Peter Tremayne - The Monk Who Vanished

She suddenly recalled something and reaching into her marsupium pulled out some of the paper which she had found in Brother Mochta’s cell. The notes from the ‘Annals of Imleach’. Both were written in the same hand. Had Brother Mochta been helping Brother Bardan write his medical treatise? If so, that showed that the two men were close enough; and close enough for Brother Bardan not to have made a mistake about the identification of the forearm.

There was apparently little else of interest in the room.

Then some instinct made her get to her knees and glance under the wooden cot that served as a bed. There were a couple of dark objects under there. She reached forward. First she pulled out a coiled rope. Then she found a lantern, its wick trimmed and filled with oil. The third item was a sacullus of large proportions. It was filled with items of food and a small amphora of wine.

Fidelma stared at the sacullus and its contents for a moment or two before nodding grimly to herself as if she had expected to find the objects.

She replaced the items carefully before rejoining Eadulf. Without exchanging a word they passed out into the corridor. Eadulf followed Fidelma silently as she walked along the corridor and through a door which led into the cloisters around the courtyard, on the far side of which was the guests’ hostel. On the other side was the abbey chapel and on the third side was an entrance which led into a small garden area.

‘That is where Brother Bardán grows some of his herbs,’ she announced. ‘Let’s have a look at it.’

Still without speaking, Eadulf followed her across the courtyard and through the arched area into the small herb garden.

‘Ah!’

Fidelma went directly to a small wooden door on the far side. It was securely bolted and quickly she pulled back the bolts and opened the door.

‘Where does it lead?’ Eadulf was moved to break his silence as curiosity got the better of him.

Fidelma stood aside silently.

Eadulf saw that beyond the door was nothing but a pleasant field and a fringe of yew-trees beyond. The door led directly out of the abbey on the side facing away from the township. Fidelma then shut the door and pushed back the bolts. Suddenly she bent forward with a slight gasp. She reached out a finger to touch something on the gatepost.

Eadulf looked at it carefully over her shoulder.

‘It looks like dried blood.’ he offered. ‘What does it mean?’

‘It means,’ replied Fidelma, straightening up, ‘that we shall have to sit up tonight and watch the activities of our friend Brother Bardan. I think I am beginning to see some pattern emerging.’

‘Something that you can share with me?’ Eadulf felt somewhat peeved by her mysterious attitude.

‘In time,’ she replied. ‘Perhaps we should get some rest before the evening meal. After that, it may be a long night.’

As they came out of the herb garden, she gazed around the cloistered courtyard as if searching for something. Then she indicated a small alcove.

‘That is a good position from which to watch. At night it will be in shadows and there is a seat there so that we can make our surveillance of the courtyard in comfort.’

‘But what are we watching for?’

‘Brother Bardan. Who else?’

The bell was tolling for the last service of the day. Eadulf was hurrying along the corridor to the chapel. Fidelma had decided to take up her self-imposed lookout duty but insisted that Eadulf joined the community so that their absence was not made too obvious. If anyone asked where she was he was to say that she was weary and had retired early. Eadulf was actually pleased to attend the service for he had been feeling guilty about missing so many observances since he had arrived at the abbey.

He joined the line of Brothers entering the chapel stalls. He found a suitable place in a pew in front of the high altar and went down on his knees, hands extended before him in order to commence his prayers. He opened his mouth but the words did not emerge. Instead he swallowed hard.

He had noticed Brother Bardán in a small alcove at the side of the chapel some distance away. Brother Bardán seemed to be talking earnestly, his hand moving to emphasise whatever point he was making. He turned a little to one side to reveal the person with whom he was so animatedly conversing. It was the recognition which caused Eadulf to swallow hard.

It was Fidelma’s cousin, Finguine, the Prince of Cnoc Aine. Therewas nothing suspicious in the mere fact that Brother Bardan was speaking with the Prince of Cnoc Aine but it was the manner in which he was doing so that seemed odd. They were smiling together as if they were sharing some conspiratorial joke.

Brother Bardan must have realised that the service was about to begin because he said something to Finguine, turned, and walked rapidly away along the side aisle of the chapel, his hands folded before him, his head lowered on his chest, in an attitude of meditation.

Finguine hesitated, glanced round as if he wanted to ensure that he was unobserved, and then exited from the abbey chapel through a side door.

Abbot Ségdae began the service.

Eadulf almost cursed. He quickly genuflected in penance. If only he had spotted Brother Bardan and Finguine before he had taken his seat. Now he could not leave the chapel until the service was over. He would have given anything to know what was being discussed.

The rituals of the ceremony passed with interminable slowness. Finally, when he was able to leave the chapel, he went immediately to where Fidelma was sitting in the dark shadows of the alcove in the cloister courtyard. Glancing swiftly round and seeing that there was no one else about, he ducked into the alcove. Hurriedly, he told her what he had seen.

She took it calmly.

‘This is the second time that Brother Bardan and Finguine have been in conversation together. Once at Nion’s house and now here. Nothing wrong in that but they seem rather conspiratorial. That and Brother Bardán’s lie about Mochta makes it a matter of curiosity.’

‘What shall we do, then?’ asked Eadulf.

Fidelma looked up and smiled in the darkness.

‘We shall proceed with our plan. We will remain here and see if my suspicion is justified. I think that Brother Bardán might visit his herb garden before the night has passed.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ moaned Eadulf, not for the first time. ‘He will not come now. It is too late.’

They were still seated in the alcove in the courtyard. It was chilly and Eadulf had long since given up trying to count the hours which must have passed since the midnight bell had tolled and a silence had settled throughout the abbey. Hours must have passed. It must be time for the same bell to announce the hour for lauds? A new day was soon to dawn.

‘Quiet. You must have patience,’ replied Fidelma.

‘But I am tired. I am cold. I want my bed. I want my sleep and …’

He was cut short as Fidelma dug him sharply in the ribs.

Someone was coming. They could see the dark shadow passing through the cloisters before it crossed the moon-dappled courtyard. The figure carried a lamp but it was not lit. Fidelma noted with satisfaction the large sacullus and rope slung across the back of the figure. The head was thrust forward, as if the person was keeping their eyes on the ground to search for obstacles in the darkness.

Unerringly, the figure headed through the gloom towards the arch which separated the cloistered area from the herb garden and passed through. Fidelma rose immediately, almost dragging Eadulf with her. Together they went cat-like through the cloisters towards the entrance to the herb garden. They arrived just in time to see the figure pausing by the gate which opened on the outside of the abbey. They could hear the gentle scraping of bolts being drawn back. There was a slight whine of the metal hinges as the door opened and then shut.