Peter Tremayne - The Monk Who Vanished

Fidelma paused thoughtfully as she glanced down at the bolts.

‘Well, that proves one thing.’

Eadulf looked at her questioningly, examining the bolt on the gate and the door itself. ‘Have I missed something?’

‘The fact that the bolts have not been shot home shows that Brother Bardan has not returned this way.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘Because Brother Bardan left by this gate, unlocking it to leavethe abbey. Naturally, he could not thrust home the bolts behind him. Had he returned through this gate, however, he would have secured the bolts. Brother Bardan is still out there.’ She inclined her head in the direction of the oratory. ‘Yet I am at a loss to understand how he gave us the slip.’

Eadulf could think of no rejoinder.

They passed through the herb garden and crossed back through the courtyard and along the cloisters. The abbey was now coming to life.

The grim, hawk-like features of the Abbot Ségdae, appeared before them.

‘You did not attend lauds,’ he greeted. There was a slight note of rebuke in his voice.

‘No,’ Fidelma agreed hurriedly. ‘We had much to do. Can you tell us where Brother Bardan is? I wanted to have a word with him but he seems to have left the abbey.’

Abbot Segdae did not appear surprised, explaining, ‘His routine is to go early abroad in search of healing herbs. He has probably left already on one of his trips.’

‘Then it is quite usual for Brother Bardan to leave the abbey so early?’

‘It is.’

Fidelma appeared to change the subject.

‘The other day I noticed a little chapel standing a short distance away from the abbey which I had not seen before,’ she went on, falling in step with Ségdae as they walked along the corridors of abbey.

Eadulf reluctantly followed behind them. His thoughts were concerned with reaching the refectory and satiating his hunger and thirst.

‘Ah, you mean the little sanctuary of the Blessed Ailbe?’

‘An old, dry stone corbel oratory?’

‘That is the one. It stands in a heather field,’ confirmed Ségdae. ‘That’s curious.’

‘What is curious?’ asked Eadulf.

‘The dálaigh of the Uí Fidgente … what’s his name? Solam? Solam was just asking about the same chapel.’

‘Solam?’

Ségdae had apparently not noticed the tension in Fidelma’s reaction. ‘The place is called Gort na Cille,’ he said.

‘The “field of the church” seems an appropriate enough name,’ Fidelma observed, recovering her composure. ‘Why did Solam want to know about it?’

‘I do not know. Some people think that cures might be had there if one washes in the water drawn there before dawn,’ offered the abbot.

Eadulf, who was thinking of quenching his thirst, groaned. If he had known there was a stream at that spot then he would not be suffering now. He tried to recall where such a stream could have been.

‘Drawn from where, Father Abbot?’ he asked innocently. ‘I do not remember a stream in that field.’

Abbot Ségdae shook his head. ‘There is no stream there but simply a well. It is called Tobar na Cille … the Church Well. That is because the chapel was built over it. The well is in the oratory itself.’

Fidelma suddenly halted in mid-stride.

‘Do you mean that there is a well under the flagstones of the chapel?’ she asked slowly.

Ségdae regarded her in amusement.

‘Oh yes. One of the flagstones is hinged so that it can be opened. It lies behind the altar table.’

They had reached the door of his chambers and several members of the community were waiting to speak with him.

‘Do you know where the Uí Fidgente lawyer is now?’ asked Fidelma.

‘I saw him but fifteen minutes since coming from the morning service. But I do not know where he was going.’

Fidelma’s face suddenly showed a curious purpose as she thanked the bemused abbot and hurried away with Eadulf trailing in her wake.

Eadulf groaned at her abrupt change of direction.

‘This isn’t the way to the refectory, Fidelma,’ he protested breathlessly.

She silenced him with a cutting gesture of her hand. ‘Don’t you see?’ she pressed.

He shook his head in bewilderment. ‘See what?’

‘The mystery of Brother Bardán’s disappearance is explained.’

He thought a moment and then saw what she meant.

‘Are you telling me that Brother Bardán was hiding from us down a well shaft?’

‘Perhaps the well shaft has another purpose. We must go back directly and examine it. What I do not like is that Solam has been asking about that oratory. What does Solam know about it?’

Eadulf suddenly halted. His expression was defiant.

‘I will not return …’ he began. He paused as he caught the glitter in her eyes and continued, ‘not before I find some food and drink to take with me.’

Impatiently, Fidelma allowed herself to be hurried to the refectory. The long tables were almost deserted for most of the community had already broken their fast and started their daily routine.

‘We might as well take some food with us,’ Fidelma suggested. ‘There is not much time to be lost. Solam is up to something, I am sure of it.’

Eadulf grabbed a couple of loaves of freshly baked bread, still warm. He added to the bread several pieces of cold meat and some cheese as well as fruit. He found a sacullus hanging among several nearby and confiscated it, putting the food in it. Fidelma had found a water container, filled it with water and handed it to him to place in the bag.

‘Now let us return to Gort na Cille,’ she said when he had indicated that he was ready.

As they passed out of the refectory, Eadulf could not resist the temptation to seize another piece of bread and some meat and thrust it into his mouth, experiencing a pleasing sense of satisfaction as he began to chew on it.

The day had turned quite warm by the time they reached the tiny oratory again. They had once more left the abbey by the side gate through the herb garden and, so far as they were aware, they were not been observed by anyone. By the time they had reached the field in which the tiny oratory stood, Eadulf had devoured a large quantity of his share of the food from the sacullus. Fidelma was not hungry and merely contented herself with a drink from the water container they had brought.

The oratory was still deserted and gloomy.

Eadulf lit one of the candles on the altar table to help them identify the flagstone covering the well entrance. It was easy to spot now that they knew what they were looking for. The flag had a small iron ring in it. Eadulf bent forward and heaved. He nearly stumbled backwards for the flag was fixed onto some pivotal device which made it swing upright with little effort.

A large back hole plunged beneath them.

Eadulf held out his candle. It was of little help except to illuminate the first few feet.

‘Total darkness,’ he muttered. ‘There is nowhere that anyone could hide in that blackness.’

‘Examine your candle,’ Fidelma advised him.

Eadulf did not understand. ‘Examine …? What do you mean?’

‘Your candle is fluttering and flickering when you hold it out over the well head. What does that mean to you?’

Eadulf regarded the spluttering candle flame in silence. Then he glanced to the doorway. He was beginning to understand what Fidelma was trying to indicate to him.

‘There is air rising from the shaft here and you think it indicates that there is something more than water down there?’

Fidelma pointed. ‘That fact coupled with another. See, just there … a wooden ladder is fixed to the side of the shaft. Now why have a ladder leading down into a well?’

Eadulf peered dubiously downwards. ‘It’s dark. I’d better go down and look.’