Magister Ado was not forthcoming with any further thoughts about the attack and Fidelma only once again broached the subject of the identity of the attackers.
‘You must have deeply offended these followers of Arius, for them to make such attempts on your life,’ she said.
‘You seem sure that this attack was by the same men as in Genua,’ he replied stiffly. ‘There are enough bandits in this country, especially so close to the merchant routes, to give me pause before I would make such accusations.’
She knew it was useless to press him further. For some reason he did not want to acknowledge the obvious logic. Instead she tried a more oblique approach.
‘How is it that people here are so adamant in their adherence to the teachings of Arius?’ she asked.
Magister Ado glanced at her suspiciously. Then he shrugged.
‘When the philosophies of Arius were flourishing in Constantinople, a Goth named Ulfilias, who had converted to Christianity but through the teachings of Arius, went as missionary to the Germanic peoples. His teachings spread among the Goths, Vandals, Visigoths, Burgundians and Longobards. Most accepted this form of the Faith and fought those who, like us, declared for the Nicene beliefs.’
‘And they have clung to the argument of Arius in spite of attempts to dissuade them?’
Magister Ado sighed – a deep, sad sigh. ‘My people, the Longobards, have been followers of Arius for centuries.’ He paused. ‘Let me explain. Over three centuries ago, Arius was denounced in Alexandria for his teachings. Emperor Constantine called an assembly in Nicaea to argue the matter. Arius, as I have said, argued that while Christ was divine, He was sent to us for the salvation of mankind, but He and the Holy Spirit were not equal to God the Father, Who must have created them, for God created all things. The debate at Nicaea was long and fierce, and finally Arius and his teachings were condemned. A creed, a set of orthodox beliefs, was agreed by the assembly of bishops, and its central teaching was that the Father, the Son and Holy Spirit were of the same substance; that they were One, being Three in One. Christ is no less than God.’
‘So once the Council at Nicaea had agreed on this, what was the outcome?’
‘Constantine, the Emperor, exiled all those who refused to abide by the decision and all those who refused to condemn Arius and his supporters. He ordered all copies of the Thalia to be burned.’
‘Thalia – what is that?’ queried Fidelma.
‘It is the book in which Arius explained his teachings. It means “Festivity”.’
‘So that should have ended the argument.’
‘It did not. Another Emperor, Constantius, the second Emperor of his name, became an adherent of Arius and used his authority to exile the Nicene bishops, even exiling Pope Liberius and installing the Arian, Felix, in his place.
‘When Constantius died, Emperor Julian went back to pagan idolatry, but declared everyone had a right to believe whatever they wanted. So every sect in the Faith returned to follow their own philosophies. Finally, after many years, the Emperor Theodosius and his wife, Flacilla, came to power supporting the Nicene Creed. They exiled all Arian bishops and published an edict that every subject of the Roman Empire should profess and swear allegiance to the Nicene Creed of the bishops of Rome and Alexandria or be handed over for punishment for not doing so.’
Fidelma was shocked. ‘It sounds more like the Faith developed as a matter of political power than an appeal to the spirituality, morals and logic of the people.’
Magister Ado sniffed in disapproval. ‘Sometimes people have to be shown the way.’
‘But not by force, surely?’
‘Oh, come.’ Magister Ado smiled broadly. ‘You are a lawyer in your own land. What is law but telling people how they should behave? And if they do not, aren’t they punished? Isn’t that forcing them to proceed on a moral path in their lives? You cannot appeal to spirituality and morals with those who are greedy and will let nothing stand in their way.’
Fidelma acknowledged that the scholar had a point – although she would argue it was a point that was not without its own moral concerns. However, she decided that it was wise not to pursue the matter further. After all, the man had been attacked twice – apparently because of his adherence to his beliefs. He had a right to them. It was best to avoid being embroiled in theological argument. She was, after all, a stranger in a strange land. Her main desire was simply to see her former mentor, Brother Ruadán, and to bring comfort to the old man in his illness.
Privately, she felt that she could understand why Arius argued that if there was one God Who was everlasting, and Christ was His only begotten son, then Christ, being begotten, must have been created by God. And didn’t the Gospel of John quote Christ as saying that His Father was ‘greater than I’? She was confused. Her own culture had always viewed the ancient gods and goddesses as being triune deities, each having three personalities and three outward appearances. So the Nicene Creed sat more comfortably in her people’s theology than monotheism. She wondered if she could find a copy of Arius’ book, the Thalia, to understand its philosophy more. She rode on, silently musing on the subject.
Their journey proceeded without further incident for a while; through the beautiful valley, following the track alongside the river. Now and then they would stop to water the horses and the mule or take a drink themselves from the pure river waters, or taste some fruit recommended by Sister Gisa from the bushes or trees. Sister Gisa would check occasionally on Brother Faro’s wound. Albeit only a flesh wound, Fidelma knew that harm inflicted by an arrow could be dangerous. Fortunately, the young girl seemed to know how to handle injuries.
It turned out that the two warriors accompanying them were not particularly talkative as they spoke only in the harsh accents of the Longobards and knew very little Latin. But the feeling of danger seemed to have evaporated in the bright warm sunshine, amid the comforting sounds of the splashing of the river and the soft bird calls emanating from the lush green surroundings. It was, Fidelma thought, idyllic as they walked their horses along the river bank.
Just after noon Magister Ado called a halt. The two warriors set about catching some fish, which they were soon lifting with dexterous ease from the river. Sister Gisa went to gather some berries and fruits. A fire was lit over which the fish were cooked and they gathered around to eat and drink on the river bank. It seemed, as Fidelma rested in the sunshine, that they were a million miles from any other human being, least of all from any danger. She felt as if she could just drift – drift off into a relaxing sleep …
The barking of a dog suddenly caused her to sit upright. A squarely built, wiry-coated animal burst through the trees, paused and looked around. It had an almost comical face, with hairy eyebrows and a moustache that almost hid its powerful jaws. It seemed to glance around and then, tail wagging, it trotted towards Sister Gisa, with a faint friendly yelp. Brother Faro started nervously.
‘It is a hunting dog,’ he warned.
The young girl reached out and patted the animal’s head. It seemed to have a docile temperament.
The two warriors had risen to their feet with their hands on their sword hilts. The little dog allowed Sister Gisa to stroke its head before it gave a final yelp, a sniff, and trotted off.
Fidelma seemed to be the only one who realised what made Brother Faro and the warriors nervous about the appearance of the dog.
‘Do you think that there is a hunting party nearby?’ she asked Brother Faro.
Even before he could answer her, the sound of horses and the cries of men came to their ears. A moment more and the first riders emerged through the trees and halted abruptly as they caught sight of the group. One of the riders led a mule and across its back lay the carcass of a red deer which was, apparently, the fruits of the hunt.
Then one of Wulfoald’s warriors stepped forward and called out in his own language. Words were quickly exchanged and Fidelma noticed her companions were visibly relaxing. One of the riders, a young man richly attir
ed in embroidered hunting clothes and short cloak, slid from his white stallion. He was handsome, fair-faced with carefully trimmed corn-coloured hair, but cleanshaven. His eyes were a light blue. He came forward with a smile of greeting, his hand held out to Magister Ado.
‘You are welcome back from your travels, Magister Ado. It is good to see you back again in our peaceful valley.’
His Latin was colloquial but spoken with the firmness of one educated and used to command.
‘You are kind, Lord Radoald,’ acknowledged the elderly religieux.
The blue eyes swept over Brother Faro and Sister Gisa.
‘Ah, little Sister Gisa … and Brother Faro. You are both more than welcome. And …’ The young man frowned, as he noticed Brother Faro’s bandaged arm and shoulder for the first time. ‘But something is amiss. What has befallen you, my friend?’
Magister Ado quickly explained and the young lord looked troubled.
‘It is rare that bandits haunt this valley,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘They usually lie in wait for rich merchants on the old Salt Road and do not enter the Valley of the Trebbia, for such merchants as they seek are few here and they would have to contend with my warriors.’
Brother Faro assured him that he suffered no more than a flesh wound and that he would soon be well. Fidelma wondered whether Magister Ado would make any further explanation or mention the attack in Genua but he seemed content to let the matter rest. ‘It was lucky that Wulfoald and his men arrived at the moment the bandits attacked us,’ he said. ‘He gave us these two warriors to escort us to your fortress, my lord, where we would beg hospitality for tonight.’
‘Hospitality? Of course.’ The blue eyes alighted on Fidelma. ‘And do we have a newcomer to our valley?’ he asked.
‘This is Sister Fidelma of Hibernia.’ Magister Ado performed the introduction. ‘Fidelma, this is Radoald, Lord of Trebbia.’
‘Fidelma of Hibernia?’ The young lord gave her a close scrutiny. ‘Indeed, you have the same fiery red hair, fair skin and strange green eyes that I have seen on some of those I have known from Hibernia. Many from your land have come to join the community of the abbey here. Do you mean to stay with us in our little valley?’
‘I have come only to visit,’ replied Fidelma.
‘Fidelma is a princess from Hibernia,’ Sister Gisa pressed eagerly. ‘Not only that, but she is famous.’
The young lord turned to Sister Gisa with a smile.
‘A princess, and famous, indeed? In what manner famous?’
‘Sister Gisa exaggerates,’ Fidelma said hurriedly.
‘No, I do not. Sister Fidelma is a lawyer in her own land and was recently praised by the Holy Father and his nomenclator. She solved the mystery of the murder of some foreign archbishop which happened in the Lateran Palace.’
Radoald’s eyes widened and then he turned back to Fidelma.
‘Is this so? Did you accomplish this?’
Fidelma shrugged, feeling embarrassed by the praise of the young girl. ‘I will not deny that I was able to help in that matter.’
‘Well, well.’ The young man exchanged a glance with Sister Gisa, who seemed so keen on ensuring that the Lord of Trebbia knew who she was. Fidelma had a feeling that some intimacy passed between them. Then she wondered whether she was being too sensitive. She did not like speaking of her rank or, indeed, her past success as a dálaigh, an advocate of the courts of her own land in which she held the degree of anruth, the second highest degree that the colleges could bestow. The young lord was laughing with good humour. ‘Well, indeed, we have no mysterious deaths here that I could ask your assistance with, lady. But allow me to welcome a Hibernian princess into my poor valley.’
‘I am pleased to be here,’ Fidelma replied as diplomacy dictated.
Radoald swung round to extend his smile of welcome to all of them.
‘My roof is your roof for this night, my friends.’ He spread a hand to encircle his hunting party. His companions had already dismounted and were leading their mounts to the edge of the river to slake their thirst. ‘We were hunting for some meat for this evening’s feasting and, having just brought down a red deer, we came here to the riverside so that we might refresh ourselves before returning home. So now you may join us, and my fortress is yours for this night.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘Well, Magister Ado, you must tell us something of your journey to Tolosa,’ Radoald invited after he had finished quenching his thirst from a goatskin water bag that one of his warriors had filled from the river.
Fidelma had been standing by him and noticed an oddly suspicious look come into the elderly scholar’s eyes.
‘How did you know I had been to Tolosa?’ His voice was unnaturally sharp.
Radoald did not appear to notice his tone. ‘You should know that we are a small community in the valley. News travels quickly.’
Magister Ado was frowning. ‘Then you will know that I went to the Abbey of the Blessed Martyr Saturnin to view a manuscript. It was a boring journey but, Deo gratias, it was a short one.’
‘Ah, I wondered at its shortness. It was surely a long way to go, just to return immediately. You could have barely been there for more than a few days.’
‘You are well informed, Lord Radoald.’
‘I try to be, my friend, especially in these days. However, did you see anything untoward on your travels?’
Fidelma listened to the exchange with interest, although she tried to keep her features expressionless.
‘Untoward?’
‘There are constant rumours that the Franks are plotting against us. Even more rumours of their army crossing into our lands in support of Perctarit.’
‘I saw nothing.’
‘Yet I hear that Tolosa is now a city bathed in darkness, stricken by plague, the flight of its population, and even the great basilica fallen into decay.’
‘That is not so, for I stayed several days there and was able to secure the very book I went there to see, the Life of the Blessed Martyr Saturnin, and thus was able to bring it back with me for our great library at Bobium.’
‘Well, then, that is good news.’ Radoald glanced round to check that his men had finished watering their horses, as if his questions had been no more than a passing interest. But Fidelma thought that something lay behind his queries.
‘Who is Perctarit?’ she decided to inquire.
Radoald turned to answer her. ‘He used to be King of the Longobards, a cruel and despotic man who was eventually overthrown and fled for protection to the land of the Franks.’ His tone was serious and he seemed to be fighting some angry emotion. Then he relaxed again and said, ‘We shall not delay here any longer.’
‘Is your fortress far?’ she asked.
‘We will reach it well before sundown.’
‘And is Bobium nearby?’
‘Less than half a day’s ride further on, not much more. Bobium is a beacon of the true faith in these mountains. I am sure you will have many questions to ask about this land, Fidelma of Hibernia, but let us move on to where we can enjoy the fruits of our hunt, sample our local wine and talk of these matters. And, of course, the sooner we are there, the sooner my physician can attend to Brother Faro, although I think little Gisa’s attentions have been enough.’
She followed his nod to where Sister Gisa was sitting next to Brother Faro deep in conversation. From the intimacy of his reference, Fidelma had gathered the impression that Radoald knew Gisa well. How? She supposed that it was a small valley community. Perhaps in that lay the answer.
The young Lord of Trebbia clapped his hands and called for everyone to mount, and it was not long before the party set off. Radoald invited Fidelma to ride alongside him. She soon realised that it was an excuse for him to interrogate her without anyone overhearing.
‘Have you known Magister Ado for long?’ was his opening question.
‘For a few days on this journey, if that is knowing anyone,’ she replied. ‘We met in Genua.’
&nb
sp; She felt rather than saw the young lord glance at her before he said: ‘But you knew of him before?’
‘I am a stranger here,’ she said evenly. ‘As Sister Gisa said, I was returning from Rome to my own land when my ship was wrecked. I was some days in Genua looking for a vessel when I met Magister Ado.’ Something made her decide not to offer any details of the meeting. ‘He told me of the Abbey of Bobium and mentioned that Brother Ruadán was a member of the community there. Brother Ruadán was once my tutor and mentor in my own land. So I accepted an offer to accompany Magister Ado and his companions to Bobium in order that I could see my mentor one last time.’
‘Brother Ruadán?’ Radoald was interested. ‘Were you one of his pupils?’
‘I was. I was very young and then went on to study law.’
‘Brother Ruadán has been outspoken against some of the bishops who live to the east of this valley.’
‘In what context?’
‘He criticises their interpretation of the Faith, their support for the profligate nobles there and their way of life, their drinking, wenching … all manner of their lives he condemned, and that will not bring him friends.’
‘Perhaps he feels that he does not need such friends,’ she said dryly.
‘Have you been told that Brother Ruadán was attacked and badly beaten?’
‘It was that which prompted me to leave Genua and journey here with my new companions from Bobium. Do you have more recent news on his condition?’
‘He still lives but his condition is bad.’
‘And do you know how this happened?’
‘I am told that he used to travel to Placentia, a city to the north of here, and preach in the basilica of Antoninus … I am afraid Brother Ruadán created riots by his preaching. He called the Bishop of Placentia, Bishop Britmund, an ass.’
Fidelma raised an eyebrow. ‘An ass?’
‘He said that an illiterate bishop is only an ass with a mitre. A cleric, he said, is of himself not someone to admire unless he possess virtue and knowledge.’
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