The Monk Who Vanished (18 page)
Read The Monk Who Vanished Online
Authors: Peter Tremayne
Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #Church History, #Fiction, #tpl, #Mystery, #Historical, #Clerical Sleuth, #Medieval Ireland
‘But war between whom?’ Fidelma posed the question without humour. ‘Firstly, we must identify those responsible.’
‘Uí Fidgente,’ snapped Finguine. ‘They are the only people who will benefit from this.’
‘It is an assumption only,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘Never act before you know for sure.’
‘Well, we have captured one of the raiders,’ Eadulf reminded them. ‘Let us question him and make him tell us who he takes his orders from.’
Finguine appeared surprised at the news. ‘You have actually captured one, Saxon?’ He sounded impressed.
‘Well, Fidelma did the capturing,’ Eadulf corrected disarmingly.
Finguine turned to his cousin with a grin. ‘I should have known that you had a hand in it. Well, where is he? Let’s us see what we can get out of the cur.’
They walked back into the courtyard of the abbey, after Finguine had issued orders to his men to fan out through the township and see what they could do to help the injured and to quench the fires.
‘He is trussed up over here,’ Eadulf said, leading the way to where they had left the surly warrior.
The man was lying where they had left him, his back against the abbey wall, hands tied behind him, his legs outstretched before
him, still tied at the ankles. His head was slumped forward a little on his chest.
him, still tied at the ankles. His head was slumped forward a little on his chest.
‘Come on, man,’ cried Eadulf, moving forward. ‘Rouse yourself. It is time to answer a few questions.’
He bent and touched the warrior lightly on the shoulder.
Without a sound the warrior rolled over on his side.
Finguine dropped to his knee and placed his hand on the pulse in the man’s neck.
‘By the crown of Corc of Cashel! Someone has revenged themselves on this man. He’s dead.’
With an exclamation of surprise, Fidelma moved forward to her cousin’s side.
There was blood on the man’s chest. Someone had stabbed him through the heart.
Night had made the raid seem more destructive than it had been in reality. There were a score of dead from the town and a further dozen or so were wounded or injured. Only half a dozen buildings had been burnt down. A few more buildings were damaged, though not beyond repair. Even so, the effect on such a small community as Imleach was devastating. Among the main buildings destroyed was the smith’s forge, a warehouse and the inn that had belonged to Cred.
Abbot Ségdae and Brother Madagan, wearing their bandaged foreheads like insignia of distinction, had turned lauds into a short service of thanksgiving for the safe delivery of the abbey. Even the burly Samradan was there, looking somewhat shame-faced and irritable. Fidelma and Eadulf set off with her cousin, the Prince of Cnoc Aine, to walk to the town in order to assess the damage for themselves.
Little was said about the great yew-tree whose wood still smouldered in front of the abbey. Its destruction was beyond mourning.
The first person they saw as they walked across the square was Nion the smith, the
bó-aire.
Nion was leaning heavily on a stick and his leg had been bandaged. He wore a long woollen cloak wrapped around him against the morning chill. It was fastened at the shoulder by a silver brooch in the design of a solar symbol with three red garnets, similar to the one Finguine wore. He was staring morosely at the remains of his forge while his assistant, Suibne, was picking through the rubble. As they approached, they could smell the acrid stench of burnt wood mingling with other odours which they could not begin to identify, all rising together to make the atmosphere corrosive and caustic in their lungs.
bó-aire.
Nion was leaning heavily on a stick and his leg had been bandaged. He wore a long woollen cloak wrapped around him against the morning chill. It was fastened at the shoulder by a silver brooch in the design of a solar symbol with three red garnets, similar to the one Finguine wore. He was staring morosely at the remains of his forge while his assistant, Suibne, was picking through the rubble. As they approached, they could smell the acrid stench of burnt wood mingling with other odours which they could not begin to identify, all rising together to make the atmosphere corrosive and caustic in their lungs.
Nion did not glance up as they approached.
‘It is good to see you alive, Nion,’ Finguine greeted him. He seemed to know the smith of old.
Nion looked up, recognising the Prince of Cnoc Aine, and bent his head slightly forward in acknowledgement.
‘My lord, thank God that you came in time. We might all have been slain and the whole town destroyed.’
‘Alas, I did not arrive in time enough to spare your loss, Nion,’
replied the Prince of Cnoc Aine, looking grimly over the ruins of the forge.
replied the Prince of Cnoc Aine, looking grimly over the ruins of the forge.
‘I will survive, I suppose. There are others of our township who will not. We shall see what we can recover from the ashes.’
Finguine shook his head sadly. ‘It will take a while to restore your forge,’ he observed. ‘A pity. It was only the other day that I thought to prevail on your craftsmanship and commission you to make me another of these silver brooches.’ He fingered the brooch on his cloak absently. Then he noticed Nion’s injury. ‘Were you badly wounded?’
‘Bad enough,’ Nion replied. ‘And I shall not be earning a living as a smith for a while yet.’
‘Were you here when the raid began?’ Fidelma intervened for the first time.
‘I was.’
‘Can you describe exactly what happened?’
‘Little to tell, lady,’ he said ruefully. ‘I was awakened by the clamour of the attack. I was asleep at the back of my forge. I ran out and saw upwards of a score of men riding through the streets. Cred’s tavern was already in flames. People were running hither and thither. I could not recognise who the attackers were; just that they were intent on burning the town. So I grabbed a sword from those I had been sharpening. I had my duty as
bó-aire.
I ran out, determined to save my forge and the town but — the cowards! — I was struck from behind. As I fell, another attacker speared me in the leg. Then the flames were eating at the forge. My assistant, Suibne, dragged me away and we took shelter.’ He glanced, embarrassed, at Finguine. ‘Although I am
bó-aire,
and it is my task to protect my people, I am not expected to commit suicide. There were no warriors here and none who could help me drive off the attack.’
bó-aire.
I ran out, determined to save my forge and the town but — the cowards! — I was struck from behind. As I fell, another attacker speared me in the leg. Then the flames were eating at the forge. My assistant, Suibne, dragged me away and we took shelter.’ He glanced, embarrassed, at Finguine. ‘Although I am
bó-aire,
and it is my task to protect my people, I am not expected to commit suicide. There were no warriors here and none who could help me drive off the attack.’
‘You did not recognise the attackers? You do not know who they were or where they were from?’ pressed Finguine.
‘They rode from the north and returned to the north.’ The smith spat on the floor. ‘There is little need to ask who they were.’
‘But you do not know who they were for certain?’ insisted Fidelma.
‘Who else could they be but Dal gCais? Who else but the murdering Uí Fidgente would make such an attack on Imleach and destroy the great yew?’
‘But you do not know for sure?’ she stressed once again.
The smith’s eyes narrowed in unconcealed anger. ‘Next time I meet an Uí Fidgente I will not need proof before I slaughter him. If I am wrong, I am prepared to go to hell just for the pleasure of taking one Uí Fidgente with me! Look what they have
done to my township.’ He flung out his arm expressively to the smouldering ruins.
done to my township.’ He flung out his arm expressively to the smouldering ruins.
Finguine turned with a serious look to his cousin. ‘It is true that most of the people feel like this, cousin. Indeed, who else can it be but the Uí Fidgente?’
Fidelma drew him and Eadulf out of earshot of Nion, away from the forge.
‘This is precisely what I need to find out,’ she said. ‘If it is the Uí Fidgente, so be it. But we must be sure. Donennach of the Uí Fidgente stays currently in Cashel to conduct a treaty with my brother. He and my brother were wounded in an attempted assassination. In a few days there will be a hearing in which we must prove Uí Fidgente duplicity or be held up before all the five kingdoms of Eireann as the aggressors. I do not want theories, I need proof of their involvement.’
Finguine was sympathetic. ‘It was a pity someone took vengeance on your captive. We might have been able to learn something from him.’
‘I wonder if vengeance
was
the motive to stab him in the heart and dispatch him so quickly and silently?’ Fidelma said the words absently as if pondering the matter.
was
the motive to stab him in the heart and dispatch him so quickly and silently?’ Fidelma said the words absently as if pondering the matter.
Finguine and Eadulf regarded her with surprise.
‘I am not sure what you are implying?’ the Prince of Cnoc Aine said hesitantly.
‘My implication is simple enough,’ she responded.
‘Do you think that he was murdered to prevent him revealing the identity of the attackers?’ Eadulf had more quickly understood the implication of what she had said.
Fidelma’s expression told him that he was correct.
Eadulf’s mind worked quickly. ‘But that would mean … surely, that would mean that a member of the abbey was working hand in glove with the raiders?’
Fidelma shook her head at his tone of incredulity.
‘Or someone in the abbey,’ she corrected. ‘Is that so difficult to believe? Every strand of this mystery leads to this abbey.’
Eadulf raised a hand and tugged at his ear thoughtfully.
‘I am casting my mind back. We left the warrior trussed up and went into the tower. Was he still alive when we came down, having heard the approach of Finguine? I cannot vouch for it.’
‘Nor I,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘Was he killed when we were in the tower or was he killed when we opened the gate and came out to greet Finguine?’
‘Well, if he had been killed when we were in the tower, there were several brethren still in the courtyard by the gates. There were
those involved in removing the bodies of Cred and Brother Daig to the mortuary and in helping Brother Madagan to his chamber.’
those involved in removing the bodies of Cred and Brother Daig to the mortuary and in helping Brother Madagan to his chamber.’
Fidelma was reflective.
‘When we returned to open the gates, Brother Tomar was there with the Abbot Ségdae. There were a couple of other Brothers standing nearby. We hurriedly opened the gate and came out to greet Finguine. Someone could easily have stabbed the man during that time.’
‘There was certainly time to kill him and any one of the brethren could have been responsible.’ Eadulf sighed.
‘That does not help me much, cousin, to identify the raiders,’ interrupted Finguine. ‘A dead man can’t tell tales.’
Fidelma looked at her cousin for a moment and then smiled knowingly. ‘Sometimes a dead man can reveal much,’ she replied solemnly. ‘As the dead warrior is the only evidence we have of the raiders, I think we should go and examine him and his belongings. There might be a clue on him.’
They were turning back to the abbey when one of Finguine’s men, who had been examining the fallen yew-tree, came hurrying across and whispered urgently to the Prince. Finguine turned to them with a smile of triumph.
‘I think that we have the confirmation we need to apportion blame,’ he announced with satisfaction. ‘Come.’
They followed the man to the yew-tree. He stood aside and pointed to part of the unburnt wood, to something engraved on the fallen trunk. It was a symbol, a crude carving of a boar.
‘The emblem of the Prince of the Uí Fidgente.’ Finguine did not have to explain.
Fidelma regarded it for a moment.
‘It is interesting that, during what was a stealthy night attack, someone went to great pains to let us know who the attackers were,’ she mused.
At that moment a clear note on a trumpet sounded.
It was Finguine’s men returning, those whom he had sent to chase the raiders.
They came riding into the township, their horses dusty and tired. Their leader saw Finguine and rode over, halting and sliding from his mount. Even as his feet touched the ground he was shaking his head in disgust.
‘Nothing,’ he growled angrily. ‘We lost them.’
Finguine frowned in displeasure. ‘Lost them? How?’
‘They crossed a river and we lost their tracks.’
‘Which way were they going when you lost contact with them?’ asked the Prince of Cnoc Aine.
‘North, veering towards the mountains, I would say. But we lost their tracks in the Dead River. They could have turned in any direction from there. I believe that they continued north.’
‘Didn’t you scour the north bank to find out where they left the river?’ demanded Finguine.
‘We rode a mile or so in both directions in order to pick up their tracks but we were unable to do so. There was a lot of stony ground there.’ The man sounded bitter at his Prince’s rebuke.
‘I did not mean to criticise your ability,’ Finguine assured him. ‘Go, get some food and rest.’
The warrior was turning back to his men when his eyes fell on the shattered ancient yew-tree.
‘This is a bad sign, Finguine. It is an evil augury,’ he stated quietly.
The Prince of Cnoc Aine’s mouth was a thin line. ‘The only thing that this means is that those who did it will be brought to justice,’ he snapped.
‘Just a moment,’ Fidelma called after the warrior as he began to lead his horse away. ‘What makes you think that they continued in a northerly direction from the Dead River?’
The man glanced back. He hesitated and then shrugged. ‘Why would you ride as if the Devil were on your tail, directly north, and then turn aside at the river in a different direction? They were obviously in a hurry to get back to the safety of their own territory.’
‘Perhaps they rode for the river knowing that it might be a good place to lose any pursuers?’ Eadulf posed the question for Fidelma.
The warrior regarded him with a sour look. ‘I won’t preach a sermon, Brother, if you do not lead warriors in battle. I still say they were heading north.’
‘Then perhaps you should have gone north as well?’ replied Fidelma blandly.
The warrior was about to respond when Finguine signalled him to leave.
‘He is a good man, cousin,’ Finguine said, defensively. ‘It is bad manners to question a warrior’s decision.’
‘I still think that he made the wrong decision. If he thought they were going north he should have followed his intuition.’ Fidelma glanced towards the fallen yew-tree. ‘Everywhere I turn in this matter I am left with supposition, with guesses. I want more than a carving on a tree. Anyone can carve such a well-known symbol.’
Finguine looked surprised. ‘You mean that you will ignore this evidence?’
‘No. I never ignore evidence. But such evidence as this needs to be
considered more carefully than simply reacting to it. I want something more than a drawing which might have been left purposely to make us believe it was a boastful acclamation of the raiders.’
considered more carefully than simply reacting to it. I want something more than a drawing which might have been left purposely to make us believe it was a boastful acclamation of the raiders.’
‘Perhaps we should examine the body of the warrior next?’ ventured Eadulf after a moment. ‘As you have said, it might give us some clues as to his identity.’
They left Finguine continuing to examine the damage in the township and went back to the abbey. Eadulf suddenly asked: ‘You don’t suppose all these things are coincidences, do you?’
‘Not connected?’ Fidelma considered the proposition seriously.
‘Coincidences do happen.’
‘The reason why we started out on this journey to Imleach was because of the attempted assassination in Cashel. That brought us to the abbey. When we arrived here, we found that Brother Mochta, Keeper of the Holy Relics of Ailbe, had vanished with those relics and that one of the relics had been carried by one of the assassins and that person is thought to be Mochta, except we have the contradictory evidence of the tonsure. The attack on the abbey and the township and the destruction of the sacred yew of the Eóghanacht might be coincidence but it seems unlikely.’
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