Now and then, in the sky above, she also recognised wheeling kestrels and sparrow-hawks. Among the trees she could hear snatches of birdsong that she was unable to identify. Perhaps that was what alerted her to the fact that she was in a strange countryside. Then she caught sight of an oak tree. She recognised it as an oak and yet there was something different about the shape of the leaves.
Her companions, Magister Ado, Sister Gisa and even Brother Faro, were friendly and helpful whenever she asked a question about the terrain or the flora and fauna as they rode along.
It was Brother Faro who eventually pointed to a hill which began to emerge high above the others a little distance ahead to their left.
‘That is Monte Antola. Tonight, we shall rest this side of it, and then leave the old Salt Road, and tomorrow we move into the Valley of Trebbia to the south of it. Our abbey overlooks the banks of the Trebbia.’
Magister Ado added: ‘It is on that southern peak, called the Prela, that the Trebbia rises as a spring and flows down all the way to a giant river we call the Padus. But that is a long way to the north of Bobium.’
It was now that Fidelma realised that the mountains were rising considerably higher than those she was acquainted with in Ireland.
‘Do we have to climb over those mountains?’ she asked with some apprehension at their forbidding contours.
‘There is a pass,’ Brother Faro assured her. ‘And it is in that pass we shall find shelter for the night.’
That night they shared a small inn with a few merchants heading south. They had a warm corner and sat exchanging information about their background and countries. Magister Ado was full of questions about the land from which Columbanus came. In turn, Fidelma discovered some of the background of her companions.
Sister Gisa was a Longobard and came from the Trebbia Valley. She was, as Fidelma noted before, gifted with good looks and intelligence, and her comments were carefully considered before being uttered. Fidelma put her age as no more than twenty-one or -two. She had gone to Bobium to study computus under Magister Ado. Brother Faro had come to the abbey only two years before but, apart from being told that he came from somewhere to the north, Fidelma learned little about him.
‘Is Bobium a conhospitae – a mixed house?’ Fidelma queried after they had told her that several religious from her own land still came to serve in the abbey.
‘No,’ Magister Ado replied immediately. ‘It never was. Until twenty years ago our abbey maintained the Rule as handed down by our founder, Columbanus. Then Abbot Bobolen, with the support of the brethren, decided to adopt the Regula Benedicti.’
‘The Rule of Benedict?’ Fidelma knew of the disagreements that this Rule was causing among the abbeys of her own land. ‘You forsook the Rule of your founder?’
‘We have to move with the times,’ replied Magister Ado. ‘Columbanus’ Rule was harsh and compromises had to be made.’ He saw her puzzled expression. ‘You remark on this? Indeed, many could not agree with the heavy discipline and punishment that Columbanus imposed. Even if a member of the abbey found no time to shave and presented himself at Mass in such a manner, he could receive six strokes of the scourge.’
‘But that is not the way of the religious houses in Hibernia,’ Fidelma protested. ‘How can you claim that this was the Rule of Colm Bán?’
‘A Rule that we have now rejected in favour of Benedict.’ He gazed at her thoughtfully and added: ‘Several of the religious who have joined us from Hibernia have also been amazed at being told about the harshness of Columbanus’ Rule.’
‘Indeed, they would. It bears no resemblance to the rules that govern our own abbeys. In fact, it sounds more like the Penitentials which some are trying to impose in our land. Do you mean to tell me that Colm Bán adopted the Penitentials here?’
It was Sister Gisa who proposed an answer. ‘I have heard it said that Columbanus was faced with trying to discipline his Frankish and Longobard followers, who needed a firm hand, and thus he adopted harsher rules than those used in his own land.’
‘You said that the abbey had adopted the Regula Benedicti
– so that means that the abbey is segregated between the sexes?’
Magister Ado gave an affirmative nod. ‘There is a house for women outside the main abbey, although we have not entirely banned the sexes from coming together in work and in worship, joining us in the evening meal before prayer. Many still argue that we should maintain a conhospitae, the mixed houses which are still prevalent in your country.’
‘Does your current abbot support the segregation of the sexes?’
‘He supports the aescetics who believe in celibacy,’ added Sister Gisa, and then compressed her lips after she had spoken as if she regretted her comment.
‘Abbot Servillius is an old friend of mine,’ Magister Ado explained with a disapproving glance at the young Sister. ‘I have known him since a young man. He is of an old patrician family of Rome and very proud of that fact. He is a firm supporter of the concept of celibacy and frequently reminds us that it is an ancient custom even with the priests of Bacchus in Rome, for it brings us nearer to religious fulfilment.’
‘The concept is certainly gaining powerful adherents in Rome,’ Fidelma remarked. ‘Does that cause tension in Bobium?’
‘Not within the abbey, for the brethren are of one mind,’ Magister Ado replied quickly. ‘The cause of tension is mainly from the outside.’
‘You refer again to the followers of Arius?’ Fidelma saw a quick exchange of troubled glances between Brother Faro and Sister Gisa.
‘There is no need to worry,’ Magister Ado returned. ‘If you are thinking of the attack on me, I believe it might be retaliation because I have spoken out against the profligate bishops and nobles of this land who claim to be followers of Arius. They use the banner of Arius as an excuse for their attacks on the religious communities.’
‘Isn’t that a cause for concern? From what you tell me, you had barely stepped ashore at Genua when you were attacked. How long had you been away?’
His look was suddenly keen. ‘You have an inquiring mind, Fidelma.’
‘It is the nature of my training,’ she admitted. ‘I ask pardon if there is anything amiss in my question.’
The elderly religieux seemed to relax and smile. ‘Not at all. I was away but a few weeks. I took the journey only to purchase an ancient text in the scriptorium of the abbey at Tolosa. Now we are nearly home. Tomorrow we shall enter the Valley of the Trebbia. There will be nothing to fear there.’
For someone who had so recently been attacked, Fidelma was surprised at the man’s quiet confidence and dismissal of further dangers.
The next morning, leaving the main highway, they followed a smaller track across the hills and soon descended into a long winding valley through which a gushing river now flowed.
‘The Trebbia,’ announced Brother Faro, who was now riding alongside Fidelma. Magister Ado and Sister Gisa were a little way ahead of them. ‘The river flows all the way past Bobium. We will spend one more night on our journey, near Mount Lésima, and then the following morning we shall see the holy place where Columbanus settled with his followers.’
The valley was even more reminiscent of some lush green valleys in parts of Fidelma’s native land. It was little wonder that Colm Bán had felt at ease in choosing this country in which to establish his community. Perhaps it had reminded him of his home. On hills on either side of the river, the brilliant green of beech in full leaf, the elder trees with their massive, many-branched domes, were glorious – but little else grew around them, for the dense leaves threw out a protective canopy during the summer, denying light to the shrubs that needed it. The beeches rose on the high slopes. Lower down, the more compact whitebeams grew, now and then catching a breeze causing them to show silver-white as the thick felt of hairs on the underside of their leaves were suddenly displayed. Again, bracken and fern spread along the lower valley slopes where the trees thinned. From some of these trees she saw the t
hick, climbing stems of wild clematis with their white and greenish flowers, causing an odour of vanilla to permeate the air.
Brother Faro noticed her interest in her surroundings and unbent further from his usual air of distance.
‘You recall the dish we ate last evening?’ He pointed to some tall trees dominating areas of the lower reaches. ‘That was sweet chestnuts, the fruit of those trees there.’
Fidelma had seen such trees in her journey to the Saxon kingdoms. An old sage had told her that the Romans had brought the tree into the country long ago.
‘They are similar to trees I have seen in the lands of the Saxons, but the nuts there do not ripen for eating like they do here,’ she observed.
Magister Ado and Sister Gisa had halted in order for them to catch up.
‘The nuts on these trees are rich and succulent,’ called Sister Gisa over her shoulder, hearing the end of their conversation. ‘You have merely to bend down and gather the spiky husks, split them open and harvest the nuts. They are often used in the dishes here.’
Magister Ado now dropped back to ride alongside Brother Faro in order that Sister Gisa and Fidelma could continue their conversation on local food. Sister Gisa and Brother Faro rode nearest to the riverbank while Fidelma and Magister Ado rode on the interior side of the path.
Ahead of them, Fidelma had noticed a bird with pointed wings and long tail rising abruptly from where it had been standing by the edge of the river which ran to their left. The bird rose with its strange chirping cry and Fidelma recognised a kestrel. A moment later from the woods came piercing cries and two large, dark birds with broad rounded wings and short necks suddenly soared from the treetops. Buzzards. There came a cacophony of bird noise, causing her to glance at the dark woodlands. She saw a shadow by a tree and turned back with a cry of warning.
Magister Ado had apparently already seen the shadow, for he leaned sharply across his horse’s neck. There was a whistling sound and Brother Faro gave a cry of pain and fell from his horse, sprawling on his back on the track. Fidelma had only time to realise that the haft of an arrow was protruding from his shoulder and there was blood spurting from the wound. When she glanced back, Magister Ado had straightened up. It seemed that he had seen the archer loosening his bow and ducked. The arrow had passed over him and hit Brother Faro instead. Sister Gisa was screaming.
Fidelma turned back to the trees. Two men, bows ready, had emerged from cover and were moving deliberately towards them. She was undecided for a moment. If they fled, they would have to leave Brother Faro, wounded as he was, to the mercy of the attackers, for there was no time to dismount and put his unconscious body on horseback again. But if they stayed it would surely mean their own death.
It seemed, however, that Magister Ado had decided upon his own salvation and was urging his horse forward, passing her. He had gone but a short distance when another sound ahead of them caused him to halt. It was a blast on a hunter’s horn, followed by a series of short warning blasts. It was all happening so fast that Fidelma could not keep up with events and sat undecided on her horse. Along the valley track around a bend ahead of them, emerged half a dozen mounted and armed men at the gallop. She now saw the two archers turning and heading rapidly into the cover of the trees.
The leader of the newcomers shouted orders and three of the riders detached themselves, dismounted and were scrambling up into the dense forests after the fleeing attackers.
Sister Gisa had swung down from the mule and was kneeling by the prone form of Brother Faro. Fidelma dismounted and went to help her. Brother Faro’s eyes were opening and he groaned a little. She saw that the arrow had stuck into fatty tissue and missed the important muscles. Nevertheless, she knew that it had to be extracted immediately and the wound treated. It could still cause poisoning, and he could die of the result.
‘Hold him,’ she instructed Sister Gisa, then turning to Brother Faro added: ‘I am afraid this will hurt a little.’
He nodded that he understood. She peered closely at the arrow which, without bone or muscle to block it, had penetrated the flesh so that the point stuck out the other side. The arrowhead itself was thankfully smooth and not barbed. She reached forward and snapped off the feathered end as close to the wound as possible. Then, taking hold of the head, she pulled the shaft rapidly through the flesh. Brother Faro gave a sharp cry and fainted.
‘Quickly, Sister, some water to wash the wound,’ Fidelma ordered.
Sister Gisa brought the water from the river and something from her saddlebag. As Fidelma washed the young man’s wound, Sister Gisa said: ‘This is a paste of crushed garlic. I have often seen my father use it. In these parts it is spread on wounds and has healing qualities and will prevent infections.’
Fidelma nodded silently and allowed the girl to apply the paste before she bound the wound tightly with strips of linen. By the time she had finished, Brother Faro had recovered consciousness again. They sat him up, back against a tree trunk, and he took a little wine which Sister Gisa also provided.
Fidelma finally rose and walked to where Magister Ado was talking earnestly to the leader of the horsemen, who was now standing by his horse. He was a tall warrior with long fair hair and bright blue eyes that were almost a violet shade. Magister Ado performed the introduction.
‘This is Sister Fidelma of Hibernia who travels to Bobium with us.’
‘I am Wulfoald, Sister. I am in the service of Radoald, son of Billo, Lord of Trebbia. You are welcome in our country.’ He spoke to her in faultless Latin.
‘It does not seem that everyone would share your welcome.’ Fidelma could not help the cynical response.
Wulfoald’s left eyebrow rose a little disdainfully. He gestured towards the woodland where the attackers had disappeared. ‘Bandits, Sister. They will be caught and punished.’
She was about to make a further remark when Magister Ado seemed eager to intervene.
‘We were lucky that you and your men came along, Wulfoald.’
The young warrior gave a brief shrug. ‘We were on our way to pick up some goods that my lord was expecting from merchants at the junction of the Salt Road. We heard the warning of the birds and a cry, and so I ordered the horn to be sounded to let it be known that Radoald’s men approached. How is your companion?’
‘Brother Faro?’ Magister Ado seemed to realise for the first time that his young companion had been hurt. He swung round but saw that Brother Faro was sitting up and being well attended by Sister Gisa.
There came a call from the hillside and the three warriors who had chased after the attackers were returning empty-handed.
‘They escaped, Wulfoald,’ their spokesman said at once. ‘They had horses further up the hill and were away before we could close on them.’
‘Did you recognise them?’ demanded Wulfoald.
‘We did not. They wore black cloaks and hoods and we could not discern their features.’
Sister Fidelma glanced at Magister Ado. ‘Black cloaks and hoods?’ She made the comment into a question.
Magister Ado gave an almost indiscernible shake of his head, a warning in his eyes.
‘Bandits,’ Wulfoald said again, with emphasis. ‘Have no fear, Sister. They will put much distance between here and their lair. They will know that my lord Radoald’s reach is long and his vengeance is swift. They will not be back. As guarantee, I shall instruct two of my men to see you safe to the walls of Bobium itself. Indeed, I suggest that this night you accept the hospitality of my lord, Radoald, at his fortress. Our physician, Suidur the Wise, will be pleased to attend to your young disciple there.’
Magister Ado was profuse in his thanks. And while Wulfoald went to instruct his men, he and Fidelma made their way to where Brother Faro was now sitting up. The young man smiled ruefully.
‘It stings a little but is not too painful,’ he admitted when asked how his wound felt. ‘I have had worse.’
‘Will you be able to ride as far as Radoald’s fortress?’ asked Magister Ado.
>
‘I am sure of it,’ Brother Faro replied at once.
‘Then we will seek the hospitality of Lord Radoald.’ Magister Ado glanced around quickly at the hillside forest, as if to assure himself that the attackers had truly gone, and added: ‘As soon as you are ready, I suggest we move on.’
‘Black cloaks and hoods?’ Fidelma commented again in a low voice. ‘Do you not think that the same men who attacked you in Genua are the same who tried to kill you just now?’
Magister Ado was defensive. ‘That does not necessarily follow. Lots of people wear black cloaks with hoods.’
‘Not many during the heat of summer,’ Fidelma replied dryly, glancing up at the cloudless blue sky.
‘But the nights are cold,’ he responded, almost sarcastically, before turning back to where Wulfoald and his men were waiting.
‘I have ordered two of my warriors to escort you to the fortress of Radoald,’ he called, indicating two of his men. ‘And now we must be off, to meet with the merchants on the Salt Road.’
‘Then there is nothing more than to thank you again for your timely help.’ Magister Ado bowed his head. ‘Our thanks and blessings.’
Wulfoald remounted his horse. For a moment Fidelma thought the warrior had mistaken his mount, for his pale grey looked the image of the steed ridden by Brother Faro. Then she realised that it was of the same breed. At a sign from him, the band of warriors soon disappeared along the track.
Brother Faro had risen cautiously to his feet, aided by the concerned-looking Sister Gisa. ‘I am ready to move when you are, Magister,’ he said.
Once mounted again, Fidelma joined Magister Ado while Sister Gisa rode anxiously alongside Brother Faro. Behind them came the two silent warriors. They were professional and now and then, when Fidelma glanced back at them, they seemed to be surveying the surrounding woodlands with eyes that were alert and never still.
Behold a Pale Horse Page 3