by step from what we have now heard,’ continued Eadulf, ignoring him. ‘A child is sent to the palace with a message for Sárait purporting to come from her sister, asking her to come to her urgently.’

  ‘And you have heard from my wife Gobnat and myself that no such message was sent,’ intervened Capa quickly.

  ‘True,’ agreed Eadulf.

  ‘And we have also learnt that the child who delivered this message is a stranger to us,’ Colgú added. ‘The description given by the guard, Caol, does not apply to anyone in the palace or the township.’

  Again, Eadulf inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Once the message is delivered, the child leaves the fortress. If we accept Caol’s belief, it is a male child and his task is apparently done. A short while after, Sárait leaves the fortress with Alchú. She tells Caol where she is intending to go and explains that she is taking the baby, as she can find no one to leave it with. But that is—’

  ‘That is the first mystery in this story,’ Fidelma interrupted.

  All eyes turned questioningly on her.

  ‘Eadulf was about to say that there should be no logical reason for the nurse to take Alchú out into the darkness of the night, away from the safety of the palace.’

  ‘How did you work that out?’ demanded Brehon Dathal sceptically.

  ‘How many women would you say dwelt within this palace? How many with children? Twenty? More? And how many would Sárait know well enough to call upon if she intended to leave for a short while? How many of them dwelt within a few steps of the chambers she occupied?’

  Colgú said nothing but it was clear that the question had never occurred to him.

  ‘Exactly,’ Eadulf agreed. ‘If Sárait was responding to an urgent message from her sister, there would be no reason why she should take the child. And, before anyone asks, I have questioned some of the women who were in the fortress that night. Sárait did not approach any of them to ask them to look after Alchú while she was gone. The first question, then, is why did Sárait take the baby?’

  No one answered him.

  ‘Let us examine another aspect.’ Fidelma interrupted the meditative silence as they considered possible explanations. ‘Let us say that the child who came with the message purporting to be from Gobnat was part of some plan to lure Sárait and the baby from the fortress, the purpose of which was to seize Alchú. How could whoever planned this entrapment be sure that Sárait would leave the fortress with the infant?’

  ‘In other words,’ Eadulf added, ‘if one received a message from one’s sister asking them to come as a matter of urgency, it might be expected that they would leave their charge behind in the care of someone else. Yet Sárait, in spite of the nearby women with whom she could have safely left the baby, took it out into the cold night supposedly to hurry to her sister’s side.’

  Again there was silence as they thought about this.

  ‘These questions merely endorse the fact that my wife did not send the message.’ Capa cleared his throat. ‘If she knew that the child did not come from Gobnat, the answer must be that Sárait lied to the guard, Caol, about the nature of the message?’

  ‘That is a logical deduction,’ Eadulf acceded.

  ‘There is another mystery to consider,’ Fidelma went on softly. She glanced at Eadulf and then towards her brother. ‘Not being asked to be privy to your re-examination of the witnesses here, I am not sure if you have picked up on
the point. Instead of going to her sister’s home, as she informed the guard she was going to, Sárait took the baby, went round the village and along the track which leads through the woods beyond, where she met her death. Why?’

  Brehon Dathal’s tone was patronising. ‘We have already recognised that point, Fidelma. It is a question we have considered.’

  ‘But it was thanks to Brother Eadulf who pointed it out,’ muttered Bishop Ségdae.

  ‘And did you find an answer to the question?’ asked Fidelma softly.

  ‘The questions that are being proposed are unanswerable until we find the culprit,’ Brehon Dathal snapped, irritated by the bishop’s implied mockery. ‘I cannot see any of these questions leading us to the guilty party.’

  ‘At least the asking of the questions is a start along the path to a culprit,’ Fidelma replied acidly. ‘Or does the learned Brehon have another means of proceeding?’

  ‘There are other aspects to consider.’ Eadulf spoke quickly before the crimson-faced old man could respond.

  They all turned back to him.

  ‘Such as?’ asked Cerball with interest, forgetting himself and glancing up from his tablet and stylus where he was still recording the council’s words.

  ‘There is a purpose behind every action,’ replied Eadulf. ‘Have we considered the purpose behind these actions?’

  They stared blankly at him, with the exception of Fidelma who gave him an encouraging glance.

  ‘Let us pose a question,’ he continued. ‘Was the purpose to entice Sárait out to the woods and kill her? Or was the purpose to entice her out with the baby and seize it to carry it away? Was the slaying of Sárait simply the inevitable result of the killer’s attempting to kidnap the child?’

  ‘Or, having killed Sárait, the intended victim all along, did the killer find himself left with the baby on his hands and have no option but to take it away?’ Brehon Dathal ended.

  Bishop Ségdae grimaced wryly. ‘I can’t see a killer, having just stabbed the nurse to death, having such solicitous feelings for a helpless baby that he takes it away with him to save it from the perils of the night.’

  Fidelma raised an eyebrow quizzically. ‘I notice that you all refer to the killer in masculine form. Do you have knowledge of the sex of the killer or is it that you do not believe a female capable of killing?’

  The bishop stared at her. ‘We presumed that—’

  ‘I see.’ Fidelma cut him short. She turned to the others. ‘Presumption is a dangerous thing. We must keep an open mind on all things. Eadulf’s questions are ones that have to be considered carefully.’

  Brehon Dathal was shaking his head.

  ‘There is a difference between someone’s snatching a baby on the spur of the moment and abducting it by design. I have come across a case where a demented woman, having lost her own child, snatched a baby as some sort of replacement. But what is being suggested here is…’

  ‘Fúatach.’ Fidelma used the old legal term for an act of carrying off forcibly.

  ‘For ransom?’ Brehon Dathal’s voice was incredulous and it seemed that he quite forgot to whom he spoke. ‘No ransom demand has yet been made. If it were abduction we would have heard by now. I think we can dismiss such an ill-conceived notion…’

  Colgú began to rise with a deep frown of annoyance. It was the tanist, Finguine, who reached out a hand and placed it as if in pacification on the king’s arm to hold him in his seat.

  ‘It is true,’ Finguine said hurriedly, ‘that we have had no demands made upon us that would warrant our coming to a belief in the idea that Alchú was kidnapped for a ransom. But we should not rule out the possibility altogether.’

  ‘We have searched the surrounding countryside,’ Capa pointed out. ‘There is no sign of the child that Caol has described as coming to the palace and no sign of Alchú. Unless he and his abductors are well hidden, he must have been removed from the area.’

  There was another silence. Eadulf sighed inwardly. It appeared that there was no path down which to proceed.

  ‘I say that the baby must have been snatched by someone seeking a child,’ Brehon Dathal announced. ‘Any child and not necessarily the son of Fidelma. Whoever has him has moved on, passing through this territory. I see no other conclusion.’

  Eadulf saw Fidelma’s mouth tighten. Then, surprisingly, she relaxed in a smile, a sarcastic smile but a smile nevertheless. She turned to Capa.

  ‘The Brehon Dathal has made a good point,’ she said. Eadulf almost flinched waiting for the biting sarcasm that must surely follow, for he knew that she did not have too high an opinion of the pompous chief judge of Muman. But the sarcasm did not come. ‘Cast your mind back three or four days - or to a period just before - and tell us what strangers passed through Cashel?’

  Capa shook his head as he vainly tried to dredge his memories but it was Finguine the tanist who answered.

  ‘I immediately thought of that possibility, Fidelma, and so I took it on myself to make a thorough check, but alas, cousin, it proved worthless. There were three boats that came up the River Suir, traders from the seaports. They unloaded their cargoes, waited to take on a return cargo and sailed back. My men searched those boats very thoroughly, and there were no children on board. Then there was a small group of pilgrims, a sad little group of disabled religious, who were taking the road to Imleach…’

  Ségdae, the bishop of Imleach, gave swift confirmation. They had heard that I was staying here at Cashel, so they came here to ask a blessing before they passed to the holy shrine of the Blessed Ailbe. They sought a balm for their afflictions, some born malformed and others disabled by terrible wounds in the wars. There were neither children nor babies amongst them when they arrived.’

  Finguine nodded agreement. ‘I went to the inn in the township where the pilgrims slept that night, and questioned them as to whether they had seen or heard anything amiss. Poor creatures. I hope their prayers and supplications are rewarded.’

  ‘I presume that they neither heard nor saw anything?’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘Their leader, Brother Buite of Magh Ghlas, said he was disturbed by the noise of the guards and that must have been after the finding of Sárait. They could offer no information that would help us.’

  ‘And this band of pilgrims have now passed on to Imleach?’ queried Fidelma.

  ‘They left on the morning after Sárait’s body was found and would have reached Imleach some time ago,’ agreed Bishop Ségdae.

  ‘There were no women among them, no children and no babies,’ confirmed Finguine. ‘And they were the only strangers to pass through Cashel.’

  Capa suddenly contradicted him as if with an afterthought.

  ‘Apart from the northerner and the foreigner…’ Then he hesitated and shrugged apologetically. ‘But they passed here the day before Sárait was killed.’

  ‘What foreigner? What northerner?’ Fidelma quickly demanded.

  ‘The foreigner called himself a religious and a healer. He said he was from some distant land to the east.’

  ‘Persia,’ Colgú confirmed. ‘That was the land he said he came from.’

  Eadulf and some of the others were looking blank.

  Cerball, the bard, looked up from his transcription and smiled with the superiority of knowledge.

  ‘It is an ancient land that borders on Scythia. Herodotus, in his fourth book, recounts how the Scythians repelled Darius, a king of Persia, who attempted to invade their land. And Justinian is likewise a witness to this history…’

  Colgú interrupted the bard’s lecture, waving him to silence.

  ‘I had almost forgotten him in view of what has happened since then. He stayed as our guest on the night before Sárait’s murder. A man of middle age, travelling, as he told me, in search of knowledge of these western lands. He spoke Greek and Latin and was accompanied by a young brother from Ard Macha who served him in the role of guide and interpreter during his travels. They travelled by horse and certainly had no child with the
m.’

  ‘In what direction were they heading when they left here?’ asked Eadulf curiously.

  ‘West. I think they said their destination was the abbey of Coimán,’ replied Colgú. ‘Anyway, they left before Sárait was killed. The day before, as Capa said.’

  Fidelma turned back to Capa. ‘Just to clarify things in my own mind, what were you doing while Finguine was checking the religious travellers and merchants? As commander of the guard, was that not your role?’

  Capa returned her gaze reproachfully for a moment or so. ‘I was searching for your baby, lady. I and three companies of my guards spread from Cashel and made a day’s travel in all directions but found no trace either alive or dead.’

  ‘I intended no criticism, Capa. I merely wanted to get a complete picture of events.’

  ‘It can only be some unknown traveller who took the opportunity to seize a child, any child.’ Brehon Dathal’s voice was heavy. ‘That is my conclusion, and when Sárait, the nurse, tried to defend the baby, they killed her and made off with it.’

  Even Eadulf saw the flaws in his argument before Fidelma spoke. He caught her antagonistic movement out of the corner of his eye, and intervened quickly.

  ‘With respect, Brehon Dathal, that is contradictory to the evidence that we have already discussed.’

  Brehon Dathal’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean, Saxon?’ His voice held a degree of restrained belligerence.

  ‘If Sárait had just chanced to be out at night with the baby, then your suggestion might have to be considered. But the evidence seems to point to Sárait’s deliberately being lured from the palace to her death. If she was not lured, then - and we have posed the question - she went out knowing whom she was about to meet. In either situation, the identity of the child - the strange mute child who came to the palace - is crucial. The fact that this child, whose identity no one knows, came with a message for Sárait throws everything into confusion. That is one of the paths we must follow.’

  ‘But there are no paths to follow now,’ protested Brehon Dathal, spreading his hands and appealing to his fellow council members.