Read The Monk Who Vanished Online

Authors: Peter Tremayne

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BOOK: The Monk Who Vanished
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‘This is an affront to Cashel!’ he cried. ‘The Uí Fidgente should be made to swallow his words!’
Gionga had moved forward in front of his Prince, his hand also searching for the non-existent sword.
Colgú held up a hand to stay his
tanist.
‘Calm yourself, Donndubháin,’ he ordered. ‘Donennach, order your man back. No hurt will come to you while you are in Cashel. I swear this by the Holy Cross.’
Donndubhain sunk back to his chair while Gionga, at a swift gesture from Donennach’s hand, retired to his position behind his Prince.
There was an icy silence
Colgú’s gaze had never left the face of the Prince of the Uí Fidgente. ‘You say that you do not know whether what occurred was an attempt by Cashel to destroy you? Can I be as assured that this was not some Uí Fidgente plot against my life?’ he said evenly.
‘A plot by me? Here in Cashel? I was nearly killed by the assassin’s arrow.’ Donennach’s voice was developing a tetchiness.
‘Instead of hurling accusations at one another, we should be working together to discover the identity of the culprits,’ Colgú repeated, trying to curb his annoyance with his guest.
Donennach gave a bark of derisive laughter.
Fidelma rose abruptly and went to stand between the two men, palms held out to each in symbolic gesture.
At this a silence descended, for a
dálaigh
could command silence even from kings in such a fashion.
‘There is a dispute here,’ she said quietly. ‘But the disputants lack sufficient facts to argue logically and in depth for their respective cases. This matter must go to arbitration. We must resolve the mystery of what has happened here and identify who was responsible. Do you agree?’
She glanced at Donennach.
The Prince’s lips became a thin line as he stared back at her. Then he relaxed and shrugged. ‘All I want is that the facts be examined.’
Fidelma turned to her brother and raised her eyebrows in interrogation.
‘An arbitration is agreed. How shall it be done?’
‘The law text called the
Bretha Crólige
states the terms,’ replied Fidelma. ‘There will be three judges. A judge from Cashel, a judge from the Uí Fidgente and a judge from without the kingdom. I would suggest a judge from Laighin as being of sufficient distance to sit without bias. The judges shall be assembled here as the law prescribes in nine days. The facts will be placed before them and we shall all abide by their judgement.’
Donennach looked at Gionga before he turned back to examine Fidelma suspiciously. ‘Will you be the judge from Cashel?’ he gibed. ‘You are the King’s sister and should not sit in his judgement.’
‘If you imply that my view of law is biased then I deny it. However, I shall not be the judge from Cashel. There are others more qualified than I. I would request that the Brehon Dathal be asked to sit. But, with the King’s permission, I will engage to gather the evidence on behalf of Cashel and be its advocate just as you, Donennach, are free to nominate a
dálaigh
to gather evidence that supports your contentions.’
The Prince of the Uí Fidgente sat in thought, clearly suspecting some trap.
‘Nine days it is then. The court will sit on the feastday of the Blessed Matthew. I will send for my
dálaigh
and judge. You may appoint your sister as your advocate, Colgú, if you so wish.’
Colgú smiled briefly at Fidelma. ‘It will be as my sister has said. She is the advocate of Cashel.’
‘So be it,’ Donennach agreed then added, thoughtfully, ‘but which judge from Laighin shall be our outside arbitrator?’
‘Do you have someone in mind?’ asked Colgú.
‘The Brehon Rumann,’ Donennach replied immediately. ‘Rumann of Fearna.’
Colgú did not know of the man. ‘Have you heard of this judge named Rumann, Fidelma?’ he inquired.
‘Yes; I have heard of his reputation. I have no objections to his being asked to sit as our third and chief judge.’
Donennach rose from his seat, helped by Gionga.
‘That is good. As for our judge, I appoint the Brehon Fachtna. He is already in Cashel for he travels in my retinue. Our
dálaigh
will be Solam and we shall send for him and expect the fullest cooperation when he arrives to present our case.’
‘You shall be assured of it,’ replied Colgú coldly. ‘You may expect nothing less than our cooperation to get to the bottom of this matter. We will have our scribes draw up the protocol for the proceedings. We will sign it and so ensure everyone is gathered on the appointed day.’
When the Prince of the Uí Fidgente had gone, Colgú sat back, clearly troubled. ‘I know the suggestion was correct, Fidelma, but, as you pointed out earlier, the evidence is against Cashel.’
Donndubhain shook his head. ‘A bad move, cousin.’
Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘You doubt my abilities as an advocate?’
‘Not your abilities, Fidelma,’ interposed Colgú. ‘But an advocate is usually only as good as the evidence that is available. Do you know this advocate of the Uí Fidgente … what was his name?’
‘Solam. I have heard of him. He is said to be effective although given to an uneasy temperament.’
‘How will you defend Cashel?’ demanded Donndubhain.
‘I know that this was not some attempt to assassinate Donennach by Cashel. There remain three alternatives.’
‘Only three?’ demanded Donndubháin moodily.
‘Only three that makes sense. Firstly, it could be counter-claimed that the Uí Fidgente were plotting against Cashel; that this was an elaborate hoax to lay blame on us. Secondly, it could be argued that the assassins were part of a blood feud; that they acted on their own account seeking vengeance against Colgú or Donennach. Thirdly, it might be contended that the assassins acted on their own account merely to destroy the peace now being negotiated between the Uí Fidgente and Cashel.’
‘Do you favour any one of these, Fidelma?’ asked Colgú.
‘I have an open mind though I would say the first possibility was unlikely.’
‘The possibility that the Uí Fidgente are behind would-be assassins? Why so? Because Donennach was shot also?’ Colgú queried.
‘Because, for all that I dislike Donennach, he accepted arbitration and nominated the Brehon Rumann of Fearna easily enough. I know Rumann and his reputation. He is a fair man and not given to bribery. If this were some plot, I would expect the Uí Fidgente might want to weight the odds more in their favour for much will depend on the decision of this third independent judge.’
Colgú turned to Donndubhain. ‘You had best devise the protocol and I shall sign it with Donennach. Then we must send emissaries to Rumann at Fearna, also Solam of the Uí Fidgente.’
When Donndubhain had departed to fulfil his task, Colgú turned anxiously to Fidelma. ‘I still do not like this, Fidelma. The onus is still on us to refute the Uí Fidgente’s accusations.’
Fidelma was not reassuring. ‘Then, as your
dálaigh,
my brother, I will have to start finding something with which we can refute the accusations.’
‘But we have all the evidence there is … unless you can find a sorcerer to resurrect the assassins.’
Eadulf, not used to such humour, genuflected swiftly. Neither Colgú nor Fidelma took any notice of him.
‘No, brother. I mean to start where our only real clue allows us to start.’
Her brother frowned. ‘Where?’
‘In the country of our cousin, Finguine of Cnoc Aine, where else? Perhaps I can discover who made those arrows. If I can do that, perhaps I can discover the identity of the archer.’
‘You have only nine days.’
‘I am aware of it,’ agreed Fidelma.
Colgú’s face suddenly brightened. ‘You can seek the hospitality of Abbot Ségdae of Imleach, for he is an expert on ecclesiastical art. He might be able to provide you with information about the crucifix. I am sure it is familiar but I can’t think where I have seen it before.’
Fidelma had already thought of the idea but instead of confessing as much she smiled and nodded.
‘However,’ she replied, ‘while I can take one of the arrows as a sample, I cannot take the crucifix, which must remain here as evidence for Donennach’s
dálaigh
. If I take it, I will be accused of interfering with the evidence. I will get old Conchobar, who is a rare draughtsman, to make me a sketch of it.’
‘Excellent. Perhaps there is a small ray of hope in this confusion after all?’ cried Colgú. ‘When will you start for Imleach?’
‘Old Conchobar willing, I can start within the hour.’
Eadulf coughed discreetly.
Fidelma hid a smile. ‘I would hope, of course, that Brother Eadulf will see his way clear to accompany me to Imleach.’
Colgú turned to Eadulf. ‘Could we persuade you … ?’ He let the question hang in the air without finishing.
‘I will do my best to render every assistance that I can,’ Eadulf offered solemnly.
‘Then it is arranged.’ Colgú gave a quick smile to his sister. ‘My best horses are at your disposal to hasten your journey.’
‘How far is it to Imleach?’ asked Eadulf anxiously, wondering if he had let himself in for a lengthy journey.
‘Twenty-one miles or so, but the road is straight. We can be there before this evening,’ Fidelma assured him.
‘Then the sooner you get Brother Conchobar to make the sketch of the crucifix, the sooner you can set out.’ Colgú reached out with his good hand and took one of his sister’s hands in his. ‘No need for me to say, be careful, Fidelma,’ he said gravely. ‘Whoever does not hesitate to stop at the death of Kings will not stop at the death of a King’s sister. These are dangerous times.’
Fidelma squeezed her brother’s hand reassuringly.
‘I will take care, brother. But your advice must be heeded by your own self. What has failed once might be tried again. So until we know who is behind this deed, make sure that you keep a wary eye upon the company you keep. I feel that there is danger here, brother. Here in the very corridors of our palace of Cashel.’
Fidelma met her cousin Donndubhain while on her way to the stables to arrange for the horses for the journey to Imleach. Normally, a religieux below the rank of bishop or abbot would not be expected to travel by horse but Fidelma held rank, not only as the sister of the King but in her own right as a
dalaigh
. The heir-apparent to the throne of Muman was holding a sheaf of papers as he crossed the courtyard.
He grinned at his cousin and held them up. ‘The protocol as Colgú has instructed,’ he explained. ‘I am sure this is a waste of this paper.’
Paper was still scarce, an eastern invention, only a few centuries old, which was so costly that few of the Kings of Eireann bothered to import it. Good vellum was usually preferred as a symbol of their status.
Fidelma was serious. ‘I doubt it is wasted, cousin,’ she said.
‘Do you want to read through it? You have a better legal mind than I do.’
‘You are the
tanist
, cousin. I am sure things are in order. Anyway, I must be off. We have only nine days to discover the truth.’
‘Time enough,’ Donndubhain was encouraging. ‘I know you, Fidelma. You have a great gift of sifting sand and coming up with the single grain you seek.’
‘You think too highly of my capabilities.’
Donndubhain was two years younger than Fidelma but they had played together in Cashel as youngsters until the time had arrived when Fidelma had been sent away for her schooling.
Since their childhood together Fidelma had only seen Donndubhain a few times before she had returned to Cashel last year after her brother had become King and her cousin had been appointed heir-apparent. She knew he was a quiet, conscientious support for her brother. He might make light of the protocol but she knew that he had the mind of a good lawyer and there would be nothing wrong with the texts.
Donndubhain suddenly glanced around as if to ensure they were alone.
‘Sometimes,’ he said abruptly, with lowered voice, ‘I do not think your brother takes his position seriously enough.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He accepts the word of people too easily. Without questioning. He is honourable and therefore he believes everyone is honourable. He is too trusting. Look as this business with the Uí Fidgente. He trusts Donennach too readily.’
‘Oh?’ Fidelma was curious. ‘And you do not?’
‘I cannot afford to. What if Colgú is too trusting and this is a plot by Prince Donennach to assassinate Colgú? Someone has to be prepared to protect your brother and Cashel.’
Fidelma admitted to herself that she had been thinking as much. She remembered that only nine months before the Uí Fidgente had attempted to overthrow Cashel. The blood at Cnoc Aine was hardly dried and this change of heart, this willingness to make peace, was so abrupt, so sudden, that she could share her cousin’s suspicions.
‘With you as
tanist,
cousin, my brother need not fear,’ she assured him.
Donndubháin remained worried. ‘I wish that you would let me send a company of warriors with you,’ he said.
‘I refused my brother on this matter,’ Fidelma replied firmly, ‘and so shall refuse you. Eadulf and myself have made more dangerous journeys.’
Donndubháin frowned for a moment and then his face broadened into a smile. ‘You are right, of course. Our Saxon friend is a good support in times of danger. He has served Cashel well since he has been here. But he is no warrior. He is slow when you might need a swift sword arm.’
Fidelma found herself flushing as she felt that she should defend Eadulf. She was, at the same time, annoyed by her reaction.
‘Eadulf is a good man. A slow-footed hound often has good qualities,’ she added, indulging in an old proverb.
‘That is true. But beware of that Uí Fidgente, Gionga. I do not like him. Something about him makes me suspicious.’
‘You are not the only one, cousin,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘Have no fear. I shall be careful.’
‘If you see our cousin, Finguine of Cnoc Áine, give him my salutations.’
‘That I shall do.’ Fidelma was about to move on to the stables when she turned back. ‘Did you say that the merchant, Samradan, was trading at Imleach abbey?’
Donndubhdáin’s eyebrows gathered.
‘Yes. He frequently trades there. But the assassins would have chosen the roof of his warehouse at random. He could not be involved in this matter.’
‘I think you said that before. You have had business with him?’
‘That is so. I have bought a few items in silver from him.’ He touched his silver brooch. ‘Why?’
‘I do not know the man. Is he a native of the town?’
‘He has lived here for several years. Exactly how long, I do not know. Nor do I know where he came from.’
‘It is of no consequence,’ remarked Fidelma. ‘As you say, he cannot be involved in this matter. Now I must be on my way. We shall all meet here in nine days’ time.’
Donndubhain held up his papers and smiled.
‘Your brother will be safeguarded until your return. I promise. Go safely, cousin, and come back swiftly.’
 
The clouds that had so dominated the sky earlier that day had broken up. Now they drifted lazily and high like the fleece of grazing sheep, fluffy against the azure background with the afternoon sun occasionally breaking through to warm the pastures. There was still a faint breeze but the air was pleasant enough and not uncomfortable.
Fidelma and Eadulf had reached a fork in the River Suir, about four miles west of Cashel, where a wooden bridge spanned the fast-flowing waters, crossing a small island in the middle on which stood a minute rath which served as a fortification to protect the approaches to Cashel in times of war. Now it was not used for no enemy host had come close enough to threaten the capital of the Eóghanacht for many years. On either side of the bridge, along the river bank, woodlands stretched for some way. The roadway across the bridge was, so far as Eadulf knew, the only main road westward out of Cashel, joining roads leading north and south on the far side of the river.
Fidelma, riding her white mare from her brother’s stables, just in front of Eadulf, halted at the centre of the bridge. Eadulf drew rein on his sorrel colt, frowning.
‘What is it?’ he demanded.
Fidelma had noticed that there was movement in the rath itself. Then from the shadows of the timbers at the end of the bridge, where it joined the island, two archers appeared with drawn bows. The arrows were strung and pointing in their direction. A third warrior, whose shield carried the insignia of a rampant boar, his sword casually held in his right hand, came forward a pace to halt between the archers. He was careful not to obstruct the bowmen’s aim.
Fidelma’s eyes narrowed as she observed them.
‘Stay alert, Eadulf,’ she said quietly. ‘That warrior appears to be bearing the insignia of the Uí Fidgente.’
She nudged her horse forward a few paces.
‘Halt!’ called the central warrior, raising his sword. ‘Come no further!’
‘Who gives orders on this bridge within sight of the King of Cashel’s s palace?’ she demanded in annoyance.
The warrior laughed sourly. ‘One who wishes to stop people from crossing it, Sister,’ came the sarcastic riposte.
‘Know you that I am a
dálaigh
and you have no authority to refuse to let me pass,’ she called in annoyance.
The man’s posture did not change. ‘I know well enough who you are, sister of Colgú. And I know your Saxon puppy of a companion there.’
‘Then, if you know that, you must also know that you have to clear the way, Uí Fidgente, for you have no right to block any public highway in this kingdom.’
The warrior gestured to the archers behind him. ‘They give me the right.’
‘And who gives you your orders?’
‘My lord, Gionga, captain of the bodyguard of Prince Donennach. No one passes this bridge until the time of the hearing at Cashel. Those are the orders I have been given from my lord in order to prevent any further conspiracies against the Prince of the Uí Fidgente.’
Fidelma’s eyes widened slightly. Her mind worked rapidly. So Gionga had posted a guard to stop her going to Imleach? The bridge guarded the only quick route across the river on the road to Imleach. How had Gionga known of her journey and why did he feel that he should prevent it? What did he fear that she could discover?
‘The bridge is closed to you,’ replied the warrior without volunteering further information. ‘Now be gone back to Cashel.’
‘My brother’s guard will soon unblock this barrier,’ she retorted.
The warrior made a careful pantomime of looking in both directions. ‘I do not see your brother’s guard,’ he jeered.
Fidelma had not only scrutinised the archers and their commander carefully but noted the fact that there seemed to be more than a dozen other Uí Fidgente warriors encamped within the rath. There was no point in arguing further with them.
She turned her mare carefully on the bridge and walked it back to Eadulf, the shod hooves of the horse echoing like a drumbeat on the wooden planking.
‘Follow me,’ she instructed quietly. ‘Did you hear all that passed between me and the Uí Fidgente warrior?’
Eadulf asserted that he had, obeying her instructions without question. He felt a tingling sensation in his back as he exposed it to the aim of the archers with their taut bows, ready to strike.
‘This seems to confirm that there is an Ui Fidgenteplot,’ he whispered, after they had moved out of range. ‘Gionga must have been desperate to attempt to prevent us going to Cnoc Aine to search for evidence. This is all the proof we need of his culpability.’
‘That is what makes me worried. Surely Gionga would realise that it would not take long for Cashel’s warriors to be alerted and ride here to disperse these men? The logical deduction would be that the Uí Fidgente have admitted their guilt by this action.’
‘Well, they have succeeded in one thing, that is that we cannot reach Imleach tonight. It is four miles back to Cashel.’
‘We will be there tonight.’ Fidelma’s voice was firm and confident. ‘When we pass the bend of the road ahead, out of sight of the men on the bridge, you will observe a track on the right-hand side leading south. Turn along it.’
‘South? I thought this was the only bridge spanning this river for miles?’
Fidelma chuckled. ‘It is.’
‘Then what … ?’
‘Quickly, here is the track.’
To call it a track was to do it honour. It was no more than a small pathway along which a horse went with difficulty, brushing against bushes and trees on either side. It plunged blindly into a great strip of dark woodland that ran along the river bank.
‘What now?’ called Eadulf, as he urged his young horse forward through the dark verdure.
‘This leads south through the forests on the river banks. About half a mile further on the forest will give way to open marshy land. I’ll take over the lead then, for we will walk our horses through the reeds and marshland. From that point, in another half-mile, we should come to a ford across the river which not many people know of. It is called Atha Asail, the ford of the ass. It is a treacherous crossing but we will make it. We will not be delayed long on our journey.’
‘Are you sure this is the best plan?’ wailed Eadulf, thinking of the turbulent waters of the rushing river. Although he had found himself in countless dangerous situations, he was not one to go out in search of danger. He did not believe the Saxon proverb that danger and delight grew from the same stalk. Eadulf once found his philosophy in the writing of Lucretius: that it was pleasurable, when the winds disturbed the waves of some great sea, to gaze out from the security of the land upon the dangers of another.
‘I used to cross the Ass’s Ford when I was a child. There is no danger in it for one who is careful,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘If you
need to exercise your mind, why not consider how Gionga could have found out that we were going to Imleach?’
Eadulf frowned. The point had not even occurred to him. ‘Maybe he overheard us discussing it with your brother? Or again, maybe he overheard our discussion with old Brother Conchobar when you asked him to draw a copy of the crucifix? Maybe he simply saw us saddling our horses and made a clever guess?’
Fidelma made a disapproving sound with her tongue against her teeth. ‘You are of little help in this matter,’ she chided, ‘for all you do is give articulations to questions that I have already asked. I need answers. I have already answered your last question in the negative for how would he have had time to send his men to meet us at the bridge, or, if they were already there, to send someone to warn them of our coming. He knew where we were going some time before we set out.’
‘Then you need a prophet to answer you,’ mumbled Eadulf, irritated because of the discomfit of the road through the snatching briars and branches of the woodland and because of his anxiety of the crossing of the rapid river ahead. ‘You should have consulted that old magician friend of yours, Brother Conchobar.’
BOOK: The Monk Who Vanished
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