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?’
Chapter Ten
There was no need to ask directions to the smithy’s forge for the heavy breath of the bellows and the ring of iron on iron could clearly be heard as Fidelma and Eadulf came to the group of houses which were spaced along a main street within sight of the abbey gates. The forge was stone built with the furnace constructed on large flags.
