Read The Monk Who Vanished Online
Authors: Peter Tremayne
Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #Church History, #Fiction, #tpl, #Mystery, #Historical, #Clerical Sleuth, #Medieval Ireland
The Monk Who Vanished (2 page)
‘Was he the son of this chief?’
‘No. He was the son of a servant to the chief who had become pregnant and died giving birth. There is argument over who his father was. The chief was so enraged that his birth had killed a favourite servant that he would have smothered the child. The story goes that the baby was taken from Cliach and left to die in the wild but was found by an old female wolf who raised him.’
‘Ah, I have heard many such stories,’ observed Eadulf cynically.
‘Indeed, you are right. We only know that when Ailbe grew to manhood he went abroad and converted to the New Faith in Rome and was baptised there. The Bishop of Rome gave him a present of a beautiful silver crucifix as a symbol of his office and sent him back to Ireland to become bishop to the Christians. This was even before the Blessed Patrick set his feet on our shores. My ancestor, the first Christian King of Muman, Oenghus mac Nad Froích, was converted to the Faith by Ailbe. And Ailbe and Patrick both took part in the baptismal ceremony of the King here on this very Rock of Cashel. King Oenghus then decreed that Cashel would henceforth be the primacy of Muman as well as continuing to be the royal capital and Ailbe would be first shepherd of the flock in the kingdom.’
They took a seat by a window in the Great Hall which overlooked the western end of the township below, giving an outlook across the plains to the distant south-western mountains. Eadulf stretched himself and found he had to quickly smother a yawn in case Fidelma might feel
insulted. She did not notice for she was gazing towards the shimmering forests in the distant valley. Part of her mind was still thinking about old Brother Conchobar and his gloomy prediction. She wondered if it did relate to the safety of her brother, Colgu. It was no secret that he had gone to the Well of Ara, a ford on the River Ara, to meet the arch-enemy of the Kings of Cashel. The princes of the Uí Fidgente had been enemies to her family for as long as she could remember. True, Colgú had taken his personal bodyguard, but could harm really threaten him? She became aware that Eadulf was asking something.
insulted. She did not notice for she was gazing towards the shimmering forests in the distant valley. Part of her mind was still thinking about old Brother Conchobar and his gloomy prediction. She wondered if it did relate to the safety of her brother, Colgu. It was no secret that he had gone to the Well of Ara, a ford on the River Ara, to meet the arch-enemy of the Kings of Cashel. The princes of the Uí Fidgente had been enemies to her family for as long as she could remember. True, Colgú had taken his personal bodyguard, but could harm really threaten him? She became aware that Eadulf was asking something.
‘How is it, then, that he is called Ailbe of Imleach? Not Ailbe of Cashel? And what is this Law of Ailbe?’
Eadulf was always eager to pick up what information he could about the kingdom of Muman.
Fidelma brought her gaze back to him and smiled apologetically for her drifting.
‘The Kings of Cashel accepted that only Ailbe held ecclesiastical authority in our kingdom. Armagh, which is in the northern Uí Néill kingdom of Ulaidh, is now trying to assert that it is the primacy of all Ireland. We, in Muman, maintain that our primacy is Imleach. That is what makes Ailbe important to us.’
‘But you said that the primacy was Cashel,’ Eadulf pointed out in confusion.
‘It is said that as Ailbe grew old, an angel appeared to him and told him to follow to Imleach Iubhair, which is not too far distance from here, and there he would be shown the site of his resurrection. This was symbolic because Imleach was once the ancient capital of the kingdom before King Corc chose Cashel in pagan times. It takes its name from the sacred yew-tree which is the totem of our kingdom.’
Eadulf made a clicking sound with his tongue to express his disapproval of pagan symbolism. A convert to Christianity himself, he, like most converts, had become vehement in his new belief.
‘Ailbe left Cashel and went to Imleach and built a great abbey there,’ continued Fidelma. ‘There was an ancient sacred well which he blessed and converted to God’s use. He even blessed the sacred yew-tree. When Ailbe’s abbey was set up there, a flourishing community sprang up. When Ailbe’s work was done, the saintly man passed to heaven. His relics still remain at Imleach where he is buried. There is a legend …’
Fidelma paused, smiled and shrugged apologetically. If the truth were known she was really talking for the sake of keeping her thoughts occupied against the anxiety that kept gnawing in her mind for the safety of her brother at the Well of Ara.
‘Go on,’ pressed Eadulf, for he enjoyed the effortless way Fidelma
recalled the legends of her people, making the ancient gods and heroes seem to come to life before his fascinated eyes.
recalled the legends of her people, making the ancient gods and heroes seem to come to life before his fascinated eyes.
Fidelma glanced across the valley again, towards the road which led across the great River Suir and then further across the valley where the road led towards the Well of Ara. There was no sign of any movement on the road. She turned her attention back to Eadulf.
‘It is a fact not to be approved of, but many of our people believe, with an extraordinary faith, that should Ailbe’s relics be stolen from us, there would be nothing to save this land from falling to our enemies. Ailbe’s name in ancient legends was given to a hound which guarded the borders of the kingdom. Some say that Ailbe the saint was named after that mythical hound so that the people look to our saint as being the embodiment of the hound, always protecting our borders. If his relics were taken from Imleach, then the Eóghanacht dynasty would fall from Cashel; the kingdom of Muman would be rent in twain and there would be no peace in the land.’
Eadulf was clearly impressed by the legend.
‘I had no idea that such beliefs were still held by your people,’ he commented, with a slight shake of his head.
Fidelma grimaced wryly.
‘I am not one to countenance such superstitions. But the people believe it so strongly that I would hate to put it to the test.’
She glanced up and caught sight of a movement at the edge of the distant forest. She focused carefully and then her features broke into a broad smile of happy relief.
‘Look Eadulf! Here comes Colgú and the Prince of the Uí Fidgente with him.’
Eadulf peered through the window, towards the expanse of green cultivated fields which lay between the outskirts of the town and the river some four miles or more away. Halfway along the road was a woodland and from its edge he could only just make out a column of riders emerging. He glanced quickly at Fidelma, silently admiring her eyesight, for he could, as yet, make out few details beyond the fact that they were horsemen. That she could recognise the approach of her brother was more than he was able to manage.
They watched in silence for a moment or two as the column moved along the road which led towards the town below the castle walls. Now Eadulf was able to pick out the brightly coloured banners of the King of Muman and his followers, together with banners which he did not recognise but presumed belonged to the Prince of the Uí Fidgente.
Fidelma suddenly grabbed his hand and pulled him up and away from the window.
‘Let us go down to the town and watch their arrival, Eadulf. This is an exciting day for Muman.’
Eadulf smiled softly at her sudden bubbling enthusiasm and allowed himself to be pulled after her across the Great Hall.
‘I confess, I do not understand this. Why is the arrival of the Uí Fidgente prince so important?’ he asked as he followed her into the courtyard of the palace.
Fidelma, assured of his following her, dropped her hand and assumed the more sober gait of a religieuse.
‘The Uí Fidgente are one of the major clans of Muman dwelling west beyond the River Maigne. Their chieftains have often refused to pay tribute to the Eóghanacht of Cashel, refusing even to recognise them as Kings of Muman. Indeed, they claim a right to the kingship of Muman by the argument that their princes descend from our common ancestor Eóghan Mór.’
She conducted the way quickly across the courtyard, passing the chapel, and through the main gates. The warriors on sentinel duty there smiled and saluted her. The sister of Colgú was well respected among her own people. Eadulf walked easily beside her.
‘Is their claim true?’ he asked.
Fidelma pouted. She was proud when it came to her family which, Eadulf knew from experience, did not make her unusual from most of the Irish nobility he had encountered. Each family employed a professional genealogist to ensure that the generations and their relationship with one another was clearly and accurately recorded. Under the Brehon Law of succession which delineated who should succeed by means of the approval of an electoral college made up of specified generations of the family, called the
derbfhine,
it was important to know the generations and their relationships to one another.
derbfhine,
it was important to know the generations and their relationships to one another.
‘Prince Donennach, who arrives with my brother today, claims that he is the twelfth generation in male line from Eóghan Mór whom we look to as the founder of our house.’
Eadulf, missing the subtle sarcastic tone, shook his head in amazement as he wondered at the ease with which the Irish nobility knew the status of their relatives.
‘So this Prince Donennach descends from a junior branch of your family?’ he asked.
‘If the Uf Fidgente genealogists are truthful,’ Fidelma replied with emphasis. ‘Even so, junior only in terms of the decisions of the
derbfhine
which appoint the kings.’
derbfhine
which appoint the kings.’
Eadulf sighed deeply.
‘It is a concept that I still find hard to understand. Among the Saxons it is always the eldest male child of the senior line of the family, the first born male, for good or ill, who inherits.’
Fidelma was disapproving.
‘Exactly. Good or ill. And when that first born male proves an unsuitable choice, is crippled in mind, or rules with ill-counsel, your Saxon family have him murdered. At least our system appoints the man who is best fitted for the task, whether eldest son, uncle, brother, cousin or youngest son.’
‘And if he proves an ill-governing king,’ Eadulf was stung to reply,
‘don’t you also have him killed?’
‘No need,’ rejoined Fidelma with a shrug. ‘The
derbfhine
of the family meet and dismiss him from office and appoint another more suitable. Under the law, he is allowed to go away unharmed.’
derbfhine
of the family meet and dismiss him from office and appoint another more suitable. Under the law, he is allowed to go away unharmed.’
‘Doesn’t he then incite rebellion among his followers?’
‘He knows the law as do any potential followers and they know that they would be regarded as usurpers for all time.’
‘But men are men. It must happen.’
Fidelma’s face was serious. She inclined her head in agreement. ‘Indeed, it does happen - sometimes! That is why this reconciliation
with the Uí Fidgente is so important. They have been constantly in rebellion against Cashel.’
with the Uí Fidgente is so important. They have been constantly in rebellion against Cashel.’
‘Why so?’
‘Their justification is the very reasons that we are discussing. Our family, the family of Colgú and my father Failbe Fland, trace our descent from Conall Corc, who was son of Luigthech, son of Ailill Flann Bec, the grandson of Eóghan Mór, the founder of our house.’
‘I will accept your word for that,’ smiled Eadulf. ‘These names are beyond me.’
Fidelma was patient.
‘The Ui Fidgente line claim descent from Fiachu Fidgennid, son of Maine Muinchain, another son of Ailill Flann Bec, grandson of Eóghan Mór.
If
their genealogists are truthful, as I say.’ She pulled a wry expression. ‘Our genealogists think that their pedigrees were forged in order that they might have a claim on the kingship of Cashel. But, if this be a happy day, we shall not argue with them.’
If
their genealogists are truthful, as I say.’ She pulled a wry expression. ‘Our genealogists think that their pedigrees were forged in order that they might have a claim on the kingship of Cashel. But, if this be a happy day, we shall not argue with them.’
Eadulf struggled to follow her.
‘I think I understand what you are saying. The split between your family and these Uí Fidgente began between two brothers, Luigthech, the eldest, and Maine Munchain, the youngest.’
Fidelma smiled sympathetically but shook her head.
‘If their genealogists are correct, Maine Munchain, the progenitor of the Uí Fidgente, was the eldest son of Ailill Flann Bec. Our ancestor Luigthech was his second son.’
Eadulf threw up his arms in despair.
‘It is hard enough to follow your Irish names but as to your precedents of generations … You are now saying that the Uí Fidgente have a better claim over the kingship because they descend from the eldest son?’
Fidelma was annoyed at his lack of understanding.
‘You ought to appreciate our laws of kingship- succession by now, Eadulf. It is a simple enough matter. Maine Muncháin’s line was deemed, by the
derbfhine
of the family, to be unsuitable to be kingship material.’
derbfhine
of the family, to be unsuitable to be kingship material.’
‘I still find it hard to follow,’ admitted Eadulf. ‘But from what you say, the Uí Fidgente descend from a senior line, in primogeniture terms, and this makes them reluctant to accept your family’s authority at Cashel?’
‘Senior line or not, your primogeniture does not enter into our law system,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘And this happened nearly ten generations ago. So long ago that our genealogists, as I say, maintain that the Uí Fidgente are not really Eóghanacht at all but descend from the Dairine.’
Eadulf raised his eyes to the heavens.
‘And just who are the Dáirine?’ he groaned in despair.
‘An ancient people, who nearly a thousand years ago were said to have shared the kingship of Muman with the Eóghanacht. There is still a clan called the Corco Lofgde to the west who claim they are descended from the ancient Dáirine.’
‘Well, my simple brain has taken in enough genealogy and too many names.’
Fidelma chuckled softly at the comic look of woe on his face but her eyes remained serious.
‘Yet it is important that you should know the general politics of this kingdom, Eadulf. You will recall how last winter we came across a plot by the Uí Fidgente to foment rebellion here and how my brother had to lead an army to face them in battle at Cnoc Aine? That was scarcely nine months ago.’
‘I do remember the events. How can I forget them? Was I not captured by the conspirators at that time? But wasn’t the ruler of the Uf Fidgente slain in battle?’
‘He was. Now his cousin Donennach is Prince of the Uí Fidgente and among his first actions was to send messengers to my brother and seek to negotiate a treaty with him. Donennach comes to Cashel to negotiate the peace. This is the first peace between the Uf Fidgente and Cashel in many centuries. That is why today is so important.’
They had walked from the gates of the fortress down the steep path which led to the bottom of the Rock of Cashel and followed the road round until it entered the outskirts of the market town below. The town itself lay less than a quarter of a mile from the great Rock of Cashel.
They found the people of the town were already gathering to witness the entry of their King with the Prince of the Uí Fidgente and his retinue. The column of riders had arrived at the western gateway to the town as Fidelma and Eadulf reached the eastern gate to take up their positions with a group standing to one side of the broad market square.
A group of seven warriors on horseback led the column. Then came Colgú’s standard bearer. The fluttering blue silk bore the golden royal stag of the Eóghanacht of Cashel. Following the standard, the King of Muman sat his horse well. He was a tall man with red, burnished hair. Not for the first time Eadulf was able to mentally remark on the similarity of facial features between him and his sister. There was no mistaking that Fidelma and Colgú were related.
Next came another standard bearer. The banner he held aloft was a fluttering white silk on which there was a mystical red boar in the
centre. Eadulf presumed this was the standard of the Uí Fidgente Prince. Behind this standard rode a young man with thickly set features which were dark but as handsome as the red-haired King of Muman. In spite of claims to a common ancestry there was nothing that reminded Eadulf of any form of relationship between the Prince of the Uí Fidgente and the King of Muman.
centre. Eadulf presumed this was the standard of the Uí Fidgente Prince. Behind this standard rode a young man with thickly set features which were dark but as handsome as the red-haired King of Muman. In spite of claims to a common ancestry there was nothing that reminded Eadulf of any form of relationship between the Prince of the Uí Fidgente and the King of Muman.
The leading horsemen were followed by several warriors, many bearing the emblems of the Order of the Golden Chain, the elite bodyguards of the Eóghanacht kings. At the head of these warriors rode a young man, not much younger than Colgú himself. He bore a vague similarity to Colgú, though his features seemed a little coarser, and his hair was black, even as the Prince of the Uí Fidgente. He sat on his horse with ease but there was a pride to his bearing. His dress spoke of conceit in his appearance as well. He wore a long blue dyed woollen cloak which was fastened at the shoulder by a glittering brooch. It was silver and in the shape of a solar emblem, its five radiating arms marked at each end by a small red garnet stone.
Donndubháin, as Eadulf knew well, was the
tanist
or heir-apparent of the King of Cashel. He was cousin to Colgú and Fidelma.
tanist
or heir-apparent of the King of Cashel. He was cousin to Colgú and Fidelma.
There was no doubting the pleasure of the people at the sight of the company as they began to cheer and applaud their arrival. For most the sight of the King of Cashel and the Prince of the Uí Fidgente riding together meant the end of the centuries of feuds and bloodshed; the start of a new era of peace and prosperity for all the people of Muman.
Colgú was relaxed and acknowledged the cheers with a wave of his hand although Donennach sat rigidly and it seemed that he was extremely nervous. His dark eyes flickered from side to side as if watching warily for signs of hostility. Only now and then did a quick smile cross his features as he inclined his head stiffly, from the neck only, to acknowledge the applause of the demonstrative crowd.
The horsemen were crossing the market square to approach the path which led upwards to the rocky outcrop of the seat of the Cashel kings. Even Donennach of the Uí Fidgente’s eyes widened a little as he gazed upwards to the dominating fortress and palace of Cashel.
Donndubháin raised his arm as if to signal the column of warriors to swing round in order to approach the fortress road.
Fidelma had pushed her way forward to the edge of the crowd, followed by the anxious Eadulf, meaning to greet her brother.
Colgú caught sight of her, his face splitting into a grin of urchin-like quality which was so like Fidelma at moments of intense amusement.
Colgú drew rein on his horse and leant forward abruptly to greet his sister.
It was that action which saved his life.
The arrow impacted into his upper arm with a curious thud, causing him to cry out in pain and shock. Had he not halted his horse and bent down, the arrow would have impacted in a more mortal target.
In the shock of the moment, everyone seemed to stand as if turned into stone. It seemed a long time but it was less than a couple of seconds before another cry of pain rang out. Donennach, the Prince of the Uí Fidgente, was swaying in his saddle, a second arrow sticking in his thigh. In horror, Eadulf watched him sway and then topple from his horse into the dust of the road.
The impact of the falling body caused everyone to burst into a frenzy of activity and commotion.
One of the Uí Fidgente warriors drew forth his sword with a cry of ‘Assassins!’ and urged his mount forward towards a cluster of buildings a short distance away across the square. A moment later, some of his men were following him while others hurried to their fallen Prince and stood over him with drawn swords as if expecting an assault on him.
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