Chapter Nineteen
Fidelma entered the side gate into the herb garden. Obviously, Brother Bardán had still not returned this way; the bolts were withdrawn as earlier. She made her way immediately to Abbot Ségdae’s chamber and knocked cautiously upon the door. The elderly, hawk-like abbot was seated in his high-backed, carved wooden chair before his fire, his chin resting on his hands, his eyes staring meditatively into the flames. He looked up as she entered with an expression of some hope.
‘What news, Fidelma?’ he asked.
Fidelma did not like telling lies to the man whom she had known all her life and who was more like an uncle to her than merely a religious adviser.
‘Little enough,’ she said cautiously.
The abbot’s face fell.
‘However,’ she went on, ‘I believe that I will be able to supply all the answers to these matters when the Brehons meet at Cashel in a few days from now.’
Ségdae’s face resumed a hopeful look. ‘You mean that you can discover the whereabouts of the Holy Relics of Ailbe?’
‘That I can guarantee,’ she said briskly. ‘But I want no one else to know. Say nothing to anyone, not even Brother Madagan.’
The abbot was reluctant to make such a promise.
‘It is a matter affecting the morale of the abbey, Fidelma. Surely I can give the community something to hope for?’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘There are many dark forces at work here which may mean the downfall of this kingdom. I need your solemn word on this, Ségdae.’
‘Then, of course, you shall have it.’
‘Brother Eadulf and I are returning to Cashel immediately for there is no more that I can do here. However, I would like you to start your own journey to Cashel tomorrow.’
The abbot looked surprised. ‘Why must I come?’
‘Have you forgotten the protocol, Ségdae? You are the Comarb of Ailbe, the principal abbot-bishop of Muman. When the court of Cashel is in session over such a serious matter, you, as the King’s principal bishop, must sit at his side.’
Ségdae sighed softly. ‘I had forgotten about the hearing. The loss of the Relics and the attack on Imleach drove it from my mind. Then there is the matter of Brother Bardan.’
‘What about Brother Bardan?’ she asked innocently.
‘He has not been seen all morning. Do you remember that you asked me where he was? He seems to have vanished … just like Brother Mochta’
Fidelma compressed her lips. ‘I do not think the circumstances will be found to be similar. I have a feeling that all will be answered in Cashel.’
‘Should I alert your cousin, Finguine? His men are still in the township helping to repair the damage of the raid.’
‘You may tell Finguine. If I do not see him as I leave, I shall see him at Cashel at the hearing. It is sad that there has been so much destruction.’
‘Well, there are small mercies. It seems Brother Madagan has been able to make a donation of silver coins which will go some way to mending the destruction.’ He gestured at a small bag on the table.
‘May I?’ Fidelma took the bag and dropped a few of the coins onto her palm. She stared at them. ‘How did Madagan come into this largesse?’ she asked.
‘I believe he said something about a relative from the north.’ Ségdae barely paused. ‘Are you really confident about your ability to find a resolution to these mysteries?’ he pressed.
Fidelma replaced the coins and put the purse back on the table.
‘You know me better than that, Ségdae. I am never confident until after the event. Remember Corinthians, one, chapter ten, verse twelve?’
Fidelma knew that Ségdae had an almost encyclopedic mind when it came to scripture. The abbot answered her smile.
‘If you feel sure that you are standing firm, beware!’ he quoted. ‘You may fall.’
‘So, I will not commit myself but I shall say that the probability is that all will be resolved.’
‘You have not garnered your reputation for no reason at all,’ Ségdae remarked. ‘When will you and our Saxon brother leave?’
‘I am going to start out at once. Do not worry, Ségdae. All will be well … eventually.’
‘I shall be in Cashel on the day of the hearing, then.’
‘Bring Brother Madagan with you. I might need his testimony.’
‘Will you need Brother Bardan, if he can be found?’
‘If he can be found,’ affirmed Fidelma.
Ségdae rose and offered her his hand. ‘Where is our Saxon brother?’
‘I shall meet him along the way,’ Fidelma replied hastily. ‘Farewell, Ségdae. Until we see each other in Cashel.’
She went on to the guests’ hostel and bundled her few belongings into her saddle bags. Eadulf had moved into a nearby chamber after the first night, following the departure of the pilgrims. It took her a moment to pack his saddle bag. She remembered to take the pilgrim’s staff of which he had become so fond. She was glad that Sister Scothnat was not about for she did not want to go to the trouble of having to explain her intentions again.
She took the bags and made her way to the stables.
Brother Tomar was at work, as usual, feeding the horses there.
‘Are you leaving us?’ he asked immediately as his eyes fell on the saddle bags.
Fidelma groaned inwardly. ‘For a while,’ she responded brightly. ‘Perhaps you could help me saddle our horses? Mine and the Saxon brother’s horse.’
Brother Tomar turned from the grain bag and regarded her, head to one side.
‘The horse of the Saxon as well?’ he questioned.
‘Yes. If you will saddle Brother Eadulf’s horse there, I will get mine ready.’
‘You are both leaving then?’
‘Yes,’ she replied patiently.
‘Is the mystery of Brother Mochta’s disappearance solved?’
‘We will know more when the Brehons meet in Cashel in a few days’ time,’ she replied, taking the bridle and drawing it over her mare’s head. She busied herself adjusting the straps and then swinging the saddle onto the patient beast.
Reluctantly, Tomar began to put the bridle on Eadulf sorrel.
‘I heard that the Uí Fidgente lawyer has already gone on to Cashel.’
Fidelma did not want to show too much interest but she was surprised. So that was why she had not seen Solam about that morning.
‘Really? I thought that he might be asking some more questions here in Imleach before he went on to Cashel?’
Brother Tomar chuckled sardonically.
‘He would have a hard task with all the feeling against the Uí Fidgente. No, he had to seek protection from the Prince of Cnoc Aine even to ride through the territory just now. I saw him riding in the company of Finguine only an hour ago when he left here.’
‘Do you mean that Solam is being escorted by Finguine, personally, on the road to Cashel?’
Brother Tomar was chuckling. ‘If he went alone, I doubt whether he would have reached Ara’s Well. In fact, I think that Finguine might suspect that there will be an attempt to waylay Solam on the Cashel road.’
Fidelma turned to the stableman who had her complete attention. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because when Finguine and Solam left here, saying they were departing for Cashel, they took the road northwards. The road to Cashel is directly east. I believe that Finguine took Solam on a circular route to avoid the main road to Ara’s Well and Cashel.’
Fidelma bent her head in thought for a moment and then continued saddling her mare.
‘Are you sure that they said that they were going to Cashel?’ she asked.
Brother Tomar smirked indulgently. ‘Solam told me himself that Cashel was his destination.’
Fidelma did not make any further comment. What Solam told Brother Tomar did not have to be true. What she couldn’t understand was why Finguine would have accompanied Solam in person and not left the task to some of his warriors if it was merely a matter of providing
safe passage for the Uí Fidgente out of Cnoc Aine territory.
Fidelma finished saddling the horse in silence. She made sure that the saddle bags were firmly tied and that Eadulf’s staff was strapped to the saddle. Brother Tomar led Eadulf’s horse out of the stall.
‘Where is the Saxon?’ he asked, looking round.
‘I am meeting him in the township,’ Fidelma lied swiftly, justifying herself by remembering the proverb minima de malis - of evils, the least - choosing between the less desirable alternatives. The most desirable of the alternatives here was not to let Brother Tomar know what she was about.
She led her mare from the stable before mounting and taking the reins of Eadulf’s colt in her hand. She bade farewell to Brother Tomar who stood, an interested spectator, at the doors of the stables. She walked the horses across the courtyard and through the gate, glad that only the inquisitive Brother Tomar was there to see her departure. Outside the gate she sent the horses into a canter across the green towards the township. A mixture of the townsfolk and some of Finguine’s warriors were still engaged in clearing up the debris of the raid.
At the edge of the town she slowed down, walking the horses by the smith’s forge and turning through a side alley, away from prying eyes. She saw Nion, the bó-aire, with his assistant Suibne, working at the wreckage of their forge. Nion raised his head to watch her but she pretended not to notice him. She did not like the way he was staring at her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him say something to his assistant and hurry away. She turned quickly along the main street in the direction of the ruined shell of Cred’s inn before turning down a side alley between the buildings towards the surrounding fields. She had plotted her route carefully in her mind as she wanted no prying eyes to follow her.
She rode firstly in a direction away from the edge of the town, away from the Hill of the Cairn, where she was due to meet with Eadulf and Mochta. If anyone from the abbey or township observed her, she thought that they would presume that she would continue in that direction. There was enough open grassland between the town and the skirting woodland through which she planned to ride, and only after she had reached the cover of the trees would she swing in a semi-circle towards the pre-arranged rendezvous.
Indeed, once in the shelter of the woods, along the small woodland track, she nudged her mount into a canter again, with Eadulf’s colt following patiently behind. She was not sure if she had been seen. It took a full ten minutes or so before she decided to slow the pace to a walk. Only then did she allow herself a glance behind. She could still see the edge of the township between the trees and shrubbery. From this distance, the township, and the abbey behind it, seemed almost deserted. There was no sign of movement anywhere. Fidelma gave a small sigh of relief. The way should be easy now.
She continued along the track and altered her direction, swinging round in the start of the semi-circle which she had planned would lead her to the Hill of the Cairn. It was cold and dank within the woods. She wondered whether it was here that the wolves had their lairs and she shivered slightly. She did not want to be reminded of the dangers of that night.
She was aware of constant movement within the woods. The passage of its denizens, varying from the stealthy tread of smaller mammals to the crack of twigs that marked the passage of a deer. There was also the cacophony of nesting birds from the higher branches.
She moved as fast as safety allowed through the woods, crossing a shallow stream here and there, before coming on a brief stretch of meadowland. She had almost exited from the woods into the meadow when she became conscious of a new sound rising above the other noises of the forest. It was the sound made by hooves. Shod hooves. They were moving rapidly. Swiftly she turned the horses back into the forest, her eyes searching for thick cover away from the track.
There was a suitable thicket nearby and she slid from the saddle of her horse, gathered the reins of both animals, looping them securely to a branch. Then, keeping low, she edged forward.
Half a dozen horsemen appeared along the side of the woodland and came to a halt near the entrance to the track from which she had been proceeding.
She stared in unbelief at the leading horsemen.
One was the Uí Fidgente dálaigh, Solam, and the other was her cousin, Finguine, Prince of Cnoc Aine. The other four men were obviously members of Finguine’s warriors.
‘Well?’ she heard Solam’s high-pitched, querulous tones. ‘Have we lost the tracks or not?’
She heard her cousin’s voice, tight and also irritable. ‘Do not concern yourself. I know this country. There is little choice in the places where they can hide. We shall find them.’
Fidelma found herself growing cold.
To whom were they referring? What was Finguine doing with Solam when he claimed to be suspicious of him; when he blamed the Uí Fidgente for the raid against Imleach? Had Finguine been riding only with his men, she would have undoubtedly contacted him and explained all about Brother Mochta. But why was he with Solam?
‘Well, the sooner we find this monk - what’s his name? - Mochta? - the sooner we shall resolve this business,’ snapped Solam. ‘The key is the Holy Relics, of that I have no doubt at all.’
Fidelma’s eyes rounded.
Her cousin was responding. ‘We will try the southern caves first. Then there is a cave on the Hill of the Cairn to the north.’
He raised his hand and motioned the body of horsemen forward.
For a few moments Fidelma remained where she was, trying to make sense of what she had heard.
Then she rose and hurried back to the horses. Whatever it meant, it seemed that her own cousin, the Prince of Cnoc Aine, was searching for Brother Mochta. She wondered if Eadulf had begun to move Mochta down the hill to the safety of the forest cover along the banks of the River Ara. She must not let Finguine and Solam reach the cave on the Hill of the Cairn first. She was thankful that Finguine had suggested going to the southern caves first, wherever they were. It gave her time to reach Mochta and Eadulf before they did.
Pressing her heels into the flanks of her horse, Fidelma set off at a canter across the meadowland, swinging around the edge of the forest towards the hill. She was thinking about Finguine, about Brother Mochta and his bitter betrayal by his brother. What was it he had said? Unity is not cemented by blood. She skirted the broad base of the hill and came round to the eastern side, where a new tract of forest began to stretch along the valley which eventually led towards the Well of Ara.
As she rode across the shoulder of the hill, she saw the small figures of Eadulf and Mochta on the hill above her. Eadulf was carrying the reliquary under one arm while the other supported Brother Mochta, who had his arm around the Saxon’s shoulders and was struggling to keep his footing.
Fidelma gave a cry to attract their attention. The pair halted, then recognised her. They began to struggle downwards again.
Fidelma urged the horses upwards, as far as the steep slope would allow, then waited for them to come to her, dismounting and holding the horses steady. It took a while for Eadulf and Mochta to struggle down the hill to her.
‘Phew!’ Eadulf gasped as they came up. ‘I could do with a rest.’
He was about to ease Brother Mochta into a sitting position when Fidelma shook her head swiftly.
‘Not here. We must get to the shelter of the woods down there as soon as possible.’
‘Why?’ demanded Eadulf, puzzled by her sharpness.
‘Because horsemen are coming and they are searching for Brother Mochta and the Holy Relics.’
Brother Mochta blinked. ‘Uí Fidgente?’ he gasped.
‘One of them is,’ acknowledged Fidelma. ‘Solam.’
Eadulf pursed his lips as he caught her inflection. ‘Who are the others?’
‘My cousin rides with Solam.’
Eadulf was about to make a further comment when Fidelma swung up on her horse.
‘Give me the reliquary,’ she instructed. ‘I’ll carry that. Brother Mochta will have to
mount in front of you, Eadulf. That way you can give him support. We can continue this conversation when we are safely away from this exposed place.’
Eadulf did not say anything further. Instead he handed up the reliquary box to Fidelma and then helped Brother Mochta into the saddle of his horse before he scrambled up behind him. Eadulf was no skilful horseman and he did not use the most elegant method of mounting his patient colt. And it was a very ungainly rider who directed the young horse down from the hillside in the wake of Fidelma and trotted towards the cover of the forest through which the river ran. However it sufficed.
Fidelma did not stop immediately once they were under the canopy of the trees but continued on for a while. After a mile or so, they came to a clearing by the banks of the river and it was here that Fidelma slid from the saddle and led her mare to the water. Then she turned to help Eadulf assist Brother Mochta down for a rest.
The monk sank thankfully to the grass.
‘Are you claiming that the Prince is part of this conspiracy?’ he gasped immediately, while massaging his leg.
‘I am not saying anything of the sort,’ Fidelma replied quietly. ‘I am merely saying that he and Solam, with some of his men, appeared to be searching for you and the Holy Relics. They were searching the caves.’
Eadulf gestured in annoyance. ‘But that means he is in league with the Uí Fidgente, with Armagh, with the Uí Néill! Your own cousin has betrayed his King’
‘It means that he and Solam were searching for Brother Mochta,’ replied Fidelma waspishly. ‘Make no judgements until you have all the facts. Remember my principles?’
Eadulf raised his head defiantly. ‘You may not wish to see your cousin guilty of such treason. However, what other interpretation can be put on what you say?’
The Monk Who Vanished Page 26