The Monk Who Vanished

by Peter Tremayne

  Fidelma spoke very quietly. ‘What Brother Eadulf is pointing out, Gionga, is that you will see there is a difference in the growth of the hair on this man’s crown to the hair surrounding the crown. As you will see, the hair surrounding the crown is thick and curly. There is a circle on the crown in which the hair is barely more than half an inch to an inch in length.’

  Gionga still could not understand what it meant.

  Realisation reached Donndubháin. first. ‘Does this mean that the man was in holy orders until recently?’

  ‘What?’ Gionga was startled. He peered forward as if to verify the fact that he had missed.

  ‘The corona spina of the Roman following,’ observed Eadulf who wore the same tonsure.

  ‘Are you saying that this man was a foreigner?’ demanded Gionga of Eadulf.

  Fidelma closed her eyes momentarily. ‘There are plenty of religious within the five kingdoms who have forsaken the tonsure of St John for the tonsure of St Peter,’ she explained. ‘The tonsure tells us nothing more than the fact that he is … or was … a member of the religious.’

  ‘We know also that he wore his tonsure until about two weeks ago. I would say that it has taken that long for the hair to grow thus,’ Eadulf added.

  ‘Two weeks?’ queried Fidelma.

  Eadulf nodded confirmation.

  They stood back while Eadulf continued his examination, peering carefully at the body. He pointed to the left forearm. ‘Have you all observed this strange tattoo?’

  They bent forward to examine it.

  ‘It is a bird of some sort,’ offered Donndubhain.

  ‘Clamhán,’ asserted Fidelma.

  ‘A what?’ frowned Eadulf.

  ‘It is a hawk of sorts,’ she explained.

  ‘Well, I have never seen its like,’ asserted Gionga.

  ‘No,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘You are not likely to unless you travel to the northern lands.’

  ‘And you have, I suppose?’ the warrior jeered.

  ‘Yes. I have seen it in Ulaidh and in the kingdom of Dál Riada when I was on my way to the great council called by Oswy of Northumbria.’

  ‘Ah!’ Eadulf was triumphant. ‘I recognise it now. In Latin it is called buteo, a buzzard. An odd bird for a religieux to have emblazoned on his forearm.’

  He continued with his examination, paying special attention to the hands and feet.

  ‘This man is no religieux turned warrior, nor warrior turned religieux,’ he announced. ‘The hands and feet are soft and not calloused. Indeed, examine his right hand, Fidelma, especially between the first and second fingers.’

  Fidelma reached forward and picked up the flaccid, cold hand. She tried not to shiver as a reaction to the repulsive touch of the soft flesh which seemed pliable as to be almost boneless.

  She glanced quickly at Eadulf, her eyebrows raised, before replacing the hand.

  ‘What is it now?’ demanded Gionga, resentful that he was not able to understand.

  ‘There are ink stains on the fingers,’ Eadulf replied to the question. ‘It means that our erstwhile monk was a scriptor. A strange person to become an assassin.’

  Gionga was querulous. ‘Well, it was the other man who was the archer and he wore the emblem of the elite bodyguard of the King of Cashel and his weapons were arrows manufactured by the people of Cnoc Aine, a territory ruled by the cousin of Colgú.’

  Fidelma did not bother to comment on his statement. ‘And so we will turn to the archer himself. What can you tell us of this man, Eadulf?’

  Eadulf spent some time examining the tall man’s body before he stood back and addressed them.

  ‘The man is well muscled, his hands are used to work, although they are well groomed. They do not carry the dirt of a farmer or labourer. The feet are also hardened and the body is tanned but carries two scars, old scars which have healed. See here, one is near the ribs on the left and the other is on the left upper arm. The man has fought in battles. Furthermore, he is a professional bowman.’

  At that last statement, Gionga burst into derisive laughter. ‘Just because you have heard me say that he was a bowman, Saxon, you need not seek to impress us with your powers as if you were some sorcerer.’

  Eadulf was unperturbed. ‘I report only what I see.’

  Fidelma smiled gravely. ‘Perhaps you will explain it for Gionga as he does not understand your reasoning.’

  Eadulf smiled patiently.

  ‘Come here.’ He beckoned to the Uí Fidgente warrior. ‘Firstly, we look at his left hand in which he holds his bow. Look at the calluses on the fingers. They are not to be found on the right hand. This hand is used to holding a sturdy piece of wood. Now look at the right hand and see the smaller calluses on the tips of the first finger and thumb where this hand repeatedly holds the end of the shaft of an arrow. Return your gaze to the inner forearm of the left hand where you see some ancient burn marks. There, the string of the bow has sometimes vibrated against the flesh. It happens when a bowman is trying to release arrows in quick succession and is not always able to line up the bow with precision.’

  Gionga tried not to sound impressed. ‘Very well, Saxon. I grant you that there is a logic to your tricks. Nevertheless, I could have told you that he was a bowman for I cut him down with the bow in his hand after he had tried to kill my Prince.’

  ‘And tried to kill the King of Muman,’ added Donndubhain. ‘You keep neglecting that point.’

  ‘Turn to the assassin’s clothes.’ Gionga was peevish. ‘Explain the emblem of the Golden Chain, which is the elite bodyguard of your cousin.’

  The old monk Conchobar had placed the clothing on a second table with the weapons for them to examine.

  Fidelma picked up the cross on the chain of gold which was the symbol of the ancient order associated with the Eóghanacht Kings of Cashel. There were no distinguishing marks on it. It was similar to the cross and chain that she herself wore around her neck in token of her brother’s gratitude for her services to the kingdom.

  ‘Donndubháin, you have been close to your father, King Cathal, who was King of Cashel before my brother. You have personally known the bodyguard of the kings as well as any. Do you recognise the body of this tall archer?’

  ‘No,’ averred her cousin. ‘I have never seen him before in the company of the bodyguards, Fidelma.’

  Fidelma held out the emblem to him. ‘Have you ever seen this before … I mean, this specific emblem?’

  ‘It is like every emblem worn by members of the Order of the Golden Chain, cousin. You know it for you also wear one. It is impossible to tell one from the other.’

  Gionga was sceptical. ‘Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you? You would hardly admit that one of your bodyguard was an assassin.’

  Donndubhain whirled angrily and clapped a hand to his sword hilt as if to draw it in anger but Fidelma held up her hand.

  ‘Stop! Whether you believe it or not, Gionga, this man is not recognised as a member of the Order of the Golden Chain. I do not recognise him nor does my cousin. On that you have our solemn oaths.’

  ‘I would expect you to say no less,’ replied Gionga, the disbelief in his voice not dissipated one iota.

  ‘Maybe the cross was carried deliberately to mislead you,’ offered Eadulf.

  Gionga started to laugh offensively. ‘You mean that the assassin meant to be killed so we could find his emblem and be misled?’ he sneered.

  Fidelma saw the chagrined expression on the face of her Saxon friend and came to his defence.

  ‘It could be that the assassin meant to drop it where we would find it,’ she said, though she did not really feel convinced. She hastily turned to the piles of clothes and began to examine them.

  ‘Coarse materials. There is nothing that identifies their origin. These clothes could come from anywhere. Two leather purses. A few coins in each of them but of no great value. Our assassins seem to have been poor. And …’

  She stopped and her searching fingers encountered something in the p
urse which Brother Conchobar had identified as belonging to the elderly, rotund man. Slowly she drew it out.

  It was a crucifix, three inches in length on a long chain. Both crucifix and chain were exquisitely wrought in sparking silver. Within the four arms of the crucifix were set four precious stones with a larger stone set in its centre. They were emeralds. It was not a cross of native Irish workmanship, that was easy to see, for it was plainer, less intricate than the designs turned out by Irish silversmiths.

  Eadulf was staring over her shoulder.

  ‘That is a cross that no ordinary member of a religious community would be wearing,’ he observed.

  ‘Nor even a priest. This is the cross of a bishop, at least,’ observed Fidelma with some awe. ‘Perhaps even more valuable than an ordinary bishop’s cross.’

  Chapter Five

  Colgú was resting in a carved, tall backed chair, stretching his long limbs before a fire in the great hearth. His right arm was bound in white linen but he was looking much more comfortable than when Fidelma had last seen him.

  ‘How is the wound, brother?’ she greeted, as she entered his private chamber followed by Brother Eadulf.

  ‘It does not hurt a bit, thanks to the healing powers of our Saxon friend,’ Colgú said with a smile. He was still a trifle pale. He gestured for them to be seated in the chairs opposite him. ‘What is the news of Donennach’s wound?’

  The question was directed at Eadulf.

  ‘More of a flesh wound than anything else,’ he replied. ‘The arrow embedded itself into the fleshy part of Donennach’s thigh but did not strike muscle. He may feel discomfort for a day or two but nothing more.’

  ‘At least the wound will not cause a blemish,’ chuckled Colgú, in good spirits.

  ‘Yes, that is so,’ Eadulf confirmed but there was bewilderment in his tone. ‘Why is that a matter of concern?’

  ‘You are the lawyer in the family, Fidelma,’ Colgú smiled. ‘You explain to our friend.’

  Fidelma shifted slightly towards Eadulf.

  ‘A king is expected to have a perfect body under our laws, Eadulf. He must be free of disability or blemish.’

  ‘Is a king really excluded from kingship if he receives a blemish while king?’ Eadulf asked, astounded.

  ‘I know only of the case of Congal Caech, King of Ulaidh who also ruled as High King for a while. He was blinded in an eye by a bee sting and because of that he was dismissed from the kingship of Tara,’ Fidelma responded.

  ‘Though it did not cause him to lose the kingship of his own province,’ Colgú pointed out, ‘and he was King of Ulaidh until he was killed in battle.’

  ‘When was this?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘He was killed at Magh Rath in the year my sister here was born,’ smiled Colgú. ‘Anyway, what have you discovered, Fidelma? Who is responsible for this attack on Donennach and myself?’

  Fidelma’s features became grave and she sat still for a while, placing her hands loosely in her lap.

  ‘The situation is not good,’ she began. Then she paused a moment before continuing. ‘We have here an attempt at assassination. Under law it is the serious crime of duinetháide which merits twice the normal penalty from the culprits.’

  ‘Twice the normal penalty?’ intervened Eadulf, puzzled.

  ‘An unlawful killing, as you know, is punishable by the loss of rights and the payment of compensation of fixed sums to the family of the person killed. Duinetháide, which literally means person theft, as in the assassination of a prince, is regarded as a more serious offence.’

  Colgú leant forward, a little impatiently. ‘We know the nature of the crime, Fidelma, but why do you say that the situation is not good? The criminals are dead - slain by Gionga of the Uí Fidgente. It is a matter of identifying them and seeing if there are others involved in this crime.’

  Fidelma sighed deeply and gave a shake of her head. ‘As you know, one of the slain men was wearing the emblem of the Order of the Golden Chain, the emblem of the nobiliary order of the Kings of Cashel.’

  Colgú raised a hand impatiently. ‘True, but has he been identified? I knew him not nor, I understand, does Donndubháin. I also asked Capa, the captain of the guard, to go to view the body at Conchobar’s apothecary. He reports that he, also, did not know this man. It surely follows that he is not one of our select band of warriors.’

  ‘It is true that no one appears to recognise him,’ sighed Fidelma. ‘However, the arrows that he was using bear the distinct markings of the Eóghanacht of Cnoc Aine.’

  Colgú’s features had grown long. ‘Are you saying that the assassins were men serving our cousin Finguine, the Prince of Cnoc Aine?’ ‘I am saying that one carried arrows made by a fletcher of Cnoc Aine for the flights bear the marks of that area. Eadulf and I examined the body carefully. There is nothing else which identifies him other than the emblem of the Golden Chain and his arrows. A dálaigh could argue that was circumstantial evidence enough to lay claim to his origin. Gionga is already claiming some conspiracy by Cashel to lure the Prince of the Uí Fidgente here and slay him.’

  ‘That is nonsense!’ Colgú said angrily. ‘He cannot be serious. I was struck by the arrows of the same assassins.’

  ‘This is true enough,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But Gionga turns it to his advantage by arguing that you were not seriously hurt …’

  ‘Seriously enough,’ intervened Eadulf. ‘And more seriously than the Prince of the Uí Fidgente.’

  ‘But not so seriously that it prevents Gionga from whispering that the arrow that hit my brother was a decoy; a decoy to make it look as if it were an attack on both men whereas the real victim was intended to be Donennach. He says that had he not been quick in his actions, the assassins would have shot again and disappeared and we would never have known that they were men of Cashel.’

  ‘I have never heard such a fantasy in all my life,’ muttered Colgú, leaning back in his chair, for he had unconsciously bent forward due to the tension of his anger and his wound began to throb again. The anger on his face suddenly dissolved into a gloom. ‘What do you think, Fidelma? You have had experience in such matters. How can we prevent ‘Gionga’s false accusations?’

  ‘If Gionga can substantiate his charge that these assassins are in the pay of Cashel then you, my brother, are responsible in law and you must pay the compensation. You would lose the kingdom. I am afraid that the onus is on us to disprove Gionga’s claim as he has the evidence of the emblem and the provenance of the arrows. We must provide counter-evidence to negate the claim.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘If I am found responsible, you know that Cashel will never have peace with the Uí Fidgente,’ sighed the young King. ‘You must help me, Fidelma. How can we refute these allegations?’

  ‘We can only refute the charges of Gionga by finding evidence that does so,’ Fidelma repeated. ‘We must find proof as to who these assassins really were. Does the archer have the right to wear the Order of the Golden Chain? Why would he have worn it on such a venture? Why, if they tried to escape without being indentified, as Gionga claims, did the archer carefully leave two of his arrows on the roof which could easily be identified as to their origin?’

  ‘Perhaps he merely left in a hurry?’ ventured Eadulf. ‘Remember, after he fired, he must have seen Gionga riding across the square and it was then he fled from the roof.’

  Fidelma looked at him almost pityingly. ‘The man, as you rightly said, was a professional archer. He would not panic in that manner but would keep his weapons by him. I think that he meant us to find those arrows.’ Another thought suddenly struck her. ‘But if he were such a professional archer, why did he not strike his targets?’

  She stood up in her agitation, closing her eyes as if to recall the scene.

  ‘Colgú suddenly halted his horse and bent forward to greet me. Had he not done so he would have been killed. The mystery is why the archer missed with his second shot when Donennach was a sitting target?’

 
‘I suppose even a well-trained professional may have a bad day,’ offered Eadulf.

  Colgú leant forward eagerly to Fidelma.

  ‘Are you suggesting that the Uí Fidgente had a hand in this matter? That they engineered this to blame Cashel so that there would be a continuance of the war?’

  ‘Before you blame the Uí Fidgente,’ Eadulf pointed out, ‘don’t forget that it was Gionga who cut down the assassins. He would hardly have done so if they were his own people serving him in some plot.’

  ‘What I am saying is that there are many things that need to be explored before we come to a decision,’ Fidelma said. ‘We also discovered that this archer’s companion was a former religieux. He had once worn the tonsure of St Peter but had let his hair grow in these last few weeks. Furthermore, his hands showed ink stains which demonstrated that he was a scriptor. And, finally, he was carrying this …’

  She took out the ornate silver crucifix and held it out to her brother.

  Colgú took it and examined it with a frown.

  ‘This is a fine piece of work, Fidelma. It is very valuable. I doubt it was made in this kingdom. The designs are wrong.’ He frowned suddenly. ‘Yet I swear that I have seen this before. But where?’

  Fidelma was interested. ‘Try to remember, brother. And also answer why would a former brother of the Faith turn assassin and be carrying such a valuable piece?’

  Colgú examined his sister’s features thoughtfully.

  ‘Do you believe that there are hidden depths to this matter?’

  ‘I do. There is something that is not right,’ she replied. ‘There is no easy solution from the information we have at hand.’

  There was a knocking on the door and it opened at Colgú’s invitation.

  Donndubháin entered and spoke without waiting to be invited to do so by Colgú. It was his right. He did not look happy.

  ‘The Prince of the Uí Fidgente is demanding an audience with you. His captain Gionga has persuaded him that Cashel is guilty of some plot to assassinate him.’

  Colgú uttered an expressive oath. ‘Can we delay him? We have not yet reached a conclusion on this matter.’