The Monk Who Vanished

the raider.’

The apothecary nodded curtly. ‘Do not worry. It will be disposed of.’

Outside Eadulf grimaced disapprovingly. ‘I see that Brother Bardan does not take the Faith’s teaching of forgiving one’s enemies too seriously. “Be you kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake has forgiven you.” Perhaps he should be reminded of the text?’

‘Ephesians, chapter four,’ Fidelma identified the quotation. ‘I rather think that Brother Bardan is one of those who prefer to hand his enemies over to God’s forgiveness and show none himself. But then he is a man with all the frailty of men. Daig meant a lot to him.’

Eadulf suddenly realised what she meant and said no more.

As they passed back through the cloisters they found Abbot Segdae sitting in the shade, his head sunk on his shoulders. He was still wearing his bandage and was sniffing at a small bunch of herbs.

He glanced up as they approached and smiled weakly. Then he gestured with the bunch of herbs.

‘Brother Bardan says the aroma of these will help with my headache.’

‘Is your wound healing, Segdae?’ asked Fidelma solicitously. She was fond of the old abbot who had been such a close friend to her family over the decades.

‘I am told that the bruise looks bad but the slingshot fortunately, did not break the skin. I have a lump and a bad headache. That is all.’

‘You must take care of yourself, Segdae.’

The abbot smiled weakly. ‘I am an old man, Fidelma. Perhaps I should make way for a younger one here. It will be recorded by the annalists that during my years as Comarb of Ailbe I allowed his Holy Relics to be stolen, that I allowed the sacred yew-tree of Imleach to be cut down. In short, that I allowed the Eóghanacht to be disgraced.’

‘You must not think of resigning office,’ Fidelma protested. She had always thought of Ségdae as one of the permanent factors of the kingdom.

‘A younger man might not have been so stupid to stand on the tower as I did and allow himself to be felled by a slingshot,’ replied Ségdae ruefully.

‘Ségdae, if you were a captain of warriors, then I would tell you immediately to stand aside,’ Fidelma told him candidly. ‘But you are a captain of souls. It is not your task to organise a defence against attack. You are here to act as counsel and guide and be a father to your community. All acts of bravery must be judged by comparisons. Sometimes it is an act of bravery merely to live.’

The abbot, who, in Eadulf’s eyes, seemed to have aged greatly since their arrival at the abbey, shook his head.

‘Make no excuses for me, Fidelma. I should have acted as the need arose. I failed my community. I have failed the people of Muman.’

‘You are a harsh judge of your own actions, Ségdae. Your community needs your wisdom more than ever. Not battle wisdom but the practical wisdom that you are renowned for. Make no hasty decisions.’

The old man sighed and raised the bouquet of herbs to his face.

Fidelma made a motion with her head to indicate to Eadulf that they should leave him to his contemplation.

They found Brother Tomar at the abbey barns where their own horses were stabled. He was cleaning out the stalls.

The stableman looked surprised at being disturbed twice by them in a short space of time.

‘Did you forget something, Sister?’ he asked.

Fidelma came straight to the point.

‘The horse of the raider who was killed. Is it here in the stables?’

Brother Tomar pointed to one of the stalls.

‘I have taken great care of it, Sister. I have rubbed it down and fed it. The horse is not to blame for the faults of the master.’

Fidelma and Eadulf went to the stall. Fidelma was a good judge of horses and had ridden almost before she had learnt to walk. Her keen eye ran over the bay filly. She noticed a scar on its left shoulder and some sores from the rubbing of the bit and harness. Clearly the warrior had not been a good horseman or else he would have taken better care of the young mare. The scar confirmed that the horse had been in conflict. However, it was not a recent wound.

Fidelma entered the stall and examined the hooves, one by one. The animal stood docilely enough for a horse can sense when a human knows what they are doing and means them no harm.

‘Anything of interest?’ asked Eadulf after a while.

Fidelma shook her head with a sigh.

‘The beast is well shod, that’s for sure. There is nothing that indicates where it was shod or, indeed, from where it has come.’

‘We might ask Nion if he can identify the shoeing,’ suggested Eadulf.

Fidelma came out of the stall and examined the harness hanging nearby.

‘I presume this was the harness that belonged with this horse, Brother Tomar?’ she called.

The stableman was still sweeping among the stalls. He glanced across. ‘Yes. That saddle there belongs with it as well.’

The bridle was of the usual single-rein type called a srían, whose rein was attached to a nose-band not at the side but at the top, and came to the hand of the rider over the animal’s forehead, between the eyes and ears, held in its place by a loop or ring in the face-band which ran across the horse’s forehead and formed part of the bridle.

The saddle was a simple leather one which was strapped on top of an ech-dillat, a horse cloth, of a type that many warriors affected. Fidelma immediately noticed that a leather saddle bag was attached to the saddle by leather thongs.

With a soft grunt of satisfaction, she bent forward, picked it up and opened it. To her surprise it was empty. There was not even a change of clothing in the bag. It was obvious that whatever had been inside had been removed.

‘Brother Tomar,’ she called, ‘did you unsaddle the young mare?’

Brother Tomar ambled over, broom in hand, curiosity on his features. ‘I did.’

‘Was there anything in this saddle bag when you did so?’

‘I think so, though I did not look. It was heavy right enough. I put it there and did not touch it.’

Fidelma stood staring at the empty bag, deep in thought as she examined the possibilities.

‘Has anyone else been around the stable since you put the horse in here?’ she finally asked Brother Tomar.

The young stableman rubbed his chin reflectively.

‘Many people,’ he finally replied. ‘The Prince Finguine and some of his men. Many of the brethren have been here for various things.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘This is a short route to one of our store houses. Many brethren went to the town to see what they could do to help and have come here to get supplies to take there to assist those who were in need.’

Fidelma pursed her lips in frustration.

‘So if this saddle bag contained anything then, any one of many people could have examined it and removed things from it?’

‘Why would they wish to do so?’

‘Why, indeed?’ Fidelma said softly, more to Eadulf than the stableman.

Eadulf set his jaw. ‘I see. The same person who stabbed the raider while we were not looking probably took his personal possessions? Once more we are prevented from identifying …’

He paused when he saw Fidelma frowning at him.

Brother Tomar was gazing at him in curiosity.

‘A bad day,’ the stableman said finally.

‘It will get better,’ Eadulf assured him.

‘I doubt it, Brother Saxon,’ the man replied. ‘There is too much blood shed for this spot ever to be purified