The Monk Who Vanished

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Colgú of Cashel-’ Rumann turned sternly to the King - ‘you must resume your seat.’

  Colgú, looking distraught, unable to believe what his sister had said, hesitated and then was helped back to his seat by Cerball, his bardic adviser. Abbot Ségdae had not moved. He was looking pale and utterly shocked by what had happened.

  The Prince of the Uí Fidgente exchanged a triumphant smile with Solam.

  The Brehon Rumann, having restored some order, turned back with an angry frown to Fidelma.

  ‘Fidelma of Cashel, I have granted you a great deal of freedom in this hearing. I can no longer do that. In opening these proceedings I told you of the standards I expected in this hearing. No advocate can change their plea and betray their client’s interest. You are guilty of affronting the procedures of this court and fined …’

  ‘Brehon Rumann!’ Fidelma’s voice was so sharp that it halted the Chief Brehon in his tracks. ‘I have not changed my plea nor have I betrayed the King of Muman’s interest. I must explain.’

  Rumann gaped stupidly. ‘You have changed your plea most certainly, for in your opening address you said, quite clearly, before witnesses …’ He picked up a paper handed to him by one of the scribes. ‘You said that there was no plot by the King of Muman to assassinate the Prince of the Uí Fidgente. You stated quite clearly that you would prove it. Now you say that it was a conspiracy by the King of Muman.’

  Fidelma shook her head.

  ‘No. I use language very precisely as I expect this court to. I said that I cannot absolve the Eóghanacht from responsibility. I never said that Colgú was responsible. Learned judge,’ continued Fidelma. ‘Let me present the resolution to this matter in my own way.’

  The Brehons Dathal and Fachtna leant close to Rumann and all three judges held a whispered conversation. Then Rumann addressed her: ‘Your request is unusual; nevertheless, as this matter hinges on the peace of this kingdom, we will grant you some licence to present your arguments.’

  Fidelma sighed with relief. ‘This has been no ordinary case. Indeed, I was confused for some time by another matter which I thought was pertinent to its resolution but which was no more than a series of unrelated events crossing the path of one of the most horrendous plots to destroy the kingdom of Muman.’

  There was a clamour among the people and Rumann banged his gavel several times.

  Solam was on his feet again. ‘Is she now saying that we plotted to destroy Colgu’s kingdom?’ he snapped. ‘I am at a loss, for she seems to be saying one thing one moment and another the next moment!’

  Fidelma held up both hands. ‘Learned judges, there is no short route to the truth other than to allow me the time to explain in my way.’

  ‘You have been given that licence,’ Rumann confirmed. ‘There must be no further interruptions until the counsel for Cashel has done.’

  Solam returned reluctantly to his seat.

  ‘Very well,’ said Fidelma. ‘I do not have to explain that there are tensions between Muman and the northern kingdom of Ulaidh. The Uí Néill and the Eóghanacht have been in disagreement since this land was first divided between them, that time almost beyond time when Eremon ruled in the north and Eber Fionn ruled in the south. The descendant of Eremon, the Uí Néill, like Eremon himself, believe they should rule all five-fifths of Eireann. That has been, and is, the cause of the tensions in this land. Even now, when we have left our pagan past behind, the chiefs of the Faith have divided on those political lines. The Comarb of Patrick in Armagh supports his King, the Uí Néill; while here in Muman, the Comarb of Ailbe gives allegiance to the Eóghanacht.’

  ‘History!’ sneered Solam, almost under his breath. ‘Is our time to be wasted with history? What need do we have of such obscurity?’

  Fidelma wheeled angrily on him. ‘Without history we would be condemned to remain children, not knowing who we are nor where we come from. Without knowing the past, we cannot hope to understand the present, and not understanding the present, we cannot shape a better future.’ She turned back to the judges. ‘Learned judges, remember those historic tensions, for they are important.’

  She paused a moment. There was now no sound. Everyone recalled the friction and jealousies that she had outlined. Not least the Uí Fidgente, who had several times been supported in their attempts against Cashel by ambitious Uf Néill monarchs.

  ‘I will now turn to the specifics. Let me start by saying that there is a young Prince in the kingdom of Muman who is possessed of a burning ambition. He seeks power and to achieve power he is not concerned with law nor morality.’

  ‘Name him!’ came an immediate cry from several people.

  ‘Name him I shall,’ replied Fidelma calmly. ‘But in due course. This young man, in the pursuit of power, decided to bring Muman down so that he could step into the power void. Muman is a large and strong kingdom. But where is the weakness of Muman?’

  She turned to Donennach, the Prince of the Uí Fidgente. He flushed and scowled.

  ‘It is known that the Uí Fidgente have long claimed that they should sit in power in Cashel,’ she said.

  ‘I do not deny it,’ Donennach replied defiantly. ‘It is history. As you have so eloquently emphasised - it is history.’

  ‘Just so,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘The Eóghanacht have fought many battles with the Uí Fidgente over the centuries. The spoils have always been Cashel. Now this young man, whom, I should now tell you, is a Prince in this land, devised a cunning plot to create dissensions in Muman. He would organise an assassination. An assassination of the King of Cashel. The attempted assassination of the Prince of the Uí Fidgente was a blind to the real purpose …’

  She had to pause because the uproar became deafening. Both Solam and Donennach were on their feet shouting while the Uf Fidgente warriors led by Gionga were standing stamping their feet on the ground to show disapproval. In the great halls, during feasting or during a trial, no one was allowed in without leaving their weapons outside. Eadulf, following the drama being enacted before him, knew that had Gionga and his men had weapons in their hands, there would have been serious trouble.

  The Brehon Rumann fought for control and by the sheer weight of his personality succeeded in restoring order. He was about to speak but Fidelma resumed her summary.

  ‘This prince, to encompass his plan, and knowing that the Uf Fidgente would come to Cashel on a certain day, sent a trusted messenger to the Uí Néill of Ailech to reveal his plan and ask that equally ambitious King for assistance. That assistance was forthcoming. There was a Brother Baoill at Armagh who shared the belief that the Uí Néill and Armagh should dominate the five kingdoms. It so happened that, by a curious coincidence, Baoill was the twin brother of Brother Mochta, the Keeper of the Holy Relics of Ailbe.

  ‘At this stage the plan became intricate. The idea was not merely to assassinate the King of Muman but to throw Muman into complete chaos by attempting to steal and hide the Holy Relics of Ailbe. There is little need for me to explain that the Relics are not just a priceless icon but the political symbol of the entire kingdom of Muman. Ailbe was our spiritual guardian. The disappearance of his Relics would cause great alarm and despair among us. Just think of that combination! The death of our King, the loss of the Relics.

  ‘Even so, the conspirators were not contented. In case of failure, the Uí Néill of Ailech sent a band of his men into this kingdom. It is not the first time that this has happened. It was that band of mercenaries who attacked Imleach and cut down the sacred yew-tree.’

  The Brehon Dathal learnt forward. ‘Yet the boar rampant, symbol of the Uí Fidgente, was carved on that tree by the raiders.’

  ‘In order that the Uí Fidgente might be blamed. I began to suspect as much when I saw that the raider we had captured, and who was, unfortunately killed, carried a sword that I had seen in my travels north. This was a claideb dét, a sword decorated with animal teeth. It took me some time to remember that it is only made in the territory of Clan Brasil. The same style of sword w
as carried by Baoill during the assassination attempt. Armagh lies in the territory of Clan Brasil.’

  Solam had turned to her in astonishment as he began to see what she was driving at. ‘Then are you saying that the Uí Fidgente are an innocent party in all this? That you are not seeking to blame Donennach and claim he was a conspirator?’

  She smiled swiftly. ‘I am afraid the actions of the Uí Fidgente were not helpful in supporting their innocence from the time Gionga blocked the bridge over the Suir with his warriors. But that action was not the only thing which misled me. What misled me for a while were events that were almost wholly unconnected.’

  ‘Which were?’ demanded Solam, now relaxing back in his seat.

  ‘The involvement of Samradán in this matter. I will return to this in a moment. Let us continue with the main story. The ambitious young Prince now awaited help from Ailech. His messenger to Ailech was the man we know as the archer, Saigteóir. To Armagh, and to the Comarb of Patrick, he set Samradan. The archer was, of course, the man who tried to assassinate Colgú. What his real name was is only known to the chief conspirator. It was this chief conspirator, the ambitious young rigdomna, who gave the archer the emblem of the Golden Chain with instructions to leave it when he escaped after the assassination.

  ‘The archer had come back to Muman with Brother Baoill. Baoill had been sent by the Comarb of Patrick from Armagh because he knew about Baoill’s relationship with Mochta. Baoill tried to hide his tonsure of St Peter by letting his hair grow. But there was not time enough to completely hide it. Brother Mochta was contacted at Imleach. At first, Baoill tried to sound out his brother to see if he could be persuaded to join the conspiracy. When he did not, Baoill attempted to get the Holy Relics by guile and then by force. He succeeded only in getting Ailbe’s crucifix.

  ‘Brother Mochta was wounded in that affair and, having told the story to his companion Brother Bardan, and realising that there was some conspiracy afoot, it was decided that Mochta would go into hiding with the remaining Holy Relics until such time as Bardan could find someone to trust and confide in.’

  ‘Why not confide in his abbot?’ demanded the Brehon Dathal.

  ‘As he told me, the abbot was an honest man and would insist that the Relics be returned to the chapel. Mochta and Bardán realised, from what Baoill had threatened, that warriors would be sent to attack the abbey to get hold of the Relics. If Mochta and the Relics had disappeared then, they believed, there would be no reason for any attack on Imleach.’

  ‘But an attack did take place,’ interposed the Brehon Rumann.

  ‘Yes, but not on the abbey itself. Baoill and his archer companion had already set an alternative plan in motion. Don’t forget the main purpose of these actions was to cause dismay and alarm among the people of Muman, so that the kingdom would split. The attack to cut down and destroy the sacred yew-tree of the Eóghanacht would be equally devastating to Muman. Once it was known that the Holy Relics and Mochta had disappeared from the abbey, the great yew-tree became the obvious target. It was the only other thing which would cause such dismay and alarm in Muman.’

  The Brehon Fachtna intervened for the first time in this recital. ‘You tell an interesting story, Fidelma of Cashel. You have exonerated the Prince of the Uí Fidgente from this matter. Your story will become more interesting if you tell us who your chief conspirator is. Who is behind this conspiracy?’

  ‘It was a driver of Samradan who first put my feet on the right track.’

  Brehon Dathal frowned. ‘Samradán the merchant? You say he was a messenger to Armagh, to the Comarb of Patrick?’

  ‘He actually told me that he had been twice to Armagh during the last two months. He was so guileless that I realised that he probably did not even know what he was involved in. He was only concerned about his illegal activities.’

  ‘His illegal activities?’ queried the Brehon Rumann. ‘Is the man in this court?’

  ‘No. He was murdered the night before last. He was killed because it was thought that he might lead me back to the chief conspirator.’

  There was an audible ripple of surprised voices through the Great Hall.

  ‘Samradán was a merchant who was mainly engaged in illegal trade. He and his men had found a small silver mine close by Imleach. The land was part of the abbey lands. The silver mine was not Samradán’s to mine. As he was under the patronage of our chief conspirator - remember he is a powerful noble- that same Prince encouraged him to mine it and took a percentage of the spoils. There was another person in that mining conspiracy …’

  Nion the bó-aire of Imleach was trying to leave the hall surreptitiously.

  ‘Capa!’ called Fidelma, pointing to the smith.

  The burly captain of the bodyguard of Colgú held the smith with a surprising force, forcing him by the shoulder to halt.

  ‘Bring him here into the court,’ instructed Brehon Rumann.

  Nion was pale. ‘I had nothing to do with the conspiracy to overthrow Cashel,’ he gasped.

  ‘Do you admit you were involved with this … this merchant, Samradan?’ inquired the Brehon Rumann.

  ‘I do not deny that. I dealt only with him because he brought me the ore from the mine. I extracted the silver and sometimes worked it.’

  Fidelma was nodding. ‘Yes. I believe that you sometimes made excellent little solar-symbol brooches with it. Unfortunately the raiders destroyed your forge so that, on the day following the raid, Samradán had to leave the mine taking only one sack of silver which you had extracted but also a sack of unprocessed ore.’

  ‘My forge could not deal with it,’ agreed Nion.

  ‘Did you ever see Samradán’s patron?’

  ‘Never. I was not involved in any plan to overthrow Cashel …’

  Fidelma turned to the judges. ‘There was my confusion,’ she admitted. ‘For a while I thought that Samradan and his illegal mining were the key to the problem. Especially when I found that the mine was in the same complex of tunnels in which Brother Mochta and the Holy Relics were hidden. It was merely coincidence that Brother Bardan, while going to find Mochta, stumbled onto Samradán’s mining operation and was taken prisoner by him and brought to Cashel. Samradán could not take responsibility for the death of a Brother, so he hid Bardán. beneath his warehouse, waiting for his patron to make a decision. That Prince decided that both Samradan and Brother Bardan would have to be killed. He suspected that they would lead me to him. Samradán was dead when I reached him. Luckily, I’d already released Bardan from the warehouse. He is in the court as a witness.’

  ‘You said, however, it was Samradan who set you on the right track. Yet you say he was dead when you reached him. How could a dead man speak?’ asked the Brehon Rumann.

  ‘No, I mentioned Samradán’s driver,’ corrected Fidelma. ‘This driver was coming to see me to give me some information about the archer and Baoill. You see, the driver, whose name we never knew, had no knowledge about his master’s involvement in the affair nor, even, that his master had a patron. Samradán thought he was coming to betray the illegal mining operation for I had stupidly alerted Samradan that I knew he was involved in such an activity. I had asked him whether he dealt in silver and he denied that he did. Samradán mortally wounded the driver. Before he died, the man was able to tell me, in front of the witness of Brother Eadulf-’ she nodded towards where Eadulf was sitting - ‘certain things, which led me to Brother Mochta. More importantly, he told me of the time when the archer, who was staying at the same inn, had met with a man he could not identify. A young man, in a cloak. It was night time.’

  ‘If he could not identify the man, how could that lead in any meaningful direction?’ inquired the Brehon Fachtna.

  ‘The archer addressed the man as rigdomna - Prince - giving an indication of the rank of the man. This was the chief conspirator. Brother Bardán heard the raiders speaking to Samradan and he also heard that this rígdomna was conspiring with a Comarb.’

  Fidelma looked to where Nion was stil
l standing with Capa keeping a close watch on him. Then she swung round to where Finguine, the Prince of Cnoc Aine was sitting.

  ‘Let Finguine come to stand before the judges,’ she called softly.

  A new wave of whispering echoed round the great hall.

  Finguine stood up, his features suddenly creased in anxiety. He hesitated.

  ‘Come forward,’ rumbled the Brehon Rumann. ‘Come forward, Finguine.’

  The young Prince of Cnoc Aine came slowly forward.

  ‘You arrived at Imleach just after the attack on it?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘At that time, you were certain it was an attack by the Uí Fidgente?’

  ‘Yes. Nion believed so. There was also the carving on the tree and the fact that the raiders went north after the attack. Everything pointed to the Uf Fidgente.’

  ‘As it was meant to,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘With, of course, one exception. The raider we had captured.’

  ‘Yes. But he had been killed before we could identify who he was …’ began Finguine.

  ‘The night before you left Imleach, Brother Bardan approached you in the chapel and confessed that he knew where Brother Mochta was hiding with the Holy Relics.’

  Finguine indicated the witnesses. ‘Brother Bardan is seated there. He will tell you as much.’

  ‘He arranged to bring Mochta and the Holy Relics to you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do I presume then that it was coincidence that Solam joined you that morning?’

  ‘It was as I have already told you. I was compelled to give him an escort to Cashel. But we had been delayed because I had given Bardan my word and he had not turned up. I told Solam as much as I felt it necessary for him to know. Later I discovered that you had been seen on the road to Ara’s Well with the Saxon and with Brother Mochta. You were described as carrying something which could only be the reliquary. As for Bardan, well, he had disappeared.’