The Monk Who Vanished

Chapter Nine

Fidelma regarded Eadulf across the refectory table, at which they were breaking their fast the next morning, with a slight smile.

‘You seem alarmed by this mystery of Brother Mochta,’ she observed, as she tore a piece of bread from the loaf before her.

Eadulf s eyes rounded in perplexity. ‘Are you not alarmed? This borders on the miraculous. How can it be the same man?’

‘Alarmed? Not I. Didn’t the Roman Tacitus say that the unknown always passes for the miraculous? Well, once the matter ceases to be unknown it ceases to be miraculous.’

‘Are you saying that there must be some logical explanation for this mystery?’

Fidelma looked at him in a reproach. ‘Isn’t there always?’

‘Well, I do not see it,’ Eadulf replied, thrusting out his chin. ‘It smacks of sorcery to me.’

‘Sorcery!’ Fidelma was scornful. ‘We have sorted out such mysteries before and found not one that was beyond our resources. Remember, Eadulf, vincit qui patitur.’

Eadulf bowed his head to hide his exasperation. ‘One might prevail through patience but we have never had a mystery as confounding.’ He glanced up and saw Brother Madagan approaching. He lowered his voice. ‘Here is the Brother who raised the alarm when Mochta went missing. It is the steward of the abbey, Brother Madagan.’

The tall monk approached them with a smile.

‘A fine morning,’ he said, seating himself and addressing himself to Fidelma. ‘I am the rechtaire of the abbey. Madagan is my name. I have heard much about you, Fidelma of Cashel.’

Fidelma returned the man’s scrutiny and found herself disliking him though she could not put her finger on why. He was pleasant-featured enough, a little angular, a little gaunt, but there was nothing in his face that gave her outward revulsion. His manner too was friendly. She put it down to some chemical reaction which she could not explain.

‘Good morning, Brother Madagan.’ She inclined her head politely. ‘I am told that you were the one who discovered that the Holy Relics were missing?’

‘Indeed, I did.’

‘In what circumstances did you do so?’

‘It being the feastday of Ailbe, I rose early, for on that day …’

‘I know the order of the feast,’ Fidelma interrupted quickly.

Brother Madagan blinked.

It was then that Fidelma realised what it was that made her suspicious of the man. When he blinked his eyelids came down, heavy and deliberately, pausing for a fraction of a second before returning. It was as if he had hooded those eyes. The action bore a curious resemblance to the hooded blink of a hawk. She realised that they were cold in spite of the mask of friendship. There was a personality behind that face which was kept hidden to all but the keenest inspection.

‘Very well,’ he continued. ‘There was much to do here in preparation …’

‘Tell me how you discovered that the Holy Relics were missing.’

This time Brother Madagan did not seem perturbed at her sharp interruption.

‘I went to the chapel where the Holy Relics were kept,’ he replied calmly.

‘Yet you were not the Keeper of the Holy Relics of Ailbe. Why did you go there?’ Her voice was even but the question probing.

‘Because that night it was my duty to act as warden — to keep the watch. The duties involve making the rounds of the abbey to ensure all is secure.’

‘I presume you found that all was secure?’

‘It was at first …’

‘Until you came to the chapel?’

‘Yes. It was then I noticed that the reliquary was missing from the recess where it is kept.’

‘At what time was this?’

‘An hour or so before dawn.’

‘When had the reliquary last been seen in its proper position?’

‘At Vespers. We all saw the reliquary. Brother Mochta was also there.’

Eadulf coughed discreetly before interposing: ‘What exactly did this reliquary contain?’

Brother Madagan made a small gesture with his hand as if to encompass the contents. ‘The Relics of our beloved Ailbe.’

‘No, I do not mean that. What did these relics consist of? We know one of them was his crucifix which he had brought from Rome.’

‘Ah, I see.’ Brother Madagan sat back thoughtfully. ‘As well as the crucifix there was his bishop’s ring, his knife, a book of Ailbe’sLaw written in his own hand and his sandals. Oh, and there was his chalice, of course.’

‘Was it usual for people to know what is in the reliquary?’ asked Eadulf suddenly. ‘In many churches where the relics of the saints are kept, the reliquary is sealed so that none may gaze on the artifacts.’

Brother Madagan smiled quickly. ‘It was quite usual in this case, Noble Wolf of the Saxons,’ he replied jocularly. ‘The contents were shown each year during the feastday ceremony and were carried from the chapel to his holy well, where there is a blessing, and from there to the stone which marks his grave.’

‘In temporal wealth, they were not of great value, apart from the crucifix?’ pressed Eadulf.

‘The crucifix and ring were worth a great fortune,’ replied Madagan. ‘The ring was of gold set with a gemstone called smaragdus — a curious green stone mined in Egypt and said to have been worked into a finger ring by the Chaldeans. The ring was a gift of Zozimus to Ailbe. So, too, was the crucifix. That was worked in silver but also contained this gemstone smaragdus.’

‘Smaragdus?’ mused Fidelma. ‘A dark green stone?’

‘You have seen such stones?’ asked Madagan. ‘They also embellished Ailbe’s crucifix.’

‘Oh yes. They are called emeralds.’

‘So the temporal value was great?’ persisted Eadulf.

‘Great enough but such value was of no significance compared with the symbolic value those Relics have to our abbey and to the kingdom of Muman.’

‘I have already informed Brother Eadulf of that significance,’ Fidelma affirmed.

Brother Madagan bowed his head. ‘Then you will understand, Noble Wolf, that the recovering of the reliquary and the Holy Relics are necessary for the well-being of this kingdom. Our people are much given to symbolic belief. They firmly accept that if the Relics are lost then harm will come to the kingdom which they will be unable to prevent.’

‘Was the chalice of great value?’ asked Eadulf.

‘It was also worked in silver and set with semi-precious stones. Yes, it was of great temporal value also.’

‘Who knows about their disappearance within the abbey?’ Fidelma asked.

‘Alas, we have not been able to keep it a secret from those who dwell in this abbey. After all, yesterday was the day when they should have been displayed to the brethren. While the abbot has attempted to prevent the news spreading outside the abbey walls, it will not belong before it does. The pilgrims leave here this morning en route to the coast. They will doubtless speak of it. Then there is the merchant from Cashel and his assistants. They will also talk. I believe that within the week it will be broadcast throughout the kingdom, perhaps even to the other kingdoms of Eireann. It will mark a time of danger for our people.’

Fidelma knew well the implications. She knew that there were many envious people who would like to see the overthrow of the Eóghanacht of Cashel. Especially, she had to admit, Donennach of the Uí Fidgente. He would not be unhappy if the kingdom fell. If people were alarmed by the disappearance of the Relics and so dismayed that they surrendered to the fates and had no will to defend themselves, then Cashel might expect attacks from without and subversion from within. She suddenly felt the weight of responsibility on her shoulders. If she did not solve this mystery, and solve it soon, it could lead to disaster for Cashel.

‘So, having found that the reliquary was missing, what did you do then?’ she asked.

‘I went straightaway to rouse the abbot,’ Brother Madagan replied.

‘You went straightaway to rouse Abbot Ségdae? Why?’

Brother Madagan looked at her with incomprehension at the question. ‘Why?’ he repeated.

‘Yes. Why didn’t you go to rouse Brother Mochta? He was Keeper of the Relics, after all?’

‘Ah! I see. Such considerations appear logical in retrospect. The abbot asked me the same question. I confess that in the shock of my discovery, logic had no relevance. I thought that the abbot should be the first to be informed.’

‘Very well. Then what happened?’

‘The abbot suggested that we inform Brother Mochta. We went to his chamber together to find that he had disappeared, leaving turmoil behind him. There were bloodstains in the room.’

Fidelma rose with an abruptness, surprising both Brother Madagan and Brother Eadulf.

‘Thank you, Brother. We will go to Brother Mochta’s chamber and examine it,’ she announced.

Brother Madagan rose as well. ‘The abbot has asked me to conduct you there,’ he said. He had brought the key to Brother Mochta’s chamber and he led the way keeping up a constant chatter by pointing out sites of interest in the abbey. Both Fidelma and Eadulf later agreed they had felt that the chatter appeared feigned for their benefit.

Fidelma stood on the threshold of Brother Mochta’s chamber, once again regarding the disorder with her keen eyes picking out the details.The room was in total disarray. She noticed that items of clothing were discarded on the floor. The straw mattress had been dragged half off the tiny wooden cot that provided the bed. There was, she saw, a stub of unlit candle toppled in a small pool of its own grease on the floor with its wooden holder nearby. There were even a few personal toilet items scattered here and there. There was a table by the bedside which, oddly, had not been knocked askew and on which was a solitary object. The end half of an arrow. Her eyes dwelt on the flight and its markings with immediate recognition. There were also some writing materials scattered in a corner and some pieces of vellum.

Brother Madagan was peering over her shoulder. ‘There, Sister, on the mattress. You may see the bloodstain which the Father Abbot and I noticed.’

‘I see it,’ replied Fidelma shortly. She made no move towards it. Then she turned to Brother Madagan.

‘Tell me, the chambers either side of this one … are they occupied?’

Brother Madagan nodded. ‘They are, but the brothers who sleep there have gone to the fields to gather herbs. One of them is our apothecary and mortician and the other is his assistant.’

‘So, are you saying that at the time that Brother Mochta apparently disappeared from this room, the chambers on either side were occupied?’

‘That is so.’

‘And no disturbance was reported to you or to the abbot?’ Her eyes flickered around the turmoil of the room.

‘Just so.’

Fidelma was silent for a moment and then said: ‘We need not keep you longer from your duties, Brother Madagan. Where can we find you when we are finished here?’

Brother Madagan tried to hide his disappointment at being so summarily dismissed. ‘In the refectory. We shall be bidding farewell to the pilgrims this morning.’

‘Very well. We will join you there shortly.’

Eadulf watched Brother Madagan disappear along the corridor before turning with a look of inquiry to Fidelma. She ignored him and turned back into the chamber. She stood in silence awhile and Eadulf knew better than to interrupt her thoughts. After awhile she moved inside the door, standing to one side.

‘Eadulf, come and take my place. Do not enter the room but stand there on the threshold and tell me your impressions.’

Puzzled, Eadulf went to stand on the threshold of the door withFidelma at his side. He let his gaze wander over the disordered room. That the room was in a chaotic state was obvious.

‘From the look of it, Mochta was forced from his chamber, having put up a fierce struggle.’

Fidelma inclined her head in approval. ‘From the look of the room,’ she repeated in a soft tone. ‘Yet no disturbance was reported by the occupants in the adjoining chambers.’

Eadulf glanced at her quickly, picking up the emphasis. ‘You mean that this scene has been …’ he struggled for the word. ‘That it has been purposefully arranged?’

‘I think so. Look at the way everything is cast around the room. Look at the mattress and clothes taken from the bed. It all indicates a fierce struggle which must logically have taken place sometime after Vespers and an hour or so before dawn. If such a struggle, as represented here, really took place, the noise would have disturbed even the deepest sleeper on either side. Yet no one reported being disturbed.’

‘We should make sure by asking the occupants of the adjoining chambers,’ Eadulf said.

Fidelma smiled. ‘My mentor, the Brehon Morann, said, “He who knows nothing doubts nothing”. Well done, Eadulf. We must indeed check to see what they say. But I am working on the probability that they were not disturbed by any noise in this room. And a reasonable probability is the only certainty we have at this time.’

Eadulf gestured helplessly. ‘So are we saying that Brother Mochta arranged this scene? But why?’

‘Perhaps someone else arranged it. We cannot form a conclusion as yet.’

‘If it were true that the slain monk at Cashel was Brother Mochta, then it might make some sense. But Brother Madagan insists that Mochta wore your Irish tonsure and not the tonsure of Rome. Hair cannot grow or be changed in a day. Besides, the innkeeper at the Well of Ara said hair was growing to disguise the tonsure when he stayed there a week ago.’

‘True enough. But do you have an explanation for the accuracy of the description of the body at Cashel and that of Brother Mochta? A description which fits even down to the tattoo on his arm.’ Fidelma’s s eyes twinkled a moment. ‘That is also a certainty. We can be absolutely certain only about things we do not understand.’

Eadulf raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘A saying of the Brehon Morann no doubt?’ he asked sarcastically.

Fidelma ignored him as she looked round the room.

‘I believe that whoever did this, whether it was Brother Mochta orsome other person, arranged these things carefully. Look at the way the mattress is positioned so that anyone who was not blind would see the bloodstain. Now a mattress, in a struggle, might well fall that way but it does seem contrived. And in a struggle, why would the clothes from that cupboard be taken out and strewn around the room?’

Eadulf began to realise the detail which her examination of the room had picked up.

‘Did you notice the arrow on the bedside table?’ Fidelma asked him.

Eadulf gave an inward groan.

He had noticed it but only as part of the debris of the room. Now that he focused on it, he realised the significance of the markings on the flight. It was the same type of arrow which had been carried by the archer during the assassination attempt; the same style of arrow which Fidelma was carrying and which had been identified as being made by the fletchers of Cnoc Áine.

‘I see it,’ he answered shortly.

‘And what do you make of it?’

‘Make of it? It is the shaft of an arrow which has been snapped in two. The end half of the shaft with the flight has fallen on the table.’

‘Fallen?’ Fidelma’s voice raised a little in disbelief. ‘It is laying there so clearly exposed that it seems to have been placed there for anyone to see. If it had been broken in some struggle, where is the other half?’

Eadulf s eyes fell to the floor, searching. He examined the room carefully and saw nothing of it. ‘What does it mean?’

‘You know as much as I do,’ Fidelma replied indifferently. ‘If the room has been carefully arranged for us … well, arranged for whoever was meant to gaze on it … what message is it supposed to give?’

Eadulf stood and folded his arms, gazing around before delivering his answer. ‘Brother Mochta has disappeared. The room is supposed to make people think that he has been removed from his chamber in a violent struggle. The bloodstain on the mattress and the disorder point to this. Then there is a broken arrow on the bedside table … ah, that might signify that the arrow was broken when an assailant plunged it into the body of Mochta. The piece with the arrow head was left in Mochta while the end of the arrow with the flight was broken and tossed onto the table.’ He glanced at Fidelma for her approval.

‘Excellently done, Eadulf. That is precisely the message we have been asked to believe. Yet as the scene was so carefully preparedwe must look behind this message for the real significance of this chamber.’

For the first time she entered it and began to examine it foot by foot. Then she picked up the broken arrow and placed it in her marsupium.

‘I do not think it will tell us much until we have garnered more facts.’

She then examined the writing materials in the corner and the pieces of vellum.

‘Brother Mochta wrote a fair hand. He seems to have been writing a Life of Ailbe.’ She began to read from one of the pieces of vellum: ‘“He was called by Christ to his repose in the hundredth year of his life, as recorded in the Annals of Imleach which were began in that year of Our Lord 522.”’ She paused. ‘The rest appears to be missing. But here is another fragment.’ She read again: ‘“The repose of Ailbe has been distorted by the scribes of the north for they do not wish to acknowledge his appearance in Muman before Patrick of Armagh.”’

‘Do these writings have significance?’ queried Eadulf.

‘Perhaps,’ she replied, rolling the pieces of vellum up before placing them in her marsupium. Then she glanced around again. ‘I do not think this chamber will reveal any more secrets to us. Let us go.’

She locked the room after they left, for Brother Madagan had left the key in the door. They returned to the refectory. Outside, a dozen or more male and female religious had gathered, wrapped in long cloaks, carrying bundles and each holding a pilgrim’s staff. Abbot Ségdae was there in front of them, standing with raised right hand, his thumb and third finger pressed against one another so that the first, second and fourth finger were raised to symbolise the Holy Trinity in the Irish fashion.

He delivered the Blessing in Greek, that being considered the language of the Holy Gospels.

Then the pilgrims, two by two, shouldered their bundles and set out towards the open abbey gates. Their voices rose in a joyful chant as they did so.

Cantemus in mni die

concinentes uarie,

conclamantes Deo dignum

hymnum sanctae Mariae

‘Let us sing each day, chanting together in varied harmonies, declaiming to a God a worthy hymn for holy Mary,’ muttered Eadulf, translating the words.

Soon the singing column of pilgrims had passed through the abbey gates, continuing their pilgrimage, their voices receding beyond the walls.

As they stood watching a burly man approached them. He was of average height, well muscled, solidly built with unexceptional grey-brown hair. He wore a leather jerkin over his workmanlike clothes and carried a short sword at his belt. His eyes were bright and keen. His features were ruddy and a little too fleshy to retain the handsomeness he might have enjoyed in his youth. He had the air of acquired wealth about him; acquired because he wore his wealth ostentatiously. He was bejewelled, which seemed at odds with his choice of clothing. Someone to whom such richness came naturally would not have been so tasteless with their wealth. Fidelma suppressed a smile. She suddenly had a vision of this pretentious character wearing a sign around his neck with the legend: ‘Lucri bonus est odor — sweet is the smell of money’. She wondered where the line came from and then remembered it was from Juvenal’s Satires. Well, she was sure that the man would not object to the motto.

‘Are you the Lady Fidelma?’ the man asked, his bright eyes narrowing slightly as he examined her.

Fidelma inclined her head in greeting. ‘I am Fidelma of Cashel,’ she replied.

‘I have heard that you have been asking after me. My name is Samradán of Cashel.’

Fidelma met the gaze of his pale, bright eyes and held it. It was the Cashel merchant that let his gaze dart away first.

‘If there is anything I can help you with?’ Samradan shifted his weight uncomfortably.

Fidelma suddenly smiled disarmingly. ‘Did you know Brother Mochta?’

The merchant shook his head. ‘The monk who has vanished? Everyone is talking about it here at the abbey. No, I did not know him. I traded only with Brother Madagan as the steward of the abbey and, of course, with the abbot himself. I never met Brother Mochta, at least the name never registered with me if I encountered him in the abbey.’

‘You keep a warehouse at Cashel?’

The merchant nodded warily. ‘By the market square, lady. My house is in the town as well.’

‘An assassination attempt on my brother, the King, and the Prince of the Uí Fidgente, was launched from the roof of your warehouse yesterday morning.’

The merchant paled slightly. ‘I have been here in Imleach for severaldays. I knew nothing of this. Besides, anyone can climb onto the roof of my warehouse. It is a flat roof and easily accessible.’

‘I do not accuse you of anything, Samradán,’ chided Fidelma. ‘But it was best that you should know this fact, though.’

The merchant nodded hurriedly. ‘Of course … I thought …’

‘Do you trade among the people of Cnoc Aine?’

‘No. Only to the abbey.’

‘That seems to limit your business,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘You must do a lot of trade here within the abbey to visit so often and stay so long.’

Samradan looked at her uncertainly.

‘I mean that I trade only with the abbey in this area. I also trade with the abbeys at Cill Dalua, north of here, and south at Lios Mhór. I have in recent months even traded as far north as the abbey at Armagh. That was an arduous journey. But I have made it twice in the last two months.’

‘What sort of goods do you trade in?’

‘We barter corn and barley for wool mainly. Around Cill Dalua are first-class tanners and workers in leather. So we buy jackets, leather bottles, shoes and other items and trade to the south.’

‘How fascinating. Do you trade in metal work?’

Samradan was dismissive. ‘Carrying metal objects is a tiresome business for our horses. It weights our wagons and we have to move slowly. There are enough good smiths and forges throughout the country.’

‘So you would not deal in metals like silver? There are some silver mines and other workings of precious metals to the south of here.’

Samradán shook his head vehemently. ‘Be one’s trade good or bad, it is experience that makes one an adept at it,’ he replied, quoting an old proverb. ‘I stick to the trade I know. I know nothing of silver.’

‘You are right,’ agreed Fidelma pleasantly. ‘A trade not properly learned can be an enemy to its success. I understand that you have not dwelt at Cashel very long?’

‘Only these last three years,’ countered Samradan.

‘Then, before you came to Cashel, where did you conduct your business from?’

Was there a shiftiness in the merchant’s eyes now? ‘I was in the land of the Corco Baiscinn.’

‘Is that where you come from?’ pressed Fidelma.

Samradán raised his chin in an automatic gesture of defiance. ‘It is.’ His confirmation was a challenge but Fidelma said nothing further.

After the silence continued, the merchant cleared his throat noisily, as if attracting attention. ‘Is that all?’

Fidelma smiled again as if it had already been made clear and the man had not understood.

‘Why, of course. But when you return to Cashel, you might be questioned about this terrible event. You may say that you have spoken with me. However, your testimony may be wanted by the Brehons in Cashel.’

Samradán looked startled. ‘Why should I be questioned?’ he demanded.

‘For the reason I told you … the assassins used your warehouse. No one accuses you of anything but it is obvious that you would be questioned because of that fact. Tell them what you told me. That you have no knowledge of the matter.’

The merchant looked uncomfortable. ‘I do not plan to return to Cashel for a few days yet, lady,’ he muttered. ‘I am going to the country of the Arada Cliach to trade first. I mean to start early tomorrow morning.’

‘Then I wish you a good journey.’ Fidelma turned and motioned Eadulf to follow her.

‘What was that about?’ he asked, when they were out of earshot.

Fidelma looked at him in mild rebuke. ‘No more than it appeared to be,’ she replied. ‘I just wanted to check who this Samradán was.’

‘And are you satisfied that he is no more than he seems to be?’

‘No.’

Eadulf was disconcerted by the enigmatic response.

Fidelma caught his questioning glance. ‘Samradán may well be what he claims to be but he admits he is of the Corco Baiscinn.’

‘I do not know these people,’ Eadulf returned. ‘Is there some significance here?’

‘They are one of the people over whom the Uí Fidgente hold lordship. They also claim to be descendants of Cas.’

‘Then he might well be part of some conspiracy?’ suggested Eadulf.

‘I do not trust him,’ Fidelma returned. ‘However, if he were part of some conspiracy I doubt whether it is connected with the Uí Fidgente. He would not have readily admitted that he was of the Corco Baiscinn. Yet it is better to be suspicious about people than not to be.’

Eadulf said nothing.

They found Brother Madagan at the gates of the abbey, speaking with the abbot.

‘Have you come to any conclusions?’ asked Abbot Segdae eagerly.

‘It is far too early for conclusions,’ Fidelma replied, handing the key of Brother Mochta’s chamber back to Brother Madagan. ‘As soon as I have something positive, I will let you know.’

Abbot Ségdae appeared anxious still. ‘I suppose I was hoping for a miracle. But at least, of the Holy Relics, Ailbe’s crucifix is safely recovered.’

Fidelma laid a reassuring hand on the old man’s arm. She wished she could do something further to enhearten this old friend and supporter of her family.

‘Do not worry unduly, Ségdae. If the matter is capable of resolution, we will resolve it.’

‘Is there anything else that I can do for you before I return to my other duties?’ Brother Madagan inquired.

‘Thank you, but not at this time. Brother Eadulf and I are going to the township and may not be back for a while.’ She hesitated. ‘Oh, you mentioned that the adjoining chambers to Mochta are occupied. Where might their occupants be found?’

Brother Madagan suddenly glanced across Fidelma’s shoulder through the open gates of the abbey. ‘You are in luck, for the two brothers are coming towards the abbey gates now.’

Fidelma and Eadulf turned and saw two religious approaching the gates, one pushing a wheelbarrow full of herbs and other plants which they had obviously been gathering that morning.

As Fidelma and Eadulf walked towards the gates of the abbey to intercept the two religious, Eadulf said quietly, ‘Wouldn’t it have been a kindness to report on our conclusions so far?’

Fidelma arched an eyebrow. ‘Our conclusions? I did not think that we had any conclusions.’

Eadulf made a gesture with his hand as if to express his confusion. ‘I thought that we agreed that Brother Mochta disarrayed his room on purpose to mislead people?’

Fidelma glared at him in reproof. ‘What we discovered remains between ourselves until we can put some logic to it. What is the point of revealing our knowledge, which might then get back to the conspirators — whoever they may be — so that they can hide their tracks? We will say no more of this until the time is right.’

She turned and hailed the two men. ‘Good morning, Brothers. I am Fidelma of Cashel.’

Their greeting showed that they had both heard of her. News of her arrival at the abbey must have spread quickly.

‘I am told that you sleep in the chambers situated on either side of Brother Mochta’s room.’

The elder of the two religious was only a little older than Fidelma while the younger was no more than a teenager, fresh-faced and fair-haired. He seemed hardly beyond the ‘age of choice’. They exchanged nervous glances.

‘Is there news of Brother Mochta?’ the younger one asked. ‘The news of his disappearance and the Holy Relics is all around the abbey.’

‘There is no news, Brother …?’

‘I am called Daig and this is Brother Bardan who is the apothecary and mortician of our abbey.’ The youth said this with an air of pride as one introducing a more worthy person than himself. He went on eagerly: ‘The entire abbey has been talking of your arrival, lady.’

‘Sister,’ corrected Fidelma gently.

‘How may we help you?’ interrupted the elder Brother in a less eager fashion than his companion.

‘You know that Brother Mochta disappeared from his chamber sometime after Vespers and sometime before dawn on the feastday of Ailbe?’

‘We know as much,’ agreed Brother Bardan. His tone was curt and he seemed to regard Fidelma with a suspicious look. He was a swarthy young man, his hair the colour of a raven’s feathers, with a blue sheen on its blackness. His dark eyes seemed to move quickly, nervously, here and there as if in search of hidden enemies. Although clean-shaven, the shadow of a beard coloured his lower features darkly, contrasting with the fairness of his cheeks.

‘Were you sleeping in your chambers that night? I mean, the night when Mochta disappeared.’

‘We were.’

‘You heard nothing during the night?’

‘I sleep soundly, Sister,’ replied Brother Bardan. ‘I doubt whether anything would awaken me. I heard nothing.’

‘Well, I was disturbed,’ Brother Daig announced.

Fidelma turned towards him. It was not a reply that she had expected. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Brother Bardán’ s expression crease in anger as he glanced at his companion. His mouth opened and she wondered, for a second, if he was going to rebuke the boy. But he did not.

‘Did you report this disturbance?’ she demanded.

‘Oh, it was not that sort of disturbance,’ the young boy replied.

‘Then what sort was it?’

‘I am a light sleeper and I do remember being awakened in the night by a door being shut. I think the wind must have caught it for no Brother shuts his door in such a fashion. It banged shut.’

‘What happened then?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Nothing,’ admitted Brother Daig. ‘I turned over and went back to sleep.’

Fidelma was disappointed. ‘You could not tell which door had banged shut?’ she pressed the young man.

‘No. But I know this … I’ve heard that there was supposed to have been a fight in Mochta’s room about this time. I say that it is impossible.’

‘Yes?’ Fidelma encouraged the young man.

‘Well, had there been such a fight, then it is obvious that I would have heard it. I would have awakened. Apart from the banging of the door, nothing else disturbed me during that night.’

Brother Bardan smiled sceptically. ‘Come, Daig … young people are known to sleep through great tempests. How can you be so positive that nothing untoward took place in Mochta’s chambers that night? From what we have been told, the evidence shows the opposite.’

‘I would have awakened had there been such a fight,’ Daig replied indignantly. ‘As it was, I was awakened by a slamming door.’

‘Well, I admit that I heard nothing.’ Bardan was dismissive. Fidelma thanked them both and left them at the abbey gates, followed by Eadulf. After a short distance, crossing the square towards the township, she glanced quickly back over her shoulder. She was intrigued to see Brother Bardan, standing where they had left him, apparently arguing with the younger monk. It seemed that Bardan was telling the youth off in no uncertain terms.

‘Well,’ said Eadulf, unaware of the argument as he strode on, ‘doesn’t that prove your point? There was no struggle in Brother Mochta’s room.’

Fidelma turned back to catch up with Eadulf.

‘But where does that take us?’ mused Fidelma as she continued to walk with him, passing the great yew-tree in the square.

‘I don’t understand,’ Eadulf responded.

‘It would only take us somewhere if we knew for certain that Brother Mochta was the same man who was killed in Cashel. But, according to Madagan and the others here, we are describing exactly the same man, yet there is one point of difference that cannot possibly be reconciled.’

Eadulf made a groaning sound and spread his hands eloquently. ‘I know. The tonsure. I have tried many times to see if I can come up with a reasonable explanation for it. I cannot. Brother Mochta was last seen here less than forty-eight hours ago with his head shaved in the manner of the tonsure of St John. The man we thought was Mochta was found in Cashel twenty-four hours ago with the signs of a tonsure of St Peter on his head but with his hair also showing signs of a few weeks of growth on his pate. How can these things be squared?’

‘You have overlooked another point,’ Fidelma observed.

‘What is that?’

‘Aona saw this same man with the same tonsure a week ago at the Well of Ara. Segdae told us that Mochta hardly ever left the abbey. That is another point against the body of the man at Cashel being Mochta.’

Eadulf shook his head in annoyance.

‘I cannot fathom any reasonable explanation for it.’

‘Now do you see that it is a fruitless exercise to tell Abbot Ségdae of our suspicions? Until we have some answers they must remain suspicions and not conclusions.’

Eadulf was contrite.

They crossed the square to the beginning of the group of houses, barns and other buildings which comprised the township of Imleach. The urban complex had grown up during the last century in the shadow of the abbey and its cathedral seat. Before then it had simply been the gathering place around the sacred tree of the Eóghanacht where kings came to take their oath and be installed in office. The abbey had attracted tradesmen, builders and others so that a township of several hundred people had grown up opposite the abbey walls.

Fidelma paused at the edge of the buildings and gazed round.

‘Where are we going now?’ Eadulf asked.

‘To find a blacksmith, of course,’ she replied shortly. ‘Where else?’