Behold a Pale Horse

by Peter Tremayne

  Fidelma stared at her in surprise. ‘To warn me?’ she repeated.

  ‘You do not belong here, lady. It is best that you leave this valley as soon as possible.’

  ‘I do not understand. As for belonging, my countrymen established this abbey. My good friend and mentor, Brother Ruadán, is the reason that I came here in the first place. He is old and, I am told, is not much longer for this world. I intend to leave in my own time.’

  Lady Gunora clasped her hands in front of her and looked sad. ‘I meant no insult. But I fear the coming storm, lady, which might sweep all things from its path – this abbey, this valley … everything.’

  ‘I still don’t understand.’

  ‘These years have seen much bloodshed across these mountains and valleys. His father,’ she nodded to the sleeping Romuald, ‘is not a bad king, but he had to fight his way to power at the cost of much blood. Even at this moment he is in the south of this land keeping our enemies there at bay. Now we hear that the former joint king Perctarit has recrossed the great mountains from Frankia and is coming to seek vengeance.’

  ‘I have heard these stories from Magister Ado and others,’ Fidelma confirmed.

  Lady Gunora gave a brief smile. ‘Magister Ado? Many good things are said of him. But do not trust anyone. Not the abbot, nor Ado, nor Ionas. There is evil here, lady. That is what I wanted to warn you of and to entreat you to leave at once.’

  Fidelma was quiet for a moment or so. What the woman was saying was more or less what poor old Brother Ruadán had said. Now she was really intrigued.

  ‘Do you know Brother Ruadán?’ she asked suddenly.

  Lady Gunora nodded quickly. ‘Most people from here to Placentia know of him, for in spite of his age, he has travelled many a road bringing the true Faith.’

  ‘So you are no follower of Arius?’

  ‘You know of this conflict?’ Once again she looked to the sleeping boy. ‘His father, Grimoald, believes in the teachings of Arius of Alexandria. But he married a woman who upholds the Creed of Nicaea and the authority of the Holy Father in Rome. Grimoald rules with a liberal hand. So far as his rule is concerned, it is left to individuals to follow the Faith in whatever way they wish. But it will be better if the boy does not fall into the hands of Perctarit.’

  ‘And you think that if the followers of Arius get hold of the boy, they will betray him to this Perctarit? That sounds illogical, if his father is of their faith.’

  ‘I know it, lady. Religion has nothing to do with it. Power is everything. Britmund and his lackey Godomar would do anything in the hope they can persuade Perctarit to grant favours. Grimoald has already made clear he will not support one side over another in this theological argument. Beware of Bishop Britmund, lady. He is an ambitious man.’

  ‘Yet he is a man of the Faith, sworn to follow the path of Christ, which is peace.’

  Lady Gunora uttered an ugly laugh that surprised Fidelma.

  ‘Peace? I often wonder why we have cast out the old gods and goddesses. Did not the Christ say, according to the words of Matthew, “I am not come to send peace on earth; I come not to send peace but a sword … to set man at variance with his father and daughter against mother, and daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. He that loves his father and mother more than me is not worthy of me, and he that loves his son and daughter more than me is not worthy of me.” Peace? Are those the words of a peace-maker? Are those the words that men such as Britmund roar to entice people to take arms against one another?’

  Fidelma hesitated; she was astonished by the words and, not having heard them before, decided she must look up this text.

  ‘Do you not feel safe here?’ she asked.

  ‘I am afraid for the Prince. He is the responsibility that his mother gave to me before she left to join Grimoald in the south. I fear for his safety, just as I fear there is a storm of blood approaching. I just wanted to warn you, Fidelma of Hibernia, to leave this place as soon as you can.’

  Fidelma found herself outside the door in a black mood. It seemed everyone was warning her. But she had a purpose to fulfil and, perhaps, that would provide her with the answer to it. She looked along the corridor. Sitting on a stool at the end of it, with the fluttering lamp at his feet, sat Brother Wulfila. His hands were folded across his stomach and he seemed to be nodding sleepily. Even if he were sound asleep, there was no way of getting past him without disturbance. She stood for a moment, her lips compressed in annoyance. Well, there was no question of pursuing her intention. She would wait until the morning and hope that Brother Wulfila would leave his sentinel’s post early.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Fidelma was up, washed and dressed before first light. She left her room silently, pausing to glance up and down the corridor. She hoped that Brother Wulfila had decided, with dawn approaching, that there was no need to keep guard in the corridor outside Lady Gunora’s chamber. There was no sign of anyone. She took her leather-soled sandals from her feet, so that their sound would not alert anyone, shivering for a moment as she felt the cold stone of the flags on her soles. She could hear the faint movements of the abbey stirring to life and moved cautiously forward, still holding her sandals in one hand.

  She was passing the chamber where she had spoken with Lady Gunora the night before when she paused with a puzzled frown. The door of the chamber was slightly ajar. All was quiet. She pushed it open and glanced inside. The room was empty and there were signs of a hurried departure. A chair was overturned, and blankets and pillows were still strewn on the floor. But there was no sign of any personal possessions nor bags, which she had seen when Lady Gunora had invited her inside.

  Fidelma examined the room closely. Lady Gunora and the young prince had obviously vacated the chamber in great haste. Then, recalling that she had a more important mission than getting involved in this new mystery, Fidelma drew the door back to its original position and made her way cautiously to the end of the passage. There was no sign of Brother Wulfila. The passages were deserted. She encountered no one on the way to Brother Ruadán’s chamber.

  Fidelma entered the room quietly. It was now bathed in a soft early-morning light. The frail form of Brother Ruadán lay still on the bed, his breath shallow and asthmatic.

  ‘Brother Ruadán,’ she whispered as loudly as she could.

  The breath caught for a moment. At least it showed that Brother Ruadán was awake and had heard her. The old face on the pillow turned slowly towards her. She moved to the side of the bed.

  ‘It is I, Fidelma.’

  ‘You came back?’ The words emerged in a difficult, wheezy fashion. ‘I … I thought I had dreamed your being here yesterday.’

  She sat down on the edge of the bed and took one of his cold, parchment-textured hands in her own.

  ‘I am here. You seemed agitated when I came before.’

  ‘Is there anyone with you? I cannot see clearly.’ The pale eyes darted nervously around the room.

  ‘We are entirely alone,’ she assured him. ‘What troubles you?’

  ‘What are you doing here – here in Bobium?’

  ‘I was travelling to Massilia but my ship was damaged in a storm. So I was stranded in Genua. I met Magister Ado and was told that you were here in this abbey and so I came to visit you. I am distressed to find you so unwell.’

  There was a long, wheezy sigh from the old man.

  ‘I am distressed that you should find me at all. My time is nearly done. There is evil here and, I fear, much danger. Be advised, return to Genua as soon as you can. Continue your journey home and forget this place.’

  ‘And desert you to this evil without help? Come, tell me what this is all about and I will see if I can help you.’

  ‘There is no help for me,’ the sick man whispered. ‘I shall soon be at rest. I have one thing to ask of you …’

  ‘Whatever I can do for my old master, I shall do,’ replied Fidelma firmly.

  ‘When you return home, light a candle in the little chapel on Inis Celtra
and pray for the repose of my soul.’

  ‘You are not dead yet,’ she averred in a strong tone, trying to fight back the tears that were welling in her eyes.

  ‘By the time you reach Genua, I shall be so,’ he sighed.

  There was a sound from the corridor outside, the slap of leather sandals on stone as one of the brethren passed by. Fidelma felt the old hand gain a sudden strength as it caught on her own.

  ‘You must believe me, Fidelma.’ The voice was a hoarse whisper. ‘For the love I bore your late father, King Failbe Flann, believe me. I fear you will be in danger. They tried to kill me. They have already killed the boy to maintain his silence. They will not think twice about killing you. They know I have seen the gold. They know I suspect them – that is why I shall soon be dead.’

  ‘The boy?’ Fidelma was suddenly aghast. ‘Do you mean Prince Romuald?’

  The old man shook his head with a vehemence of which Fidelma had not thought him capable.

  ‘No, no, no. I mean the goatherd.’

  Fidelma was confused. ‘The goatherd? Who are “they” and why should a goatherd be killed? Tell me what you mean.’

  The figure again gave a deep wheezy sigh. ‘I grow tired and weak. I am confused. The less you know, the better. Just leave this place as soon as you can.’

  ‘Are you saying that you expect to be killed by whoever it is you speak of?’ she insisted.

  ‘Killed?’ muttered Brother Ruadán in an absent-minded tone. ‘The boy … poor little Wamba. He did not deserve to die because he had the coins. Dead. Ancient gold – I saw it. What evil can be disguised in a mausoleum.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  There was another noise in the corridor and this time she heard the voice of Brother Hnikar speaking loudly to someone. It was obvious that it would be better if the apothecary did not find her in the cubiculum of Brother Ruadán. She leaned over her former tutor.

  ‘I will come back later when there is less likelihood of being interrupted. Then we will talk more of this, Brother Ruadán,’ she whispered in his ear. She placed his hand back by his side and moved silently towards the door, pausing and listening at it without opening it.

  The voice of Brother Hnikar had grown faint but she could still hear it not far away. She carefully opened the door a fraction and peered through the crack. There was no one in her range of vision so she opened it wider and glanced out. Some short distance along the passage a door was open and it was from there she could hear the voice of the apothecary. She slid into the corridor and gently closed the door behind her and then moved quickly along to where another corridor branched off at a right angle. Only when she turned into it and was thus obscured from the vision of Brother Hnikar, if he returned to the main corridor, did she relax a little.

  She paused for a moment, frowning. Instead of resolving her original questions, she was now filled with many more and she felt frustrated. A bell started to sound and members of the brethren were now moving about. Two of them passed her, glancing down at her feet with some degree of amusement. It was only then that she noticed that she was still holding her sandals in one hand and that her feet were bare. Embarrassed, she slipped the sandals on before realising that the tolling of the bell announced the first meal of the day. She followed the brethren, knowing they would lead her to the refectorium.

  She saw Brother Bladulf, the gatekeeper, coming towards her. He stopped and bowed his head in salutation.

  ‘I was coming to make sure you knew your way, Sister.’ He turned, guiding her to the hall. She was led to the abbot’s table. It was deserted apart from the Venerable Ionas. She glanced quickly around the refectorium. Sister Gisa was with her fellow Sisters in their corner and Brother Faro was in his place. Of Bishop Britmund and his companion there was no sign. She exchanged a greeting with Venerable Ionas and sat down. The old scholar rose and, in the absence of the abbot, intoned the gratias or grace. Then he sat down and there was a single chime of the bell and the meal began.

  ‘Is it unusual that so many senior clerics are missing from the first meal of the day?’ she asked.

  Venerable Ionas smiled. ‘It is unusual,’ he agreed. ‘A rider has brought word that Lord Radoald is expected soon and Abbot Servillius is making preparations for the meeting. Personally, I do not think there can be any satisfactory outcome.’

  Fidelma had heard enough of the problems between the factions and concentrated on her meal. She was leaving the hall when there came the unexpected sound of a trumpet. She had emerged at the top of steps leading to the courtyard just in time to see Brother Wulfila hurrying to the gates of the abbey. As she stood watching, Abbot Servillius with Venerable Ionas beside him appeared on the steps.

  Four horsemen entered through the gates and halted in the courtyard. Their leader was immediately recognisable as Radoald, Lord of Trebbia, and behind him, on his pale-grey steed, was the warrior Wulfoald. They all dismounted, and while Lord Radoald and Wulfoald came forward, the others took charge of the horses. The abbot hurried down to greet the newcomers. Fidelma remained at the head of the steps. She observed that Bishop Britmund and his companion had also emerged to greet the Lord of Trebbia and Wulfoald. The abbot was leading the newcomers back and Radoald, catching sight of Fidelma, raised a hand in greeting but passed on without speaking. Wulfoald merely glanced distantly at her. Greetings were being exchanged with Bishop Britmund and Brother Godomar and then they all moved inside.

  Fidelma stood uncertainly, wondering what to do next. Brother Faro had been speaking with another of the brethren and, ending his conversation, came towards her. She noticed that he was still wearing his arm in a sling.

  ‘How is your wound today, Brother?’ Fidelma smiled in greeting.

  ‘God be praised, Sister, it is much, much better. A little sore but healing exactly as Brother Hnikar foretold.’

  ‘I am pleased to hear it.’

  Magister Ado had appeared and, looking about, came directly towards them. Immediately, Brother Faro said nervously: ‘If you will both excuse me, I am reminded that I have to meet with—that I have to see someone.’

  Fidelma watched him hurrying away with some surprise but Magister Ado came to a halt beside her and gave a soft chuckle.

  ‘The boy is in love,’ he explained softly.

  ‘Sister Gisa?’

  ‘It is obvious,’ affirmed the elderly religieux. ‘While there is no restriction about consorting, Abbot Servillius, as you know, is of the school that favours the segregation of the sexes in the religious life. Poor Gisa and Faro, they try hard to maintain their secret. Thankfully, Abbot Servillius is not so perceptive in that field.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘It is a good day, Sister Fidelma,’ Magister Ado said, changing the subject and glancing at the bright blue canopy of the sky. ‘I would have suggested that you might like to take the opportunity to see the abbey’s herbarium. We are very proud of our herb garden. It is tended by one of the Hibernian brethren that are still among us – Brother Lonán. Better to be out on a day like this than inside in gloom.’

  ‘This might not be the best time to absent oneself in the gardens,’ observed Fidelma. ‘However, you used a conditional form. You would have suggested it but for what?’

  Magister Ado was amused. ‘You do have a sharp ear. But I think I shall be called to take part in this meeting, which will be a waste of time.’

  ‘You seem sure of that. I mean, that it will be a waste of time.’

  ‘I am certain of it. Trying to make peace with Britmund is like trying to catch an eel with your bare hands.’

  Brother Wulfila emerged from the main door, glanced round and came hurrying towards them, slightly out of breath.

  ‘Magister Ado, the meeting is about to begin and the abbot requests your presence immediately in his chamber.’ Then, to her surprise, he turned to Fidelma. ‘The abbot especially asks for your presence as well, Sister Fidelma.’

  ‘As I said, a waste of time, but for the sake of Lord R
adoald, we must pretend,’ muttered Magister Ado as he led the way after the scurrying form of Brother Wulfila.

  When the steward showed them into the abbot’s chamber they found Radoald and Wulfoald there with Venerable Ionas. Bishop Britmund and his companion Brother Godomar were also present. Abbot Servillius had, surprisingly, vacated his chair to allow Radoald to be centrally seated with Wulfoald, the young warrior, standing behind him. On the left, Bishop Britmund sat, with his companion behind him. Abbot Servillius, with Venerable Ionas, were seated on his right, facing them. As they entered, the abbot signalled to Magister Ado to seat himself to his left. Brother Wulfila guided Fidelma to a seat at the end of the chamber and sat next to her. Bishop Britmund watched her, brows gathered in a frown of disapproval.

  Lord Radoald gave a quick glance, encompassing them all. ‘As you were informed, Bishop Britmund has come to this place, at my request to see if there are ways, if not of agreeing with the different interpretations of the Faith, then at least finding a consensus by which some of the antagonisms that have prevailed in this valley may be overcome. A modus vivendi of obtaining peace. I sit here as your civil lord, sworn to maintain the peace of this valley. It is now up to you, Abbot Servillius, and to you Bishop Britmund, to agree how we may take this forward.’

  Bishop Britmund, features set in harsh lines, immediately indicated Fidelma. ‘What is that Hibernian woman doing here?’ he snapped.

  In fact, Fidelma was about to ask the same question.

  ‘The presence of the Lady Fidelma of Hibernia was requested by myself,’ replied Lord Radoald in an easy tone. ‘In this matter Abbot Servillius agreed.’

  Fidelma herself was surprised at the answer.

  ‘Requested? The bishop’s tone rose, showing his annoyance. ‘Why so? I thought Abbot Servillius disagreed with women taking any degree of office in the churches and, furthermore, believed in the segregation of the sexes. What trickery is this? Does the woman practise witchery over you?’

  Fidelma had not liked the bishop previously and now she found a resentment growing within her. She was about to speak when Radoald responded.