The Monk Who Vanished

by Peter Tremayne

  Donndubhain shook his head. ‘The prince is awaiting you in the Great Hall as we speak. I dare not even rebuke him on his manners for he is in a bad mood.’

  Protocol laid down that even a Prince should await an invitation before entering the Great Hall of Cashel which was where the King received official visitors and guests. Protocol also demanded that guests wait in the anterooms before being invited to an audience with the King.

  The King rose carefully, taking care not to exert pressure on his arm. He could forgive the emotional stress that drove the thoughts of protocol from the mind of his wounded guest.

  ‘Then we had better go to see what it is that the Prince of the Uí Fidgente demands,’ he said with resignation. ‘Come; you, too, Eadulf. I may have need of your stout Saxon arm.’

  When they entered the hall, the Prince of the Uí Fidgente was already seated. There was a sweat on his face and his posture looked restless. Certainly the wound, flesh wound or not, was making him uncomfortable. Behind him stood a grim-faced Gionga. There was no one else in the hall except Capa of the King’s bodyguard standing behind the throne.

  Donennach started to rise but Colgú, who was not overly punctilious, waved him back into his seat, while he went to his chair of office and sat down, resting his arm carefully. Fidelma took a chair on the left-hand side while Donndubhain sat to the King’s right. Eadulf took a standing position near to Capa.

  ‘Well now, Donennach, how may I serve you?’

  ‘I came here as your guest, Colgú,’ the Prince began. ‘I came here with the desire that we of the Uí Fidgente might form a lasting peace with the Eóghanacht of Cashel.’

  He paused. Colgú waited politely. There was nothing to be said for this was a mere statement of fact.

  ‘The attack on me …’ Donennach hesitated, ‘on both of us,’ he corrected, ‘raises certain questions.’

  ‘Be assured that they are questions to which we are urgently seeking answers,’ intervened Fidelma softly.

  ‘I would assume as much,’ snapped Donennach. ‘But Gionga here informs me of things which I find disconcerting. He tells me that the assassins, whom he slew, are men of Cnoc Aine, the land ruled by your cousin, Finguine. Therefore, they are men over whom you have responsibility, Colgú of Cashel. I saw for myself the body of one of these assassins bearing the insignia of your own military elite.’

  ‘You have doubtless heard the saying, Donennach, fronti nulla fides?’ asked Fidelma quietly.

  Donennach scowled at her. ‘What are you trying to tell me?’ he sneered.

  ‘No reliance can be placed on appearance. It is easy to pin a badge on a person just as it is easy to put a coat on a person. The coat or the badge does not really tell you who the person is but only who the person wishes us to believe that they are,’ replied Fidelma calmly.

  Donennach’s eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps you will leave it to the King, your brother, to explain the meaning of that defence?’

  ‘Defence implies an accusation,’ Colgú rebuked mildly. ‘We should not be interested in throwing accusations at one another but in getting to the truth.’

  Donennach waved a hand indifferently. ‘So you accept that you have an explanation to make to me?’

  ‘We accept,’ replied Colgú carefully, ‘that one of the two men killed by Gionga bore the insignia of an order of Cashel. But that does not identify him as being a man in my service. As my sister has told you, it is easy to place something on a man to mislead people.’

  Donennach suddenly looked uncomfortable and glanced to Gionga. ‘How do I know that this is not an attempt by Cashel to destroy the Uí Fidgente?’ he demanded.

  At that Donndubháin exploded in anger. He sprang from his seat, hand going to the place where his sword sheath would have been. But it was a rule never to go armed into a king’s great hall.

  ‘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.’

  Chapter Six

  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.