The Leper's Bell (6 page)

‘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 them.’

‘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.

‘When there are no logical paths to follow,’ Fidelma observed in a tight voice, ‘the only thing to do is follow the paths that are open, however illogical they may seem.’

Colgú glanced at her with a frown. ‘What have you in mind, sister?’

‘I will ride to Imleach and question those religious travellers. It may be that they heard or saw something on their travels.’ She glanced towards Finguine and smiled apologetically. ‘I am sure that you observed them well and questioned them diligently, but I would feel better if I did so as well.’

Finguine answered with a polite smile and the suggestion of a shrug. ‘It is your prerogative, cousin.’

‘I think it will be a wild goose chase,’ Brehon Dathal asserted.

‘It is the only goose there is to chase,’ Fidelma returned shortly.

Colgú rose and, respectfully, they all rose with him.

‘This council has ended. Finguine, you may dismiss the witnesses to their homes, but organise a company of our best warriors to search the countryside once more. Lead them yourself.’

Capa made to intervene indignantly, for the command of the warriors should rightly be his and he wanted to protest that he and his men had already scoured the countryside with no result. However, Colgú spoke before he could articulate his protest.

‘I have a special task for you, Capa. Take the opportunity to tell your wife that you will be away for a few days and then choose two trusty men. You will accompany my sister.’ He turned swiftly to Fidelma. ‘Remain with me a moment. You as well, Eadulf. We will discuss this matter in private.’

The king waited in silence until the rest of them had left the chamber before returning his worried gaze to his sister and Eadulf.

‘Come to the fire and sit down,’ he instructed. ‘Some mulled wine?’

They sat but neither felt in the mood to drink. Fidelma still had the sickly taste of Eadulf’s sleeping brew in her mouth. Alcohol on that would surely make her nauseous.

‘Are you absolutely determined to set out after these pilgrims?’ Colgú began, helping himself to a goblet of wine and stretching before the blazing hearth.

‘I have said as much,’ Fidelma replied shortly.

‘And you agree?’ Colgú turned to Eadulf. ‘You will go as well?’

‘Of course,’ Eadulf was about to add that he felt insulted that such a question should even be posed but compressed his lips. Colgú knew how he felt about Fidelma and must know how he felt about his lost child. ‘We must take any opportunity, however slight, of tracking down those responsible for the disappearance of Alchú and returning him to our care.’

The king inclined his head in silence for a moment.

‘Go then you must,’ he sighed. He glanced quickly at Fidelma. ‘You do not look well.’

The beginning of an angry frown crossed her face and then she carefully controlled her expression.

‘There is nothing wrong that some sleep or simple relaxation will not cure. Have no concern for me, brother. I have vented my emotion and am now in control, and will remain in control until I have come to a resolution of this matter.’ She looked quickly at Eadulf, almost in reproof, before turning back to her brother. ‘Whatever you have heard, I am capable of investigating this matter. My mind is now clear and ordered. My feelings are restrained until such time as I can indulge them.’

Colgú hesitated and then shrugged.

‘Very well. But there are many aspects of this matter that give me concern and you need a clear mind to consider them.’

Fidelma examined her brother with a frown.

‘Then there is something worrying you? I do not simply mean your immediate concern for Alchú. Something else worries you.’

‘I think Brehon Dathal can be a fool at times,’ Colgú said unexpectedly.

Fidelma could not repress a quick grimace. ‘Have you only just reached such a conclusion?’

Colgú almost smiled. ‘I begin to think he is growing more eccentric as he ages. However, in truth, sister, I fear that this is some extraordinary
plot either against you personally or against our house in general. Why, or who is behind it, I cannot guess at the moment. I think that you both share my feeling - this is neither an infant being randomly snatched by someone wanting a child, as Dathal fondly believes, nor, apparently, a means to some financial recompense.’

Fidelma looked thoughtfully at her brother. ‘I thought that I was alone in that view.’

Eadulf compressed his lips in annoyance at being excluded. ‘You will remember that I pointed this out when Brehon Dathal was—’

‘The point is,’ cut in Colgú, ‘that you have both made enemies, both within and without this kingdom. There are many who might like to seek revenge on you.’

‘I think we are well aware of it,’ Eadulf said softly. ‘I would say that anyone engaged in the enforcement of law is open to those who nurse grudges. You cannot gain the reputation that Fidelma has without creating enemies - and often in high places.’

‘This is true,’ agreed the king. ‘But there are other areas from which danger might come, and not just from enemies that you have made in your pursuit of the law. Enemies with a personal grudge. You should consider these as well.’

Fidelma’s eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘I presume that you mean danger from those who object to my liaison with a foreigner?’ she demanded.

Colgú shot an apologetic look at Eadulf and shrugged.