The Monk Who Vanished

Chapter Fifteen

Eadulf had been dispatched to gather what information he could on Brother Bardán’s background from Abbot Ségdae with strict instructions to tell the abbot that nothing should be said that might alert Bardán that he was being investigated. Fidelma herself went in search of the highly strung dálaigh of the Uí Fidgente.

She found him, at last, in the tech screpta, the library of the abbey. Imleach was possessed of one of the great libraries in the kingdom for there were well over two hundred manuscript books housed there. Most of the books were not kept on shelves but in leather satchels, hung on pegs or racks round the wall. Each satchel contained one manuscript volume. But one section of the library contained some elaborately wrought and beautifully ornamented leather-bound volumes embellished with silver plating. A few of these were contained in small cases called labor-chomet, or book holders, which were made of metal in order to preserve works of great value. The ‘Confession of Patrick’, the earliest ‘Annals of Imleach’ and a ‘Life of Ailbe’ were amongst them.

Imleach had in its library an area in which scribes worked and studied. When Fidelma entered there were several members of the community bent over their tasks of copying books. The copying was being done on long, thin, smooth, rectangular boards on which vellum was stretched. The vellum was variously made from the skins of sheep, goats or calves. The scribes used ink made from carbon kept in cows’ horns and the work was done with pens made from the quills of geese, swans or even crows.

She noted that a few of the scribes were reading from the flesc filidh, or poet’s rods, staves and wands made from yew or apple tree on which Ogham, the ancient form of Irish writing, was carved.

Fidelma paused a moment to take in the atmosphere of the large room which comprised the abbey’s library. She always felt pleasure at being in a library; it gave her a sense of being in touch with both past and future at the same time for here was the knowledge of the past being transmitted through the present to the scribes of the future. She experienced a sense of childlike wonder whenever she enteredany library, but Imleach was regarded as one of the greatest in the kingdom.

She spotted Solam almost at once, apart from the scribes, seated at a reading table in a corner of the library. She walked quietly across to his table.

‘I see that you are rested and not ill-affected by your experience, Solam.’ Her tone was slightly ironic as she seated herself in front of him.

He glanced up in apparent irritation at being interrupted.

‘It is a matter of luck that I was not injured, Sister,’ he replied, also speaking softly so as not to disturb the others in the library. ‘I will still register my complaint to the Chief Brehon of the five kingdoms. Do not think that you will be able to persuade me otherwise.’

He thrust out his chin defiantly.

‘I would not dream of doing so,’ Fidelma returned gravely. ‘However, as a dálaigh of some reputation …’ she paused pointedly,’ I know that you will take into account the nervousness of the people in view of what happened last night.’

Solam was not mollified. ‘It does not mitigate the fact that, having identified myself, those people tried to kill me.’

‘But you were not killed,’ pointed out Fidelma. ‘However, I would not dream of preventing you from registering your complaint.’

Solam sniffed deprecatingly. ‘I shall do so.’

‘Of course, compensation in settlement to your complaint is only given if it can be justified. That is, if the people had no valid cause to fear you. If they did not genuinely believe that they had been attacked by the Uí Fidgente, then, of course, there would be no cause for their anger to be raised against you. However, if they did believe they had been attacked …’

She waved her hand to dismiss the matter and smiled.

‘You do not have to instruct me in law,’ snapped Solam, his voice rising so that a number of scribes looked up. A stentorian voice from the chief librarian, seated at his central desk, hissed a command for silence.

‘How well do you know Brother Bardan?’ Fidelma continued innocently.

The little man looked at her disdainfully.

‘Do you think it proper that we, as opposing counsels, should be discussing any matters affecting the hearing at Cashel?’

Fidelma felt her temper stirring but kept it in check.

‘I was not aware that we were doing so,’ she replied, trying to soften the icy tinge to her voice. ‘Though from what you tell me you havebeen informed of all the details of the case so it matters not if we talk in general terms.’

‘As a dálaigh, it is my task to question who I please. My Prince, Donennach, sent a messenger instructing me to proceed to Cashel and the messenger had a copy of the protocol drawn up by Donndubhain, the tanist of Cashel. Therefore, I set out immediately.’

Fidelma smiled quickly. ‘I suppose that the messenger from Cashel told you that I had come to Imleach, which is why you came here?’

Solam flushed.

‘I came here …’ he began, and then he realised the path he had been drawn along.

‘The road from Luimneach to Cashel runs north of here. So I deduced that you thought it wise to come here first. Is that so?’

The little man’s eyes narrowed.

‘You are a very clever lady, Fidelma,’ he said icily. ‘I have heard of your reputation.’

‘That is gratifying.’ She paused, allowing the silence to press the question.

‘As a dálaigh,’ Solam explained, ‘it was my duty to see if you had been able to identify the crucifix. I understand that you have. It was the crucifix of Ailbe who founded this abbey; a crucifix which has disappeared from the chapel where it has been kept for the last century or more.’

Fidelma tried to hide her surprise that Solam had been able to gather the information so quickly.

The dálaigh was sitting back with a self-satisfied look.

‘I did not know that Brother Bardan was such a loquacious man,’ she said quietly.

Solam did not attempt to deny his information had come from the apothecary. ‘He is certainly more helpful than many here.’

‘You do your reputation justice, Solam,’ Fidelma replied.

‘You will find that I now have proof that this assassination plot was not inspired by the Uí Fidgente as you have claimed it to be.’

‘You have been misinformed, Solam,’ countered Fidelma. ‘I have never claimed anything. You mention the duties of a dálaigh. It is also my duty to gather the facts and present them to the Brehons. Other people have made claims, not 1. I shall continue to seek the truth until I am satisfied that I have found it.’

‘I think that the truth will be found much closer to Cashel than you think,’ the Uí Fidgente lawyer replied. He suddenly leant forward across the table, thrusting his face towards her in an unblinking stare. He kept his voice in an even monotone, scarcely above a whisper. ‘I believe that your brother plots to destroy the Uí Fidgente. I believe that he means to complete the victory he gained at Cnoc Áine last yearwhen our king, Eóganián, was slain. How better to find justification to annihilate us than to claim that our Prince Donennach was involved in a plot to assassinate him out of vengeance? If he can persuade people to believe that story, then he will gain their support to destroy the Uí Fidgente. Well, I shall reveal the truth — and the truth is that it is Colgú, your brother, who is behind this plot!’

Solam sat back in defiance and folded his arms.

Fidelma was quiet for a moment or two and then she allowed a small smile to crease the corner of her mouth. She shook her head sadly.

‘You have an excellent court-room technique, Solam. Unfortunately, you would do better to keep it for the court room. But remember this, Brehons deal in facts, not in emotional outbursts.’

Solam leapt to his feet. His face was flushed. Fidelma’s assessment of his highly strung character was certainly an accurate one. Mentally she noted that his expressive irritability might be a weapon in her hands when arguing her case before the Brehons. For a moment or two, Fidelma thought that Solam’s rage was about to explode in verbal anger. Then the little dálaigh managed to control himself.

‘We shall see,’ muttered Solam angrily before he flounced from the library room. One or two of the scribes glanced up from their books, disturbed at his noisy exit.

The chief librarian rose from his seat and came over. There was a look of annoyance on his features.

‘The Uí Fidgente did not hand back his book,’ he pointed out. The book Solam was looking at was still on the table. ‘I presume that he has finished with it?’

Fidelma grimaced at the librarian. ‘I should imagine he has.’

The librarian bent to pick up the small, leather-bound volume. Fidelma suddenly stretched out a hand and stayed him.

‘One moment …’

She turned the book around so that she could read the title. It was a ‘Life of Ailbe’. She passed it back to the chief librarian thoughtfully.

Fidelma found Abbot Ségdae still with Eadulf in his private chambers. Both of them looked up with surprise as she entered the room. She came straight to the point.

‘How would Brother Bardan know that I had shown you a sketch of a crucifix found on one of the dead assassins in Cashel and that it had been identified as one of the missing Relics of Ailbe?’ she demanded without preamble.

The elderly, hawk-faced abbot blinked.

‘I did not tell him,’ he protested. ‘But it is no secret that the Relics and Brother Mochta have vanished, Fidelma.’

‘But no one would know that the crucifix had been discovered on the body of the assassin.’

The abbot spread his hands.

‘I did not think it was a matter to be made a secret among the senior religieux of this abbey. The Relics are of concern to us. After all, we are the primacy of the kingdom. This is where the Eóghanacht kings come to take their sacred oath by the ancient yew-tree. Why should this matter be a secret?’

‘I am not blaming you for anything, Ségdae,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘So, tell me, who did you mention it to?’

‘I told Brother Madagan, he being the steward of the abbey.’

‘And Brother Bardan? He was told?’

‘The abbey is a close community. New travels quickly. You cannot keep secrets from among the Brothers and Sisters of the Faith.’

Fidelma gave a mental sigh. The abbot was perfectly right in what he said.

Ségdae was clearly worried as he glanced from Fidelma to Eadulf.

‘Why do you both mention Brother Bardan?’ he asked. ‘Brother Eadulf here was also asking about him. Do you suspect him of any conduct unseemly for a member of this abbey?’

‘I have told the Father Abbot that we merely want to clarify some points of background,’ interposed Eadulf hurriedly.

‘That is so, Ségdae,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘Eadulf has doubtless asked you to use total discretion. You see, in order to get at the truth it is often necessary to ask questions about people in order to verify facts. It contains no slur on their character nor any suspicion of wrongdoing. So we would appreciate it if no mention was made of our questions to Brother Bardan.’

The abbot looked bewildered but indicated his assent. ‘I shall not speak about this to anyone.’

‘Not even to your steward, Brother Madagan,’ insisted Fidelma.

‘Not to anyone,’ emphasised the abbot. ‘I have told Eadulf here that I have every confidence in Brother Bardan. He has been with our community for over ten years, working as our apothecary and mortician.’

‘The abbot tells me he was a local man,’ Eadulf said. ‘That he was a herbalist before he went to the medical school at the monastery of Tír dhá Ghlas. He became an apothecary and mortician and then joined the community here.’

‘Had he ever been a warrior?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Never,’ replied the abbot in some surprise. ‘What gave you that idea?’

‘Just a thought. Do you know if he was a particular friend of Brother Mochta?’

‘We are all Brothers and Sisters in this community, Fidelma. Brother Bardán’s chamber was next to Brother Mochta’s. I do not doubt they would be friends. So was young Daig. Poor child. Brother Bardán had recently asked permission to take Daig into the apothecary and train him to be his assistant.’

‘So, as far as you knew, Brother Bardan was not close to the monk who vanished?’ insisted Fidelma.

Abbot Ségdae shook his head. ‘I would not know. In this community, we are all one under God.’

Fidelma nodded almost absently. ‘Very well.’ She opened the door. ‘Thank you, Ségdae.’

The abbot looked anxious. ‘Is there any news of a resolution to this mystery?’ he called fretfully.

‘I will let you know when I have some news,’ replied Fidelma tersely.

Outside, she said to Brother Eadulf: ‘Let’s go and examine Brother Mochta’s room again.’

‘Do you have an idea?’ Eadulf asked as he followed her along the corridor. She caught the expectation in his voice and had to answer him with a sardonic grunt.

‘This is one case, Eadulf, where I am totally at a loss. Whenever I think I see links, they vanish as abruptly as they come. There is nothing here but suspicion. On this evidence I would not even obtain the sympathy of the court. We now have less than a week to gather evidence.’

‘But if we cannot get evidence which points to those responsible, neither can the other side get evidence to prove their case,’ Eadulf pointed out.

‘It does not work like that,’ Fidelma told him. ‘Prince Donennach was a guest under the protection of my brother when the assassins launched their attack. My brother was responsible for the safety of his guests. He now has to demonstrate that he is not to be held responsible. Prince Donennach does not have to prove that my brother was to blame.’

‘I am not sure that I follow that.’

‘Only if my brother can show that this was a plot by the Ui Fidgente or some other faction is he absolved from his responsibility.’

‘It is a fine point,’ observed Eadulf.

‘But the fulcrum of the law nevertheless.’

‘Well, what can we hope to see in Brother Mochta’s room now? We have examined it before.’

They had reached the door of the chamber.

‘I do not know what I hope to see,’ confessed Fidelma. ‘Something. Some path out of this morass.’

The sound of something being dropped caused them both to start and glance at each other. The sound had come from Brother Mochta’s chamber.

Fidelma placed a finger against her lips and slowly reached for the handle, her hand closing tightly on it. Then, with a quick jerk, she opened it and flung open the door. As she had guessed, it was not locked.

Finguine, Prince of Cnoc Aine, stared up at them with surprise from a kneeling position on the floor.

After a moment or two of silence, he climbed to his feet and brushed the dust from his knees.

‘Fidelma, you gave me a start,’ he rebuked.

‘No more of a start than you gave us,’ Eadulf replied.

‘What are you doing here, cousin?’ asked Fidelma, looking quickly about the room.

Finguine grimaced awkwardly. ‘I heard from the steward of the abbey …’

‘Brother Madagan?’ interposed Eadulf.

‘The same. He told me about the disappearance and I asked to see the room. It looks as if there has been a struggle here and the poor Brother was taken off by force. Perhaps he was made to get the Relics from the chapel and then was carried off into the hills. He was probably killed there.’

Fidelma regarded her cousin seriously for a moment. ‘Is that your interpretation of events, Finguine?’

‘I don’t think that you need to have a keen imagination to interpret this,’ Finguine said, waving his hand around the room.

‘But …’ began Eadulf and suddenly saw the icy fire in Fidelma’s eyes. He snapped his mouth shut almost painfully.

Finguine turned to him questioningly.

‘What was that?’

Eadulf grimaced awkwardly. ‘I just meant that appearances can sometimes be misleading. I … er … well, what you say does seem to be a logical interpretation.’

Finguine turned back to Fidelma. ‘There, you see? I am afraid that we might be looking for a body rather than Brother Mochta alive. Once the thieves had the Holy Relics in their grasp what need would they have of Brother Mochta?’

‘Then why take him in the first place?’ Fidelma could not help the response.

‘Perhaps to prevent him raising the alarm?’

‘They could have left him trussed up in his chamber,’ suggested Eadulf.

‘True. But he might have been found earlier than they would wish and so they decided to take him with them. Then the community would spend time searching and allow the thieves time to ride away.’

‘I think, my cousin, the Prince of Cnoc Aine, has a good point, Eadulf.’

Eadulf stared at Fidelma in bewilderment. She was trying to convey something to him by the slight inflection in her tone. She was obviously warning him not to be free with his opposition to the points being made by Finguine.

‘Anyway, cousin,’ she went on easily, ‘your theory can only be proved one way or the other, if we find Brother Mochta’s remains in the hills.’

Finguine drew himself up and his smile was one of painful satisfaction.

‘I am afraid that I can now prove that.’

Eadulf jaw dropped. ‘Do you mean that you have found the remains of Brother Mochta?’

‘I do.’

They greeted the news with some moments of silence.

‘Where were the remains found?’ Fidelma asked.

‘Come, I will show you,’ Finguine replied briskly. ‘One of my men found the grisly thing in the fields not far from here. It was being ravaged by wolves. He brought it here in a sack so that it could be identified. We took it to the apothecary.’

‘To Brother Bardan?’

‘If he is the apothecary, yes, to him.’

‘Has he identified the remains?’

‘Not yet. While I was waiting, I came to Mochta’s chamber to see if the scene fitted with my conception of the event.’

They followed the Prince of Cnoc Aine to the apothecary. Inside one of Finguine’s warriors perched moodily on the edge of a table. Brother Bardan himself was bending over something that had been previously wrapped in sacking. It was laid on the table.

Brother Bardan glanced at them as they entered with a bleak expression.

‘I am afraid there is no doubt,’ he said as if in answer to their unasked question.

‘Is it the missing monk?’ Finguine wanted the matter clarified.

Brother Bardan nodded morosely. ‘This is the forearm of Brother Mochta. It had been severed by wolves. Look at the mark of canine teeth on it.’

Fidelma set her jaw firmly and moved to his side. She looked down. It was a forearm, torn and blooded. It had been severed at the elbow. The hand was still attached to it. It was a left forearm.

‘Well, that solves the mystery of where the poor Brother has vanished too,’ Finguine announced. ‘I think it also proves my point about the theft.’

Fidelma said nothing. She was still staring at the severed forearm. The she turned, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

‘Are you sure that you can positively identify this as the remains of Brother Mochta?’ she asked.

‘There is no doubt of it, as I have said.’ The apothecary nodded affirmatively.

‘Thank you, Brother.’

‘I will send some men to scour the hills where it was found,’ Finguine assured the apothecary. ‘We might pick up the trail of the thieves but I doubt it.’

‘Let me know if anything else is discovered,’ she requested her cousin as she signalled to Eadulf to follow her.

‘Well,’ Eadulf said slowly, once they were on their own, ‘that appears to be that. Now we know what happened to Brother Mochta.’

‘No we don’t,’ snapped Fidelma irritably. ‘What has just been confirmed is that Brother Bardán is a liar.’