The Monk Who Vanished

by Peter Tremayne

Brother Bardan had disappeared into the building.

  Fidelma halted and glanced about her in the moonlight.

  ‘If he comes out, he will surely spot us,’ Eadulf offered, stating the obvious.

  Fidelma pointed to a cluster of trees which stood a short distance away.

  ‘That is our only cover. We will wait behind the trees until he comes out.’

  ‘Do you think Brother Bardan is meeting someone there?’ asked Eadulf as they settled in their new shelter.

  ‘Speculation without knowledge is dangerous,’ Fidelma replied with one of her favourite axioms. She was fond of repeating it.

  ‘You suspect that he is up to no good.’

  ‘I do not judge him.’

  ‘But you must have some idea what he is about?’ protested Eadulf.

  ‘Publilius Syrus wrote that a hasty judgement is a first step to being forced to retract it. We will wait to see what happens.’

  Eadulf sighed and settled himself against the trunk of a tree. The ground was growing wet with the approach of the early morning and he tried to find some dried wood to sit on. Fidelma found part of a tree stump on which she took a seat and from were she could view the entrance of the building.

  Eadulf leant back and sighed deeply. He closed his eyes.

  A moment later, or so it seemed, he opened them and saw to his surprise that he was surrounded by the grey light of dawn. He had that sticky taste in his mouth which indicated that he must have fallen asleep. He yawned, blinking his eyes rapidly. He felt stiff and uncomfortable. He glanced at Fidelma.

  She was still sitting on her tree stump, leaning forward slightly, her arms folded on her knee. She glanced at him as he awoke.

  ‘How long … ?’ His voice was thick in his dry mouth.

  ‘How long have you been asleep? Long enough for the dawn to approach.’

  There was no reproach in her voice.

  ‘What has happened?’

  Fidelma unfolded her arms and stretched in her sitting position.

  ‘Nothing. Brother Bardan has not reappeared from the building.’ Eadulf looked at the building which was now plainly discernible in the grey light.

  It was of a grey stone corbel pattern, large and rectangular. The dry stone work of the masonry was arranged to slope slightly downwards and outwards to throw off the rain. The idea of its dimensions, which they had guessed by the moonlight, had been an accurate one.

  ‘It is a little chapel,’ ventured Eadulf.

  ‘That it is,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘An oratory to pass the time in prayer.’

  ‘And Brother Bardan has not come out? What can he have been doing in there all this time?’

  ‘As you suggested, perhaps he is meeting someone. Have patience.’

  Eadulf suppressed a sigh. He felt an uncommon thirst and his stomach was protesting.

  ‘I wish I had brought something to drink or something to eat.’

  ‘Patience,’ repeated Fidelma, unperturbed.

  Eadulf felt frustrated. ‘Patience!’ he complained. ‘It can be an excuse for timidity of purpose disguised as a virtue.’

  Fidelma did not rise to his irritation. She kept silent.

  Time passed and soon the sun appeared on the eastern horizon; its first rays were weak and pale, stretching over the plains beyond the mountains. Still there was no sign of Brother Bardán reappearing. The abbey bell began to toll for the first service of the day.

  Fidelma stood up purposefully.

  ‘What now?’ asked Eadulf, wondering what she had in mind.

  ‘Brother Bardán has not emerged. Now we will go in and see what he is about. I suspect he must have spotted us following him after all. That is why he is still in that chapel there.’

  Fidelma moved hurriedly across the heather-strewn field towards the building, Eadulf at her side.

  The doorway to the chapel was big enough to admit one person at a time and then only if they crouched as they entered. There were no windows in the building and so it was in complete darkness. Fidelma, entering first, was forced to wait a moment or two for her eyes to adjust to the difference in light. The grey dawn light filtered in through the doorway. Eadulf came in behind her.

  They stood just inside the door and stared about in amazement.

  The oratory was empty.

  Chapter Seventeen

  There was nowhere in the interior where anyone could hide. The floor was flagged and there was only a small altar table with a carved wooden cross on it at one end. On either side of where the cross stood were two unlit tallow candles in metal holders; before the cross stood a bowl of flowers, dry and wilting.

  The oratory was clearly deserted. Eadulf tried not to look smug as he said: ‘He must have sneaked by your gaze.’

  Fidelma took the statement seriously.

  ‘The entrance was in full view all the time. He did not come out once he had gone in,’ she said firmly as she examined the interior in disbelief.

  ‘The evidence contradicts that.’

  Her eyes flashed angrily. ‘Unlike you, I did not close my eyes.’

  Eadulf allowed himself a smile of superiority but said nothing further.

  Fidelma was clearly bewildered. The only explanation she could find was that Brother Bardán had left the oratory by a means other than the door. But there was no other means of exit.

  With a sigh she decided to give up the attempt to fathom out the unfathomable.

  ‘Let’s go back to the abbey. It does not help to consider this problem on an empty stomach,’ Eadulf suggested.

  The sun was growing warm now and the dew was rising. A faint mist hung in patches here and there. It did not take them long to return back across the heather fields towards the abbey. The small wooden gate into the herb garden was still open.

  Fidelma paused thoughtfully as she glanced down at the bolts.

  ‘Well, that proves one thing.’

  Eadulf looked at her questioningly, examining the bolt on the gate and the door itself. ‘Have I missed something?’

  ‘The fact that the bolts have not been shot home shows that Brother Bardan has not returned this way.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘Because Brother Bardan left by this gate, unlocking it to leave the abbey. Naturally, he could not thrust home the bolts behind him. Had he returned through this gate, however, he would have secured the bolts. Brother Bardan is still out there.’ She inclined her head in the direction of the oratory. ‘Yet I am at a loss to understand how he gave us the slip.’

  Eadulf could think of no rejoinder.

  They passed through the herb garden and crossed back through the courtyard and along the cloisters. The abbey was now coming to life.

  The grim, hawk-like features of the Abbot Ségdae, appeared before them.

  ‘You did not attend lauds,’ he greeted. There was a slight note of rebuke in his voice.

  ‘No,’ Fidelma agreed hurriedly. ‘We had much to do. Can you tell us where Brother Bardan is? I wanted to have a word with him but he seems to have left the abbey.’

  Abbot Segdae did not appear surprised, explaining, ‘His routine is to go early abroad in search of healing herbs. He has probably left already on one of his trips.’

  ‘Then it is quite usual for Brother Bardan to leave the abbey so early?’

  ‘It is.’

  Fidelma appeared to change the subject.

  ‘The other day I noticed a little chapel standing a short distance away from the abbey which I had not seen before,’ she went on, falling in step with Ségdae as they walked along the corridors of abbey.

  Eadulf reluctantly followed behind them. His thoughts were concerned with reaching the refectory and satiating his hunger and thirst.

  ‘Ah, you mean the little sanctuary of the Blessed Ailbe?’

  ‘An old, dry stone corbel oratory?’

  ‘That is the one. It stands in a heather field,’ confirmed Ségdae. ‘That’s curious.’

  ‘What is curious?’ asked Eadulf.
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br />   ‘The dálaigh of the Uí Fidgente … what’s his name? Solam? Solam was just asking about the same chapel.’

  ‘Solam?’

  Ségdae had apparently not noticed the tension in Fidelma’s reaction. ‘The place is called Gort na Cille,’ he said.

  ‘The “field of the church” seems an appropriate enough name,’ Fidelma observed, recovering her composure. ‘Why did Solam want to know about it?’

  ‘I do not know. Some people think that cures might be had there if one washes in the water drawn there before dawn,’ offered the abbot.

  Eadulf, who was thinking of quenching his thirst, groaned. If he had known there was a stream at that spot then he would not be suffering now. He tried to recall where such a stream could have been.

  ‘Drawn from where, Father Abbot?’ he asked innocently. ‘I do not remember a stream in that field.’

  Abbot Ségdae shook his head. ‘There is no stream there but simply a well. It is called Tobar na Cille … the Church Well. That is because the chapel was built over it. The well is in the oratory itself.’

  Fidelma suddenly halted in mid-stride.

  ‘Do you mean that there is a well under the flagstones of the chapel?’ she asked slowly.

  Ségdae regarded her in amusement.

  ‘Oh yes. One of the flagstones is hinged so that it can be opened. It lies behind the altar table.’

  They had reached the door of his chambers and several members of the community were waiting to speak with him.

  ‘Do you know where the Uí Fidgente lawyer is now?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘I saw him but fifteen minutes since coming from the morning service. But I do not know where he was going.’

  Fidelma’s face suddenly showed a curious purpose as she thanked the bemused abbot and hurried away with Eadulf trailing in her wake.

  Eadulf groaned at her abrupt change of direction.

  ‘This isn’t the way to the refectory, Fidelma,’ he protested breathlessly.

  She silenced him with a cutting gesture of her hand. ‘Don’t you see?’ she pressed.

  He shook his head in bewilderment. ‘See what?’

  ‘The mystery of Brother Bardán’s disappearance is explained.’

  He thought a moment and then saw what she meant.

  ‘Are you telling me that Brother Bardán was hiding from us down a well shaft?’

  ‘Perhaps the well shaft has another purpose. We must go back directly and examine it. What I do not like is that Solam has been asking about that oratory. What does Solam know about it?’

  Eadulf suddenly halted. His expression was defiant.

  ‘I will not return …’ he began. He paused as he caught the glitter in her eyes and continued, ‘not before I find some food and drink to take with me.’

  Impatiently, Fidelma allowed herself to be hurried to the refectory. The long tables were almost deserted for most of the community had already broken their fast and started their daily routine.

  ‘We might as well take some food with us,’ Fidelma suggested. ‘There is not much time to be lost. Solam is up to something, I am sure of it.’

  Eadulf grabbed a couple of loaves of freshly baked bread, still warm. He added to the bread several pieces of cold meat and some cheese as well as fruit. He found a sacullus hanging among several nearby and confiscated it, putting the food in it. Fidelma had found a water container, filled it with water and handed it to him to place in the bag.

  ‘Now let us return to Gort na Cille,’ she said when he had indicated that he was ready.

  As they passed out of the refectory, Eadulf could not resist the temptation to seize another piece of bread and some meat and thrust it into his mouth, experiencing a pleasing sense of satisfaction as he began to chew on it.

  The day had turned quite warm by the time they reached the tiny oratory again. They had once more left the abbey by the side gate through the herb garden and, so far as they were aware, they were not been observed by anyone. By the time they had reached the field in which the tiny oratory stood, Eadulf had devoured a large quantity of his share of the food from the sacullus. Fidelma was not hungry and merely contented herself with a drink from the water container they had brought.

  The oratory was still deserted and gloomy.

  Eadulf lit one of the candles on the altar table to help them identify the flagstone covering the well entrance. It was easy to spot now that they knew what they were looking for. The flag had a small iron ring in it. Eadulf bent forward and heaved. He nearly stumbled backwards for the flag was fixed onto some pivotal device which made it swing upright with little effort.

  A large back hole plunged beneath them.

  Eadulf held out his candle. It was of little help except to illuminate the first few feet.

  ‘Total darkness,’ he muttered. ‘There is nowhere that anyone could hide in that blackness.’

  ‘Examine your candle,’ Fidelma advised him.

  Eadulf did not understand. ‘Examine … ? What do you mean?’

  ‘Your candle is fluttering and flickering when you hold it out over the well head. What does that mean to you?’

  Eadulf regarded the spluttering candle flame in silence. Then he glanced to the doorway. He was beginning to understand what Fidelma was trying to indicate to him.

  ‘There is air rising from the shaft here and you think it indicates that there is something more than water down there?’

  Fidelma pointed. ‘That fact coupled with another. See, just there … a wooden ladder is fixed to the side of the shaft. Now why have a ladder leading down into a well?’

  Eadulf peered dubiously downwards. ‘It’s dark. I’d better go down and look.’

  He held out the candle to Fidelma but she shook her head.

  ‘I am lighter than you. We do not know how firm the ladder is.’

  Before he could protest, she had swung over the edge and was already starting downwards into the blackness.

  ‘It seems firm enough,’ she called up after a few moments.

  Eadulf lost sight of her as she disappeared down into the darkness of the pit.

  ‘You will need a candle to see,’ he called down.

  There was no answer.

  ‘Fidelma!’ called Eadulf anxiously.

  Her voice came back immediately.

  ‘It’s all right. I have found a tunnel. There is some sort of faint light along it.’

  ‘I’m coming down then,’ Eadulf replied firmly, swinging the sacullus around on his back and, holding the candle firmly in one hand, he began to descend into the well shaft using one hand to grip the outside edge of the ladder.

  He had descended some ten feet into the blackness when he saw the opening which Fidelma had discovered. She had already moved from the ladder into the tunnel. She held out her hand for the candle so that Eadulf could more easily negotiate the tunnel entrance. He passed it across.

  ‘There is plenty of space in the tunnel,’ she assured him.

  Eadulf saw that she was right. It was about three feet in width and five feet in height, so that he had only to bend forward and be cautious of hitting his head on the low, rocky ceiling. The tunnel, judging by its shape, which was almost oval, appeared to meander and its course marked it as a natural cavity formed by the corrosion of water in the limestone. It was very damp and the atmosphere was fetid. Like Fidelma, he realised that further along the tunnel there was a faint light but it did not seem natural.

  ‘What is it?’ he whispered.

  ‘I have seen it before. It is a substance which is luminous in the dark, an odd waxy matter which I have seen craftsmen use to make fire from. It is inflammable. I think the Greeks name it after the Morning Star.’

  They exchanged no further word as they followed the passage. It was some time before Eadulf heard Fidelma utter a suppressed exclamation as she suddenly found she was able to stand upright. He saw that the passageway had emptied into a moderately sized cave. It was about ten feet in height, rounded and maybe twenty to thirty f
eet in diameter.

  ‘There’s no one here,’ Eadulf muttered, stating the obvious, as he examined the emptiness of the cave.

  Like the passageway along which they had come, the cave was very wet and there was a small pool in the centre. There was a constant drip, drip of water from the roof striking the pool’s surface. The noise echoed and re-echoed and to Eadulf the sound seemed unbearable for any length of time.

  ‘It is not the sort of place anyone would remain,’ Fidelma said, appearing to read his thoughts. Then she pointed across the cave. On the far side there were two black holes marking entrances to other tunnels.

  ‘Two entrances. Which one shall we choose?’ she asked.

  ‘The right-hand path,’ said Eadulf unthinkingly.

  Fidelma glanced at him but the light distorted her features so that he could not discern her expression.

  ‘Why choose right?’ Her voice was amused.

  Eadulf shrugged. ‘Why not?’

  They crossed the cave floor, which was slippery with lichen and some moss-like growth, and went into the tunnel. It was not long before the narrow passage bulged into a wider chamber. This chamber was dry and dusty. Eadulf felt the dust as he breathed in, feeling its tiny particles coating his mouth and windpipe. He coughed for a few moments.

  There was dust and rocks on the floor. Fidelma stood still and held her candle up high to spread the maximum possible light.

  ‘The rock face here has been worked,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘What have we come into? Some sort of mine?’

  Fidelma was about to make a rejoinder that this fact was obvious but she held back. She was aware of the fault of her waspish tongue. Eadulf did not deserve to be made the object of it so often. It occurred to her that she had been thinking a lot about her relationship with Eadulf of late. She had, particularly this last month, been growing increasingly irritated by his faults. These last nine months they had always been together. They had shared many dangers. Yet she was dissatisfied with the friendship and she could not understand why. She seemed to be constantly watching for his faults and reacting to them. What was the old saying? Reckoning up is an end to friendship?

  She tried to bring her mind back to the present.

  ‘The rock here seems to be more granite than limestone. Unusual. Ah, see this, traversing the granite … argentite.’