The Monk Who Vanished

by Peter Tremayne

  They had walked from the gates of the fortress down the steep path which led to the bottom of the Rock of Cashel and followed the road round until it entered the outskirts of the market town below. The town itself lay less than a quarter of a mile from the great Rock of Cashel.

  They found the people of the town were already gathering to witness the entry of their King with the Prince of the Uí Fidgente and his retinue. The column of riders had arrived at the western gateway to the town as Fidelma and Eadulf reached the eastern gate to take up their positions with a group standing to one side of the broad market square.

  A group of seven warriors on horseback led the column. Then came Colgú’s standard bearer. The fluttering blue silk bore the golden royal stag of the Eóghanacht of Cashel. Following the standard, the King of Muman sat his horse well. He was a tall man with red, burnished hair. Not for the first time Eadulf was able to mentally remark on the similarity of facial features between him and his sister. There was no mistaking that Fidelma and Colgú were related.

  Next came another standard bearer. The banner he held aloft was a fluttering white silk on which there was a mystical red boar in the centre. Eadulf presumed this was the standard of the Uí Fidgente Prince. Behind this standard rode a young man with thickly set features which were dark but as handsome as the red-haired King of Muman. In spite of claims to a common ancestry there was nothing that reminded Eadulf of any form of relationship between the Prince of the Uí Fidgente and the King of Muman.

  The leading horsemen were followed by several warriors, many bearing the emblems of the Order of the Golden Chain, the elite bodyguards of the Eóghanacht kings. At the head of these warriors rode a young man, not much younger than Colgú himself. He bore a vague similarity to Colgú, though his features seemed a little coarser, and his hair was black, even as the Prince of the Uí Fidgente. He sat on his horse with ease but there was a pride to his bearing. His dress spoke of conceit in his appearance as well. He wore a long blue dyed woollen cloak which was fastened at the shoulder by a glittering brooch. It was silver and in the shape of a solar emblem, its five radiating arms marked at each end by a small red garnet stone.

  Donndubháin, as Eadulf knew well, was the tanist or heir-apparent of the King of Cashel. He was cousin to Colgú and Fidelma.

  There was no doubting the pleasure of the people at the sight of the company as they began to cheer and applaud their arrival. For most the sight of the King of Cashel and the Prince of the Uí Fidgente riding together meant the end of the centuries of feuds and bloodshed; the start of a new era of peace and prosperity for all the people of Muman.

  Colgú was relaxed and acknowledged the cheers with a wave of his hand although Donennach sat rigidly and it seemed that he was extremely nervous. His dark eyes flickered from side to side as if watching warily for signs of hostility. Only now and then did a quick smile cross his features as he inclined his head stiffly, from the neck only, to acknowledge the applause of the demonstrative crowd.

  The horsemen were crossing the market square to approach the path which led upwards to the rocky outcrop of the seat of the Cashel kings. Even Donennach of the Uí Fidgente’s eyes widened a little as he gazed upwards to the dominating fortress and palace of Cashel.

  Donndubháin raised his arm as if to signal the column of warriors to swing round in order to approach the fortress road.

  Fidelma had pushed her way forward to the edge of the crowd, followed by the anxious Eadulf, meaning to greet her brother.

  Colgú caught sight of her, his face splitting into a grin of urchin-like quality which was so like Fidelma at moments of intense amusement.

  Colgú drew rein on his horse and leant forward abruptly to greet his sister.

  It was that action which saved his life.

  The arrow impacted into his upper arm with a curious thud, causing him to cry out in pain and shock. Had he not halted his horse and bent down, the arrow would have impacted in a more mortal target.

  In the shock of the moment, everyone seemed to stand as if turned into stone. It seemed a long time but it was less than a couple of seconds before another cry of pain rang out. Donennach, the Prince of the Uí Fidgente, was swaying in his saddle, a second arrow sticking in his thigh. In horror, Eadulf watched him sway and then topple from his horse into the dust of the road.

  The impact of the falling body caused everyone to burst into a frenzy of activity and commotion.

  One of the Uí Fidgente warriors drew forth his sword with a cry of ‘Assassins!’ and urged his mount forward towards a cluster of buildings a short distance away across the square. A moment later, some of his men were following him while others hurried to their fallen Prince and stood over him with drawn swords as if expecting an assault on him.

  Eadulf saw Donndubhain, Colgú’s heir-apparent, also with drawn sword, go racing after the Ui Fidgente warriors.

  Fidelma was among the first to recover her wits. Her mind was racing. Two arrows had been shot at her brother and his guest and both, miraculously had missed. Obviously, the Uí Fidgente warrior had seen the path of their flight and pinpointed the buildings as hiding the bowman who wished to strike down the King of Cashel and the Prince of the Uí Fidgente. Well, there was no time to consider that now. Donndubháin had also gone in chase of the assassins.

  ‘See to Donennach,’ she cried to Eadulf, who was already pushing his way through the Prince’s reluctant bodyguard. She turned to where her brother was still sitting astride his horse, a little in shock, clutching at the arrow which was embedded in his arm.

  ‘Get down, brother,’ she urged quietly, ‘unless you want to continue to make yourself a target.’

  She reached forward and helped him dismount, which he did, trying not to groan aloud from the pain of his wound.

  ‘Is Donennach hurt badly?’ he asked between clenched teeth. He still held one hand clutching at his blood-soaked, pain-racked arm.

  ‘Eadulf is looking after him. Now sit down on that stone while I remove the arrow from your arm.’

  Almost reluctantly her brother sat down. By this time, two of Colgú’s men, including Capa, the captain of the bodyguard, had hurried forward but their drawn swords were superfluous. People were crowding round their King with a mixture of advice and questions. Fidelma waved them back impatiently.

  ‘Is there a physician among you?’ she demanded, having examined the wound and realised that the arrow head went deep. She was afraid to pry it loose for fear of tearing the muscle and creating more damage.

  There was a muttering and shaking of heads.

  Reluctantly, she bent down and hesitantly touched the shaft. It would take too long to send someone to find and bring old Conchobar hither.

  ‘Hold on, Fidelma,’ cried Eadulf, pushing his way back through the crowd.

  Fidelma almost sighed with relief for she knew that Eadulf had trained in the art of medicine at the great medical school of Tuaim Brecain.

  ‘How is Donennach?’ Colgú greeted him, his face grey with pain as he struggled to remain in control.

  ‘Concentrate on yourself for the time being, brother,’ admonished Fidelma.

  Colgú’s features were set grimly.

  ‘A good host should see to his guest first.’

  ‘It is a bad wound,’ Eadulf admitted, bending forward to examine where the arrow head had embedded itself in Colgú’s arm. ‘Donennach’s wound, I mean, though your own is no light scratch. I have ordered a litter be constructed so that we can carry Prince Donennach up to the palace where we may attend him better than here in the dust of the road. I suspect the arrow has entered Donennach’s thigh at a bad angle. But he was lucky … as, indeed, you are.’

  ‘Can you remove this arrow from my arm?’ pressed Colgú.

  Eadulf had been examining it closely. The Saxon smiled grimly. ‘I can but it will hurt. I would prefer to wait until we can take you back to the palace.’

  The King of Muman sniffed disdainfully.

  ‘Do it here and now
in order that my people may see that the wound is no great one and that an Eóghanacht King can bear pain.’

  Eadulf turned to one of the crowd. ‘Whose house is nearest in which there is a glowing fire?’

  ‘The blacksmith’s stands across the street there, Brother Saxon,’ replied an old woman, pointing.

  ‘Give me a few moments, Colgú,’ Eadulf said, turning and making his way to the smith’s forge. The smith himself was one of the crowd, having left his forge to see what the commotion was about. He now accompanied Eadulf with interest. Eadulf took out his knife. The smith looked on in surprise as the Saxon monk turned the knife for a while in the glowing coals before returning to Colgú’s side.

  Colgú’s jaw was set and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. ‘Do it as quickly as you can, Eadulf.’

  The Saxon monk nodded curtly.

  ‘Hold his arm, Fidelma,’ he instructed quietly. Then he bent forward and taking the shaft of the arrow, he eased it with the tip of the knife and pulled quickly. Colgú gave a grunt and his shoulders sagged as if he were going to fall. But he did not do so. His jaw clenched so hard that they could hear his teeth grinding. Eadulf took a clean linen cloth, which someone offered, and bound the arm tightly.

  ‘It will do until we get back to the fortress.’ There was satisfaction in his voice. ‘I need to treat the wound with herbs to prevent infection.’ He added quietly to Fidelma, ‘Luckily the tip of the arrow made a clean entry and exit.’

  Fidelma took the arrow from him and examined it with a frown. Then she thrust it into her waist cord and turned to help her brother.

  The young flush-faced heir-apparent pushed his way back through the crowd. He was now on foot. He examined Colgú, standing supported by Fidelma, with an anxious glance.

  ‘Is the wound bad?’

  ‘Bad enough,’ replied Eadulf on the King’s behalf, ‘but he will survive.’

  Donndubhain exhaled slowly.

  ‘The assassins have been run to earth by Prince Donennach’s men.’

  ‘They can be dealt with once we have removed my brother back to the palace together with the Prince of the Uí Fidgente,’ Fidelma said sharply. ‘Here, help me with him.’

  Eadulf had turned away to where a litter had been constructed for the wounded Prince of the Uí Fidgente. The man lay in pain on it. Eadulf had placed a tourniquet around the top of the thigh. He checked the litter and then signalled to the Uí Fidgente warriors to lift it carefully and follow him and the group escorting Colgú up the path to the palace.

  They had not even began to proceed before there came the sound of horses and an outcry.

  The mounted members of Donennach’s bodyguard came riding back across the square. Behind their horses, dragging along the ground, were two limp forms, their wrists secured by rope to the pommel of the leading horseman.

  Fidelma had spotted them and turned from her brother with an angry cry on her lips to criticise such barbarity. To see any man, even a would-be assassin, so ill-treated, was a cause of anger. But the protest died away on her lips as the riders halted. Even a cursory glance at the blood-stained bodies showed her that both men were already dead.

  The leading warrior, a man with a bland oval face and narrowed eyes, swung off his horse and strode to the litter of his Prince. He saluted swiftly with the blood still staining his sword.

  ‘My lord, I think you need to look at these men,’ he said harshly.

  ‘Can’t you see that we are carrying your Prince to the palace to have his wound tended?’ demanded Eadulf angrily. ‘Do not bother us with this matter until the more urgent task is complete.’

  ‘Hold your tongue, foreigner,’ snapped the warrior haughtily, ‘when I am speaking to my Prince.’

  Colgú, who had halted a short distance away, turned back, leaning on Donndubháin, his face distorting in annoyance now as well as pain.

  ‘Do not presume to give orders on the slopes of Cashel, where I rule!’ he grunted through clenched teeth.

  The Uí Fidgente warrior did not even blink. He deliberately kept his gaze on the pale, pain-racked face of Donennach of the Uí Fidgente, laying on the litter before him.

  ‘My lord, the matter is urgent.’

  Donennach raised himself on one elbow, in a pain equally shared with his host.

  ‘What is it that you wish me so urgently to see, Gionga?’

  The warrior named Gionga waved to one of his men, who had cut loose the two bodies. He dragged one over to the side of the litter.

  ‘These are the dogs who shot at you, my lord. Observe this one.’

  He held the man’s head up by the hair.

  Donennach leaned forward from the litter. There was a tightness at the corners of his mouth. ‘I do not recognise him,’ he grunted.

  ‘Nor should you, lord,’ replied Gionga. ‘But perhaps you will recognise the device that he wears about his neck.’

  Donennach looked hard and then he pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

  ‘Colgú, what does this mean?’ he demanded, glancing to where Donndubhain had helped the King of Muman move forward to view the body.

  Painfully Colgú peered at the dead man. Fidelma and Eadulf stood with him. No one recognised the dead man but it was obvious what the cause of the concern was.

  The man was wearing the collar and emblem of the Order of the Golden Chain, the élite bodyguard of the Kings of Cashel.

  Donennach’s harsh tones suddenly rang out in agitation. ‘This is a strange hospitality which you observe, Colgú of Cashel. Your elite warriors have shot me. They have tried to kill me!’

  Chapter Four

  There was a long silence after the Prince of the Uí Fidgente had made his accusation.

  It was Fidelma who finally broke the menacing stillness by inclining her head towards her brother who was standing with his face barely masking the pain of his wound.

  ‘If Colgú’s warriors shot and tried to kill you, Donennach, then they also tried to shoot down the King of Cashel.’

  Donennach’s keen dark eyes examined her searchingly.

  It was his chief warrior, Gionga, who articulated his unasked question.

  ‘Who are you, woman, who dares to speak in the presence of princes?’ His voice was still arrogant.

  Colgú answered quietly although his voice was tight in pain. ‘It is my sister, Fidelma, who speaks and has more right to do so than any in this company for she is a dálaigh of the courts as well as a religieuse. She is qualified to the degree of anruth.’

  Gionga’s eyes widened visibly, realising that only an ollamh, the highest degree ever bestowed by the secular and ecclesiastical colleges of Ireland, stood above an anruth.

  Donennach was not so outwardly impressed. Instead his eyes narrowed slightly.

  ‘So? You are Fidelma of Cashel? Sister Fidelma? Your reputation is known throughout the lands of the Uí Fidgente.’

  Fidelma returned his scrutiny with a grim smile.

  ‘Yes; I have been in the land of the Uí Fidgente - once. I was invited … to a poisoning there.’

  She made no further elaboration, knowing that Donennach knew well enough the details of the story.

  ‘My sister is right,’ intervened Colgú, coming back to the original point. ‘Any charge that my hand is behind this evil act is false!’

  Eadulf decided to take a hand again for he was worried about the wounds of the two men.

  ‘This is no time to discuss the matter. Both of you need your wounds properly tended before infection sets in. Let us leave this discussion until a more appropriate time.’

  Colgú bit his lip to control a spasm of pain in his arm. ‘Is it agreed, Donennach?’ he asked.

  ‘It is agreed.’

  ‘I will take matters in hand, brother,’ Fidelma said firmly, ‘while Eadulf attends to you.’

  Gionga took a step forward, the annoyance showing on his face, but before he could speak Donennach raised a hand.

  ‘You may stay with Sister Fidelma, Gionga,’
he instructed softly, ‘and help her with this matter.’

  There seemed an unnecessary emphasis on the word ‘help’. Gionga bowed his head and stepped back.

  The bearers carrying the litter lifted the Prince of the Uí Fidgente and followed Colgú, helped by Donndubhain, up the steep path towards the royal palace. Eadulf was fussing at Colgú’s side.

  Fidelma stood for a moment, hands folded demurely in front of her. Her bright eyes held a flickering fire which anyone who knew her would realise indicated a dangerous mood. Outwardly her features were composed.

  ‘Well, Gionga?’ she asked quietly.

  Gionga shifted his weight from one leg to another and looked uncomfortable. ‘Well?’ he challenged in turn.

  ‘Shall we let the corpses of these two men be taken to our apothecary? We can examine them later and in better circumstances.’

  ‘Why not examine them now?’ demanded the Uí Fidgente warrior, a trifle truculently, but he was cognizant of her rank and appeared to realise that he must keep his arrogance in check.

  ‘Because now I want you to show me where and how you came on them and why you had to slay them instead of taking them captive that we might question their motives.’

  Her tone was even and there was not trace of a rebuke in it. However, Gionga grew red in the face and seemed inclined to refuse. Then he shrugged. He turned and signalled to two of his men to come forward.

  Someone called to them and Donndubhain came trotting back down the hill. He looked worried.

  ‘Colgú suggested that I might be of more help here,’ he explained, his facial expression attempting to imply that Colgú was not happy to leave his sister in the company of the Uí Fidgente warrior. ‘Capa and Eadulf are attending him.’

  Fidelma smiled appreciatively. ‘Excellent. Gionga’s men are taking these bodies to the Conchobar’s apothecary. Have you a man to guide them?’