The Monk Who Vanished

Chapter Eighteen

Fidelma seated herself by the man on the palliasse. She did not seem unduly surprised at the appearance of the moon-faced religieux who had, apparently, last been seen by them dead in the apothecary of Brother Conchobar of Cashel.

‘How bad are your wounds, Brother Mochta?’ she inquired with some solicitude.

‘Painful still but I am told they will heal,’ replied the man.

‘Told by Brother Bardán, of course?’

The man grimaced in an affirmative gesture.

Eadulf could not take his eyes from the man whose features did not deviate in one jot from the dead assassin, except … Eadulf could not quite place it. There was something else, of course. This man still wore the Irish tonsure of St John, his forehead shaved back to a line from ear to ear. But there was another indefinable difference.

‘I presume that Brother Bardan has been treating your injuries while you have been hiding here? You trusted no one?’

‘It is hard to trust anyone, especially if you have been betrayed by someone whom you have known all your life; flesh and blood that you have grown up with. Once betrayed by your own kin, how can you trust anyone else?’

Fidelma motioned to Eadulf to sit down. Reluctantly, Eadulf did so, still unable to take his eyes from the portly monk.

‘You are referring to your twin brother, of course?’ Fidelma asked.

‘Of course.’

Eadulf surprise became apparent on his features. ‘His twin brother?’ He echoed stupidly.

Brother Mochta nodded sadly. ‘My twin brother! You do not have to mince words with me, Sister. Brother Bardan told me how he was killed in Cashel. Yes, he was my twin brother, Baoill.’

‘I had begun to suspect as much,’ Fidelma said with little satisfaction in her voice. ‘One person cannot be in two places nor wear two distinctive tonsures. The answer to that conundrum could only be that there must be two people. How can two people look so exactly alike?It can only be that they are related, siblings, no less. And, even further, it can only be that they are twins.’

Brother Mochta nodded morosely. ‘Identical twins,’ he agreed. ‘How did you find me here? I suppose Bardan told you where I was? We talked about it yesterday, after the attack. He was beginning to be confident that we could trust you. But then he saw you being friendly with the Uí Fidgente lawyer, Solam. Solam has been keen to discover my whereabouts.’

‘Is that when Bardán identified some remains as being you?’ asked Fidelma.

‘I did not like that idea but Bardan felt it was the only way to stop Solam continuing to search for me. To buy us some time to discuss what best we should do.’

‘Perhaps you had better tell us in your own words what happened to bring you to this state,’ she invited.

Brother Mochta looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Can I trust you?’

‘I cannot answer that,’ replied Fidelma. ‘All I can tell you is that I am Colgú’s sister and my loyalty is to Muman. I am a dálaigh and took an oath to uphold the law above all things. If that is not sufficient for you to trust me, then I can add nothing further.’

Brother Mochta compressed his lips for a moment in silence as if struggling to make up his mind.

‘How much of the story do you know?’ he finally asked. Fidelma shrugged. ‘Little enough. I know that you faked your disappearance, taking most of the Holy Relics with you. I presumed that your brother managed to steal one of the items, Ailbe’s crucifix, in which struggle you probably received your injury. Not trusting anyone, you hid here and Brother Bardan kept you supplied with food and medicine. Where is he now, by the way?’

Brother Mochta was puzzled.

‘Brother Bardan? I have not seen him since last night? Didn’t he send you here?’

Fidelma leant forward, eyes narrowed. There was an edge to her voice.

‘Are you saying that he has not been here at all this morning?’

The injured monk shook his head. ‘I am expecting him sometime for we decided last night that our best course of action was to seek protection, especially after the attack.’

‘What manner of protection?’

‘Bardán decided to go to the Prince of Cnoc Aine and tell him the story. We knew that Finguine was a friend to the abbey and a loyal cousin to the King. We agreed to lay the matter before himand Finguine could then make the decision as to whether to tell you. When you came, just now, I thought that Finguine or Bardán had sent you …’ He broke off, looking disturbed. ‘How did you find me?’ he insisted.

‘With luck,’ muttered Eadulf, still perplexed by the whole matter.

‘Why didn’t you confide in me and tell me that you were safe as soon as I came to the abbey?’ demanded Fidelma, annoyed that so much time had been lost by the subterfuge.

Brother Mochta gave a tight smile. There was some pain in it and he eased his left leg carefully to take some pressure from his wound.

‘We do not know you to trust you, Sister. We did not know who were our friends and who were our enemies.’

‘I am the King of Cashel’s sister,’ Fidelma repeated.

‘But a sister who has been a long time away from the kingdom and

…’ Brother Mochta glanced towards Eadulf. ‘There is also the matter of keeping company with a cleric of the Roman order.’

Eadulf flushed angrily. ‘Is that a disqualification in this land?’

‘It is a fact that those who argue for the Rule of Rome are not always friends to those of us who follow the ways of our fathers.’

‘Do you or Bardán really suspect that I could betray my brother and this kingdom?’ interrupted Fidelma.

‘Blood is no cement for unity of purpose,’ replied Mochta calmly. ‘I have learnt that the hard way.’

‘Perhaps you are right. Why not trust Abbot Ségdae who would have been the natural support to turn to in time of crisis!’

‘The Father Abbot is an honourable man. He would not have approved of my plan to hide the Holy Relics. He would have maintained them in the chapel, believing them to be safe. But then what? That would practically invite the attack on the abbey. Why do you think that the raiders did not attack the abbey itself? Because they found out that the Holy Relics were not there.’

‘You know who the raiders were?’ demanded Fidelma.

‘I have a good idea.’

‘Very well. Let’s hear your story from the beginning,’ invited Fidelma. ‘Your brother, Baoill, was part of a conspiracy to bring down the Royal House of Cashel. How did this come about?’

Brother Mochta lay back and tried to gather his thoughts.

‘It is best that I start at the beginning. I was born in the territory of Clan Brasil …’

‘That we already know,’ Eadulf interrupted only to be met with a frown of irritation from Fidelma.

‘Go on, Mochta,’ she invited.

‘I am a northerner, therefore. My brother and I were, as you realise,identical twins. We were so alike that no one could recognise us apart; not even our mother at times. We grew up as wild and rebellious youths. When we were approaching the age of choice, our distracted father paid a wandering tattooist to inscribe an emblem on our forearms so that he might tell us apart. We bribed the tattooist to place exactly the same emblem on both our left forearms. A bird of prey …’

‘A buzzard,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘I recognise it. What made you choose that particular bird?’

Mochta grimaced. ‘Because it is only found on our wild north-east coast and it was familiar with the tattooist who also came from that area. There was no other reason.’

‘I see. Continue.’

‘Our father was angry with us when he discovered our prank. In fact, he had been angry with our growing youthful rebelliousness and high spirits for some time. When the time came, and we reached the age of choice, he told us that the choice before us was a simple one. We could choose what to do in life so long as we both left home and persecuted him no more.’

‘So you went into the religious life,’ Eadulf prompted when the monk paused, reflecting. ‘A strange sort of life for such high-spirited youths. Surely there were other occupations more suited?’

‘Our high spirits were damped when the door of our father’s house shut against us, Brother Saxon. Somehow we both decided to enter the abbey of Armagh, which is in our clan lands where Patrick …’

‘We know of the history of Armagh,’ Fidelma assured him shortly.

‘Well, we both trained as scriptors there. Then we began to grow apart. My brother decided to follow the Rule of Rome which is encouraged at Armagh. I felt our traditional ways were better and so I rebelled against Armagh and adopted the tonsure of St John. I had a fair reputation for my penmanship and so I bade farewell to my brother and wandered for a while, being welcomed at several abbeys and even at chiefly courts who were in need of a scribe. That is how I eventually arrived in this kingdom and joined the community of Imleach. That was ten years ago.’

‘Did you keep in touch with your brother during that time?’ Mochta shook his head. ‘Once or twice only. Through him I learnt that our parents had died. We had an older brother who took over their farm. But we had all became strangers to one another.’

‘And you saw no more of your brother until recently?’

‘That is right. Baoill had, it seems, become a more fanatic adherent of Rome than ever, which is to be understood for Ultan, the Comarbof Patrick, his abbot and bishop of Armagh, is in favour of extending the rule through all the five kingdoms.’

Fidelma made an affirmative gesture. ‘I know of Ultán’s ambition to unite all the churches in the five kingdoms in the manner of Rome, with one central primacy and rule. It will never work here because it is against our culture.’ She paused and was apologetic. ‘I take it that you disagreed with your brother’s views?’

‘Even as you say, Sister. I believe in the traditions of our people and not in these new ideas that spring from foreign places.’

‘So how did you come to meet your brother again?’

‘As you may know, from being a scriptor I had risen to become the Keeper of the Holy Relics of Ailbe. There is no need to tell you what those Relics symbolise in this kingdom?’

‘No need at all,’ agreed Fidelma gravely.

‘Well, a week or two ago, a man came to the abbey and asked to see me. He looked like a professional warrior. Tall, with long fair hair and …’

‘Armed with a bow?’ Eadulf chimed in. ‘An archer?’

Mochta nodded. ‘Yes. He had the appearance of a professional archer. He told me that he had a message from my brother, Baoill, who wanted to meet me. He stressed that because of certain matters, which he left unexplained, Baoill wanted to meet me alone and in secret. The archer was staying in the inn run by Cred. Intrigued by this approach, I went to Cred’s inn. She opened the door and, thankfully, I did not see anyone else. For the Father Abbot frowned on that place. His anger would have been great if he knew that I was visiting anyone there.’

‘Go on.’

‘Cred told me that the archer was waiting for me in an upstairs room. And so was my brother, Baoill. After we had exchanged greetings, as only two brothers who had not seen each other for a long time could do, we fell to talking politics … church politics mostly. It was then that I became aware of his views. Once he knew mine, he suddenly avoided the subject. He was a clever man, that brother of mine.

‘He turned the conversation by saying that he had heard that I was one of the scribes working on the ‘Annals of Imleach’. I confirmed that I was. He asked me what date had I given to the foundation of Armagh. I told him that its foundation I had accorded to the year of Our Lord Four Hundred and Forty-Four. He then asked, on what date I had placed the repose of Patrick. So I told him the Year of our Lord Four Hundred and Fifty-Two. These dates were not in dispute.

‘It was when he started to ask about the dates accorded to St Ailbe and the foundation of Imleach that I saw what he was after. He toldme that the northern scribes were placing those dates nearly a hundred years after Patrick.’

‘I saw the notes you had made on the subject for the “Annals”,’ Fidelma said. She drew the vellum out of her marsupium. Mochta glanced at it and nodded.

‘I stand by what I say. When I told Baoill that it was absurd for Ailbe’s dates to be made so much later because he preached the Faith in Muman before Patrick and, indeed, had jointly baptised the King of Muman — your own ancestor Oenghus Nad Froích — with Patrick at Cashel, Baoill began to argue with me again.’

‘But what does this bickering about dates mean?’ demanded Eadulf, trying to follow but succeeding only in being bewildered.

‘I understood from my brother that he was trying to persuade me to record Ailbe as someone who came after Patrick. To state that Ailbe and his followers founded Imleach after Armagh had been established. He even wanted me to assert that Ailbe should not be regarded as patron of Muman and that Cashel be accorded the title “The Rock of Patrick”. He wanted my writing to support the claims that Armagh had the historical right to claim to be the primacy of the Faith among all the five kingdoms.’

Fidelma looked grim. ‘I know all about the ambition of Ultán of Armagh. He is not the first Comarb of Patrick who has wished for Armagh to be established as the primacy in all five kingdoms and the churches to be brought under the Rule of Rome. To do that he must first ensure that Imleach’s claims to be the primacy of Muman are discredited. But, surely, this is not what these events are all about?’

‘I scarce know myself, Sister,’ confessed Brother Mochta. ‘All I know is that my brother turned to the subject once again and this time to the Holy Relics of Ailbe. How clever he was. He played on my vanity. I had told him that there was a date on some of the Relics which would prove the date when Ailbe was made bishop. He said he would believe if he could see the Relics. I told him to come to the abbey but he refused, saying that it was not seemly that my twin brother should be seen at Imleach with the tonsure of Rome. It was a silly excuse but I did not think more of it. Instead, I suggested that he came in secret to the gate which led into Bardán’s herb garden one evening and I would show him the Relics. He agreed and said that this would resolve the dispute between Armagh and Imleach.’

Fidelma looked thoughtful. ‘It was naïve of you to believe him.’

‘He was my brother. Even then I did not suspect his devious mind.’

‘So what happened?’

‘The following evening, at the appointed time, I went to the chapeland, unobserved, took down the reliquary box. I was about to take it to the assignation when something made me pause. Perhaps I had begun to suspect him, so I decided to take only Ailbe’s crucifix as a token of proof, for there is a date inscribed on the back. I brought the crucifix from the reliquary to the gate of the herb garden. There was my brother outside with the archer … God forgive Baoill! He snatched the crucifix from my hand and demanded to know where the rest of the Relics were. When he realised that I had not brought them, he became uncontrollable. He struck me so that I fell against the gate and blood poured from a wound.’

‘That explains the dried blood on the gatepost,’ Eadulf said.

‘It was then I realised that my brother’s intention had been to steal the Relics all along.’

‘Do you think that it was his own plot or had someone put him up to it?’ asked Fidelma. ‘Ultán of Armagh, for example? The plan to discredit both Ailbe and Imleach seems clear.’

‘All I know is that my life was in the balance. I think my brother would have killed me. Then Brother Bardán came along. He had come to gather herbs. He saw the attack and used a staff to beat back my brother and his companion. They had Ailbe’s crucifix. As Bardán secured the gate my brother threatened that others would come and take what I would not give.’

‘Then surely it implies that your brother, Baoill, and his archer friend were not acting on their own account?’

Brother Mochta inclined his head in agreement.

‘That is true. I was in too great a state of shock to take such matters in at that time. Bardán helped me back to my chamber and I told him the story as I knew it. He told me to tell Abbot Segdae at once that the crucifix of Ailbe had been stolen. I could not bring myself to do so because I wanted to give Baoill time to reflect on his crime and return it. I still could not believe that my own brother had turned into such an evil person.’

‘But he did not return it, obviously,’ Eadulf pointed out.

‘Some days went by. He did not return with it. I decided to go in search of him.’

‘Wasn’t that dangerous?’

‘I asked Brother Bardan to come with me. We went to Cred’s inn. There was one of the Cashel merchant’s drivers there, looking strangely at me.’

‘That was because he had seen you come to the inn several days before,’ murmured Eadulf.

‘I did not see him.’

‘He saw you.’

‘Well, Cred came out and I told her that I was looking for the archer and his companion.’

‘She said that she knew nothing of a companion …’

‘Which is true,’ asserted Fidelma. ‘Your brother, being your twin, could not afford to show himself openly in the township because of his likeness to you. He would be remarked upon. He stayed outside.’

‘Cred said that the archer was hunting in the hills,’ Brother Mochta continued. ‘Bardán and I walked on a bit, rather aimlessly, in case we discovered the archer. Then we returned to the abbey. Bardán usually left the side gate open and we returned towards the herb garden. We were in the stretch of yew-trees before crossing the heather field, not far from the gate, when my brother suddenly appeared. He had, apparently, been waiting for us.

‘I demanded the crucifix that he had stolen and he demanded the entire reliquary and its contents. He threatened me. I refused and he laughed and said that he only sought to make things easy. We would not like the next visitors to Imleach.’

‘What then?’

‘I told him that he was mad. He replied that he had the backing of a powerful prince and that it was Muman that was mad not to bow down to the inevitable. There would be one primacy for all five kingdoms and one power ruler over the whole.’

Fidelma brightened. ‘Those were his exact words?’

‘Yes. Those were his exact words.’

‘I think I see the hand of Mael Dúin, King of Ailech, in this plot. What the Comarbs of Patrick seek for Armagh, the Uí Néill kings seek for their dynasty. They want to turn the High Kingship of Eireann into a strong central kingship, like the emperors of Rome. This mystery is dissolving. Go on, Mochta. What then?’

‘We turned in disgust, Bardan and I, and left Baoill to his ranting. We began to walk across the field to the gate …’

‘We know the spot,’ intervened Eadulf.

‘We were halfway across the field when there was a whistle in the air and the next thing I felt this pain in my shoulder.‘He raised a hand and touched his wound. ‘I fell forwards. Bardán later said that he saw the archer, my brother’s companion, standing at the edge of the yew-trees and fitting another arrow to his bowstring. Bardán grabbed me and began to half drag and half propel me to the gate. We just made it when the man’s second shot caught me in the leg.’

‘Did no one in the abbey observe this?’

Mochta shook his head. ‘You have seen that area. It is not overlooked by any window nor is it a frequented area. Bardán helped me inside, shot home the bolts, and then helped me to my chamber. Beingthe apothecary, he was able to remove the arrows, which, thank God, had not penetrated deeply, and dress the wounds.

‘It was then we discussed what best we should do. It had become clear that my brother and his friend were part of some conspiracy to discredit Muman as well as Imleach. But why? For what purpose, I do not know. What was of more immediate concern to me was the threat to attack and steal the Relics. I was afraid many of the brethren would be killed in such an event.

‘We spent some time talking about this and then we decided that I should disappear with the remaining Holy Relics. Bardán would ensure that on the following day the news that the Relics and I had disappeared was spread. We hoped, by this method, that we would deflect any attack or attempt to steal them from the abbey and the community would therefore be saved from harm.

‘No one had seen me come back injured to the abbey. Having had my wounds bound I would go to Vespers and be seen. Then I would return to my chamber. That was an uncomfortable experience for while my wounds were bound, they were painful. I was in considerable distress. However, once the service was over, I returned to my chamber.

‘We arranged for Bardan to take the reliquary box from the chapel and bring it to me. We carefully arranged my room, so that it appeared that I had been carried off against my will. Then we took a few items. I had placed one of the arrows with which I had been shot where it could be seen, hoping to provide a clue to my assailant.’

‘We saw it,’ observed Eadulf.

‘Then Bardán conducted me to this spot. Being a local man, the cave was known to him and is infrequently used. He thought I could hide here until Baoill and his friends came into the open. The day afterwards, you arrived at the abbey with news that my brother and his companion had been killed trying to assassinate Colgú and the Prince of the Uí Fidgente. Bardán said it was not so simple as it appeared for whoever was behind this plot was not revealed. This meant that we had to consider our next step; to decide who was safe to trust.’

Fidelma gave a long drawn-out sigh. ‘I wish you had trusted me before this.’

‘It would have made little difference in diverting the attack on the abbey,’ pointed out Brother Mochta.

‘Who do you say the attackers were? Warriors from this King of Ailech, supporting Armagh’s plan to exert its control here?’ pressed Eadulf.

‘No, I think they were Uí Fidgente,’ replied Brother Mochta. ‘Therewere stories early this year that the Uí Fidgente were seeking some alliance with the Uí Néill kings of the north against Cashel. They have not forgiven Colgú for their defeat at Cnoc Aine and the death of their king. They would join with the Uí Néill and Armagh to see Cashel weakened and defeated. How better to defeat the kingdom than to divide it?’

‘You may well be right, Mochta,’greed Fidelma. She paused as if a thought struck her. ‘You are a close friend of Bardan, of course?’

‘Yes. Of course.’

‘Being a good penman, you helped Bardan in preparing a book on the properties of herbs?’

Brother Mochta was surprised. ‘How did you know that?’ he demanded.

‘It’s of no consequence. Don’t you think it curious that Bardan has not put in an appearance and-’ she glanced through the mouth of the cave towards the sky — ‘it must be about midday?’

Brother Mochta frowned. ‘It is a worry,’ he confessed. ‘He was going to see Finguine this morning to tell him our story. That is all I know.’

Fidelma stood up and went to the mouth of the cave. She negotiated some boxes and stared down the hillside. At the foot of the hill, woodland stretched as far as the banks of the River Ara. Fidelma turned back with decision.

‘Mochta, you are an important witness for Cashel. We must get you there immediately for you will be better protected by my brother’s warriors. You and the reliquary.’

‘What about Bardan?’ protested Mochta.

‘We will see to him later. Right now, do you think you can ride?’

‘Not all the way to Cashel,’ he protested.

‘Then we will take it in easy stages,’ she assured him. ‘The worst part of the journey is for you to leave this cave with Brother Eadulf here and walk it down the hill towards that wood there.’ She turned to Eadulf. ‘Let no one see you until I come along with the horses.’

Eadulf was bemused. ‘Where are you getting horses from?’

‘I will pick up our horses from the abbey.’ She pointed to a lamp by Mochta’s palliasse. ‘If you will lend me that lamp, I will go back through the tunnels and come back as quickly as I can by the track around the bottom of the hill. Do not bring anything other than the reliquary, Mochta. You may also trust Brother Eadulf here with your life. In fact, that is what it amounts to. Understand this clearly, Mochta, every minute you now stay here, in this cave, you are in the most deadly danger.’