Peter Tremayne - The Monk Who Vanished

Fidelma groaned inwardly. ‘For a while,’ she responded brightly. ‘Perhaps you could help me saddle our horses? Mine and the Saxon brother’s horse.’

Brother Tomar turned from the grain bag and regarded her, head to one side.

‘The horse of the Saxon as well?’ he questioned.

‘Yes. If you will saddle Brother Eadulf’s horse there, I will get mine ready.’

‘You are both leaving then?’

‘Yes,’ she replied patiently.

‘Is the mystery of Brother Mochta’s disappearance solved?’

‘We will know more when the Brehons meet in Cashel in a few days’ time,’ she replied, taking the bridle and drawing it over her mare’s head. She busied herself adjusting the straps and then swinging the saddle onto the patient beast.

Reluctantly, Tomar began to put the bridle on Eadulf sorrel.

‘I heard that the Uí Fidgente lawyer has already gone on to Cashel.’

Fidelma did not want to show too much interest but she was surprised. So that was why she had not seen Solam about that morning.

‘Really? I thought that he might be asking some more questions here in Imleach before he went on to Cashel?’

Brother Tomar chuckled sardonically.

‘He would have a hard task with all the feeling against the Uí Fidgente. No, he had to seek protection from the Prince of Cnoc Aine even to ride through the territory just now. I saw him riding in the company of Finguine only an hour ago when he left here.’

‘Do you mean that Solam is being escorted by Finguine, personally, on the road to Cashel?’

Brother Tomar was chuckling. ‘If he went alone, I doubt whether he would have reached Ara’s Well. In fact, I think that Finguine might suspect that there will be an attempt to waylay Solam on the Cashel road.’

Fidelma turned to the stableman who had her complete attention. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because when Finguine and Solam left here, saying they were departing for Cashel, they took the road northwards. The road to Cashel is directly east. I believe that Finguine took Solam on a circular route to avoid the main road to Ara’s Well and Cashel.’

Fidelma bent her head in thought for a moment and then continued saddling her mare.

‘Are you sure that they said that they were going to Cashel?’ she asked.

Brother Tomar smirked indulgently. ‘Solam told me himself that Cashel was his destination.’

Fidelma did not make any further comment. What Solam told Brother Tomar did not have to be true. What she couldn’t understand was why Finguine would have accompanied Solam in person and not left the task to some of his warriors if it was merely a matter of providing safe passage for the Uí Fidgente out of Cnoc Aine territory.

Fidelma finished saddling the horse in silence. She made sure that the saddle bags were firmly tied and that Eadulf’s staff was strapped to the saddle. Brother Tomar led Eadulf’s horse out of the stall.

‘Where is the Saxon?’ he asked, looking round.

‘I am meeting him in the township,’ Fidelma lied swiftly, justifying herself by remembering the proverb minima de malis — of evils, the least — choosing between the less desirable alternatives. The most desirable of the alternatives here was not to let Brother Tomar know what she was about.

She led her mare from the stable before mounting and taking the reins of Eadulf’s colt in her hand. She bade farewell to Brother Tomar who stood, an interested spectator, at the doors of the stables. She walked the horses across the courtyard and through the gate, glad that only the inquisitive Brother Tomar was there to see her departure. Outside the gate she sent the horses into a canter across the green towards the township. A mixture of the townsfolk and some of Finguine’s warriors were still engaged in clearing up the debris of the raid.

At the edge of the town she slowed down, walking the horses bythe smith’s forge and turning through a side alley, away from prying eyes. She saw Nion, the bó-aire, with his assistant Suibne, working at the wreckage of their forge. Nion raised his head to watch her but she pretended not to notice him. She did not like the way he was staring at her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him say something to his assistant and hurry away. She turned quickly along the main street in the direction of the ruined shell of Cred’s inn before turning down a side alley between the buildings towards the surrounding fields. She had plotted her route carefully in her mind as she wanted no prying eyes to follow her.

She rode firstly in a direction away from the edge of the town, away from the Hill of the Cairn, where she was due to meet with Eadulf and Mochta. If anyone from the abbey or township observed her, she thought that they would presume that she would continue in that direction. There was enough open grassland between the town and the skirting woodland through which she planned to ride, and only after she had reached the cover of the trees would she swing in a semi-circle towards the pre-arranged rendezvous.

Indeed, once in the shelter of the woods, along the small woodland track, she nudged her mount into a canter again, with Eadulf’s colt following patiently behind. She was not sure if she had been seen. It took a full ten minutes or so before she decided to slow the pace to a walk. Only then did she allow herself a glance behind. She could still see the edge of the township between the trees and shrubbery. From this distance, the township, and the abbey behind it, seemed almost deserted. There was no sign of movement anywhere. Fidelma gave a small sigh of relief. The way should be easy now.

She continued along the track and altered her direction, swinging round in the start of the semi-circle which she had planned would lead her to the Hill of the Cairn. It was cold and dank within the woods. She wondered whether it was here that the wolves had their lairs and she shivered slightly. She did not want to be reminded of the dangers of that night.

She was aware of constant movement within the woods. The passage of its denizens, varying from the stealthy tread of smaller mammals to the crack of twigs that marked the passage of a deer. There was also the cacophony of nesting birds from the higher branches.

She moved as fast as safety allowed through the woods, crossing a shallow stream here and there, before coming on a brief stretch of meadowland. She had almost exited from the woods into the meadow when she became conscious of a new sound rising above the other noises of the forest. It was the sound made by hooves. Shod hooves. They were moving rapidly. Swiftly she turned the horsesback into the forest, her eyes searching for thick cover away from the track.

There was a suitable thicket nearby and she slid from the saddle of her horse, gathered the reins of both animals, looping them securely to a branch. Then, keeping low, she edged forward.

Half a dozen horsemen appeared along the side of the woodland and came to a halt near the entrance to the track from which she had been proceeding.

She stared in unbelief at the leading horsemen.

One was the Uí Fidgente dálaigh, Solam, and the other was her cousin, Finguine, Prince of Cnoc Aine. The other four men were obviously members of Finguine’s warriors.

‘Well?’ she heard Solam’s high-pitched, querulous tones. ‘Have we lost the tracks or not?’

She heard her cousin’s voice, tight and also irritable. ‘Do not concern yourself. I know this country. There is little choice in the places where they can hide. We shall find them.’

Fidelma found herself growing cold.

To whom were they referring? What was Finguine doing with Solam when he claimed to be suspicious of him; when he blamed the Uí Fidgente for the raid against Imleach? Had Finguine been riding only with his men, she would have undoubtedly contacted him and explained all about Brother Mochta. But why was he with Solam?