“Tell my noble lord your name, boy.”
The young man took a pace forward. “I am called Segan, noble lord,” he muttered, his eyes downcast.
“How long have you been in the service of the prince Malcolm?”
“I have served him ever since I can remember, and my father before me was a steward in the house of his father, the prince Bodhe.”
“Then this will not take long, Segan. Tell us the circumstances in which you received this blow to your head and how you discovered the prince?”
“Little to tell, indeed, noble lord. Prince Malcolm had retired after the feasting last evening and went straightaway to his bed. He told me that he would not want me until the morning. So I, too, went to my bed-”
“Which is where?” Cothromanach, the brehon, suddenly interrupted.
“In that small chamber opposite,” the young man indicated through the open door.
Garban, the steward, intervened with a clearing of his throat. “I placed the servant there so that he might be near his master in case of need,” he explained to the brehon.
“What then?” MacBeth did not wait for the brehon to acknowledge the explanation.
“I fell asleep. I do not know what time I was awakened nor what had awakened me. Perhaps it was the sound of something falling to the ground. I roused myself and listened. All was quiet. I went to my door and opened it. I thought that I heard a sound from Prince Malcolm’s room.
“Wondering if anything was amiss, I went to his door and called softly. There was no answer. I was just about to turn back into my chamber when I heard a distinct sound from this room. I called Prince Malcolm’s name and asked if he needed anything.
“There was no response, and so I tried the chamber door. It was secured.”
“Secured?” interposed Cothromanach quickly.
“It was Prince Malcolm’s custom to secure the door to his bedchamber from the inside.” The young servant hesitated and dropped his gaze. “These are troubled and dangerous times, lord. There are many who would not weep over Prince Malcolm’s death.”
“Go on,” the brehon instructed.
“I called again. Then I heard the bolt being withdrawn. I tried the handle and this time the chamber door swung open. I took a step inside and saw the prince even as you see him now, lying on the floor there. The blood on his shirt and the knife at his side.”
MacBeth glanced toward the brehon and saw his puzzled gaze. He preempted the question. “You saw Malcolm lying there and saw all this clearly? How so?”
“How so?” repeated the young man in a puzzled tone, not understanding what he meant.
“Was the room not in darkness?”
“Ah.” Segan shook his head. “No, there was a candle alight by the bedside, even as it is now.”
MacBeth turned to examine the candle and saw that scarcely a half-inch of tallow was left flickering in its holder. Satisfied, MacBeth turned back in time to see the young man wince and stagger a little.
“Are you hurt?” intervened the brehon anxiously.
“I am a little dizzy still. Yet I rebuke my own stupidity,” lamented the young man. “I cannot believe that I could be such a dimwit. Seeing the body, I took two steps toward it, and then something hit me from behind. Now I realize, whoever had drawn the bolt still stood behind the door, and who would it be but the assassin? I came in, like a lamb to the slaughter, and thus he could strike me down from behind.”
Old Garban nodded in support. “It could happen to anyone, seeing their lord dead. It was a natural error. No blame to the young man.”
MacBeth nodded absently, but Cothromanach was examining the young man with his sharp eyes. “Yes. It was an action not governed by thought. So you say that you were struck from behind? What then?”
The young man frowned at the elderly man. “Then?”
“Yes, what happened then?” pressed Cothromanach.
“I must have fallen unconscious to the floor, for the next thing I knew, I came to with blood on my head and a throbbing which was more agonizing than anything I can remember. I was lying just there.” He pointed downward. “Then I remembered the prince and raised myself. It was obvious that he was dead. I turned, the door was closed and no one else in the room. I left the chamber and went in search of Garban. I roused him and he came here. He then sent me to his wife to clean my wound while he went to tell you of this news.”
Garban now intervened once more in support. “This is true. The young man roused me, and I put on my clothes and hurried here while my wife tended to his wound, which was bleeding more profusely than it is now. Having ascertained what Segan had said was true, I felt I should come to rouse Lord MacBeth. The rest is as he knows.”
MacBeth turned to Cothromanach. “Indeed. I immediately followed Garban here. My wife followed moments later. That was when I sent Garban to you and asked him to bring Segan back here.”
The brehon stood, head bowed in thought for a moment. “How long, Garban, do you estimate the time between you being roused by Segan and you rousing the lord MacBeth?”
The old man held his head to one side and thought. “Scarce five to ten minutes, Cothromanach.”
“And you, Segan, is there any way you can estimate the time you lay unconscious?”
“Not long, I think. It may have been a matter of minutes.”
“What makes you say so?”
“The candle. I said it was burning when I entered. It had not burnt down too much when I regained consciousness. And, even now, you can see it still flickering there.”
MacBeth went toward the table to examine the candle, noting the spilled grease on the table and the floor. He bent down and picked up a stub of tallow and frowned in annoyance at Garban. “These chambers should be better cleaned,” he snapped, throwing the tallow at his steward, who caught it and began to apologize.
Cothromanach hid his impatience. “It is not the time to discuss the dilatory habits of the servants, noble lord.”
MacBeth looked guilty and turned back to Segan. “So the chamber was well lit? Did you get any impression of your assailant?”
Segan looked puzzled. “Impression. I did not see him at all.”
“Yet you are certain that it was a male?”
Segan was now entirely bewildered.
“If you did not see who struck the blow,” explained MacBeth patiently, “how can you tell it was a man?”
In spite of himself, Segan raised a laugh. “I cannot imagine a woman delivering the blow that would have laid me low, noble lord.”
“Perhaps not,” agreed MacBeth. He turned to the brehon and saw the man still examining Segan’s features thoughtfully. MacBeth turned back to Segan and suddenly realized what puzzled the brehon. “But there is a question that intrigues me. You say that you were struck from behind?”
“Yes, noble lord. Had it been from the front, I would have seen my assailant,” he added patiently.
“Quite so. Then how is it that your wound is on your forehead and not on the back of the head?”
Segans eyes widened, and he raised his hand automatically to his forehead as if to touch the gash that was there. “I was struck from behind, noble lord,” he insisted. “I feel the hurt there even now. So
“There is no other explanation,” agreed the brehon quietly. “There is too much of Malcolm’s blood on the floor to see where you might have fallen. Well, there is little more we can discover from this young man, I think.”
“I have no further questions, Segan. I suggest Garban take you back to his wife to have your wound examined further. It looks a bad gash, and a bruise surrounds it.”
“I would rather lie down a few moments, lord,” said Segan, but Garban took his arm with a firm grasp and smiled.
“Plenty of time after my wife has made a poultice for that cut and bruise.”
Alone in the room, MacBeth turned to the brehon. “What do you think?”
Cothromanach shrugged. “Little to think about, noble lord. There are few facts at our disposal to make any clear deductions.”
“The facts seem that the killer gained entrance to this chamber and stabbed Prince Malcolm. The body
