The Monk Who Vanished

Donndubhain whirled angrily and clapped a hand to his sword hilt as if to draw it in anger but Fidelma held up her hand.

‘Stop! Whether you believe it or not, Gionga, this man is not recognised as a member of the Order of the Golden Chain. I do not recognise him nor does my cousin. On that you have our solemn oaths.’

‘I would expect you to say no less,’ replied Gionga, the disbelief in his voice not dissipated one iota.

‘Maybe the cross was carried deliberately to mislead you,’ offered Eadulf.

Gionga started to laugh offensively. ‘You mean that the assassin meant to be killed so we could find his emblem and be misled?’ he sneered.

Fidelma saw the chagrined expression on the face of her Saxon friend and came to his defence.

‘It could be that the assassin meant to drop it where we would find it,’ she said, though she did not really feel convinced. She hastily turned to the piles of clothes and began to examine them.

‘Coarse materials. There is nothing that identifies their origin. These clothes could come from anywhere. Two leather purses. A few coins in each of them but of no great value. Our assassins seem to have been poor. And …’

She stopped and her searching fingers encountered something in the purse which Brother Conchobar had identified as belonging to the elderly, rotund man. Slowly she drew it out.

It was a crucifix, three inches in length on a long chain. Both crucifixand chain were exquisitely wrought in sparking silver. Within the four arms of the crucifix were set four precious stones with a larger stone set in its centre. They were emeralds. It was not a cross of native Irish workmanship, that was easy to see, for it was plainer, less intricate than the designs turned out by Irish silversmiths.

Eadulf was staring over her shoulder.

‘That is a cross that no ordinary member of a religious community would be wearing,’ he observed.

‘Nor even a priest. This is the cross of a bishop, at least,’ observed Fidelma with some awe. ‘Perhaps even more valuable than an ordinary bishop’s cross.’

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.