Behold a Pale Horse

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘I speak as I find,’ replied the bishop indifferently. ‘The old man provoked the attack himself by preaching those ideas which we find repugnant in Placentia. He should have kept out of our city.’

  ‘If you find his preaching so repugnant, Britmund, why do you enter here, into this abbey which you call heretical?’

  ‘I am here, reluctantly, at the invitation of the Lord Radoald.’

  There was a collective gasp among the brethren in the hall.

  ‘An invitation from Lord Radoald of Trebbia?’ asked Magister Ado sharply.

  Bishop Britmund smiled thinly at him. ‘I know of no other lord of this valley … yet.’

  ‘And why would Lord Radoald ask you to come here?’ demanded the abbot.

  ‘We left him only this morning, having enjoyed his hospitality last night,’ intervened the Magister Ado. ‘He made no mention of such a request to me.’

  ‘I am not privy to Lord Radoald’s thoughts as to why he should not mention the matter to you, Ado,’ replied Bishop Britmund. ‘Perhaps he is aware of your facility to use all means in your power to attack those of my faith. However, being lord of this valley, he says he desires peace between those of your creed and those of mine. He asked me to come here so that you, Servillius, and I may discuss a common ground under him as mediator. I am told that he should be at the abbey at first light tomorrow to facilitate these discussions.’

  ‘It would have been better had he informed us of your impending arrival,’ muttered Abbot Servillius, ‘and the subject of your coming.’

  A look of triumph seemed to flit across his features as Bishop Britmund regarded the abbot. ‘Perhaps he thought that you might absent yourself from any discussion had you had warning of it?’

  Abbot Servillius’ jaw tightened. ‘I would never absent myself from any debate on the true Faith,’ he grunted.

  ‘Then I and my companion shall expect the hospitality of this abbey for as long as these discussions take.’

  Abbot Servillius looked towards Brother Wulfila, seated on the other side of Fidelma, before he answered. ‘Our evening meal is in progress. You are welcome to join us. Afterwards, we may make the necessary arrangements.’

  Bishop Britmund bowed ironically towards the abbot, as if he had enjoyed the verbal duel. Then he moved away with Brother Godomar to the empty seats which had been indicated. It was at this moment that Fidelma became aware that Sister Gisa had risen from her place and was trying to attract the attention of the steward. There were some sharp exchanges and she saw the girl press a paper into Brother Wulfila’s hand. The steward examined it and muttered something before rising and going to the abbot’s side. Abbot Servillius glanced at the paper and his face grew grim. There was a further exchange and the steward returned and seemed to instruct Sister Gisa to sit back down in her place.

  As the abbot was whispering intently to Magister Ado, Fidelma turned to the Venerable Ionas. ‘Who is this Bishop Britmund?’ She knew she had heard the name before and was trying to recall when.

  ‘He is an Arian, a follower of Arius, and an enemy to our abbey,’ answered the old scholar, who was clearly troubled. ‘He is Bishop of Placentia, a town which lies beyond the mouth of the valley by the great River Padus. He and our abbot are almost sworn enemies. Many of our brethren have been attacked when trying to preach in Placentia.’

  ‘Including Brother Ruadán?’ she asked.

  ‘Including Brother Ruadán,’ he replied quietly.

  Abbot Servillius then turned to Venerable Ionas and spoke swiftly to him. The abbot was looking worried. Having ended his conversation with the Venerable Ionas, he rose and went to have a whispered exchange with Lady Gunora. Next he came to Brother Wulfila, who respectfully rose from his seat. Fidelma could hear their whispers behind her.

  ‘You will have to find somewhere for the bishop and his companion to stay. Anywhere but in the guest-house.’

  ‘Not the guest-house?’

  ‘It would be wise to keep the bishop and his companion as far apart from Lady Gunora and her charge as possible.’

  ‘Of course, Father Abbot. I will arrange accommodation in the west tower.’ It seemed that the steward was no longer interested in his food because he left the refectorium to fulfil his task. Fidelma had observed that these movements were not lost on the dark eyes of Bishop Britmund, who had followed the abbot with an expression almost of derision on his features. Fidelma leaned towards the Venerable Ionas.

  ‘Did this Bishop Britmund have a hand in the injuries suffered by Brother Ruadán?’

  ‘Not personally,’ the elderly scholar assured her. ‘Britmund is a man who preaches with the violence of words against those who hold to the Nicene Creed. He lights a fire in the mind and lets the people do the rest.’

  ‘The abbot obviously fears he might intend harm to the young prince.’

  ‘It is possible,’ admitted the Venerable Ionas reluctantly.

  ‘But the boy is the son of his own king!’ She found the idea incredible.

  ‘There is rumour that Bishop Britmund is a supporter of Perctarit, the enemy of Grimoald.’

  ‘Then you believe he is here for a purpose other than discussing matters of Faith?’

  The scholar smiled sadly. ‘That is exactly what I do believe. I think he came here to learn if the prince had truly been given sanctuary here.’

  ‘The logic would be that Lord Radoald has some hand in this.’ Fidelma was recalling the exchange she had witnessed during the night at Radoald’s fortress. ‘It is strange that the abbot was not informed of this meeting to which Bishop Britmund has been summoned.’

  Venerable Ionas nodded. ‘We should have been. It seems that Lord Radoald had written him a note which was entrusted to Sister Gisa to deliver. She neglected to do so — until Britmund’s arrival reminded her. Doubtless, she will be reprimanded. But Radoald is trustworthy. His family have always been strong supporters of Grimoald and this abbey. Radoald has only been Lord of Trebbia for a few years. He went off to fight with his father, Lord Billo, in Grimoald’s wars. The father did not return and thus Radoald became Lord. Billo was a great loss. He was a very cultured man, well read and with a good musical ability. However, Lord Radoald aspires to rule the valley as his father would have done.’

  Fidelma reflected for a moment and then said, ‘The bishop was curiously satisfied to see Magister Ado in the abbey.’

  ‘Magister Ado is no friend of his,’ replied Venerable Ionas. ‘Therefore, like others in this abbey, we have to be careful of this wolf in bishop’s clothing.’

  Abbot Servillius overheard the last part of the conversation and now entered it with a serious smile. ‘There are many things that I would not put past Britmund. He is a fanatic. However, it is his words that beget violence – he would not use physical violence himself. At least we are warned and shall keep a close watch on our unwelcome guests.’

  Fidelma glanced across to where Bishop Britmund and his companion were eating with apparent unconcern at the furore they had created. There being nothing else to do, Fidelma continued to finish her meal and, as it came to an end, Brother Wulfila reappeared. He approached the abbot and she could hear him say softly, ‘It has all been arranged, Father Abbot. A chamber has been prepared for the bishop while his companion may sleep in the main dormitory.’

  ‘And … ?’ prompted the abbot, glancing up at him.

  ‘I have ensured that the bishop and his companion are placed far away from Lady Gunora and the prince. Brother Bladulf and I will take it in turns to be outside their chamber during the night and keep watch.’

  ‘That is good. A blessing on you,’ muttered the abbot.

  Fidelma watched Brother Wulfila hurry away. Venerable Ionas saw the frown on her face. ‘Brother Wulfila is a good man, even though he has been with us but a short time. He is a former military man who still thinks in such terms, but perhaps that is what is needed in being steward of an abbey.’

  ‘It seems dramatic,’ replied Fidelma.

 
‘You are a stranger here, lady,’ Venerable Ionas pointed out. ‘Abbot Servillius is answerable for the boy’s safety to his father, the King.’

  ‘You take this threat that seriously?’ she pressed.

  ‘We must be prepared,’ the old scholar answered.

  Without further ado, the abbot rose and raised his hand. A silence fell among the brethren. Then Abbot Servillius intoned the words of the dismissal and the meal ended with two chimes on the bell.

  Fidelma was expected to accompany the brethren to the chapel for the last service of the day. She hesitated at first, wondering whether it might not be the ideal moment to seize the opportunity to speak again to Brother Ruadán without the presence of Brother Hnikar. She was curious to find out what he had meant by his warning of evil and his insistence that she leave the abbey at once. But then she realised that her absence would be immediately noticed and commented on. In fact, Sister Gisa made a point of joining her so that she could accompany her to the section of the chapel set aside for the Sisters of the community. The girl was obviously upset at her lapse of memory.

  ‘I had the note in my marsupium,’ she confided in Fidelma. ‘I meant to hand it over straight way, but Brother Wulfila annoyed me by dismissing me at the gates and I forgot all about the note until this evening.’

  Fidelma distracted her by seeking information about the chapel. Once settled in the building, Fidelma realised that Lady Gunora and her charge were not in attendance. She caught sight of Bishop Britmund also peering around as if trying to identify them.

  Fidelma found the rituals curious in that she had expected the famous abbey to manifest some of the rules and practices with which she was familiar. After all, Columbanus had established the abbey and she had presumed he had done so on the rules he had brought from the Five Kingdoms. Then she recalled that he seemed to favour the Penitentials. Any resemblances to the rules and laws of her own land were no longer recognisable. She also remembered that Magister Ado had told her that the abbey had adopted the Rule of Benedict.

  She noticed other differences too, such as the abbot conducting the service from the front of the altar and not from behind it, and the language of the liturgy being the Latin of the day and not the original Greek of the Gospels. After the service, she found out from Sister Gisa that many years ago, Pope Theodore had recognised the abbots of Bobium as bishops, and made them powerful among the church leaders. It was no wonder that Abbot Servillius scorned the anger of Bishop Britmund. When the abbot came to conduct the service, Fidelma saw that he wore a mitre, a ceremonial headdress named from the Greek word, which was not used in the churches of Hibernia. Abbots and bishops wore crowns instead of mitres, although they did carry a pastoral stick known as the cambutta.

  In most churches and abbeys of her land, the Mass was not a daily occurrence but usually conducted only on a Sunday, and then at daybreak rather than at any other time. It was as she was considering these matters that Fidelma realised that she truly felt what she was – a stranger in a strange land. She had a sense of not belonging which she had never felt with such depth before, even when she was in the kingdom of the Angles or during the time she had spent in Rome. She knew that it was logical to feel homesick, yet there was something else that made her mood black and created a longing to be elsewhere.

  She realised, suddenly and with some surprise, that she was missing the companionship of Brother Eadulf. She felt uncomfortable, for she did not want to admit that she missed the company of the Saxon monk, his sense of humour and the pertinence of his comments. She smiled as she acknowledged that he would protest that he was an Angle, not a Saxon, coming from the land of the South Folk at Seaxmund’s Ham. To her eyes, whether people were Angle or Saxon, they were both Saxon, both Sasanach. To Eadulf there was always a difference and he pointed out that the various kingdoms carved out on the island of Britain were divided by such differences, and Angle and Saxon were often at war with one another.

  Fidelma found herself sighing, unable to shake the curious feeling of isolation. She was roused from her reverie on hearing the abbot intoning the words: ‘Ite, missa est’ which announced the end of the service.

  As she was leaving the chapel with Sister Gisa, they passed Bishop Britmund and his companion, Brother Godomar. The bishop’s black pebble eyes seemed to fasten on them. Then she realised that the man’s gaze was fixed on her companion rather than herself. Fidelma felt Sister Gisa shiver slightly at her side. She said quickly: ‘You will forgive me, Sister Fidelma. I have duties to fulfil. I will bid you a good night.’ So saying, she turned and hurried off across the courtyard and out of the abbey gates. Puzzled, Fidelma turned back and saw that the bishop and his companion had waylaid the Venerable Ionas and their voices were tinged with barely controlled anger. She presumed it was a continuance of the argument of their different theologies.

  Now she began to realise that ever since she had reached the abbey, there had been this underlying sense of evil; a menacing atmosphere which she could not analyse exactly. She had never known that brooding feeling before, even though she had come across evil many times in her career as a dálaigh, an advocate in the courts of the Five Kingdoms. Since she had qualified to the level of anruth, one degree below the second highest that the secular and ecclesiastical colleges of Ireland could bestow, she had come across bizarre murders and crimes which she had been able to resolve, sometimes under threat of her own life. It had taken her eight years of study at the school of the Brehon Morann at Tara and she had never felt happier than when faced with a mystery to resolve. But now – now she was unsure what the mystery was. It seemed to simply be the threat of violence between two sects who could not agree whether God existed as one entity or as three.

  If she was honest, she was not passionate about the matter; not even passionate about religion. For Fidelma, her passion was law and the principles of justice. Why, then, had she become a religieuse? She might have been the daughter of Failbe Flann, the King of Muman, but her father had died when she was hardly more than a baby, and the kingship had passed to her cousin. Kingship in her land was just as much an electoral system as it was hereditary from the bloodline of the last legal King. That was why her brother, Colgú, was the heir apparent to the kingship and not King. It meant that she had determined to make her own way, using her gifts in law, rather than beg some office from her cousin.

  It had been an elderly cousin, Laisran, Abbot of Darú, who had suggested that she join the Abbey of Cill Dara – the Abbey of the Blessed Brigit – as many professionals often did. They had need of someone with legal qualifications. She did so, with almost immediate regret, and soon after left the abbey to accept commissions to represent the prelates of the Five Kingdoms who sought the use of her talents. The last commission had entailed a pilgrimage to Rome to present an abbey Rule for the Holy Father’s approval. And thus she had found herself here in Bobium. The only positive development in her journeying had been to attend the Council at Streonshalh, among the Angles, where a debate had taken place between those who favoured the Rule of Rome and those who wanted to maintain the Rule of Colm Cille. That was when she had first met Eadulf.

  She compressed her lips for a moment, wondering why she kept thinking about Eadulf. He believed in the Rule of Rome. Not that it bothered her, but it was not what she had been raised to believe. She was confused. She did not really care either way. There were those who believed in one God, Who begat the Son and the Holy Spirit, and those who believed that God was Three in One. Surely, there was no need to kill one another over that?

  She suddenly shivered. The hour was growing late and she had been sitting on a stone bench in the courtyard, absorbed in her reflections. She glanced around almost with guilt. A few torches had been lit to illuminate the courtyard but there was no one about. She realised that she had been interrupted in her intention to see Brother Ruadán. Now she tried to remember the way to his sick-chamber, but found that she only knew the way to it from her own chamber.

  She went swiftly
along the passages and stairs that led to her quarters in the guest-hostel, paused before her door, then took a deep breath and moved on. She was halfway down the dark stone passageway when a door opened right beside her. There was no hiding as the light shone out into the gloom of the passage, directly on to her.

  Almost at once, a voice called from further along the passage: ‘Who is it? Is aught amiss?’

  She recognised Brother Wulfila, as the steward came hurrying forward, holding a lamp in his hand. She had forgotten that he had said that he and the gatekeeper would stand watch outside Lady Gunora’s chamber.

  ‘It is all right,’ Lady Gunora’s voice echoed across her shoulder. Fidelma glanced up. The Lady Gunora was standing in the doorway. The steward had turned and gone back to his position at the end of the passage. Fidelma almost sighed with relief, for had she passed to the end of the corridor it would have been difficult for her to explain herself to Brother Wulfila.

  ‘Sister Fidelma – or should I say Lady Fidelma? I would speak with you.’

  Fidelma inclined her head to the Longobard noblewoman. ‘I have no preference other than Fidelma,’ she smiled.

  The woman glanced up and down the corridor and then said, ‘Come in for a moment in case we disturb Brother Wulfila again. The abbot recommends him highly. He was a warrior in the war against Perctarit, so takes his job as a guard seriously.’

  Fidelma had no option but to step inside the chamber. Young Prince Romuald lay on a bed in a corner, fast asleep. Another bed, presumably for the use of Lady Gunora, stood in the other corner but it showed no sign of having been disturbed.

  ‘How may I help you, lady?’ asked Fidelma, keeping her voice low.

  Lady Gunora paused for a moment as if trying to think of the correct way of expressing her thoughts. ‘I just wanted to warn you, Fidelma. You are the daughter of a king and we of noble blood have a duty to one another.’