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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Fidelma pouted. ‘Why do you call him a magician?’
Eadulf groaned as a briar scratched across his ankle. ‘Because he practices divination from the stars, doesn’t he? How can he claim to be a Christian and do that?’
‘Are the two things in conflict?’ mused Fidelma.
Eadulf found his irritability increasing. ‘How can you say otherwise?’
‘Making maps of the stars and deciphering their meaning is an ancient tradition in this land.’
‘The New Faith should have replaced such pagan traditions. It is forbidden. Doesn’t the Book of
Isaiah
say:
’“Let your astrologers, your star-gazers who foretell
your future month by month,
persist, and save you!
 
But look, they are gone like chaff;
fire burns them up;
they cannot snatch themselves from the flames;
there is no glowing coal to warm them,
no fire for them to sit by.
 
So much for your magicians …” ’
Fidelma smiled softly. She always had a tendency to smile when
Eadulf began to argue theology for, by his adherence to the new teachings of Rome, he and she found many points of difference in their attitudes to the Faith. Fidelma was a woman of her own culture.
‘You quote from the ancient texts of the Judaic Faith,’ she pointed out.
‘Of which Our Lord came as a Messiah,’ snapped Eadulf waspishly.
‘Exactly so. He came as a Messiah, as a Saviour, to show them a new path to understanding God. Who, according to
Matthew,
were the first to arrive in Jerusalem after the birth of the Christ?’
‘Who?’ Eadulf shook his head, wondering what point she was making.
‘Astrologers from the east, seeking the Saviour for they had seen his coming in a map of the heavens. And didn’t King Herod try to persuade them to betray that knowledge? Astrologers were the first to arrive in Bethlehem and worship the Saviour and offer him gold, frankincense and myrrh. Had astrology been cursed by God, would astrologers have been the first allowed to greet Him on Earth?’
Eadulf flushed irritably. Fidelma always had a good counterargument when he tried to assert anything that she disagreed with.
‘Well,
Deuteronomy
is clear,’ he went on stubbornly. ‘Nor must you raise your eyes to the heavens and look up to the sun, moon, and the stars, all the host of heaven, and be led on to bow down to them and worship them …’
‘ … the Lord your God created them for the guidance of the various peoples under the heavens,’ Fidelma added emphatically. ‘I trust, Eadulf, you were going to deliver the
entire
verse from
Deuteronomy?
Anyway, astrologers do not worship or bow down to the sun, moon and stars, but use them as guides. Our astrologers argue that we can no more alter the course of our stars than we can change our features and the colour of our hair and eyes. Yet we have free will to do as we please with the things that we are given.’
Eadulf sighed deeply. He was already tiring of the argument. He wished that he had not raised it. Fidelma always thrived on disputations, even to the point of becoming the Devil’s Advocate.
‘It is against the teachings …’ he began.
‘Show me one clear reference in the holy texts forbidding Christians not to take notice of the ancient science, apart from some obscure references …’
‘Jeremiah,’
returned Eadulf, remembering suddenly.
‘“Listen, Israel, to this word that the Lord has
spoken against you:
‘Do not fall into the ways of the nations;
do not be awed by signs in the heavens;
it is the nations who go in awe of these …” ’
‘What Israel did before the coming of the Messiah is a matter for Israel. But we are of the nations and
Jeremiah
admits, at least, there are signs in the heavens, although we are not awed by them but merely interpret them and attempt to understand them. And if there are signs in the heavens, who put them there? Wouldn’t it be blasphemy to claim that they were put there by another hand than God’s?’
Eadulf face was red with mortification. He felt himself about to explode with anger. He didn’t. Instead, he suddenly started to chuckle. ‘Why do I think that I can win an argument with a lawyer?’ he remarked shaking his head ruefully.
Fidelma hesitated a moment and then finally joined in his mirth.
‘Castigat ridendo
mores,’ she said softly, resorting to one of her favourite quotations. It corrects customs by laughing at them.
They broke out of the woods abruptly onto a broad field of reeds. As their horses emerged from the woodland a group of small birds rose in a body making a twanging ‘ping-ping’ call-note. They gathered in a flock and swept low over the reeds, searching out the danger, before they settled back among tall feathery-headed reed grass with its dark purple flowered heads and rough-edged leaves.
‘Reedlings,’ Fidelma explained unnecessarily. ‘Our horses disturbed them.’
Eadulf could hear the rushing of the river a short distance away.
‘Can the warriors see us from the bridge?’ he asked for although some of the reeds stretched as tall as ten feet in height, there was a lot of low growth around the path, which he saw meandering through it to the open river. But along the banks was no more than reed canary-grass, of a shorter and smaller variety.
‘No. There is a slight bend in the river which hides us. Besides, the warriors will believe that we have gone back to Cashel to get my brother’s warriors.’
She nudged her mare forward and around Eadulf to take the lead.
‘Keep close behind me and do not deviate from the track. The grassland may look firm but it is marsh and some people have been known to be sucked under into the muddy depths.’
Eadulf found himself unable to suppress a shudder as he glanced around.
Fidelma pulled a face at his pale features.
‘To be alive at all involves risks and dangers so cheer up,’ she advised brightly, before she set off confidently enough, her horse picking its way through the tall waving reeds which looked so wild and dramatic against the skyline. Eadulf realised that the marshland was a whole jumble of growths and what he had thought was an entire plain of reeds was in fact intermixed with fen sedge, spike-rush and wilting bulrushes which were long past their flowering period. The whole growth created a curious green, varying brown and yellow surrounding.
The reedlings now and then took wing but only in small individual groups from the nests among the reeds. Their tiny tawny bodies, even the males with black markings, were hard to spot.
Eadulf became increasingly aware of the rushing waters and realised that the river was crossing a series of shallows and the noise that he was hearing was the movement of the waters over the stony bottom, hitting rocks and objects in mid-stream.
Fidelma guided her mare carefully along the pathway. Eadulf, even in his saddle, could feel the springy surface beneath the hooves of his colt and he prayed that the horse would not stumble from the path and precipitate him into the dark mire on either side. The young horse had been chosen for him by Fidelma, who was an excellent judge of horseflesh. She had chosen the colt not because of its youth but because it was one of the most docile beasts in her brother’s stable and she knew that Eadulf was not the most expert of horsemen.
They emerged from the waving reeds onto a lush, green embankment, whose turf was still exceptionally springy. Before them was the broad stretch of the River Suir.
Eadulf regarded the fast-flowing water, bubbling with yellow froth over and around the stony surface, with disquiet.
‘How deep is it?’
Fidelma gave him a smile of encouragement. ‘It will come up to the chest of your horse. Give the animal a free rein and do not try to guide it. The colt has good sense. It will pick its own way through the shallows. I will go first.’
Without another word, she nudged her mare into the waters. The animal was nervous at first, shaking its head and rolling its eyes. Then it began to move forward, placing its feet carefully, stumbling once or twice but recovering. By the time it was in mid-stream, the frothing waters had reached its chest and were swirling over Fidelma’s s lower legs.
She turned in the saddle and waved Eadulf to come forward.
Eadulf looked at the wild, surging, white water and was almost paralysed with anxiety. He was aware of Fidelma waving urgently
at him to start the crossing and he found his hands trembling. He did not want to cross that violent fluctuating deluge. He was aware of Fidelma’s eyes upon him and he did not have courage enough to admit his cowardice.
Uttering up a prayer, Eadulf urged his sorrel into the waters and in his nervousness he made the horse respond too quickly. The hind legs slipped in the mud and Eadulf thought he was going to be thrown. He clung on for dear life and the colt, snorting and panting, managed to recover and find the rocky shallow. Eadulf let his reins go limp and simply sat with closed eyes, trying to imagine himself safely across.
Now and then the horse jolted him in the saddle as it struggled to find firm footing. Then the icy cold waters of the river were lapping at his feet and then his lower legs up to his knees. Suddenly, turbulent water swept over him at waist level, causing him to gasp with the shock of it. He clutched tightly at the saddle pommel. Then the horse rose above the water level again and he dared open his eyes to find himself only a few yards from the far bank. Fidelma was already there, sitting slightly forward in her saddle, awaiting him.
With a surge of energy, the animal scrambled up the bank and came to a halt beside her.
Eadulf was enough of a horseman to reach forward and pat the animal’s neck in gratitude.
‘Deo gratias,’
he intoned in relief.
‘We’d best put some distance between ourselves and this place,’ Fidelma advised. ‘The sooner we reach Imleach, the better.’
‘How about a moment to dry ourselves? I am soaked from the waist down,’ protested Eadulf.
‘Don’t bother, we might have to go swimming again. There is a smaller stream to cross, the Fidhaghta. And if the Uí Fidgente have left more warriors at the Well of Ara, which is the main ford across the river, we might be in trouble again.’
Eadulf groaned loudly.
‘How far is the Well of Ara?’
‘No more than seven miles. We will be there shortly.’
She turned and moved off into the surrounding woodland, heading directly westward. Without turning to see whether Eadulf was following she called over her shoulder: ‘The path broadens here and we can canter for a while.’
She pressed her heels into the side of her mount and the powerful white mare surged forward in response. So eager was its stride that Fidelma had to shorten her rein to ensure the horse stayed at a steady canter.
Eadulf followed close behind, bobbing up and down in his saddle, his sodden clothing making him feel more miserable and uncomfortable than he had felt in his life.
It seemed an eternity before they came to a small rise where the road dipped towards another substantial river which bent almost at a right angle at a point where there was a cluster of buildings along its banks. The river seemed to flow from west to east and then turn directly south.
‘That is the Well of Ara.’ Fidelma smiled in satisfaction. ‘That is the crossing point and Imleach lies some miles further on. We can follow the north bank of the river for a while. I can’t see any of Gionga’s warriors there, though.’
Eadulf sniffed in his discomfiture. ‘There are buildings there and smoke. Can’t we rest and dry out?’
Fidelma glanced up at the sky. ‘We will not have long. We must be at Imleach before dark. However, if there are no warriors of the Ui Fidgente warriors hanging around, there is a tavern at the crossing where you may change or dry your clothes.’
Without more ado she led the way down the hill towards the group of buildings that straddled both sides of the water. Here the water crossed shallows but nowhere as dangerous nor turbulent as the crossing of the Suir.
A couple of boys were sitting on the river bank, casting a line into the waters. Fidelma approached just as one was lifting a wild, brown trout which he brought triumphantly to the bank.
‘A good catch,’ called Fidelma appreciatively as she halted her horse.
The boy, no more than eleven, smiled indifferently. ‘I have made better, Sister,’ he replied solemnly, in deference to her habit.
‘I don’t doubt it,’ she replied. ‘Tell me, do you live here?’
‘Here, where else?’ replied the child in a worldly manner.
‘Are there strangers in your village?’
‘There were strangers last night. The Prince of the Uí Fidgente, so my father says. He and his men. But they left this morning when the great King from Cashel arrived to meet them.’
‘But there are no strangers left in the village now?’
‘No. They all went to Cashel.’
‘Good. We are obliged to you.’
Fidelma turned her mare and moved on towards the river, waving
Eadulf forward. The waters barely came up to the fetlocks of the horses as they crossed the waters of the Ara and reached the far bank. It was not difficult to spot the tavern for it lay exactly by the ford with its swinging sign outside the door.
Thankfully, Eadulf slid from the saddle and hitched the reins to a convenient post. He removed his saddle bag in which he had a change of dry clothing, hoping to find time to change into something warmer.
As he was doing so, the door of the tavern opened and an elderly man came out.
‘Greetings, travellers, you are most …’ The man stopped short as his eyes fell on Fidelma. A smile of welcome broke over his features and he hurried forward to help her from her horse.
‘It is good to see you, lady. Why, it was only this morning that your brother was here to …’
‘To meet with Donennach of the Uí Fidgente,’ rejoined Fidelma, recognising the man with a friendly smile. ‘I know, good Aona. It is a long time since I have seen you.’
The man beamed in pleasure that she had remembered his name. ‘I have not seen you since you were celebrating the attainment of the age of choice. Why, that must have been twelve years or more ago.’
‘It was a long time ago, Aona.’
‘Long, indeed, and yet you recall my name.’
‘You were ever a loyal follower of my family. It would be a bad member of the Eóghanacht who did not remember the name of Aona, one-time captain of the guard of Cashel. I heard that you had decided to retire to run a wayside tavern. I had not realised it was this one.’
‘You …’ He suddenly glanced at Eadulf and took in his clothing and Roman tonsure in one swift glance. ‘You and your Saxon companion are most welcome to my hospitality.’
‘I need to change my clothes and dry myself,’ Eadulf muttered, almost in a voice of complaint.
‘Did you fall from your horse into the river, then?’ asked Aona.
‘No I did not,’ Eadulf snapped. He did not bother to explain further.
‘There is a fire inside,’ Aona advised. ‘Come in; come in both of you.’ He pushed open the door and stood aside to usher them in.
‘Alas, we cannot stay long. I need to get to Imleach before nightfall,’ Fidelma told him as she followed Eadulf inside.
Eadulf made a straight line to the roaring fire, where flames ate hungrily at a pile of glowing logs.
‘You will stay for a meal, surely?’
Eadulf was just about to say they would but Fidelma shook her
head firmly. ‘There is no time. We will stay here long enough to warm ourselves with a drink and for Brother Eadulf to change his sodden garments and then be off.’
Aona’s features mirrored his disappointment.
Fidelma reached out a hand and touched his arm. ‘Let us hope that our journey will return us here quickly and then we will do justice to your hospitality. But this is a matter of some urgency, of importance to the safety of the kingdom, and not a matter of mere whim.’
Aona had served most of his younger life in the bodyguard of the Kings of Cashel and he grew erect. ‘If the kingdom is in danger, lady, tell me how best I may serve it?’
Fidelma. turned to where Eadulf was uncomfortably standing, with steam rising from his wet garments, in front of the fire.
‘Have you a room where Brother Eadulf might change his clothes?’
Aona pointed to a side door across the main tavern room.
‘In there, Brother. Bring out your wet clothes and we will dry them before the fire.’
‘Time is important,’ Fidelma added, as if to excuse her peremptoriness. When Eadulf had disappeared, taking his saddle bag with him, and Aona had filled two mugs with
corma,
Fidelma sat in a chair and held the hem of her own garment to the fire.
‘How did the Uí Fidgente behave while they were waiting for my brother?’ she asked the innkeeper.
Aona frowned. ‘Behave?’
‘Yes. Were they friendly or truculent and ill-mannered? What?’
‘They behaved well enough, I suppose. Why do you ask?’
‘You heard no rumours among them of any discontent? Received no feelings that some conspiracy was afoot among them?’
The old innkeeper shook his head negatively, handing Fidelma one of the mugs of the potent ale.
She sipped at it absently, then asked, ‘And all the members of Donennach’s entourage went with him to Cashel? They met with no one else here?’
‘No one that I saw. What does this mean?’
‘There was an assassination attempt against my brother and Donennach as soon as they reached Cashel.’
The old man started. He looked alarmed. ‘Was the King … was he badly hurt?’
‘Flesh wounds,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘The wounds were bad enough but they will soon heal. However, some warriors of the Uí Fidgente have accused Cashel of deception and have claimed, in spite of his wound, that my brother is behind this attack.’
Eadulf entered in dry clothes, and bearing his sodden garment over his arm.
The innkeeper automatically took it from him and hung it on a pole in front of the fire. ‘It will be dry shortly,’ he told Eadulf before handing him the second mug of ale that he had poured. Then he turned back to Fidelma. ‘The Uí Fidgente must be mad to make such an accusation … unless it be part of their plan.’
Eadulf drained his ale in one swallow and then started to cough as the effects of the fiery liquid were felt.
Aona gave him a sad smile. ‘My
corma
is not to be taken like water, Saxon,’ he rebuked. ‘Perhaps you would like water to ease the effects?’
Eadulf nodded, gasping slightly.
Aona filled the mug with water from a jug and Eadulf drained it immediately, gasping for breath.
Fidelma ignored her companion and sat staring into the fire, as if deep in thought. Then she looked up at the old man.
‘Are you sure, Aona, that you observed nothing out of the ordinary, nothing strange?’
‘Nothing at all, lady. You have my word on it,’ the old warrior assured her. ‘Donennach and his entourage arrived here last evening. The Prince of the Uí Fidgente and his personal aides slept in the inn. His warriors encamped in the fields by the river bank. They were well behaved. Then this morning, your brother arrived and they all set off together towards Cashel. That is all I know.’
‘They were not followed by anyone? A tall man, an archer, nor a short, rotund man?’
Aona shook his head emphatically. ‘I saw no such people, lady.’
‘Very well, Aona. But keep a careful watch these next few days. I do not trust the Uí Fidgente.’
‘And if I see anything?’
‘Do you know Capa?’
Aona chuckled humorously. ‘I taught that youngster all he knew. He was but a slip of a youth when he came to join the bodyguard of the King of Cashel. He had no more idea of warfare than …’
Fidelma gently interrupted his memories. ‘Your pupil is captain of the King’s bodyguard as you once were, Aona. If you have news of any movement on the part of the Uí Fidgente, then send a message to Capa at Cashel. Do you understand?’
Aona nodded emphatically. ‘That I do, lady. What else can I do for you?’
Eadulf coughed politely. ‘Perhaps more of that brew you call
corma.
This time I shall treat it with respect.’
Aona turned away to pour more of the beverage from a wooden cask into Eadulf mug. When he turned back he was frowning as if something had occurred to him.
‘Is something wrong, Aona?’ Fidelma was quick to notice his expression.
The elderly innkeeper scratched the side of his nose. ‘I was trying to recall something. You asked about a tall man; an archer, and a shorter man, his companion?’
Fidelma leant forward eagerly. ‘You did see them? You could not very well miss them if they were together. Side by side, they looked so incongruous.’
‘I saw them,’ confirmed the innkeeper.
Fidelma’s expression was one of triumph. ‘You did? Yet when I asked you first, you said that you were sure they were not here.’
Aona shook his head. ‘That was because you asked me whether they were here with the UíFidgente within the last twenty-four hours. I saw such a pair a week ago.’
‘A week ago?’ intervened Eadulf in disappointment. ‘Then they may not be our pair of villains.’
‘Can you describe the men?’ pressed Fidelma.
BOOK: The Monk Who Vanished
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