The Monk Who Vanished

‘I will send some men to scour the hills where it was found,’ Finguine assured the apothecary. ‘We might pick up the trail of the thieves but I doubt it.’

‘Let me know if anything else is discovered,’ she requested her cousin as she signalled to Eadulf to follow her.

‘Well,’ Eadulf said slowly, once they were on their own, ‘that appears to be that. Now we know what happened to Brother Mochta.’

‘No we don’t,’ snapped Fidelma irritably. ‘What has just been confirmed is that Brother Bardán is a liar.’

Chapter Sixteen

‘Brother Bardan, a liar?’ Eadulf’s eyebrows shot up expressively.

‘How do you deduce that?’

‘Brother Bardan identified that arm, positively and without question, as that of Brother Mochta, didn’t he?’

‘Yes. Are you saying that he lied? That it was not Mochta and the apothecary knew it?’

Fidelma stamped her foot in annoyance. ‘Surely you were not misled?’

Eadulf shook his head, frowning. ‘How can we be sure it was not Brother Mochta’s arm?’

‘Which arm was it?’

‘The left arm. The left forearm … oh!’

Eadulf stopped as the realisation struck him. According to the description of Abbot Ségdae, Mochta’s left forearm had carried the tattoo mark — the bird — exactly as it was on the forearm of the body at Cashel. Brother Bardán must have known that the tattoo would have been on that arm.

‘So he deliberately lied,’ affirmed Fidelma.

‘But why? And whose arm was it?’ asked Eadulf.

‘Doubtless it was the arm of the poor driver of Samradán … after the wolves had done with him. But why the lie? Is it to stop us pursuing the missing Brother Mochta further? Can Mochta be the same person as the Cashel assassin? More questions. But, at last, I believe that we are getting somewhere. Come on.’

She hurried off down the corridor and came to a halt back where they had started from, at Brother Mochta’s cell door. This time, however, she did not go to that room but, glancing round to ensure they were unobserved, she tried the next door — the door of Brother Bardán’s room. It was open, of course, and she pulled Eadulf into the room after her.

‘What are we looking for?’ whispered the astonished Saxon.

‘I am not sure. Just stand by the door and let me know if anyone comes.’

The room was sparsely fitted. A bed, table and a chair; hooks forhanging clothing. There were two spare habits, a woollen cloak for winter, a leather hat to keep off the rain, two extra pairs of sandals, one studded with nails and stained green — shoes that the apothecary doubtless used on his field trips to gather wild herbs. There were two books on the table. Both were on herbal cures. In fact, when she looked closely, she found that the second one was in the process of being written. Most of its pages were untouched and pristine. The early pages were written in an interesting style.

She suddenly recalled something and reaching into her marsupium pulled out some of the paper which she had found in Brother Mochta’s cell. The notes from the ‘Annals of Imleach’. Both were written in the same hand. Had Brother Mochta been helping Brother Bardan write his medical treatise? If so, that showed that the two men were close enough; and close enough for Brother Bardan not to have made a mistake about the identification of the forearm.

There was apparently little else of interest in the room.

Then some instinct made her get to her knees and glance under the wooden cot that served as a bed. There were a couple of dark objects under there. She reached forward. First she pulled out a coiled rope. Then she found a lantern, its wick trimmed and filled with oil. The third item was a sacullus of large proportions. It was filled with items of food and a small amphora of wine.

Fidelma stared at the sacullus and its contents for a moment or two before nodding grimly to herself as if she had expected to find the objects.

She replaced the items carefully before rejoining Eadulf. Without exchanging a word they passed out into the corridor. Eadulf followed Fidelma silently as she walked along the corridor and through a door which led into the cloisters around the courtyard, on the far side of which was the guests’ hostel. On the other side was the abbey chapel and on the third side was an entrance which led into a small garden area.

‘That is where Brother Bardán grows some of his herbs,’ she announced. ‘Let’s have a look at it.’

Still without speaking, Eadulf followed her across the courtyard and through the arched area into the small herb garden.

‘Ah!’

Fidelma went directly to a small wooden door on the far side. It was securely bolted and quickly she pulled back the bolts and opened the door.

‘Where does it lead?’ Eadulf was moved to break his silence as curiosity got the better of him.

Fidelma stood aside silently.

Eadulf saw that beyond the door was nothing but a pleasant field and a fringe of yew-trees beyond. The door led directly out of the abbey on the side facing away from the township. Fidelma then shut the door and pushed back the bolts. Suddenly she bent forward with a slight gasp. She reached out a finger to touch something on the gatepost.

Eadulf looked at it carefully over her shoulder.

‘It looks like dried blood.’ he offered. ‘What does it mean?’

‘It means,’ replied Fidelma, straightening up, ‘that we shall have to sit up tonight and watch the activities of our friend Brother Bardan. I think I am beginning to see some pattern emerging.’

‘Something that you can share with me?’ Eadulf felt somewhat peeved by her mysterious attitude.

‘In time,’ she replied. ‘Perhaps we should get some rest before the evening meal. After that, it may be a long night.’

As they came out of the herb garden, she gazed around the cloistered courtyard as if searching for something. Then she indicated a small alcove.

‘That is a good position from which to watch. At night it will be in shadows and there is a seat there so that we can make our surveillance of the courtyard in comfort.’

‘But what are we watching for?’

‘Brother Bardan. Who else?’

The bell was tolling for the last service of the day. Eadulf was hurrying along the corridor to the chapel. Fidelma had decided to take up her self-imposed lookout duty but insisted that Eadulf joined the community so that their absence was not made too obvious. If anyone asked where she was he was to say that she was weary and had retired early. Eadulf was actually pleased to attend the service for he had been feeling guilty about missing so many observances since he had arrived at the abbey.

He joined the line of Brothers entering the chapel stalls. He found a suitable place in a pew in front of the high altar and went down on his knees, hands extended before him in order to commence his prayers. He opened his mouth but the words did not emerge. Instead he swallowed hard.

He had noticed Brother Bardán in a small alcove at the side of the chapel some distance away. Brother Bardán seemed to be talking earnestly, his hand moving to emphasise whatever point he was making. He turned a little to one side to reveal the person with whom he was so animatedly conversing. It was the recognition which caused Eadulf to swallow hard.

It was Fidelma’s cousin, Finguine, the Prince of Cnoc Aine. Therewas nothing suspicious in the mere fact that Brother Bardan was speaking with the Prince of Cnoc Aine but it was the manner in which he was doing so that seemed odd. They were smiling together as if they were sharing some conspiratorial joke.