The Monk Who Vanished

by Peter Tremayne

  Rumann raised his hands as if to pacify his fellow judges. ‘I would argue that one cannot impose law on the King. I can refer to heptads and triads of the ancient law books which advise that no one can stand in surety for a King for if the King defaults then the person standing surety has no means to secure compensation, for the King’s honour is more important than any claim.’

  ‘Are you saying that the Prince of the Uí Fidgente is incorrect in bringing a legal claim against the King of Muman?’ demanded Fachtna, his voice brittle. ‘Are you saying that no legal claim can be made against a King? If that is so, we are wasting time sitting in judgement here. No, I cannot agree to that argument.’

  Fidelma rose and cleared her throat.

  ‘You wish to add something, Fidelma of Cashel?’ asked the Brehon Rumann, watching her with interest.

  ‘Learned judges-’ Fidelma bowed her head to the Brehons - ‘while, of course, the Brehon Rumann is correct in that the law advises that people should not stand surety for a King, it does not forbid it.’

  Fachtna actually smiled broadly. ‘Do I understand that the advocate of Cashel agrees with me? That the King must be recognised as a litigant, as the defendant in this case, and must sit before the judges and not behind them?’

  ‘There are three questions there, Fachtna,’ replied Fidelma solemnly. ‘If you are supporting Solam’s protest then my answer is - no, I do not agree. And your last question does not therefore follow from your first question.’

  Fachtna was puzzled, not sure as to where Fidelma was leading.

  Rumann made a curious hissing of his breath demonstrating his vexation at not understanding her answers. ‘The advocate for Cashel should make herself clear. What is she saying?’ he grumbled.

  ‘May I remind the learned Brehons,’ went on Fidelma, ‘that the law texts do describe the method of balancing a King’s honour with his legal accountability?’

  Rumann’s eyes narrowed in his chubby face. ‘Remind us,’ he invited shortly. There seemed a hidden threat in his voice.

  ‘It is given in a text on the four divisions of distraint. For legal purposes the King may be represented by a substitute, the aithech fortha, and through the substitute it is possible to make a legal claim against the King without the King having to endure the dishonour of removing himself from office or suffering distraint.’ Fidelma smiled serenely at the Brehons. ‘I would have thought, instead of making a protest at this time, before this case came before you, the learned Solam would have, on behalf of the plaintiff, ensured the King was so represented here; that a substitute be appointed to sit in this chair-’ she indicated the empty chair where the defendant should have sat - ‘as symbolic of representing the King.’

  A ripple of amusement went through the great hall in support of Fidelma.

  Solam was flushing in anger. He began to rise.

  The Brehon Rumann gestured for Solam to remain seated while Brehon Dathal was clearly delighted.

  ‘Does anyone in the court object to a substitute being seated in the chair of the defendant?’ he asked. ‘Does anyone object to a substitute who will be the physical representative of the King being seated before us?’

  Brehon Rumann sniffed in annoyance. It was clear that he had not recalled the law and while Fidelma had scored a legal point, Eadulf could see that it had not placed her in good standing with the Chief Brehon. The displeasure of the Brehon Fachtna was obvious to everyone.

  ‘I see no reason to simply place a body in the chair. We may proceed on the grounds that the empty seat is symbolically representing the kingship of Muman.’ Rumann’s voice was peevish. ‘Now, are there any other protests or counter-claims or may we proceed to the substance of these proceedings?’

  Solam cleared his throat and rose again hurriedly.

  ‘I am in accord with you, noble Brehon,’ he began, forcing a smile, as he attempted to pour oil on the troubled waters he had raised. ‘I believe in the formality of these procedures for which you argued in your opening address to this court. Correct procedure is no cause for levity.’

  ‘We are so pleased that you agree with the court’s ruling,’ interposed the Brehon Dathal sarcastically.

  Brehon Rumann’s face had assumed a stony composure and it was not clear whether Solam’s attempt to mollify his irritability had succeeded or not.

  There was a pause and when Rumann did not say anything further, Solam continued.

  ‘Learned judges, this is a serious matter that I bring before you. It is no less than a case of attempted duinetháide of assassination of the Prince of the Uf Fidgente. The charge is made against the King of Muman and those acting on his behalf and at his request. We allege that Colgú of Cashel conspired with others to kill Prince Donennach!’

  Solam paused and glanced around, as if expecting some reaction to his opening statement. The silence in the Great Hall was marked. There was no reaction. Everyone in Cashel knew what the hearing was about.

  Brehon Rumann was still snappish. ‘You will doubtless proceed to tell us the facts behind your charge?’ he asked acidly.

  Solam adjusted his composure. ‘Learned judges-’ he paused and cleared his throat, then pressed on - ‘it was on the feastday of Ailbe, the patron of this kingdom, that my Prince, Donennach, came with a small party to Cashel to discuss ways and means of cementing the friendship between his dynasty of the Dál gCais and the Eóghanacht of Cashel. Colgú of Cashel had met Donennach at the Well of Ara with a small retinue and conducted him and his party to Cashel. Donennach came in peace and friendship and in innocence.’

  Solam’s excitable voice grew in strength. He flung out his arm for dramatic effect.

  ‘The Prince’s party rode into the market square in the town below this castle’s walls. Unsuspecting of the fate that had been planned for him, my Prince rode forward. Without warning, the arrow from an assassin’s bow struck him. God be praised! The bowman’s hand was ill-guided. Perhaps the breath of God blew on the flight of the arrow … perhaps the eye of the Almighty One …’

  Brehon Rumann raised a hand in exasperation. ‘I would suggest that the advocate leaves aside speculation on the actions of God in this case and concentrate on the actions of men,’ he advised.

  Solam swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.

  Fidelma lowered her eyes and compressed her lips for the sight of the blinking, confused Solam was comical.

  ‘Er, just so. Just so. The bowman’s hand … the arrow did not strike its intended target. The arrow hit Donennach in the thigh. A bad wound, yes, but not life-threatening and, as you see-’ he gestured to where Donennach was sitting impatiently in his chair - ‘my Prince recovered.’

  ‘Well, it would seem obvious that he did not die,’ remarked Brehon Dathal loudly. A ripple of amusement spread through the Great Hall.

  Solam paused and blinked. Then he struggled on.

  ‘There was pandemonium. Donennach had fallen from his horse and thus prevented the assassin getting a further shot. Gionga, the captain of Prince Donennach’s bodyguard, ever alert, had seen the direction from which the arrow had been fired. He rode his horse across the market square and found two assassins who had placed themselves on the roof of the warehouse. They were attempting to escape to their horses. Gionga, faced with two implacable enemies, was forced to cut them down with his sword.

  ‘The two bodies were brought before my Prince, and before other witnesses. The truth of the identity of the assassins was to be seen on their bodies. One of them wore the collar of the Order of the Golden Chain which everyone knows is the elite bodyguard of the King of Cashel …’

  Solam was apparently fond of dramatic pauses but again he was met in total silence for nothing he had said so far was new to anyone in the Great Hall.

  ‘The second man was a brother of a senior cleric of the abbey of Ailbe, the primacy of this kingdom. This man carried with him one of the Holy Relics of Ailbe, the Ailbe crucifix, to be precise. Our contention is that the Keeper of the Holy Relics had
given the crucifix to him, for this Holy Relic was to be symbolic that this assassination had the blessing of the Comarb of Ailbe. I shall demonstrate that the assassin carried this crucifix during this nefarious work as a talisman. The Holy Relic could only have left the abbey of Imleach with the approval of the Comarb of Ailbe. This compounds that both the King and his religious head were involved in the assassination attempt on the Prince of the Uí Fidgente.’

  This time there was a murmur of mingled anger and surprise from the people. Abbot Ségdae gave an audible gasp and started to rise from his seat. Colgú reached forward and laid a hand on the elderly abbot’s arm, shaking his head in warning not to interrupt the proceedings.

  The Brehon Rumann rapped the table with his gavel to call for order. ‘Continue,’ he instructed Solam.

  Solam gestured nervously. ‘I have little more to add in this opening statement. All I can say is that Muman never wanted peace with the Uí Fidgente and sought to eliminate its Prince, perhaps to send an army into the country of the Dal gCais in the wake of the turmoil that such an act would provoke. They would take control of the Uí Fidgente and exert the vain claims that Muman have maintained over the centuries - that they are Kings, by right, over our people.’

  He sat down abruptly.

  The Brehon Ruman turned to Fidelma. ‘Are you prepared with your opening counter-plea, Sister Fidelma?’

  Fidelma rose. ‘I am. Learned judges, it is my intention, during these proceedings, not only to reject the claims of the Uí Fidgente, but to demonstrate where the real culpability lies.’

  ‘Are you challenging the facts that Solam has laid before us?’ Rumann asked in an unfriendly tone. ‘Do you question his truth?’

  ‘At this stage, I will say,’ replied Fidelma, ‘that Solam has told you only one aspect of the truth but not the entire truth. He did not relate to you the fact that when the King of Muman and his guest, the Prince of the Uí Fidgente, rode into the market square of Cashel, the first arrow fired by the assailants was fired at the King of Muman. It would have struck him in the heart had he not suddenly bent forward to greet me as his sister. Because of that lucky action, the arrow struck him in the arm and badly wounded him. Why did Solam not mention this?’

  Solam sprang to his feet, his face flushed and sneering. ‘I am here to represent the Prince of the Uí Fidgente,’ he snapped in his excitable fashion. ‘Fidelma will speak for her brother.’

  ‘Did you know this fact and withhold it?’ demanded the Brehon Rumann, showing disapprobation.

  ‘I knew the fact but also knew that Fidelma would make it known. It is not incumbent on me to present her arguments for her.’

  Solam’s excitable temper was working against him for the Brehon Rumann began to frown. ‘Sometimes economy with truth is no better than a lie, Solam. Be warned. I shall not tolerate a half truth.’

  Solam bowed his head penitentially.

  Fidelma surprised everyone by saying: ‘I do not blame Solam, learned judges, for attempting to find his truth by leaving aside what he feels unnecessary to state. Would we could all find truth as easily as we can uncover untruth.

  ‘However, the facts are that the King was also injured and was struck down first in the attack and in the furore that ensued may lie the true reason why the assassin was not able to find a fatal target in the body of the Prince of the Uí Fidgente. Or, perhaps, he did not want to?’

  ‘That is a conjecture!’ cried Solam, springing to his feet. ‘It is an insult and a charge against the Uí Fidgente!’

  ‘No more a conjecture than Solam’s interpretation,’ rejoined Fidelma calmly. ‘Further, it is true that Gionga, captain of Donennach’s bodyguard, chased after the assassins. But so did the tanist of Muman, Donndubháin. Both men had a hand in the death of the would-be assassins.

  ‘My contention is that there was no plot by the King of Muman to assassinate the Prince of the Uí Fidgente. This I shall prove.’

  Solam was once again on his feet. ‘That proof will be interesting. I will now add to my initial outline of the case against Muman. I have shown that one of the assassins was a member of the elite bodyguard of the King of Cashel …’

  ‘You have shown no such thing!’ Fidelma challenged. ‘The fact that he carried the emblem of the Golden Chain does not make him a member of the Order.’

  ‘We will judge that in the weight of the evidence,’ Brehon Rumann assured her.

  ‘The evidence will show another link,’ went on Solam triumphantly. ‘I have said that the other assassin was the brother of the Keeper of the Holy Relics at Imleach. On the evening before the attempted assassination, the Keeper of the Holy Relics disappeared from Imleach with the Relics of Ailbe. He faked his departure from the abbey so that it looked as if he had been carried off by enemies. He was to make it appear so, in order that blame was put on the Uí Fidgente for this action. Learned judges, I have managed to secure the person of this conniving religieux, Brother Mochta, whose twin Baoill was the assassin to whom I refer. He sits waiting to be called as a witness and, I am pleased to say, that Gionga of the Uí Fidgente recovered the reliquary of Ailbe, hidden here, in Cashel, whose theft was going to be blamed on the Uí Fidgente.’

  Fidelma was on her feet, flushed and angry. ‘Learned judges, this is a travesty of the truth.’

  Solam was equally excitable. ‘Truth? The dálaigh of Cashel has much to tell us of truth. Can she tell us why she also hid Brother Mochta and the Holy Relics? Why she smuggled Mochta and those Relics, without telling anyone, from Imleach to Cashel and tried to hide them in the house of a well-known prostitute of this town? A prostitute?’

  There was uproar in the court as everyone now, finally, responded to Solam’s dramatics.

  ‘Is this true, Fidelma?’ demanded the Brehon Rumann after he had called for quiet.

  Eadulf groaned for he knew what Fidelma would have to answer.

  ‘The facts are true but …’

  Another burst of noise drowned the rest of her words.

  ‘Furthermore, furthermore …’ cried Solam quickly, without allowing her a moment to finish the answer when the clamour died away. ‘Furthermore, another plot to discredit the Uí Fidgente is revealed. A band of mercenaries were hired to attack Imleach, to cut down the sacred yew-tree there and put blame on the Uí Fidgente by carving a boar on the trunk, the symbol of my Prince.

  ‘In all these things, I say that the hand of the King of Muman is there. The purpose is to discredit the Uí Fidgente in order to have an excuse to destroy them. I say that all the Eóghanacht are involved in this plot from the King and his sister, who purports to be an unbiased advocate on his behalf, to the Princes of Muman to the Comarb of Ailbe himself.’

  He sat down abruptly amidst the fury and anger of the Great Hall.

  The Brehon Rumann waited until order was restored before turning his sharp gaze on Fidelma.

  “These are the gravest charges that I have heard; charges so grave that no dálaigh would make them unless he had the strongest grounds for doing so. Before we start to hear the proofs which Solam will offer up, it is my duty to allow you to make your counter-plea, Fidelma. As you do so, I will have to bear in mind that you, yourself, have admitted the truth of the particular charges which Solam levelled against you. Will you speak?’

  Fidelma rose. There was a complete silence in the Great Hall as all strained forward to hear her.

  ‘I will, learned judges,’ she began. ‘Allow me to say that I admitted the facts but not the interpretation placed on them by Solam.’

  The Brehon Rumann frowned quickly. ‘The facts seem to speak for themselves,’ he observed. ‘We are all imprisoned by facts and facts cannot be altered.’

  ‘With respect, learned judge, a fact is many-sided. A fact is like a grain bag. Does a grain bag stand up when it is empty? No. You must fill the grain bag with grain. Only then will it stand up. The fact is like the empty grain bag. It, too, cannot stand up unless it is filled. The fact must be considered with the reasons which c
ause it to exist.’

  The Brehon Rumann was about to reply when he realised the meaning of what Fidelma said. ‘I see. You doubtless intend to fill our grain sack for us?’

  ‘I do, learned judge.’

  ‘I presume that your argument against Solam is that the Kingdom of Cashel is not culpable in any conspiracy to discredit the Uí Fidgente? That it is, in fact, the Ui Fidgente who are conspiring against the Kingdom of Muman and the Eóghanacht.’ Rumann sat back. ‘Am I correct in that?’

  There was a brief pause.

  Then Fidelma said: ‘No, learned judge. You are not correct.’

  There was a stillness. The Brehon Rumann stared at her as if he had not heard her correctly. His colleagues, Dathal and Fachtna, were similarly confounded.

  ‘I am not sure that I understand you. I repeat, your argument against Solam is surely that the Eóghanacht are innocent of conspiracy which therefore follows that the Uí Fidgente are guilty of conspiring against Cashel.’

  ‘Learned judges,’ said Fidelma clearly and slowly, ‘the Uí Fidgente are innocent of conspiring against Cashel.’

  The silence was now almost oppressive.

  ‘Furthermore,’ she went on, ‘I cannot absolve the Eóghanacht from responsibility in a conspiracy to cause strife in this kingdom.’

  ‘Fidelma! What are you doing?’ Colgú was on his feet, his face ashen. His voice cracked like a whip across the horrified silence of the Great Hall. ‘You have betrayed me!’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Pandemonium erupted in the Great Hall after the silence which met the King’s outburst. Cries of anger from the nobles of Muman mingled with those of outrage from the people. Threats were hurled against Fidelma from all sides as she stood there calmly before the judges.

  The Brehon Rumann looked disconcerted. It was against all protocol that a King should disrupt the proceedings with such an outburst. It was against all proceedings that a defending counsel should turn prosecutor against those whom she represented. The clamour in the Great Hall was deafening. Rumann’s gavel alone could not restore order. The steward found that it took some time, banging with his staff, before the noise ebbed away to an uneasy muttering.