The Leper's Bell (5 page)

‘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 Drínne, 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.

‘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

B
efore 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.