The Monk Who Vanished

Chapter Seventeen

There was nowhere in the interior where anyone could hide. The floor was flagged and there was only a small altar table with a carved wooden cross on it at one end. On either side of where the cross stood were two unlit tallow candles in metal holders; before the cross stood a bowl of flowers, dry and wilting.

The oratory was clearly deserted. Eadulf tried not to look smug as he said: ‘He must have sneaked by your gaze.’

Fidelma took the statement seriously.

‘The entrance was in full view all the time. He did not come out once he had gone in,’ she said firmly as she examined the interior in disbelief.

‘The evidence contradicts that.’

Her eyes flashed angrily. ‘Unlike you, I did not close my eyes.’

Eadulf allowed himself a smile of superiority but said nothing further.

Fidelma was clearly bewildered. The only explanation she could find was that Brother Bardán had left the oratory by a means other than the door. But there was no other means of exit.

With a sigh she decided to give up the attempt to fathom out the unfathomable.

‘Let’s go back to the abbey. It does not help to consider this problem on an empty stomach,’ Eadulf suggested.

The sun was growing warm now and the dew was rising. A faint mist hung in patches here and there. It did not take them long to return back across the heather fields towards the abbey. The small wooden gate into the herb garden was still open.

Fidelma paused thoughtfully as she glanced down at the bolts.

‘Well, that proves one thing.’

Eadulf looked at her questioningly, examining the bolt on the gate and the door itself. ‘Have I missed something?’

‘The fact that the bolts have not been shot home shows that Brother Bardan has not returned this way.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘Because Brother Bardan left by this gate, unlocking it to leavethe abbey. Naturally, he could not thrust home the bolts behind him. Had he returned through this gate, however, he would have secured the bolts. Brother Bardan is still out there.’ She inclined her head in the direction of the oratory. ‘Yet I am at a loss to understand how he gave us the slip.’

Eadulf could think of no rejoinder.

They passed through the herb garden and crossed back through the courtyard and along the cloisters. The abbey was now coming to life.

The grim, hawk-like features of the Abbot Ségdae, appeared before them.

‘You did not attend lauds,’ he greeted. There was a slight note of rebuke in his voice.

‘No,’ Fidelma agreed hurriedly. ‘We had much to do. Can you tell us where Brother Bardan is? I wanted to have a word with him but he seems to have left the abbey.’

Abbot Segdae did not appear surprised, explaining, ‘His routine is to go early abroad in search of healing herbs. He has probably left already on one of his trips.’

‘Then it is quite usual for Brother Bardan to leave the abbey so early?’

‘It is.’

Fidelma appeared to change the subject.

‘The other day I noticed a little chapel standing a short distance away from the abbey which I had not seen before,’ she went on, falling in step with Ségdae as they walked along the corridors of abbey.

Eadulf reluctantly followed behind them. His thoughts were concerned with reaching the refectory and satiating his hunger and thirst.

‘Ah, you mean the little sanctuary of the Blessed Ailbe?’

‘An old, dry stone corbel oratory?’

‘That is the one. It stands in a heather field,’ confirmed Ségdae. ‘That’s curious.’

‘What is curious?’ asked Eadulf.

‘The dálaigh of the Uí Fidgente … what’s his name? Solam? Solam was just asking about the same chapel.’

‘Solam?’

Ségdae had apparently not noticed the tension in Fidelma’s reaction. ‘The place is called Gort na Cille,’ he said.

‘The “field of the church” seems an appropriate enough name,’ Fidelma observed, recovering her composure. ‘Why did Solam want to know about it?’

‘I do not know. Some people think that cures might be had there if one washes in the water drawn there before dawn,’ offered the abbot.

Eadulf, who was thinking of quenching his thirst, groaned. If he had known there was a stream at that spot then he would not be suffering now. He tried to recall where such a stream could have been.

‘Drawn from where, Father Abbot?’ he asked innocently. ‘I do not remember a stream in that field.’

Abbot Ségdae shook his head. ‘There is no stream there but simply a well. It is called Tobar na Cille … the Church Well. That is because the chapel was built over it. The well is in the oratory itself.’

Fidelma suddenly halted in mid-stride.

‘Do you mean that there is a well under the flagstones of the chapel?’ she asked slowly.

Ségdae regarded her in amusement.

‘Oh yes. One of the flagstones is hinged so that it can be opened. It lies behind the altar table.’

They had reached the door of his chambers and several members of the community were waiting to speak with him.

‘Do you know where the Uí Fidgente lawyer is now?’ asked Fidelma.

‘I saw him but fifteen minutes since coming from the morning service. But I do not know where he was going.’

Fidelma’s face suddenly showed a curious purpose as she thanked the bemused abbot and hurried away with Eadulf trailing in her wake.

Eadulf groaned at her abrupt change of direction.

‘This isn’t the way to the refectory, Fidelma,’ he protested breathlessly.

She silenced him with a cutting gesture of her hand. ‘Don’t you see?’ she pressed.

He shook his head in bewilderment. ‘See what?’

‘The mystery of Brother Bardán’s disappearance is explained.’

He thought a moment and then saw what she meant.

‘Are you telling me that Brother Bardán was hiding from us down a well shaft?’

‘Perhaps the well shaft has another purpose. We must go back directly and examine it. What I do not like is that Solam has been asking about that oratory. What does Solam know about it?’

Eadulf suddenly halted. His expression was defiant.

‘I will not return …’ he began. He paused as he caught the glitter in her eyes and continued, ‘not before I find some food and drink to take with me.’

Impatiently, Fidelma allowed herself to be hurried to the refectory. The long tables were almost deserted for most of the community had already broken their fast and started their daily routine.

‘We might as well take some food with us,’ Fidelma suggested. ‘There is not much time to be lost. Solam is up to something, I am sure of it.’

Eadulf grabbed a couple of loaves of freshly baked bread, still warm. He added to the bread several pieces of cold meat and some cheese as well as fruit. He found a sacullus hanging among several nearby and confiscated it, putting the food in it. Fidelma had found a water container, filled it with water and handed it to him to place in the bag.

‘Now let us return to Gort na Cille,’ she said when he had indicated that he was ready.

As they passed out of the refectory, Eadulf could not resist the temptation to seize another piece of bread and some meat and thrust it into his mouth, experiencing a pleasing sense of satisfaction as he began to chew on it.

The day had turned quite warm by the time they reached the tiny oratory again. They had once more left the abbey by the side gate through the herb garden and, so far as they were aware, they were not been observed by anyone. By the time they had reached the field in which the tiny oratory stood, Eadulf had devoured a large quantity of his share of the food from the sacullus. Fidelma was not hungry and merely contented herself with a drink from the water container they had brought.

The oratory was still deserted and gloomy.

Eadulf lit one of the candles on the altar table to help them identify the flagstone covering the well entrance. It was easy to spot now that they knew what they were looking for. The flag had a small iron ring in it. Eadulf bent forward and heaved. He nearly stumbled backwards for the flag was fixed onto some pivotal device which made it swing upright with little effort.

A large back hole plunged beneath them.

Eadulf held out his candle. It was of little help except to illuminate the first few feet.

‘Total darkness,’ he muttered. ‘There is nowhere that anyone could hide in that blackness.’

‘Examine your candle,’ Fidelma advised him.

Eadulf did not understand. ‘Examine …? What do you mean?’

‘Your candle is fluttering and flickering when you hold it out over the well head. What does that mean to you?’

Eadulf regarded the spluttering candle flame in silence. Then he glanced to the doorway. He was beginning to understand what Fidelma was trying to indicate to him.

‘There is air rising from the shaft here and you think it indicates that there is something more than water down there?’

Fidelma pointed. ‘That fact coupled with another. See, just there … a wooden ladder is fixed to the side of the shaft. Now why have a ladder leading down into a well?’

Eadulf peered dubiously downwards. ‘It’s dark. I’d better go down and look.’

He held out the candle to Fidelma but she shook her head.

‘I am lighter than you. We do not know how firm the ladder is.’

Before he could protest, she had swung over the edge and was already starting downwards into the blackness.

‘It seems firm enough,’ she called up after a few moments.

Eadulf lost sight of her as she disappeared down into the darkness of the pit.

‘You will need a candle to see,’ he called down.

There was no answer.

‘Fidelma!’ called Eadulf anxiously.

Her voice came back immediately.

‘It’s all right. I have found a tunnel. There is some sort of faint light along it.’

‘I’m coming down then,’ Eadulf replied firmly, swinging the sacullus around on his back and, holding the candle firmly in one hand, he began to descend into the well shaft using one hand to grip the outside edge of the ladder.

He had descended some ten feet into the blackness when he saw the opening which Fidelma had discovered. She had already moved from the ladder into the tunnel. She held out her hand for the candle so that Eadulf could more easily negotiate the tunnel entrance. He passed it across.

‘There is plenty of space in the tunnel,’ she assured him.

Eadulf saw that she was right. It was about three feet in width and five feet in height, so that he had only to bend forward and be cautious of hitting his head on the low, rocky ceiling. The tunnel, judging by its shape, which was almost oval, appeared to meander and its course marked it as a natural cavity formed by the corrosion of water in the limestone. It was very damp and the atmosphere was fetid. Like Fidelma, he realised that further along the tunnel there was a faint light but it did not seem natural.

‘What is it?’ he whispered.

‘I have seen it before. It is a substance which is luminous in the dark, an odd waxy matter which I have seen craftsmen use to make fire from. It is inflammable. I think the Greeks name it after the Morning Star.’

They exchanged no further word as they followed the passage. It was some time before Eadulf heard Fidelma utter a suppressedexclamation as she suddenly found she was able to stand upright. He saw that the passageway had emptied into a moderately sized cave. It was about ten feet in height, rounded and maybe twenty to thirty feet in diameter.

‘There’s no one here,’ Eadulf muttered, stating the obvious, as he examined the emptiness of the cave.

Like the passageway along which they had come, the cave was very wet and there was a small pool in the centre. There was a constant drip, drip of water from the roof striking the pool’s surface. The noise echoed and re-echoed and to Eadulf the sound seemed unbearable for any length of time.

‘It is not the sort of place anyone would remain,’ Fidelma said, appearing to read his thoughts. Then she pointed across the cave. On the far side there were two black holes marking entrances to other tunnels.

‘Two entrances. Which one shall we choose?’ she asked.

‘The right-hand path,’ said Eadulf unthinkingly.

Fidelma glanced at him but the light distorted her features so that he could not discern her expression.

‘Why choose right?’ Her voice was amused.

Eadulf shrugged. ‘Why not?’

They crossed the cave floor, which was slippery with lichen and some moss-like growth, and went into the tunnel. It was not long before the narrow passage bulged into a wider chamber. This chamber was dry and dusty. Eadulf felt the dust as he breathed in, feeling its tiny particles coating his mouth and windpipe. He coughed for a few moments.

There was dust and rocks on the floor. Fidelma stood still and held her candle up high to spread the maximum possible light.

‘The rock face here has been worked,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘What have we come into? Some sort of mine?’

Fidelma was about to make a rejoinder that this fact was obvious but she held back. She was aware of the fault of her waspish tongue. Eadulf did not deserve to be made the object of it so often. It occurred to her that she had been thinking a lot about her relationship with Eadulf of late. She had, particularly this last month, been growing increasingly irritated by his faults. These last nine months they had always been together. They had shared many dangers. Yet she was dissatisfied with the friendship and she could not understand why. She seemed to be constantly watching for his faults and reacting to them. What was the old saying? Reckoning up is an end to friendship?

She tried to bring her mind back to the present.

‘The rock here seems to be more granite than limestone. Unusual. Ah, see this, traversing the granite … argentite.’

Eadulf frowned and peered over her shoulder.

‘Silver? Is this a working silver mine?’

‘Someone has certainly been working here — and recently.’ She pointed to a broken tool on the floor. The wooden haft of a pick had recently been smashed. Judging from the newness of the splintered wood it was obvious that the handle had not lain on the floor for more than a few days.

Eadulf, in the meantime, had picked up a lump of ore and rubbed it. In the lamplight he could see the veins of white, ductile metal.

‘Let us move on,’ Fidelma instructed. ‘Perhaps we will learn something up ahead.’

Almost at once the chamber narrowed back into a passageway which only one person could proceed along at a time. It grew smaller until they were soon having to crouch as they moved along it. After a while they could hear water gushing.

‘There is a light up ahead,’ Fidelma called over her shoulder. ‘This time it is daylight. We are nearly at the entrance.’

They had to go on hands and knees before, finally, they emerged into a sheltered area filled with the sound of rushing water. One side of the enclosure was fully open to the elements. It was not so much a cave but an open area covered by a large rock overhang. This consisted of a great protruding limestone rock. As they rose to their feet they saw a pool being fed by waters which emanated from the rocks, gushing quite strongly.

‘An underground well stream,’ Fidelma explained, having to raise her voice above the sound.

They climbed out of the half cave and looked around the countryside. They seemed to have gone in a semi-circle, for the oratory and its well had been to the north of the abbey and now they had emerged on the south side of the ecclesiastical complex. In fact, they were not far from the abbey’s southern extremity. Fidelma estimated that they were no more than four hundred yards away. The abbey walls were secluded from view by a copse consisting of lines of tall spruce. Only the towers could be seen rising behind them.

‘Would Brother Bardan have come all this way when he could easily have left the abbey and walked across a field or two to come to this spot?’ asked Eadulf. ‘And for what? Do you think he has some connection with that silver working?’

Fidelma did not answer. It was pointless speculating.

It was Eadulf who caught sight of some object on the ground just beyond the mouth of the opening. He reached for it and held it up.

It was a torn piece of brown woollen cloth. There were fresh bloodstains on it.

‘Do you think this belongs to Samradán’s driver? Could the wolves have brought it here?’

He suppressed a shudder of revulsion as he conjured the vision of what must have been the fate of the driver’s body. Memory of the encounter with the wolves caused him to feel a chill in his spine. He glanced round quickly to see if he could spot the signs of a wolves’ lair in the cave entrance.

Fidelma took the piece of woollen cloth from him and examined it. She gave a negative shake of her head. Her expression was grim.

‘Samradán’s driver was not wearing clothing like that. That is the cloth usually worn by religious.’

She gazed round. The ground here was a gentle slope, inclining downward from the cave mouth. The grass was chewed short by grazing animals. Fidelma pointed to the ground.

‘The earth here is soft and muddy underneath. There seems to have been a number of horses here recently and there have been heavy wagons as well. Look at the indentations.’

‘How can you be sure that it was recently?’ asked Eadulf.

Fidelma simply stamped her foot into the ground. It took him a moment to realise that it was not done out of temper.

‘The indentations would not have remained deep for longer than twenty-four hours and …’ She dropped abruptly to one knee. ‘Look at this patch of blood. Not yet dry. We may presume it to be the same as the blood on the cloth.’

Eadulf verified her statement with a nod.

‘A few hours old, no longer. That rules out it being the blood of Samradán’s driver.’

‘Or any of the poor townsfolk who were killed in the raid,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘It looks like some horsemen, probably those driving wagons, picked up the man wearing religious clothing at this point. There are no footprints, so he obviously went off with them. I doubt if he went willingly.’

‘Are we talking about Brother Mochta?’

‘Or our apothecary friend who insisted that Brother Mochta was already dead.’

Fidelma examined the ground for some time as if hoping to find the answers to the questions that came into her mind. All she knew for certain was that there were signs of more than one wagon and several horses. Then she realised that the prints of shod horses overlaid the tracks of the wagons. Well-shod horses usually meant warriors for few others would ride in groups and have horses so carefully tended.

‘After the wagons were here,’ she said slowly, ‘there must have been a group of horsemen who came to this place.’

Eadulf rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. ‘So our search has come to a dead end?’

‘Not necessarily.’ Fidelma carefully wrapped the bloodstained cloth and placed it in her marsupium. ‘I think we should go back into the cave and take the other tunnel to see where it leads before we quit.’

Eadulf was not enthusiastic. ‘I was afraid that you were going to say that. But surely it is a waste of time? Whatever happened must have happened here.’

Fidelma shot him one of her mischievous grins.

‘Going right is not always right. We will try the left-hand path before returning to the abbey,’ she announced firmly before plunging back into the tunnel.

It did not seem long before they were back in the large damp cave again, with its noisome dripping of water into the central pool. They turned into the second tunnel. This was pretty much like the first one they had entered through the small oratory. Their progress along it was more rapid than the one which had led into the silver workings. Eadulf particularly noticed that the floor was beginning to slope upwards as if they were going up a steep incline. The climb was fairly exhausting and by mutual agreement they paused to rest, squatting on the stony floor which was now dry and covered with dust that seemed to be a combination of shale and ground stone.

‘How can we be going upwards for so long?’ mused Eadulf. ‘Surely, we could not have been so deep below the surface?’

‘I think this passage is leading into one of the hills surrounding the abbey. There is a tall hill called the Hill of the Cairn nearby.

She suddenly snapped her fingers. ‘That’s it. I had forgotten. What was it Brother Tomar said when the abbey was under attack? He had heard of a secret passageway leading to the Hill of the Cairn.’ She frowned in the effort of remembering. ‘That’s it. He had heard the Abbot Ségdae speak of it. He thought it might be a way of allowing the women of the community to escape the attackers.’

‘This must be the same tunnel then?’

‘It seems so. Unless these hills are riddled with such passageways. That is possible, of course. I have heard of several cave complexes within this countryside, many with underground streams and lakes. That is why there is shale here. Shale is ground shell.’

‘Are you saying that we are going into the hill?’ Eadulf appeared worried. He never liked being underground for lengthy periods. ‘We have only a stub of candle to lead us wherever it emerges. If, hopefully, it does emerge into daylight.’

Fidelma glanced down to the flickering light in her hand. It was true that there was only an inch left. In her enthusiasm to follow the tunnel she had forgotten about the light.

‘Then we had better continue on as fast as we can,’ she replied. ‘I’ve noticed that the strange phosphorescent matter no longer exists in this section of the tunnel.’

The idea of being caught below the ground in total darkness now leant a new speed to their efforts as they continued to move upwards through the tunnel. Its uneven course confirmed Fidelma in her belief that once upon a time this had been an underground stream which must have started at the hill top and moved into the valley to feed the wells, most of which no longer existed or were fed by some other source.

Abruptly the flickering candle blazed brightly for a moment and died. They were plunged into darkness.

Eadulf shivered and stood still. He hoped that his eyes would grow accustomed to the lack of light. They did not. It remained totally dark.

‘Eadulf-’ it was Fidelma’s voice somewhere nearby — ‘stretch out your hand.’

He did so. He felt something brush it. A moment later he felt Fidelma’s warm clasp.

‘Good. We mustn’t let go of each other. I am going to move on slowly ahead.’

‘How will you see where to go?’

‘I will feel with one hand. I can reach to the top of the roof and feel my way forward.’

They moved on, inching their way through the blackness.

‘Well, one thing is for sure,’ Fidelma’s voice echoed cheerfully.

‘What is it?’

‘We will not be able to return this way … not unless we find a lantern at the other end.’

It was a poor attempt to be cheerful and they soon fell back on silence. Once or twice, Fidelma grazed her arm and Eadulf cracked his toes on a rock. Yet slowly they moved forward, still up the incline, inch by inch. Then Fidelma halted.

‘What now?’ demanded Eadulf.

‘Don’t you see it?’ she whispered in excitement.

Eadulf squinted forward and then he realised what it was.

‘A light ahead,’ she confirmed. ‘Natural light. But there is something else as well.’

They moved forward a little, turning round a bend in the passage. The light became clearer; a grim, grey light filtering along the tunnel. And in the silence they could hear the sound of a crackling fire.

Fidelma put her head close to Eadulf ear in the gloom. He felt her lips brush against his cheek.

‘Not a sound,’ she whispered. ‘Someone is in the cave ahead of us.’

She began to move forward, almost imperceptibly. After a while, as the light grew stronger and brighter, she halted and disengaged her hand from his. There was no longer any need for they could see each other plainly. In front of them stretched a fair-sized cave with an entrance which seemed blocked by a wooden barrier, over the top of which was an expanse of azure sky. Rays of sunlight filled the cave.

The cave was large and dry except for a small trickling stream that ran to one side of it. A fire was crackling in the centre. There were various items strewn around the cave. Near the fire, stretched on a palliasse, lay the figure of an elderly, rotund man. He was clad in the habit of a religieux. His left arm was bandaged and so was his left foot. A staff, laying near to his hand, obviously served him as a crutch. There was no one else in the cave.

Eadulf and Fidelma stared at the figure in growing amazement.

It was Eadulf who moved into the cave first, causing the figure to start, half raise himself on an elbow, and reach for his staff as if he would defend himself. He paused as his eyes took in Eadulf’s religious clothing.

‘Who are you?’ he cried, his voice cracking with fear.

Eadulf halted with an expression of utter amazement on his features.

Fidelma pushed by Eadulf and fought to find her voice. ‘Have no fear, Brother Mochta. I am Fidelma of Cashel.’

The rotund religieux visibly relaxed and, with a sigh, fell back on his palliasse.

Eadulf continued to stare at the recumbent form in fearful astonishment. ‘But you are dead!’ he blurted.

The round-faced man raised himself again on one elbow. Although there was pain on his face, he was clearly amused.

‘I would disagree with you, Brother Saxon,’ he replied. His tone was droll. ‘But if you can prove it, I will accept your judgement. God’s truth, I feel near enough to death not to argue.’

Eadulf moved forward and stared down, examining the man’s features carefully.

It was true. There could be no doubt about it. The man lying before him, perched on one elbow, grinning up at him, was the same moon-faced man whom he had last seen dead in the mortuary of Cashel. It was the same man, even to the tattoo of the bird which Eadulf now identified on the injured man’s left forearm.