Peter Tremayne - The Monk Who Vanished

Eadulf was about to make an end to the conversation when hesuddenly paused as a thought struck him. ‘Yet you must have seen it often enough before,’ he commented slowly.

Brother Madagan was pouring some water into a bowl to wash his hands. He glanced round at Eadulf and shook his head. ‘The tonsure of St Peter? I can’t say I have. I have not wandered far from Imleach for I was born near here on the slopes of Cnoc Loinge, just to the south. They call it the hill of the ship because that is the shape of it.’

‘If you have not seen this tonsure before, how would you describe Brother Mochta’s tonsure?’ demanded Eadulf.

Brother Madagan shrugged in bewilderment. ‘How would I describe it?’ he repeated slowly. ‘I have no understanding of your meaning.’

Eadulf almost stamped his foot in irritation. ‘If my tonsure seems so strange to you, surely the fact that Brother Mochta wore the same tonsure, until he started growing his hair recently, should have been a matter of some comment?’

Brother Madagan was totally confused. ‘But Brother Mochta did not wear a tonsure like the one you wear, Brother Noble Wolf.’

Eadulf controlled his exasperation, and explained, ‘But Brother Mochta wore the tonsure of St Peter until a few weeks ago.’

‘You are mistaken, Noble Wolf. Brother Mochta wore the tonsure of St John which we all wear here, the head shaven back to a line from ear to ear, so that the crown of thorns may be seen when we gaze upon the face of the brother.’

Eadulf sat down abruptly on his cot. It was his turn to be totally bewildered.

‘Let me get this clear in my mind, Brother Madagan. Are you telling me that Brother Mochta did not wear a tonsure similar to that which I am wearing?’

‘Assuredly not.’ Brother Madagan was emphatic.

‘Nor was he growing his hair to cover it?’

‘Even more assuredly. At least this was so when I saw him at Vespers last evening. He wore the tonsure of St John.’

Eadulf sat staring at him for a moment or two as he realised what the man was saying.

Whoever the slain monk was at Cashel, and in spite of the description, even down to the tattoo mark, it could not be Brother Mochta of Imleach. It could not. But how was such a thing possible?

Fidelma regarded Eadulf across the refectory table, at which they were breaking their fast the next morning, with a slight smile.

‘You seem alarmed by this mystery of Brother Mochta,’ she observed, as she tore a piece of bread from the loaf before her.

Eadulf s eyes rounded in perplexity. ‘Are you not alarmed? This borders on the miraculous. How can it be the same man?’

‘Alarmed? Not I. Didn’t the Roman Tacitus say that the unknown always passes for the miraculous? Well, once the matter ceases to be unknown it ceases to be miraculous.’

‘Are you saying that there must be some logical explanation for this mystery?’

Fidelma looked at him in a reproach. ‘Isn’t there always?’

‘Well, I do not see it,’ Eadulf replied, thrusting out his chin. ‘It smacks of sorcery to me.’

‘Sorcery!’ Fidelma was scornful. ‘We have sorted out such mysteries before and found not one that was beyond our resources. Remember, Eadulf, vincit qui patitur. ’

Eadulf bowed his head to hide his exasperation. ‘One might prevail through patience but we have never had a mystery as confounding.’ He glanced up and saw Brother Madagan approaching. He lowered his voice. ‘Here is the Brother who raised the alarm when Mochta went missing. It is the steward of the abbey, Brother Madagan.’

The tall monk approached them with a smile.

‘A fine morning,’ he said, seating himself and addressing himself to Fidelma. ‘I am the rechtaire of the abbey. Madagan is my name. I have heard much about you, Fidelma of Cashel.’

Fidelma returned the man’s scrutiny and found herself disliking him though she could not put her finger on why. He was pleasant-featured enough, a little angular, a little gaunt, but there was nothing in his face that gave her outward revulsion. His manner too was friendly. She put it down to some chemical reaction which she could not explain.

‘Good morning, Brother Madagan.’ She inclined her head politely. ‘I am told that you were the one who discovered that the Holy Relics were missing?’

‘Indeed, I did.’

‘In what circumstances did you do so?’

‘It being the feastday of Ailbe, I rose early, for on that day …’

‘I know the order of the feast,’ Fidelma interrupted quickly.

Brother Madagan blinked.

It was then that Fidelma realised what it was that made her suspicious of the man. When he blinked his eyelids came down, heavy and deliberately, pausing for a fraction of a second before returning. It was as if he had hooded those eyes. The action bore a curious resemblance to the hooded blink of a hawk. She realised that they were cold in spite of the mask of friendship. There was a personality behind that face which was kept hidden to all but the keenest inspection.

‘Very well,’ he continued. ‘There was much to do here in preparation …’

‘Tell me how you discovered that the Holy Relics were missing.’

This time Brother Madagan did not seem perturbed at her sharp interruption.

‘I went to the chapel where the Holy Relics were kept,’ he replied calmly.

‘Yet you were not the Keeper of the Holy Relics of Ailbe. Why did you go there?’ Her voice was even but the question probing.

‘Because that night it was my duty to act as warden — to keep the watch. The duties involve making the rounds of the abbey to ensure all is secure.’

‘I presume you found that all was secure?’

‘It was at first …’

‘Until you came to the chapel?’

‘Yes. It was then I noticed that the reliquary was missing from the recess where it is kept.’

‘At what time was this?’

‘An hour or so before dawn.’

‘When had the reliquary last been seen in its proper position?’

‘At Vespers. We all saw the reliquary. Brother Mochta was also there.’

Eadulf coughed discreetly before interposing: ‘What exactly did this reliquary contain?’

Brother Madagan made a small gesture with his hand as if to encompass the contents. ‘The Relics of our beloved Ailbe.’

‘No, I do not mean that. What did these relics consist of? We know one of them was his crucifix which he had brought from Rome.’

‘Ah, I see.’ Brother Madagan sat back thoughtfully. ‘As well as the crucifix there was his bishop’s ring, his knife, a book of Ailbe’sLaw written in his own hand and his sandals. Oh, and there was his chalice, of course.’

‘Was it usual for people to know what is in the reliquary?’ asked Eadulf suddenly. ‘In many churches where the relics of the saints are kept, the reliquary is sealed so that none may gaze on the artifacts.’

Brother Madagan smiled quickly. ‘It was quite usual in this case, Noble Wolf of the Saxons,’ he replied jocularly. ‘The contents were shown each year during the feastday ceremony and were carried from the chapel to his holy well, where there is a blessing, and from there to the stone which marks his grave.’

‘In temporal wealth, they were not of great value, apart from the crucifix?’ pressed Eadulf.

‘The crucifix and ring were worth a great fortune,’ replied Madagan. ‘The ring was of gold set with a gemstone called smaragdus — a curious green stone mined in Egypt and said to have been worked into a finger ring by the Chaldeans. The ring was a gift of Zozimus to Ailbe. So, too, was the crucifix. That was worked in silver but also contained this gemstone smaragdus .’

‘ Smaragdus ?’ mused Fidelma. ‘A dark green stone?’