‘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.’