Read The Monk Who Vanished Online

Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #Church History, #Fiction, #tpl, #Mystery, #Historical, #Clerical Sleuth, #Medieval Ireland

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BOOK: The Monk Who Vanished
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Eadulf saw Donndubhain, Colgú’s heir-apparent, also with drawn sword, go racing after the Ui Fidgente warriors.
Fidelma was among the first to recover her wits. Her mind was racing. Two arrows had been shot at her brother and his guest and both, miraculously had missed. Obviously, the Uí Fidgente warrior had seen the path of their flight and pinpointed the buildings as hiding the bowman who wished to strike down the King of Cashel and the Prince of the Uí Fidgente. Well, there was no time to consider that now. Donndubháin had also gone in chase of the assassins.
‘See to Donennach,’ she cried to Eadulf, who was already pushing his way through the Prince’s reluctant bodyguard. She turned to where her brother was still sitting astride his horse, a little in shock, clutching at the arrow which was embedded in his arm.
‘Get down, brother,’ she urged quietly, ‘unless you want to continue to make yourself a target.’
She reached forward and helped him dismount, which he did, trying not to groan aloud from the pain of his wound.
‘Is Donennach hurt badly?’ he asked between clenched teeth. He still held one hand clutching at his blood-soaked, pain-racked arm.
‘Eadulf is looking after him. Now sit down on that stone while I remove the arrow from your arm.’
Almost reluctantly her brother sat down. By this time, two of Colgú’s men, including Capa, the captain of the bodyguard, had hurried forward but their drawn swords were superfluous. People
were crowding round their King with a mixture of advice and questions. Fidelma waved them back impatiently.
‘Is there a physician among you?’ she demanded, having examined the wound and realised that the arrow head went deep. She was afraid to pry it loose for fear of tearing the muscle and creating more damage.
There was a muttering and shaking of heads.
Reluctantly, she bent down and hesitantly touched the shaft. It would take too long to send someone to find and bring old Conchobar hither.
‘Hold on, Fidelma,’ cried Eadulf, pushing his way back through the crowd.
Fidelma almost sighed with relief for she knew that Eadulf had trained in the art of medicine at the great medical school of Tuaim Brecain.
‘How is Donennach?’ Colgú greeted him, his face grey with pain as he struggled to remain in control.
‘Concentrate on yourself for the time being, brother,’ admonished Fidelma.
Colgú’s features were set grimly.
‘A good host should see to his guest first.’
‘It is a bad wound,’ Eadulf admitted, bending forward to examine where the arrow head had embedded itself in Colgú’s arm. ‘Donennach’s wound, I mean, though your own is no light scratch. I have ordered a litter be constructed so that we can carry Prince Donennach up to the palace where we may attend him better than here in the dust of the road. I suspect the arrow has entered Donennach’s thigh at a bad angle. But he was lucky … as, indeed, you are.’
‘Can you remove this arrow from my arm?’ pressed Colgú.
Eadulf had been examining it closely. The Saxon smiled grimly. ‘I can but it will hurt. I would prefer to wait until we can take you back to the palace.’
The King of Muman sniffed disdainfully.
‘Do it here and now in order that my people may see that the wound is no great one and that an Eóghanacht King can bear pain.’
Eadulf turned to one of the crowd. ‘Whose house is nearest in which there is a glowing fire?’
‘The blacksmith’s stands across the street there, Brother Saxon,’ replied an old woman, pointing.
‘Give me a few moments, Colgú,’ Eadulf said, turning and making his way to the smith’s forge. The smith himself was one of the crowd, having left his forge to see what the commotion was about. He now accompanied Eadulf with interest. Eadulf took out his knife. The smith
looked on in surprise as the Saxon monk turned the knife for a while in the glowing coals before returning to Colgú’s side.
Colgú’s jaw was set and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. ‘Do it as quickly as you can, Eadulf.’
The Saxon monk nodded curtly.
‘Hold his arm, Fidelma,’ he instructed quietly. Then he bent forward and taking the shaft of the arrow, he eased it with the tip of the knife and pulled quickly. Colgú gave a grunt and his shoulders sagged as if he were going to fall. But he did not do so. His jaw clenched so hard that they could hear his teeth grinding. Eadulf took a clean linen cloth, which someone offered, and bound the arm tightly.
‘It will do until we get back to the fortress.’ There was satisfaction in his voice. ‘I need to treat the wound with herbs to prevent infection.’ He added quietly to Fidelma, ‘Luckily the tip of the arrow made a clean entry and exit.’
Fidelma took the arrow from him and examined it with a frown. Then she thrust it into her waist cord and turned to help her brother.
The young flush-faced heir-apparent pushed his way back through the crowd. He was now on foot. He examined Colgú, standing supported by Fidelma, with an anxious glance.
‘Is the wound bad?’
‘Bad enough,’ replied Eadulf on the King’s behalf, ‘but he will survive.’
Donndubhain exhaled slowly.
‘The assassins have been run to earth by Prince Donennach’s men.’
‘They can be dealt with once we have removed my brother back to the palace together with the Prince of the Uí Fidgente,’ Fidelma said sharply. ‘Here, help me with him.’
Eadulf had turned away to where a litter had been constructed for the wounded Prince of the Uí Fidgente. The man lay in pain on it. Eadulf had placed a tourniquet around the top of the thigh. He checked the litter and then signalled to the Uí Fidgente warriors to lift it carefully and follow him and the group escorting Colgú up the path to the palace.
They had not even began to proceed before there came the sound of horses and an outcry.
The mounted members of Donennach’s bodyguard came riding back across the square. Behind their horses, dragging along the ground, were two limp forms, their wrists secured by rope to the pommel of the leading horseman.
Fidelma had spotted them and turned from her brother with an angry cry on her lips to criticise such barbarity. To see any man,
even a would-be assassin, so ill-treated, was a cause of anger. But the protest died away on her lips as the riders halted. Even a cursory glance at the blood-stained bodies showed her that both men were already dead.
The leading warrior, a man with a bland oval face and narrowed eyes, swung off his horse and strode to the litter of his Prince. He saluted swiftly with the blood still staining his sword.
‘My lord, I think you need to look at these men,’ he said harshly.
‘Can’t you see that we are carrying your Prince to the palace to have his wound tended?’ demanded Eadulf angrily. ‘Do not bother us with this matter until the more urgent task is complete.’
‘Hold your tongue, foreigner,’ snapped the warrior haughtily, ‘when I am speaking to my Prince.’
Colgú, who had halted a short distance away, turned back, leaning on Donndubháin, his face distorting in annoyance now as well as pain.
‘Do not presume to give orders on the slopes of Cashel, where I rule!’ he grunted through clenched teeth.
The Uí Fidgente warrior did not even blink. He deliberately kept his gaze on the pale, pain-racked face of Donennach of the Uí Fidgente, laying on the litter before him.
‘My lord, the matter is urgent.’
Donennach raised himself on one elbow, in a pain equally shared with his host.
‘What is it that you wish me so urgently to see, Gionga?’
The warrior named Gionga waved to one of his men, who had cut loose the two bodies. He dragged one over to the side of the litter.
‘These are the dogs who shot at you, my lord. Observe this one.’
He held the man’s head up by the hair.
Donennach leaned forward from the litter. There was a tightness at the corners of his mouth. ‘I do not recognise him,’ he grunted.
‘Nor should you, lord,’ replied Gionga. ‘But perhaps you will recognise the device that he wears about his neck.’
Donennach looked hard and then he pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.
‘Colgú, what does this mean?’ he demanded, glancing to where Donndubhain had helped the King of Muman move forward to view the body.
Painfully Colgú peered at the dead man. Fidelma and Eadulf stood with him. No one recognised the dead man but it was obvious what the cause of the concern was.
The man was wearing the collar and emblem of the Order of the Golden Chain, the élite bodyguard of the Kings of Cashel.
Donennach’s harsh tones suddenly rang out in agitation. ‘This is a strange hospitality which you observe, Colgú of Cashel. Your elite warriors have shot me. They have tried to kill me!’
There was a long silence after the Prince of the Uí Fidgente had made his accusation.
It was Fidelma who finally broke the menacing stillness by inclining her head towards her brother who was standing with his face barely masking the pain of his wound.
‘If Colgú’s warriors shot and tried to kill you, Donennach, then they also tried to shoot down the King of Cashel.’
Donennach’s keen dark eyes examined her searchingly.
It was his chief warrior, Gionga, who articulated his unasked question.
‘Who are you, woman, who dares to speak in the presence of princes?’ His voice was still arrogant.
Colgú answered quietly although his voice was tight in pain. ‘It is my sister, Fidelma, who speaks and has more right to do so than any in this company for she is a
dálaigh
of the courts as well as a religieuse. She is qualified to the degree of
anruth.’
Gionga’s eyes widened visibly, realising that only an
ollamh
, the highest degree ever bestowed by the secular and ecclesiastical colleges of Ireland, stood above an
anruth.
Donennach was not so outwardly impressed. Instead his eyes narrowed slightly.
‘So? You are Fidelma of Cashel? Sister Fidelma? Your reputation is known throughout the lands of the Uí Fidgente.’
Fidelma returned his scrutiny with a grim smile.
‘Yes; I have been in the land of the Uí Fidgente - once. I was invited … to a poisoning there.’
She made no further elaboration, knowing that Donennach knew well enough the details of the story.
‘My sister is right,’ intervened Colgú, coming back to the original point. ‘Any charge that my hand is behind this evil act is false!’
Eadulf decided to take a hand again for he was worried about the wounds of the two men.
‘This is no time to discuss the matter. Both of you need your wounds
properly tended before infection sets in. Let us leave this discussion until a more appropriate time.’
Colgú bit his lip to control a spasm of pain in his arm. ‘Is it agreed, Donennach?’ he asked.
‘It is agreed.’
‘I will take matters in hand, brother,’ Fidelma said firmly, ‘while Eadulf attends to you.’
Gionga took a step forward, the annoyance showing on his face, but before he could speak Donennach raised a hand.
‘You may stay with Sister Fidelma, Gionga,’ he instructed softly, ‘and help her with this matter.’
There seemed an unnecessary emphasis on the word ‘help’. Gionga bowed his head and stepped back.
The bearers carrying the litter lifted the Prince of the Uí Fidgente and followed Colgú, helped by Donndubhain, up the steep path towards the royal palace. Eadulf was fussing at Colgú’s side.
Fidelma stood for a moment, hands folded demurely in front of her. Her bright eyes held a flickering fire which anyone who knew her would realise indicated a dangerous mood. Outwardly her features were composed.
‘Well, Gionga?’ she asked quietly.
Gionga shifted his weight from one leg to another and looked uncomfortable. ‘Well?’ he challenged in turn.
‘Shall we let the corpses of these two men be taken to our apothecary? We can examine them later and in better circumstances.’
‘Why not examine them now?’ demanded the Uí Fidgente warrior, a trifle truculently, but he was cognizant of her rank and appeared to realise that he must keep his arrogance in check.
‘Because now I want you to show me where and how you came on them and why you had to slay them instead of taking them captive that we might question their motives.’
Her tone was even and there was not trace of a rebuke in it. However, Gionga grew red in the face and seemed inclined to refuse. Then he shrugged. He turned and signalled to two of his men to come forward.
Someone called to them and Donndubhain came trotting back down the hill. He looked worried.
‘Colgú suggested that I might be of more help here,’ he explained, his facial expression attempting to imply that Colgú was not happy to leave his sister in the company of the Uí Fidgente warrior. ‘Capa and Eadulf are attending him.’
Fidelma smiled appreciatively. ‘Excellent. Gionga’s men are taking these bodies to the Conchobar’s apothecary. Have you a man to guide them?’
Donndubhain called to a passing warrior.
‘Escort the men of the Uí Fidgente with these bodies to …’ He raised his eyebrows interrogatively to Fidelma.
‘The apothecary of Brother Conchobar. Tell Conchobar to await my instructions. I wish to examine the bodies myself.’
The warrior saluted and motioned to the Uí Fidgente warriors, carrying the two bodies, to follow him.
‘Now, we will start from the spot where Colgú and Donennach were shot,’ Fidelma declared.
Gionga said nothing but he and Donndubhain followed Fidelma back to the square. The townsfolk of Cashel had not yet dispersed and many were huddled in groups whispering among themselves. Some cast furtive looks at the Uí Fidgente warrior. Fidelma could sense the dislike in their eyes. Generations of war and raiding were not going to be wiped from their memory as quickly as she had previously thought.
They reached the spot where the arrows had struck both Colgú and Donennach. Gionga pointed across the market square to a cluster of buildings on the far side.
‘When the first arrow struck, I looked round to see where it had come from. I saw a figure on the roof of that building there.’
The building he indicated was fifty metres away on the far side of the market square. It had a flat roof.
‘It was as I saw him discharging a second arrow that I shouted but it was too late to warn Donennach.’
‘I see,’ mused Fidelma. ‘That was when you spurred your horse across towards the building?’
‘It was. A couple of my warriors came close after me. By the time we reached the building, the archer had jumped down, still with his bow in his hand. There was another man there with a sword. I cut them both down before they could use their weapons against us.’
Fidelma turned to Donndubháin.
‘As I recall, you followed close behind, cousin. Does this accord with what you saw?’
The heir-apparent shrugged. ‘More or less.’
‘That is an imprecise answer,’ remarked Fidelma quietly.
‘What I mean to say was that I saw the archer jump down and join his companion but I did not see them raise their weapons. They seemed to stand waiting for the warriors to come up to them.’
Gionga snorted in disgust.
‘You mean, for us to come closer so that they could be sure of their targets?’ he sneered.
Fidelma began to walk towards the building without comment.
‘Let us see what we might find there.’
Donndubháin glanced at her, not understanding.
‘What would we find there? The assassins were both killed and the bodies removed. What can you find?’
Fidelma did not bother to answer him.
The building which Gionga and Donndubháin had identified was a low, single-storey building with a flat roof. It was a wooden structure. It looked more like a stable with two large doors at the front and a small side door. Fidelma, who had been born and spent her early years in Cashel, tried hard to remember what the building was. It was not a stable so far as she could recall but some sort of store house.
She halted and examined it with a careful gaze.
The doors and windows were shut up and there were no signs of life.
‘Donndubháin, do you know what building this is?’
The
tanist
tugged thoughtfully at his lower lip.
‘It is one of the store houses of Samradán the merchant. I think he uses it for wheat storage.’
‘Where is Samradán?’
Her cousin shrugged indifferently.
Fidelma tapped her foot impatiently.
‘Make it your task to find him and bring him to me.’
‘Now?’ asked Donndubhain, startled.
‘Now,’ affirmed Fidelma.
The heir-apparent of Cashel left to find the merchant, for even a Prince had to obey a
dálaigh
of the courts, aside from the fact that Fidelma was sister to the King. Fidelma walked around the wooden building, examining it. There was a small side door. She tried it and found it was locked. In fact, everything appeared shuttered and secured although, at the back of the building, she noticed a ladder leaning against the wall which had given access to the roof.
‘This was where I saw the assassins,’ Gionga pointed out. Fidelma glanced at him quickly. ‘Yet you could not have seen this from where you were crossing towards the front of the building.’
‘No. I saw only the archer, the man holding his bow. He stood on the roof and then he disappeared towards the back of it. I rode alongside the building just as the two men, one with the bow, the other with a drawn sword, emerged from behind the building.’
‘And at what spot did you strike them down?’
Gionga gestured with his hand.
The pools of blood had not dried up on the ground. They were sited at the back of the building but in view of anyone approaching from the square.
Fidelma climbed the ladder onto the flat roof. Towards the front of the roof, behind a small wooden parapet, lay two arrows. They had not been hastily discarded for they were placed carefully. Perhaps the bowman had put them there ready to enable him to shoot several times with rapidity. Fidelma picked them up and examined the markings on them. She compared them with the arrow tucked into her corded belt, the one Eadulf had taken from Colgú’s arm. Her mouth compressed grimly. She recognised the markings on them.
Gionga had joined her and was gazing at her moodily. ‘What have you found?’
‘Just arrows,’ Fidelma said quickly.
‘Fidelma!’
Fidelma peered over the parapet to where Donndubhain was standing below.
‘Have you found Samradan?’
‘I am told he is not in Cashel today. He is at Imleach trading goods with the abbey there.’
‘Presumably this Samradán does not live here?’
Donndubhain gestured with his arm. ‘From the roof where you are you might see his house. It is the sixth house along the main street there. I know the man and have traded with him.’ His hand went absently to the silver brooch at his shoulder. ‘I am sure he cannot be involved in this matter.’
Fidelma glanced along the street to the house which the
tanist
had indicated.
‘Well, it does not need answers from him to see what happened,’ Gionga cut in. ‘The assassins saw that this flat roof offered a strategic point from which to shoot at Donennach. They realised it was a store house; found a ladder and climbed up to await the arrival of my Prince. They thought they could get away in the confusion.’
He turned to look at the land at the back of the building.
‘They could easily have escaped into the copse behind. Why-’ his face lightened - ‘I will wager that is where we will find their horses tethered, waiting.’
He made to leave as if to prove his suggestion.
‘One moment.’ Fidelma stayed him with a quiet command.
She was examining the distance between the roof and the spot where Colgú and Donennach had been struck Her eyes narrowed.
‘Well, I will tell you one thing about our archer,’ she said grimly.
Gionga frowned but did not say anything.
‘He was not a good archer.’
‘Why so?’ asked the Uí Fidgente warrior, reluctantly.
‘Because from this point and distance it would have been hard to
have missed his target twice in succession. He could well have missed the first time but certainly not the second time when the target was stationary.’
She stood up and, taking the arrows with her, she went down the ladder with Gionga following. Her cousin was waiting for them at the bottom.
‘Did you hear Gionga’s suggestion about horses?’ she asked.
‘I did,’ Donndubhain affirmed non-committally. Fidelma received the impression that he did not think much of Gionga’s ideas.
They moved towards the small copse of trees. There was no sign of any horses tethered.
‘Perhaps they had another accomplice?’ Gionga hazarded, trying to hide his disappointment. ‘He saw his companions struck down and fled, taking the horses with him.’
‘Perhaps,’ agreed Fidelma, her eyes examining the track on the far side of the copse. There were too many signs of horses and wagons there to draw any firm conclusions.
Gionga stood scowling about him as if hoping to see the horses suddenly emerge from thin air.
BOOK: The Monk Who Vanished
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