The Monk Who Vanished by Peter Tremayne Page A

she did not really feel convinced. She hastily turned to the piles of clothes and began to examine them.
    ‘Coarse materials. There is nothing that identifies their origin. These clothes could come from anywhere. Two leather purses. A few coins in each of them but of no great value. Our assassins seem to have been poor. And …’
    She stopped and her searching fingers encountered something in the purse which Brother Conchobar had identified as belonging to the elderly, rotund man. Slowly she drew it out.
    It was a crucifix, three inches in length on a long chain. Both crucifix
and chain were exquisitely wrought in sparking silver. Within the four arms of the crucifix were set four precious stones with a larger stone set in its centre. They were emeralds. It was not a cross of native Irish workmanship, that was easy to see, for it was plainer, less intricate than the designs turned out by Irish silversmiths.
    Eadulf was staring over her shoulder.
    ‘That is a cross that no ordinary member of a religious community would be wearing,’ he observed.
    ‘Nor even a priest. This is the cross of a bishop, at least,’ observed Fidelma with some awe. ‘Perhaps even more valuable than an ordinary bishop’s cross.’

Chapter Five
    Colgú was resting in a carved, tall backed chair, stretching his long limbs before a fire in the great hearth. His right arm was bound in white linen but he was looking much more comfortable than when Fidelma had last seen him.
    ‘How is the wound, brother?’ she greeted, as she entered his private chamber followed by Brother Eadulf.
    ‘It does not hurt a bit, thanks to the healing powers of our Saxon friend,’ Colgú said with a smile. He was still a trifle pale. He gestured for them to be seated in the chairs opposite him. ‘What is the news of Donennach’s wound?’
    The question was directed at Eadulf.
    ‘More of a flesh wound than anything else,’ he replied. ‘The arrow embedded itself into the fleshy part of Donennach’s thigh but did not strike muscle. He may feel discomfort for a day or two but nothing more.’
    ‘At least the wound will not cause a blemish,’ chuckled Colgú, in good spirits.
    ‘Yes, that is so,’ Eadulf confirmed but there was bewilderment in his tone. ‘Why is that a matter of concern?’
    ‘You are the lawyer in the family, Fidelma,’ Colgú smiled. ‘You explain to our friend.’
    Fidelma shifted slightly towards Eadulf.
    ‘A king is expected to have a perfect body under our laws, Eadulf. He must be free of disability or blemish.’
    ‘Is a king really excluded from kingship if he receives a blemish while king?’ Eadulf asked, astounded.
    ‘I know only of the case of Congal Caech, King of Ulaidh who also ruled as High King for a while. He was blinded in an eye by a bee sting and because of that he was dismissed from the kingship of Tara,’ Fidelma responded.
    ‘Though it did not cause him to lose the kingship of his own province,’ Colgú pointed out, ‘and he was King of Ulaidh until he was killed in battle.’
    ‘When was this?’ asked Eadulf.

    ‘He was killed at Magh Rath in the year my sister here was born,’ smiled Colgú. ‘Anyway, what have you discovered, Fidelma? Who is responsible for this attack on Donennach and myself?’
    Fidelma’s features became grave and she sat still for a while, placing her hands loosely in her lap.
    ‘The situation is not good,’ she began. Then she paused a moment before continuing. ‘We have here an attempt at assassination. Under law it is the serious crime of duinetháide which merits twice the normal penalty from the culprits.’
    ‘Twice the normal penalty?’ intervened Eadulf, puzzled.
    ‘An unlawful killing, as you know, is punishable by the loss of rights and the payment of compensation of fixed sums to the family of the person killed. Duinetháide, which literally means person theft, as in the assassination of a prince, is regarded as a more serious offence.’
    Colgú leant forward, a