The Monk Who Vanished

truth that they seek, not a lie to justify an action.’

Gionga stared back aggressively but did not say anything.

When Fidelma returned her attention to the cadavers, she found Eadulf bending over the head of the shorter corpse. There was an expression of amazement on his face.

‘What is it?’ she demanded.

Eadulf did not say anything but merely beckoned her to his side.

Gionga and Donndubháin followed curiously.

Eadulf had lifted the head slightly so that they could see the crown. There was a lot of dried blood on it where Gionga had smashed the back of the skull with the blow from his sword hilt.

Fidelma’s eyes widened.

‘What is it?’ demanded Gionga. ‘I see nothing except the wound I made. I freely admit that I made it. So what?’

Fidelma spoke very quietly. ‘What Brother Eadulf is pointing out, Gionga, is that you will see there is a difference in the growth of the hair on this man’s crown to the hair surrounding the crown. As you will see, the hair surrounding the crown is thick and curly. There is a circle on the crown in which the hair is barely more than half an inch to an inch in length.’

Gionga still could not understand what it meant.

Realisation reached Donndubháin. first. ‘Does this mean that the man was in holy orders until recently?’

‘What?’ Gionga was startled. He peered forward as if to verify the fact that he had missed.

‘The corona spina of the Roman following,’ observed Eadulf who wore the same tonsure.

‘Are you saying that this man was a foreigner?’ demanded Gionga of Eadulf.

Fidelma closed her eyes momentarily. ‘There are plenty of religious within the five kingdoms who have forsaken the tonsure of St John for the tonsure of St Peter,’ she explained. ‘The tonsure tells usnothing more than the fact that he is … or was … a member of the religious.’

‘We know also that he wore his tonsure until about two weeks ago. I would say that it has taken that long for the hair to grow thus,’ Eadulf added.

‘Two weeks?’ queried Fidelma.

Eadulf nodded confirmation.

They stood back while Eadulf continued his examination, peering carefully at the body. He pointed to the left forearm. ‘Have you all observed this strange tattoo?’

They bent forward to examine it.

‘It is a bird of some sort,’ offered Donndubhain.

‘Clamhán,’ asserted Fidelma.

‘A what?’ frowned Eadulf.

‘It is a hawk of sorts,’ she explained.

‘Well, I have never seen its like,’ asserted Gionga.

‘No,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘You are not likely to unless you travel to the northern lands.’

‘And you have, I suppose?’ the warrior jeered.

‘Yes. I have seen it in Ulaidh and in the kingdom of Dál Riada when I was on my way to the great council called by Oswy of Northumbria.’

‘Ah!’ Eadulf was triumphant. ‘I recognise it now. In Latin it is called buteo, a buzzard. An odd bird for a religieux to have emblazoned on his forearm.’

He continued with his examination, paying special attention to the hands and feet.

‘This man is no religieux turned warrior, nor warrior turned religieux,’ he announced. ‘The hands and feet are soft and not calloused. Indeed, examine his right hand, Fidelma, especially between the first and second fingers.’

Fidelma reached forward and picked up the flaccid, cold hand. She tried not to shiver as a reaction to the repulsive touch of the soft flesh which seemed pliable as to be almost boneless.

She glanced quickly at Eadulf, her eyebrows raised, before replacing the hand.

‘What is it now?’ demanded Gionga, resentful that he was not able to understand.

‘There are ink stains on the fingers,’ Eadulf replied to the question. ‘It means that our erstwhile monk was a scriptor. A strange person to become an assassin.’

Gionga was querulous. ‘Well, it was the other man who was the archer and he wore the emblem of the elite bodyguard of the Kingof Cashel and his weapons were arrows manufactured by the people of Cnoc Aine, a territory ruled by the cousin of Colgú.’

Fidelma did not bother to comment on his statement. ‘And so we will turn to the archer himself. What can you tell us of this man, Eadulf?’

Eadulf spent some time examining the tall man’s body before he stood back and addressed them.

‘The man is well muscled, his hands are used to work, although they are well groomed. They do not carry the dirt of a farmer or labourer. The feet are also hardened and the body is tanned but carries two scars, old scars which have healed. See here, one is near the ribs on the left and the other is on the left upper arm. The man has fought in battles. Furthermore, he is a professional bowman.’

At that last statement, Gionga burst into derisive laughter. ‘Just because you have heard me say that he was a bowman, Saxon, you need not seek to impress us with your powers as if you were some sorcerer.’

Eadulf was unperturbed. ‘I report only what I see.’

Fidelma smiled gravely. ‘Perhaps you will explain it for Gionga as he does not understand your reasoning.’

Eadulf smiled patiently.

‘Come here.’ He beckoned to the Uí Fidgente warrior. ‘Firstly, we look at his left hand in which he holds his bow. Look at the calluses on the fingers. They are not to be found on the right hand. This hand is used to holding a sturdy piece of wood. Now look at the right hand and see the smaller calluses on the tips of the first finger and thumb where this hand repeatedly holds the end of the shaft of an arrow. Return your gaze to the inner forearm of the left hand where you see some ancient burn marks. There, the string of the bow has sometimes vibrated against the flesh. It happens when a bowman is trying to release arrows in quick succession and is not always able to line up the bow with precision.’

Gionga tried not to sound impressed. ‘Very well, Saxon. I grant you that there is a logic to your tricks. Nevertheless, I could have told you that he was a bowman for I cut him down with the bow in his hand after he had tried to kill my Prince.’

‘And tried to kill the King of Muman,’ added Donndubhain. ‘You keep neglecting that point.’

‘Turn to the assassin’s clothes.’ Gionga was peevish. ‘Explain the emblem of the Golden Chain, which is the elite bodyguard of your cousin.’

The old monk Conchobar had placed the clothing on a second table with the weapons for them to examine.

Fidelma picked up the cross on the chain of gold which was the symbol of the ancient order associated with the Eóghanacht Kings of Cashel. There were no distinguishing marks on it. It was similar to the cross and chain that she herself wore around her neck in token of her brother’s gratitude for her services to the kingdom.

‘Donndubháin, you have been close to your father, King Cathal, who was King of Cashel before my brother. You have personally known the bodyguard of the kings as well as any. Do you recognise the body of this tall archer?’

‘No,’ averred her cousin. ‘I have never seen him before in the company of the bodyguards, Fidelma.’

Fidelma held out the emblem to him. ‘Have you ever seen this before … I mean, this specific emblem?’

‘It is like every emblem worn by members of the Order of the Golden Chain, cousin. You know it for you also wear one. It is impossible to tell one from the other.’

Gionga was sceptical. ‘Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you? You would hardly admit that one of your bodyguard was an assassin.’