The Monk Who Vanished

Chapter Five

Colgú was resting in a carved, tall backed chair, stretching his long limbs before a fire in the great hearth. His right arm was bound in white linen but he was looking much more comfortable than when Fidelma had last seen him.

‘How is the wound, brother?’ she greeted, as she entered his private chamber followed by Brother Eadulf.

‘It does not hurt a bit, thanks to the healing powers of our Saxon friend,’ Colgú said with a smile. He was still a trifle pale. He gestured for them to be seated in the chairs opposite him. ‘What is the news of Donennach’s wound?’

The question was directed at Eadulf.

‘More of a flesh wound than anything else,’ he replied. ‘The arrow embedded itself into the fleshy part of Donennach’s thigh but did not strike muscle. He may feel discomfort for a day or two but nothing more.’

‘At least the wound will not cause a blemish,’ chuckled Colgú, in good spirits.

‘Yes, that is so,’ Eadulf confirmed but there was bewilderment in his tone. ‘Why is that a matter of concern?’

‘You are the lawyer in the family, Fidelma,’ Colgú smiled. ‘You explain to our friend.’

Fidelma shifted slightly towards Eadulf.

‘A king is expected to have a perfect body under our laws, Eadulf. He must be free of disability or blemish.’

‘Is a king really excluded from kingship if he receives a blemish while king?’ Eadulf asked, astounded.

‘I know only of the case of Congal Caech, King of Ulaidh who also ruled as High King for a while. He was blinded in an eye by a bee sting and because of that he was dismissed from the kingship of Tara,’ Fidelma responded.

‘Though it did not cause him to lose the kingship of his own province,’ Colgú pointed out, ‘and he was King of Ulaidh until he was killed in battle.’

‘When was this?’ asked Eadulf.

‘He was killed at Magh Rath in the year my sister here was born,’ smiled Colgú. ‘Anyway, what have you discovered, Fidelma? Who is responsible for this attack on Donennach and myself?’

Fidelma’s features became grave and she sat still for a while, placing her hands loosely in her lap.

‘The situation is not good,’ she began. Then she paused a moment before continuing. ‘We have here an attempt at assassination. Under law it is the serious crime of duinetháide which merits twice the normal penalty from the culprits.’

‘Twice the normal penalty?’ intervened Eadulf, puzzled.

‘An unlawful killing, as you know, is punishable by the loss of rights and the payment of compensation of fixed sums to the family of the person killed. Duinetháide, which literally means person theft, as in the assassination of a prince, is regarded as a more serious offence.’

Colgú leant forward, a little impatiently. ‘We know the nature of the crime, Fidelma, but why do you say that the situation is not good? The criminals are dead — slain by Gionga of the Uí Fidgente. It is a matter of identifying them and seeing if there are others involved in this crime.’

Fidelma sighed deeply and gave a shake of her head. ‘As you know, one of the slain men was wearing the emblem of the Order of the Golden Chain, the emblem of the nobiliary order of the Kings of Cashel.’

Colgú raised a hand impatiently. ‘True, but has he been identified? I knew him not nor, I understand, does Donndubháin. I also asked Capa, the captain of the guard, to go to view the body at Conchobar’s apothecary. He reports that he, also, did not know this man. It surely follows that he is not one of our select band of warriors.’

‘It is true that no one appears to recognise him,’ sighed Fidelma. ‘However, the arrows that he was using bear the distinct markings of the Eóghanacht of Cnoc Aine.’

Colgú’s features had grown long. ‘Are you saying that the assassins were men serving our cousin Finguine, the Prince of Cnoc Aine?’ ‘I am saying that one carried arrows made by a fletcher of Cnoc Aine for the flights bear the marks of that area. Eadulf and I examined the body carefully. There is nothing else which identifies him other than the emblem of the Golden Chain and his arrows. A dálaigh could argue that was circumstantial evidence enough to lay claim to his origin. Gionga is already claiming some conspiracy by Cashel to lure the Prince of the Uí Fidgente here and slay him.’

‘That is nonsense!’ Colgú said angrily. ‘He cannot be serious. I was struck by the arrows of the same assassins.’

‘This is true enough,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But Gionga turns it to his advantage by arguing that you were not seriously hurt …’

‘Seriously enough,’ intervened Eadulf. ‘And more seriously than the Prince of the Uí Fidgente.’

‘But not so seriously that it prevents Gionga from whispering that the arrow that hit my brother was a decoy; a decoy to make it look as if it were an attack on both men whereas the real victim was intended to be Donennach. He says that had he not been quick in his actions, the assassins would have shot again and disappeared and we would never have known that they were men of Cashel.’

‘I have never heard such a fantasy in all my life,’ muttered Colgú, leaning back in his chair, for he had unconsciously bent forward due to the tension of his anger and his wound began to throb again. The anger on his face suddenly dissolved into a gloom. ‘What do you think, Fidelma? You have had experience in such matters. How can we prevent ‘Gionga’s false accusations?’

‘If Gionga can substantiate his charge that these assassins are in the pay of Cashel then you, my brother, are responsible in law and you must pay the compensation. You would lose the kingdom. I am afraid that the onus is on us to disprove Gionga’s claim as he has the evidence of the emblem and the provenance of the arrows. We must provide counter-evidence to negate the claim.’

There was a long silence.

‘If I am found responsible, you know that Cashel will never have peace with the Uí Fidgente,’ sighed the young King. ‘You must help me, Fidelma. How can we refute these allegations?’

‘We can only refute the charges of Gionga by finding evidence that does so,’ Fidelma repeated. ‘We must find proof as to who these assassins really were. Does the archer have the right to wear the Order of the Golden Chain? Why would he have worn it on such a venture? Why, if they tried to escape without being indentified, as Gionga claims, did the archer carefully leave two of his arrows on the roof which could easily be identified as to their origin?’

‘Perhaps he merely left in a hurry?’ ventured Eadulf. ‘Remember, after he fired, he must have seen Gionga riding across the square and it was then he fled from the roof.’

Fidelma looked at him almost pityingly. ‘The man, as you rightly said, was a professional archer. He would not panic in that manner but would keep his weapons by him. I think that he meant us to find those arrows.’ Another thought suddenly struck her. ‘But if he were such a professional archer, why did he not strike his targets?’

She stood up in her agitation, closing her eyes as if to recall the scene.

‘Colgú suddenly halted his horse and bent forward to greet me. Had he not done so he would have been killed. The mystery is why the archer missed with his second shot when Donennach was a sitting target?’

‘I suppose even a well-trained professional may have a bad day,’ offered Eadulf.

Colgú leant forward eagerly to Fidelma.

‘Are you suggesting that the Uí Fidgente had a hand in this matter? That they engineered this to blame Cashel so that there would be a continuance of the war?’

‘Before you blame the Uí Fidgente,’ Eadulf pointed out, ‘don’t forget that it was Gionga who cut down the assassins. He would hardly have done so if they were his own people serving him in some plot.’

‘What I am saying is that there are many things that need to be explored before we come to a decision,’ Fidelma said. ‘We also discovered that this archer’s companion was a former religieux. He had once worn the tonsure of St Peter but had let his hair grow in these last few weeks. Furthermore, his hands showed ink stains which demonstrated that he was a scriptor. And, finally, he was carrying this …’

She took out the ornate silver crucifix and held it out to her brother.

Colgú took it and examined it with a frown.

‘This is a fine piece of work, Fidelma. It is very valuable. I doubt it was made in this kingdom. The designs are wrong.’ He frowned suddenly. ‘Yet I swear that I have seen this before. But where?’

Fidelma was interested. ‘Try to remember, brother. And also answer why would a former brother of the Faith turn assassin and be carrying such a valuable piece?’

Colgú examined his sister’s features thoughtfully.

‘Do you believe that there are hidden depths to this matter?’

‘I do. There is something that is not right,’ she replied. ‘There is no easy solution from the information we have at hand.’

There was a knocking on the door and it opened at Colgú’s invitation.

Donndubháin entered and spoke without waiting to be invited to do so by Colgú. It was his right. He did not look happy.

‘The Prince of the Uí Fidgente is demanding an audience with you. His captain Gionga has persuaded him that Cashel is guilty of some plot to assassinate him.’

Colgú uttered an expressive oath. ‘Can we delay him? We have not yet reached a conclusion on this matter.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘This is an affront to Cashel!’ he cried. ‘The Uí Fidgente should be made to swallow his words!’

Gionga had moved forward in front of his Prince, his hand also searching for the non-existent sword.

Colgú held up a hand to stay his tanist.

‘Calm yourself, Donndubháin,’ he ordered. ‘Donennach, order your man back. No hurt will come to you while you are in Cashel. I swear this by the Holy Cross.’

Donndubhain sunk back to his chair while Gionga, at a swift gesture from Donennach’s hand, retired to his position behind his Prince.

There was an icy silence

Colgú’s gaze had never left the face of the Prince of the Uí Fidgente. ‘You say that you do not know whether what occurred was an attempt by Cashel to destroy you? Can I be as assured that this was not some Uí Fidgente plot against my life?’ he said evenly.

‘A plot by me? Here in Cashel? I was nearly killed by the assassin’s arrow.’ Donennach’s voice was developing a tetchiness.

‘Instead of hurling accusations at one another, we should be working together to discover the identity of the culprits,’ Colgú repeated, trying to curb his annoyance with his guest.

Donennach gave a bark of derisive laughter.

Fidelma rose abruptly and went to stand between the two men, palms held out to each in symbolic gesture.

At this a silence descended, for a dálaigh could command silence even from kings in such a fashion.

‘There is a dispute here,’ she said quietly. ‘But the disputants lack sufficient facts to argue logically and in depth for their respective cases. This matter must go to arbitration. We must resolve the mystery of what has happened here and identify who was responsible. Do you agree?’

She glanced at Donennach.

The Prince’s lips became a thin line as he stared back at her. Then he relaxed and shrugged. ‘All I want is that the facts be examined.’

Fidelma turned to her brother and raised her eyebrows in interrogation.

‘An arbitration is agreed. How shall it be done?’

‘The law text called the Bretha Crólige states the terms,’ replied Fidelma. ‘There will be three judges. A judge from Cashel, a judge from the Uí Fidgente and a judge from without the kingdom. I would suggest a judge from Laighin as being of sufficient distance to sit without bias. The judges shall be assembled here as the law prescribes in nine days. The facts will be placed before them and we shall all abide by their judgement.’

Donennach looked at Gionga before he turned back to examine Fidelma suspiciously. ‘Will you be the judge from Cashel?’ he gibed. ‘You are the King’s sister and should not sit in his judgement.’

‘If you imply that my view of law is biased then I deny it. However, I shall not be the judge from Cashel. There are others more qualified than I. I would request that the Brehon Dathal be asked to sit. But, with the King’s permission, I will engage to gather the evidence on behalf of Cashel and be its advocate just as you, Donennach, are free to nominate a dálaigh to gather evidence that supports your contentions.’

The Prince of the Uí Fidgente sat in thought, clearly suspecting some trap.

‘Nine days it is then. The court will sit on the feastday of the Blessed Matthew. I will send for my dálaigh and judge. You may appoint your sister as your advocate, Colgú, if you so wish.’

Colgú smiled briefly at Fidelma. ‘It will be as my sister has said. She is the advocate of Cashel.’

‘So be it,’ Donennach agreed then added, thoughtfully, ‘but which judge from Laighin shall be our outside arbitrator?’

‘Do you have someone in mind?’ asked Colgú.

‘The Brehon Rumann,’ Donennach replied immediately. ‘Rumann of Fearna.’

Colgú did not know of the man. ‘Have you heard of this judge named Rumann, Fidelma?’ he inquired.

‘Yes; I have heard of his reputation. I have no objections to his being asked to sit as our third and chief judge.’

Donennach rose from his seat, helped by Gionga.

‘That is good. As for our judge, I appoint the Brehon Fachtna. He is already in Cashel for he travels in my retinue. Our dálaigh will be Solam and we shall send for him and expect the fullest cooperation when he arrives to present our case.’

‘You shall be assured of it,’ replied Colgú coldly. ‘You may expect nothing less than our cooperation to get to the bottom of this matter. We will have our scribes draw up the protocol for the proceedings. We will sign it and so ensure everyone is gathered on the appointed day.’

When the Prince of the Uí Fidgente had gone, Colgú sat back, clearly troubled. ‘I know the suggestion was correct, Fidelma, but, as you pointed out earlier, the evidence is against Cashel.’

Donndubhain shook his head. ‘A bad move, cousin.’

Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘You doubt my abilities as an advocate?’

‘Not your abilities, Fidelma,’ interposed Colgú. ‘But an advocate is usually only as good as the evidence that is available. Do you know this advocate of the Uí Fidgente … what was his name?’

‘Solam. I have heard of him. He is said to be effective although given to an uneasy temperament.’

‘How will you defend Cashel?’ demanded Donndubhain.

‘I know that this was not some attempt to assassinate Donennach by Cashel. There remain three alternatives.’

‘Only three?’ demanded Donndubháin moodily.

‘Only three that makes sense. Firstly, it could be counter-claimed that the Uí Fidgente were plotting against Cashel; that this was an elaborate hoax to lay blame on us. Secondly, it could be argued that the assassins were part of a blood feud; that they acted on their own account seeking vengeance against Colgú or Donennach. Thirdly, it might be contended that the assassins acted on their own account merely to destroy the peace now being negotiated between the Uí Fidgente and Cashel.’

‘Do you favour any one of these, Fidelma?’ asked Colgú.

‘I have an open mind though I would say the first possibility was unlikely.’

‘The possibility that the Uí Fidgente are behind would-be assassins? Why so? Because Donennach was shot also?’ Colgú queried.

‘Because, for all that I dislike Donennach, he accepted arbitration and nominated the Brehon Rumann of Fearna easily enough. I know Rumann and his reputation. He is a fair man and not given to bribery. If this were some plot, I would expect the Uí Fidgente might want to weight the odds more in their favour for much will depend on the decision of this third independent judge.’

Colgú turned to Donndubhain. ‘You had best devise the protocol and I shall sign it with Donennach. Then we must send emissaries to Rumann at Fearna, also Solam of the Uí Fidgente.’

When Donndubhain had departed to fulfil his task, Colgú turned anxiously to Fidelma. ‘I still do not like this, Fidelma. The onus is still on us to refute the Uí Fidgente’s accusations.’

Fidelma was not reassuring. ‘Then, as your dálaigh, my brother, I will have to start finding something with which we can refute the accusations.’

‘But we have all the evidence there is … unless you can find a sorcerer to resurrect the assassins.’

Eadulf, not used to such humour, genuflected swiftly. Neither Colgú nor Fidelma took any notice of him.

‘No, brother. I mean to start where our only real clue allows us to start.’

Her brother frowned. ‘Where?’

‘In the country of our cousin, Finguine of Cnoc Aine, where else? Perhaps I can discover who made those arrows. If I can do that, perhaps I can discover the identity of the archer.’

‘You have only nine days.’

‘I am aware of it,’ agreed Fidelma.

Colgú’s face suddenly brightened. ‘You can seek the hospitality of Abbot Ségdae of Imleach, for he is an expert on ecclesiastical art. He might be able to provide you with information about the crucifix. I am sure it is familiar but I can’t think where I have seen it before.’

Fidelma had already thought of the idea but instead of confessing as much she smiled and nodded.

‘However,’ she replied, ‘while I can take one of the arrows as a sample, I cannot take the crucifix, which must remain here as evidence for Donennach’s dálaigh. If I take it, I will be accused of interfering with the evidence. I will get old Conchobar, who is a rare draughtsman, to make me a sketch of it.’

‘Excellent. Perhaps there is a small ray of hope in this confusion after all?’ cried Colgú. ‘When will you start for Imleach?’

‘Old Conchobar willing, I can start within the hour.’

Eadulf coughed discreetly.

Fidelma hid a smile. ‘I would hope, of course, that Brother Eadulf will see his way clear to accompany me to Imleach.’

Colgú turned to Eadulf. ‘Could we persuade you …?’ He let the question hang in the air without finishing.

‘I will do my best to render every assistance that I can,’ Eadulf offered solemnly.

‘Then it is arranged.’ Colgú gave a quick smile to his sister. ‘My best horses are at your disposal to hasten your journey.’

‘How far is it to Imleach?’ asked Eadulf anxiously, wondering if he had let himself in for a lengthy journey.

‘Twenty-one miles or so, but the road is straight. We can be there before this evening,’ Fidelma assured him.

‘Then the sooner you get Brother Conchobar to make the sketch of the crucifix, the sooner you can set out.’ Colgú reached out with his good hand and took one of his sister’s hands in his. ‘No need for me to say, be careful, Fidelma,’ he said gravely. ‘Whoever does not hesitate to stop at the death of Kings will not stop at the death of a King’s sister. These are dangerous times.’

Fidelma squeezed her brother’s hand reassuringly.

‘I will take care, brother. But your advice must be heeded by your own self. What has failed once might be tried again. So until we know who is behind this deed, make sure that you keep a wary eye upon the company you keep. I feel that there is danger here, brother. Here in the very corridors of our palace of Cashel.’