The Monk Who Vanished by Peter Tremayne Read Free Book Online Page A

Then she turned to the sword. It was of poor quality, rusting around its joints and not even sharpened. The handle was strangely ornamented with the carved teeth of animals. Fidelma had seen the style of sword before - it was called a claideb dét and, so far as she knew, only one area in Eireann produced such decoration on their swords. She tried to recall where it was but could not.
    ‘There, Gionga,’ she said, at last, ‘we have examined these weapons. Are you satisfied that we have done so?’
    ‘In that we can now identify the origin of the arrows - yes!’ replied the warrior.

    The door opened abruptly and Brother Eadulf entered the apothecary. He halted apologetically on the threshold.
    ‘I heard that you were about to examine the bodies,’ he said, a trifle breathlessly. He had obviously been hurrying.
    Fidelma turned to him anxiously. ‘How is my brother … and Prince Donennach?’ she demanded.
    ‘Comfortable. There is no danger but they will be sore and irritable for a few days. Do not worry, their wounds are tended and they are being nursed in good hands.’
    Fidelma relaxed and smiled. ‘Then you are just in time, Eadulf. I may need your eyes.’
    Gionga glowered in annoyance. ‘This foreigner has no business here,’ he protested.
    ‘This foreigner ,’ Fidelma replied in measured tones, ‘is the guest of my brother and has been trained in the physician’s art at Tuaim Brecain. He has probably kept your Prince out of harm’s way by his medical skills. Also, we may need his expert eye in the observation of these bodies.’
    Gionga clenched his jaw in an expression of disapproval but made no further protest.
    ‘Come forward, Eadulf, and tell me what you see,’ Fidelma invited.
    Eadulf moved to the table. ‘Two men, one short, one tall. The tall one …’ Eadulf bent carefully over the body, examining it minutely. ‘The tall one died from a single wound. By the look of it, it was a sword thrust into the heart.’
    Gionga chuckled sarcastically. ‘I could have told you that for mine was the hand that did it.’
    Eadulf ignored him. ‘The second man, the short one, died from three blows. He had his back turned to his assailant when they were delivered. There is a cut in the neck that is a dire wound. A stab under the shoulder-blade which I do not think was mortal but the back of his skull has been smashed in, perhaps with the hilt of a sword. I would say that this man was running away when he was cut down by someone who was in a position above him. Perhaps someone on horseback.’
    Fidelma allowed her penetrating gaze to linger on the Ui Fidgente warrior. The silence was an accusation. Gionga thrust out his chin defensively.
    ‘It matters not how your enemy is slain, so long as he is rendered a threat no longer.’
    ‘I thought that you said this man threatened you with his sword?’ Fidelma asked quietly.
    ‘At first,’ snapped Gionga. ‘Then when I cut down his companion he turned and ran.’

    ‘And you could not capture him?’ Fidelma’s voice was sharp. ‘You had to kill him, in spite of the fact that he could have given us invaluable information about this deed?’
    Gionga shuffled his feet. ‘Such considerations do not enter one’s mind in the act of combat. The man was a menace and I eliminated that threat.’
    ‘A threat!’ repeated Fidelma softly. ‘He looks like an elderly man and his age and corpulence would have combined to make it easy for a young warrior, such as yourself, to disarm him. Anyway, I would remember this, Gionga of the Uí Fidgente: when a dálaigh asks you a question, it is the truth that they seek, not a lie to justify an action.’
    Gionga stared back aggressively but did not say anything.
    When Fidelma returned her attention to the cadavers, she found Eadulf bending over the head of the shorter corpse. There was an expression of amazement on his face.
    ‘What is it?’ she demanded.
    Eadulf did not say anything but merely beckoned her to his