The Monk Who Vanished

‘How well do you know Brother Bardan?’ Fidelma continued innocently.

The little man looked at her disdainfully.

‘Do you think it proper that we, as opposing counsels, should be discussing any matters affecting the hearing at Cashel?’

Fidelma felt her temper stirring but kept it in check.

‘I was not aware that we were doing so,’ she replied, trying to soften the icy tinge to her voice. ‘Though from what you tell me you havebeen informed of all the details of the case so it matters not if we talk in general terms.’

‘As a dálaigh, it is my task to question who I please. My Prince, Donennach, sent a messenger instructing me to proceed to Cashel and the messenger had a copy of the protocol drawn up by Donndubhain, the tanist of Cashel. Therefore, I set out immediately.’

Fidelma smiled quickly. ‘I suppose that the messenger from Cashel told you that I had come to Imleach, which is why you came here?’

Solam flushed.

‘I came here …’ he began, and then he realised the path he had been drawn along.

‘The road from Luimneach to Cashel runs north of here. So I deduced that you thought it wise to come here first. Is that so?’

The little man’s eyes narrowed.

‘You are a very clever lady, Fidelma,’ he said icily. ‘I have heard of your reputation.’

‘That is gratifying.’ She paused, allowing the silence to press the question.

‘As a dálaigh,’ Solam explained, ‘it was my duty to see if you had been able to identify the crucifix. I understand that you have. It was the crucifix of Ailbe who founded this abbey; a crucifix which has disappeared from the chapel where it has been kept for the last century or more.’

Fidelma tried to hide her surprise that Solam had been able to gather the information so quickly.

The dálaigh was sitting back with a self-satisfied look.

‘I did not know that Brother Bardan was such a loquacious man,’ she said quietly.

Solam did not attempt to deny his information had come from the apothecary. ‘He is certainly more helpful than many here.’

‘You do your reputation justice, Solam,’ Fidelma replied.

‘You will find that I now have proof that this assassination plot was not inspired by the Uí Fidgente as you have claimed it to be.’

‘You have been misinformed, Solam,’ countered Fidelma. ‘I have never claimed anything. You mention the duties of a dálaigh. It is also my duty to gather the facts and present them to the Brehons. Other people have made claims, not 1. I shall continue to seek the truth until I am satisfied that I have found it.’

‘I think that the truth will be found much closer to Cashel than you think,’ the Uí Fidgente lawyer replied. He suddenly leant forward across the table, thrusting his face towards her in an unblinking stare. He kept his voice in an even monotone, scarcely above a whisper. ‘I believe that your brother plots to destroy the Uí Fidgente. I believe that he means to complete the victory he gained at Cnoc Áine last yearwhen our king, Eóganián, was slain. How better to find justification to annihilate us than to claim that our Prince Donennach was involved in a plot to assassinate him out of vengeance? If he can persuade people to believe that story, then he will gain their support to destroy the Uí Fidgente. Well, I shall reveal the truth — and the truth is that it is Colgú, your brother, who is behind this plot!’

Solam sat back in defiance and folded his arms.

Fidelma was quiet for a moment or two and then she allowed a small smile to crease the corner of her mouth. She shook her head sadly.

‘You have an excellent court-room technique, Solam. Unfortunately, you would do better to keep it for the court room. But remember this, Brehons deal in facts, not in emotional outbursts.’

Solam leapt to his feet. His face was flushed. Fidelma’s assessment of his highly strung character was certainly an accurate one. Mentally she noted that his expressive irritability might be a weapon in her hands when arguing her case before the Brehons. For a moment or two, Fidelma thought that Solam’s rage was about to explode in verbal anger. Then the little dálaigh managed to control himself.

‘We shall see,’ muttered Solam angrily before he flounced from the library room. One or two of the scribes glanced up from their books, disturbed at his noisy exit.

The chief librarian rose from his seat and came over. There was a look of annoyance on his features.

‘The Uí Fidgente did not hand back his book,’ he pointed out. The book Solam was looking at was still on the table. ‘I presume that he has finished with it?’

Fidelma grimaced at the librarian. ‘I should imagine he has.’

The librarian bent to pick up the small, leather-bound volume. Fidelma suddenly stretched out a hand and stayed him.

‘One moment …’

She turned the book around so that she could read the title. It was a ‘Life of Ailbe’. She passed it back to the chief librarian thoughtfully.

Fidelma found Abbot Ségdae still with Eadulf in his private chambers. Both of them looked up with surprise as she entered the room. She came straight to the point.

‘How would Brother Bardan know that I had shown you a sketch of a crucifix found on one of the dead assassins in Cashel and that it had been identified as one of the missing Relics of Ailbe?’ she demanded without preamble.

The elderly, hawk-faced abbot blinked.

‘I did not tell him,’ he protested. ‘But it is no secret that the Relics and Brother Mochta have vanished, Fidelma.’

‘But no one would know that the crucifix had been discovered on the body of the assassin.’

The abbot spread his hands.

‘I did not think it was a matter to be made a secret among the senior religieux of this abbey. The Relics are of concern to us. After all, we are the primacy of the kingdom. This is where the Eóghanacht kings come to take their sacred oath by the ancient yew-tree. Why should this matter be a secret?’

‘I am not blaming you for anything, Ségdae,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘So, tell me, who did you mention it to?’

‘I told Brother Madagan, he being the steward of the abbey.’

‘And Brother Bardan? He was told?’

‘The abbey is a close community. New travels quickly. You cannot keep secrets from among the Brothers and Sisters of the Faith.’

Fidelma gave a mental sigh. The abbot was perfectly right in what he said.

Ségdae was clearly worried as he glanced from Fidelma to Eadulf.

‘Why do you both mention Brother Bardan?’ he asked. ‘Brother Eadulf here was also asking about him. Do you suspect him of any conduct unseemly for a member of this abbey?’

‘I have told the Father Abbot that we merely want to clarify some points of background,’ interposed Eadulf hurriedly.

‘That is so, Ségdae,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘Eadulf has doubtless asked you to use total discretion. You see, in order to get at the truth it is often necessary to ask questions about people in order to verify facts. It contains no slur on their character nor any suspicion of wrongdoing. So we would appreciate it if no mention was made of our questions to Brother Bardan.’

The abbot looked bewildered but indicated his assent. ‘I shall not speak about this to anyone.’

‘Not even to your steward, Brother Madagan,’ insisted Fidelma.

‘Not to anyone,’ emphasised the abbot. ‘I have told Eadulf here that I have every confidence in Brother Bardan. He has been with our community for over ten years, working as our apothecary and mortician.’

‘The abbot tells me he was a local man,’ Eadulf said. ‘That he was a herbalist before he went to the medical school at the monastery of Tír dhá Ghlas. He became an apothecary and mortician and then joined the community here.’