The Monk Who Vanished

Chapter Twenty-One

Obediently, Eadulf followed Fidelma into the night, leaving the dark walls of the palace by a small side door away from the main gates to avoid the speculative gaze of the sentinels. Darkness had spread like a shroud over the town of Cashel. Clouds, scudding at hilltop level, obscured the moon.

However, now and then the round white orb of the bright new moon broke through sudden gaps in the clouds, bathing the scene momentarily with its ethereal light, almost as limpid as day. Apart from the twinkling lights from the buildings, they could smell the pungent smoke rising from numerous chimneys, marking the start of the contest to keep the autumnal chill at bay. There seemed little movement in the town. Most of the visitors crowding the streets a few hours before had taken themselves into the inns and taverns but the din of their entertainment was muted. A dog barked here and there and once or twice there came the scream of enraged cats disputing a territory.

Fidelma and Eadulf reached the market square without anyone observing them in the evening gloom.

‘That’s Samradán’s warehouse.’ Fidelma pointed unnecessarily, for the events of the attempted assassination were still clear in Eadulf’s s memory. The warehouse stood on the far side of the square in complete darkness. It appeared deserted.

They crossed the square quickly and Fidelma made immediately for the side door of the building which she had noticed before. It was shut and fastened.

‘Is it barred from the inside?’ asked Eadulf as Fidelma tried vainly to open it.

‘No. I think it is merely locked.’

She used the word glas. Irish locksmiths were proficient in the manufacturing of locks, keys and even door chains to secure buildings and rooms. Some of them were very intricate. However, when he was a student at Tuaim Brecain, Eadulf had been taught the art of how to unpick a lock by the insertion of a strand of metal into the poll-eochrach or keyhole. He reached into his purse and drew out thesmall length of wire which he had come to carry and grinned in the darkness.

‘Stand aside, then. You need an expert,’ he announced, as he bent to the lock.

It took him longer than he expected and he sensed Fidelma’s growing impatience. He was just beginning to wish that he had not been so confident when he heard the telltale click that told him that he had been successful.

He reached for the handle and the door swung inwards. Then he clambered to his feet.

Without a word, Fidelma went inside. He followed and closed the door carefully behind them.

The warehouse was in darkness and they could see nothing.

‘I have flint and tinder and a stub of candle in my purse,’ Eadulf whispered.

‘We dare not use a light in case we are observed from outside,’ returned Fidelma in the stillness. ‘Wait a moment or two until our eyes adjust to this darkness.’

At the same time the moon broke through the clouds again and the gap seemed large enough to allow the light to bathe through the upper open windows of the warehouse, illuminating it. It was a shell of a building. There was no upper floor. Just the flat roof on which the would-be assassins had found shelter. At the back of the warehouse were bales packed high and stalls in which Samradán obviously stabled his dray horses. Taking up most of the space in the warehouse were the two heavy drays, or wagons, which Fidelma and Eadulf had last seen in the yard of Aona’s inn.

The coverings on the wagons had been stripped back and she could see that only the tools were still piled in them.

‘Samradán appears to have taken the bag of silver and the one of ore,’ Fidelma muttered, looking around.

‘That’s to be expected. He has probably taken it to whoever reduces the ore into the silver.’

Fidelma groaned aloud.

‘Are you ill?’ asked Eadulf in alarm.

‘Ill with stupidity,’ sighed Fidelma. ‘I had forgotten the process. The ore has to be burnt down in a smith’s forge and the silver extracted.’

‘Of course.’

‘Last night, when I was looking through the wagon and found the sack of ore, some of it was already reduced to silver! It had already been extracted from the ore. Samradán had the services of a good smith before he set out from Imleach to Cashel.’

‘When he left Imleach, he must have driven with the mined ore to a smith’s,’ Eadulf agreed. ‘When he told us that he was proceeding north it was to mislead us.’

‘So it seems. But why didn’t the smith reduce all the ore to silver?’

The moon suddenly went behind a cloud, plunging the warehouse into darkness again.

Fidelma remained still. Eadulf had prompted a point. She smiled in the darkness. She realised that she already knew the answer. The moonlight bathed the interior once again, seeping through the high windows.

‘Have you seen enough?’ Eadulf asked.

‘Wait a moment longer,’ instructed Fidelma.

Fidelma moved around the warehouse, examining the odd box here and there before turning eventually to the stable area. By some bales she paused and abruptly dropped to one knee, reaching forward and tugging at something with her hand.

‘Eadulf, come here and help me. I think this is a trapdoor to a cellar. Help me draw the bolt.’

Eadulf went to join her. Sure enough he could see the wood trap secured by two iron bolts. He moved them carefully back and swung the door open. Below was nothing but blackness. Not even the pale moonlight could penetrate into the gloom below.

He was about to say something but Fidelma held out a hand to stay him.

Something was moving in the darkness below.

‘Is anyone there?’ Fidelma called softly.

In the silence they could hear a rustling sound but no one replied.

‘We may chance a candle but keep it covered until we see what is below in this cellar,’ Fidelma instructed.

Eadulf rummaged in his leather purse and found the stub of candle and worked as rapidly as he could with his flint and tinder. It took several moments before he was able to make a spark ignite the tinder before lighting the candle.

He moved forward, holding the candle carefully, and leant over the edge of the trapdoor.

There were steps leading down to a small stone-walled room which was no higher than a tall man. It was about eight feet by eight feet in its dimensions. There was a straw palliasse in one corner. There was little else except … staring up at them with wide eyes above a gag, bound hand and foot, were the unmistakable features of Brother Bardán.

With an exclamation of surprise, Eadulf slipped down the steps followed by Fidelma.

While he held the candle, Fidelma reached for a knife in her marsupium and cut at the monk’s wrist bonds and then removed his gag. While he breathed deeply, she severed the bonds around his ankles.

‘Well now, Brother Bardan, what are you doing here?’ she greeted almost jovially.

Brother Bardán was still trying to adjust to being unrestricted in his breathing. He coughed and gasped. Finally he found his voice.

‘Samradán! That evil …’

He paused and frowned at Fidelma and Eadulf.

‘How much do you know?’

‘We have seen Brother Mochta and he has told us about your involvement in his … er, disappearance. I presume that you were on your way through the secret tunnels to see Brother Mochta when you met up with Samradán?’

Brother Bardan nodded swiftly. ‘I was going to fetch Brother Mochta to bring him to the Prince of Cnoc Aine. He had promised to give us protection.’

‘So, you had informed my cousin, Finguine, where Brother Mochta and the Holy Relics were?’

‘Not exactly. I saw Finguine at the midnight Angelus and told him that I knew where Brother Mochta was hiding with the Holy Relics and the reason why — because he feared for their safety and his own life.’

‘Did you mention that he was hiding in a cave?’

‘Not the specific cave. I promised Finguine that I would fetch Brother Mochta and bring him to Finguine at a certain place on the following morning.’

‘I saw you speaking with Finguine in the abbey chapel that night,’ Eadulf recalled.

‘What exactly was arranged between you?.’ asked Fidelma.

‘I agreed that Finguine would protect the Relics and escort Mochta to Cashel.’

That explained why she had seen Finguine and his men in the woods but why had he been in the company of Solam?

‘Did Finguine say anything to you about letting Solam in on this secret?’ she asked.

‘Solam? The dálaigh of the Uí Fidgente? I did my best to mislead him.’

‘You told him about the crucifix.’

‘It was nothing he did not know or could not learn.’

‘And you falsely identified the severed forearm as being that of Brother Mochta to mislead us?’

‘I knew you and Solam were searching for Mochta. We needed time to work out what we should do, Mochta and I. Who could we trust? When I explained matters to Finguine, he understood.’

‘And you trusted Finguine rather than I?’

Brother Bardan was self-conscious.

‘Do not tax yourself, Bardan. Mochta has told me why you were not forthcoming with me. Silly but I suppose it is understandable. It appears that you trust me now?’

‘Samradán and his men said enough to make me believe that we had made a mistake in not trusting you.’

‘Samradán! Yes; tell us how you came to be imprisoned here?’ Eadulf demanded.

‘To fulfil my promise to Finguine, I rose early and was hastening through the tunnel to Brother Mochta, in order to bring him to the rendezvous with Finguine, when I reached a chamber where there are two passages …’

‘We know it,’ interrupted Fidelma. ‘Go on.’

For a moment, Brother Bardan looked startled. ‘You know it …?’ He caught himself. His questions could be answered later. ‘Well, when I reached there, I heard a noise in the other tunnel. I remember starting to go towards it. I feared for Mochta’s safety and thought he had been discovered … then nothing. I think I was hit on the head and knocked unconscious because my head is still very sore.’

‘You mentioned Samradan?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘Yes. I came to, bound and gagged, even as you found me, but I was lying under a tarpaulin in the back of a wagon. It was moving, bumping and rocking along a roadway. I remember hearing Samradán’s voice. I know it well enough from the times he had stayed at the abbey.’

‘Go on,’ urged Eadulf.

‘I slipped back into unconsciousness for a while. Then I came to again and, after some time, the wagoners stopped and I would say it was after noonday. They had stopped for food. That was when I heard them heartily cursing you and the Saxon brother for interfering and altering their plans. Then I heard a strange thing.’

‘Strange, in what way?’ encouraged Fidelma when he paused.

‘There came the sound of horses, obviously coming up to where Samradan and his men were halted. I heard Samradan being greeted by name by someone who was obviously the leader of the horsemen. I did not recognise the voice. I can tell you that it was not a man of Muman who spoke. It was tinged with northern accents.

‘Well, after the exchange of greetings I heard someone fiddling with the tarpaulin. I lay back with my eyes closed. A hand shook me and I continued to breathe deeply and not respond. A voice said: “He’s stillunconscious. We can speak freely.” Then the tarpaulin was replaced and I could still hear their voices.’

‘What was said?’

‘Samradán started to bemoan that the attack had destroyed the smith’s forge and he would have to find a new means of reducing the ore to silver. I have no idea what he meant. The man to whom he was speaking simply chuckled. He said that it could not be helped. Samradán’s illegal activities were no concern of his nor of the Comarb. Samradán protested and said that the rígdomna approved of them and that he acted under his protection. The other rejoined that so far as he knew, Samradan was just a messenger between the rígdomna and the Comarb.’

Fidelma leant forward eagerly. ‘Both men referred to the “rígdomna”?’

‘Yes. The man said that whatever Samradán was doing, it was no concern of his. He had his orders. He was answerable only to the power of the Comarb … At that moment they moved on out of the range of my hearing.’

Fidelma gave a repressed groan of annoyance. ‘And you are certain that the title of Comarb was mentioned?’ she persisted.

Brother Bardan was not offended by her question but said quietly: ‘Do you think that I do not know the significance of that title? There are only two Comarb in all the five kingdoms — the Comarb of Ailbe and the Comarb of Patrick.’

Eadulf whistled softly as he suddenly understood why Fidelma was so tense.

‘What happened then?’ Fidelma said, after a moment. ‘Did you hear more?’

‘After a while, I heard the riders leaving. A short time passed and the tarpaulin was flung aside. It was Samradán and I had no time to feign unconsciousness again. Samradán took off the gag and threatened to replace it if I said anything. He then gave me drink and some food and replaced the gag immediately afterwards. Doubtless, he thought I had only just recovered and had not heard the meeting with the horsemen. He replaced the tarpaulin. Time passed and off we went again.

‘It was a terrible journey. I sensed rather than felt it was nightfall. Everything was dark. The wagons stopped. I dozed fitfully. There was no movement at all. Now and then I awoke and thought that I heard voices. There was some movement and at one point, I thought I heard your voice, Sister Fidelma.’

Fidelma grimaced bitterly. ‘You did. You were stopped in an inn at the Well of Ara and spent the night until dawn. Then Samradan and his wagons came on here. I must have been within a few feet of you last night.’

Brother Bardan regarded her with curiosity.

‘What has happened?’ he demanded. ‘How did you find me?’

‘Continue with your story first,’ Fidelma urged.

‘Well, you were right. When the wagons finally halted, they were within a large store house. I was taken out and placed here, in this cellar-like room and here I have stayed in the dark until you discovered me.’

Fidelma sat back, her mind working rapidly. ‘Well, the first thing to do is to get you out of here Brother Bardan and to a place of safety.’

‘What danger am I in, Sister?’

‘I think you are in considerable danger. Had Samradan mentioned your presence to the raiders, when he spoke to them, you would already be dead. Fortunately, as much as the raiders thought that Samradán’s s illegal mining was none of their business, Samradan thought the same. He thought that you had merely stumbled on his illegal mining activity. As it is, you are witness to a conspiracy which places you in the gravest of danger. We shall take you to a friend and you must stay there until tomorrow evening.’

‘Why tomorrow evening?’

‘Because then we will come for you and smuggle you into the palace at Cashel. I do not want anyone to know of your existence here.’

‘Samradán will know when he finds me missing.’

‘A good point,’ Eadulf muttered.

‘I have not overlooked it. Once Brother Bardan is lodged safely, we will go and have a word with Samradan.’

‘But what of Brother Mochta and the Holy Relics?’ protested Bardan. ‘What of Finguine’s protection? Did Brother Mochta receive it?’

Fidelma shook her head and smiled thinly. ‘At the moment, you are under the protection of Cashel and you will find Brother Mochta in the place where we are taking you — together with the Holy Relics.’

They climbed out of the cellar and Eadulf replaced the trapdoor behind them and shot home the bolts. Then he reluctantly blew out the candle. The clouds seemed to be dispersing, however, and the moon, still bright and full, was this time constant. Fidelma led the way through the shadows to the door and they exited behind the warehouse.

With Eadulf helping Brother Bardan, who was not able to walk well, having been tied for so long, Fidelma conducted them as quickly as Bardán’s weakness allowed, from the back of the warehouse along the outskirts of the town, trying to avoid bringing themselves to the attention of the guard-dogs whose barking could still be heard not far off.

‘Thank God, it is probably a wolf or some other scavenger venturing too near the town limits that has distracted their attention,’ whispered Fidelma, as they paused a moment for Brother Bardán to recover from his cramp.

It took them fifteen minutes to reach their destination: the house of the female recluse, Della.

Fidelma knocked quietly on her door, giving her the special signal which she had arranged.

Hardly a moment passed before Della appeared in the doorway. Her face was pale and fearful in the light of the hanging lantern inside the door.

‘Fidelma! Thank God you have come!’

‘What is it, Della?’ asked Fidelma, surprised at the trembling anxiety of her friend.

‘It is the man whom you brought here … Brother Mochta …’

Fidelma led the way into the house and stood facing Della. The woman was trembling almost in hysteria. Something was frightening her.

‘What about Brother Mochta? Where is he?’

She suddenly noticed that the room was in chaos.

‘He has been taken!’ gasped Della.

‘Taken?’

‘He and that reliquary he was always clasping. He and the box were taken away. There was nothing that I could do.’

Fidelma reached out her hands to grasp the woman’s shoulders.

‘Get a grip on yourself, Della. You are unharmed anyway. This-’ she waved one hand to encompass the chaos — ‘can easily be tidied and repaired. But what of Mochta and the reliquary?’

Della caught her breath and steadied herself. ‘You left him in my care and he has been taken.’

Fidelma struggled to retain her patience. ‘So you say. Taken by whom?’

‘By your cousin. By Finguine, Prince of Cnoc Aine.’

Fidelma let her arms drop from Della’s shoulders. Her expression was one of dismay.

Brother Bardán’s reaction was of relief. ‘So you brought Brother Mochta here with the Relics? Well, thank God that Finguine has finally taken him into protection. We can rest easy now.’

Fidelma swung round as if to rebuke him. Instead she hesitated and said quietly: ‘Can we?’ She turned back to Della. ‘Who else came here with Finguine? Was it Finguine who destroyed your possessions?’

‘No, a warrior. Finguine did rebuke him and say it was unnecessary. The warrior was the leader of the band who accompanied the Princeof the Uí Fidgente when he rode into Cashel. I recognised him when he rode with Donennach.’

It was Eadulf who exclaimed in disbelief: ‘Gionga? Do you mean Gionga, the captain of the bodyguard of Donennach?’

Della shrugged miserably. ‘The Uí Fidgente. I do not know his name. All I know is that when Donennach rode into Cashel, that man was in charge of the bodyguard of the Prince.’

Fidelma stood quietly, as if trying to recover her scattered thoughts. ‘I think we have a problem,’ she said quietly.

Brother Bardan was regarding them in bewilderment. ‘I do not understand.’

Fidelma did not respond but looked at Della and smiled tightly. ‘I must ask a further favour of you, Della. Eadulf and I must go now. I need you to look after Brother Bardan here until Eadulf or I come for him. This will be tomorrow evening.’

‘I can’t!’ protested Della. ‘You see what they have done …’

‘Lightning does not strike twice in the same place, Della. Now that they have Brother Mochta and the reliquary, no one will think of looking here for Brother Bardán.’

Brother Bardán’s face continued to be a mask of confusion. ‘I do not understand at all. Why should I hide now? Finguine is protecting Brother Mochta and has the Holy Relics safe.’

Fidelma did not answer him and continued to look at her friend. ‘Della, I need you to do this for me.’

The woman gazed into Fidelma’s eyes for a moment or two and then sighed. ‘Very well. But, like the Brother here, I wish I understood.’

‘Understand, both of you, that the well-being of this kingdom of Muman depends on doing exactly as I have told you.’

‘Very well.’

Fidelma opened the door and motioned Eadulf to follow her back into the darkness of the night. Della came to the door and forced a smile on her anxious features.

‘Solitude is the best society and a short abstinence from solitude urges the sweet return,’ she said.

Fidelma returned her smile. She felt sorrow for the woman whose life she knew had been filled with so much unhappiness. She reached out her hand and touched the other’s arm.

‘We are all of us condemned to solitude, Della,’ she said, ‘but some of our sheltering walls are merely our own skins and thus there is no door to exit from solitude into life. We are thus condemned to solitude for all our lives.’

They left the house of the reclusive former prostitute and walked back along the night-darkened alleys of the town.

‘How did Finguine know where you had hidden Brother Mochta and the reliquary?’ demanded Eadulf.

‘Remember you told me that you saw Nion in the tavern nearby? The fact that we had ridden out of the side street here was duly reported to Finguine. It would not take much investigation by Finguine to discover that I have one particular friend here and that is Della. He must have put two and two together. He must have realised that I had recovered the reliquary and Brother Mochta after he had failed to find them.’

‘Yes, but why take Gionga with him? Finguine claims that he hates the Uí Fidgente. I confess to being as confused as Brother Bardán.’

‘Remember that I told you of the game of tomus? Well, several more pieces have now come together. Yet I still need that single piece around which all will fit. Samradán will provide that piece. That’s where we will go now — to see that greedy merchant.’

‘Do you know where Samradan lives?’ asked Eadulf.

‘Yes. Donndubháin pointed the house out to me when we were examining his warehouse the other week.’

They walked along a back path, away from the main street of the town. After a while, Fidelma halted to indicate a house. It was a rich, two-storey construction of timber. There was no light emanating from the building. They had approached it from the rear. Fidelma was about to move through the backyard to the rear door of the house when there came a rustling sound and then a low whine. Screwing his eyes up in the gloom, Eadulf saw a dark shape on the ground and caught at Fidelma’s arm.

‘Samradán’s guard-dog!’ he warned.

Fidelma could see the shape as well. The dog lay by a post and the rustling appeared to be the leather thong, by which it was tethered, moving as it turned. It appeared actually to be sleeping, whimpering as it lay there.

‘Some guard-dog,’ muttered Eadulf. ‘But good for us that it is still tethered and sleeping.’

‘It means that we will have to go round to the front of the house,’ replied Fidelma.

Eadulf led the way along the side of the building. The dog was not disturbed. But on reaching the corner he stopped abruptly and motioned Fidelma to move back into the shadows.

‘There is a horseman outside the house,’ he whispered.

Fidelma moved cautiously forward to find a vantage point.

A tall figure sat astride a horse, resting slightly forward in the saddle, examining Samradán’s house with some intensity. He was alone.

The moon shone brightly enough. There were almost no shadows at all.

Even in the gloom Fidelma would have recognised her cousin, Finguine, rígdomna Cnoc Aine.