Free The Monk Who Vanished by Peter Tremayne Page A

this evening,’ Fidelma assured him.
    ‘Then the sooner you get Brother Conchobar to make the sketch of the crucifix, the sooner you can set out.’ Colgú reached out with his good hand and took one of his sister’s hands in his. ‘No need for me to say, be careful, Fidelma,’ he said gravely. ‘Whoever does not hesitate to stop at the death of Kings will not stop at the death of a King’s sister. These are dangerous times.’
    Fidelma squeezed her brother’s hand reassuringly.
    ‘I will take care, brother. But your advice must be heeded by your own self. What has failed once might be tried again. So until we know who is behind this deed, make sure that you keep a wary eye upon the company you keep. I feel that there is danger here, brother. Here in the very corridors of our palace of Cashel.’

Chapter Six
    Fidelma met her cousin Donndubhain while on her way to the stables to arrange for the horses for the journey to Imleach. Normally, a religieux below the rank of bishop or abbot would not be expected to travel by horse but Fidelma held rank, not only as the sister of the King but in her own right as a dalaigh . The heir-apparent to the throne of Muman was holding a sheaf of papers as he crossed the courtyard.
    He grinned at his cousin and held them up. ‘The protocol as Colgú has instructed,’ he explained. ‘I am sure this is a waste of this paper.’
    Paper was still scarce, an eastern invention, only a few centuries old, which was so costly that few of the Kings of Eireann bothered to import it. Good vellum was usually preferred as a symbol of their status.
    Fidelma was serious. ‘I doubt it is wasted, cousin,’ she said.
    ‘Do you want to read through it? You have a better legal mind than I do.’
    ‘You are the tanist , cousin. I am sure things are in order. Anyway, I must be off. We have only nine days to discover the truth.’
    ‘Time enough,’ Donndubhain was encouraging. ‘I know you, Fidelma. You have a great gift of sifting sand and coming up with the single grain you seek.’
    ‘You think too highly of my capabilities.’
    Donndubhain was two years younger than Fidelma but they had played together in Cashel as youngsters until the time had arrived when Fidelma had been sent away for her schooling.
    Since their childhood together Fidelma had only seen Donndubhain a few times before she had returned to Cashel last year after her brother had become King and her cousin had been appointed heir-apparent. She knew he was a quiet, conscientious support for her brother. He might make light of the protocol but she knew that he had the mind of a good lawyer and there would be nothing wrong with the texts.
    Donndubhain suddenly glanced around as if to ensure they were alone.
    ‘Sometimes,’ he said abruptly, with lowered voice, ‘I do not think your brother takes his position seriously enough.’

    ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘He accepts the word of people too easily. Without questioning. He is honourable and therefore he believes everyone is honourable. He is too trusting. Look as this business with the Uí Fidgente. He trusts Donennach too readily.’
    ‘Oh?’ Fidelma was curious. ‘And you do not?’
    ‘I cannot afford to. What if Colgú is too trusting and this is a plot by Prince Donennach to assassinate Colgú? Someone has to be prepared to protect your brother and Cashel.’
    Fidelma admitted to herself that she had been thinking as much. She remembered that only nine months before the Uí Fidgente had attempted to overthrow Cashel. The blood at Cnoc Aine was hardly dried and this change of heart, this willingness to make peace, was so abrupt, so sudden, that she could share her cousin’s suspicions.
    ‘With you as tanist, cousin, my brother need not fear,’ she assured him.
    Donndubháin remained worried. ‘I wish that you would let me send a company of warriors with you,’ he said.
    ‘I refused my brother on this matter,’ Fidelma replied firmly, ‘and so shall refuse you. Eadulf