Behold a Pale Horse

by Peter Tremayne

  Fidelma reached forward and placed a hand on the woman’s arm.

  ‘We are most grateful for your help, Hawisa.’

  ‘I ask you not to damage the little cairn. Someone did so between yesterday and this morning when I went to pray.’

  ‘We will not damage it,’ Fidelma promised, then she frowned. ‘What sort of damage?’ she asked.

  ‘The stones were knocked aside,’ replied Hawisa.

  ‘Oh. Perhaps it was some animal then?’

  ‘Not so. I built the cairn around a small wooden box in which poor Wamba used to keep a few things he prized. Coloured beads, stones and his favourite pipe.’

  ‘Pipe?’ queried Fidelma.

  ‘Most lads play pipes on the mountain. Simple things. It was only a rough box that he had made himself. Someone has taken it, and a curse on their soul for doing so. They are a disgrace to their cloth.’

  Fidelma stared at the woman. ‘Their cloth? What makes you say that?’

  Brother Eolann seemed to have some difficulty with translating. ‘A neighbour saw a man in religious robes taking the box and climbing down to his horse.’

  ‘It was taken by a religieux?’

  ‘Someone looking like a religieux,’ added Brother Eolann hurriedly.

  ‘Did this neighbour describe him or his horse?’ Fidelma waited impatiently for Brother Eolann to pose the question.

  ‘The neighbour could see no more,’ said Eolann, after a further exchange. ‘I asked where this neighbour was and she says that he has gone to the market of Travo and will be gone for some days.’

  Fidelma thought for a moment and then rose slowly. ‘We will not damage the cairn. Be assured.’

  ‘Then I would be grateful for your blessing and your prayers before you leave. Forgive a grieving mother for my sharpness.’

  It was Brother Eolann who intoned the prayers in the local language before they bade farewell to the woman and followed the path indicated by her.

  Although they were high on the mountain, they were still within the treeline, where tall beech trees interspersed with rowan were still dominant. Here and there were other trees which reminded Fidelma of oak, but were different. She had noticed these curious oaks before. She took the opportunity to ask Brother Eolann if he knew what they were. He told her that they were called turkey-oak and were native to the area. Here and there, birds flitted from branch to branch and she caught sight of white and yellow wagtails and sparrow-hawks.

  Brother Eolann cast a glance at the sky, saying, ‘We mustn’t delay in reaching the sanctuary at the top. It will not be very long before twilight is upon us.’

  ‘Are there dangerous animals on the mountain if we do not make it and have to encamp for the night?’

  ‘In terms of big animals, I have seen foxes and wolves. But the one thing I hate is something that is not seen in our land.’

  ‘Which is?’ asked Fidelma curiously.

  ‘There is a snake called a vipera; its bite can be dangerous, for it injects a poison.’

  Fidelma shivered a moment and glanced around her feet. ‘I have heard of the like but never encountered one.’

  ‘I have only once seen one,’ confided Brother Eolann. ‘Brother Lonán found it in the herbarium last autumn. It was curled up basking in the sun. He tried to pick it up, thinking it was a slow-worm, and it bit him and he was in pain for several days. Thankfully, Brother Hnikar had some potion and told Lonán to go and lie down and not to exert himself, for the action would carry the venom through his body. He recovered but it took many days.’

  ‘Then you must warn me if you see such a creature in my path,’ Fidelma said fervently. ‘Wolves and foxes do not worry me, but the idea of such creatures as snakes …’ She shuddered again.

  They moved out of the shaded pathway on to an open rocky path on the mountainside. To their left the hillside rose steeply and was studded with boulders and dark grey rocks. To their right, the hillside fell equally steeply.

  ‘Ah!’ Fidelma exclaimed and pointed to a small pile of stones that lay a little way ahead of them. ‘That must be Hawisa’s cairn.’

  There was nothing remarkable about the cairn, which Hawisa had raised in memory of her son.

  Fidelma looked about with a critical eye. Then she moved to the edge of the path, to where the hillside fell away steeply. Some twenty metres or so below them was a broad track which was obviously used frequently.

  ‘What track is that?’ she asked.

  ‘It is a track that leads across the mountains from the north and, if one continues down into the valley, it comes to the abbey,’ confirmed Brother Eolann.

  Fidelma peered over the edge. ‘It’s quite a fall, but easy to climb down. That is doubtless where this person who took the box left his horse, climbed up and then returned with the box.’

  ‘It is also where the boy must have fallen, to be found by Wulfoald as he rode by.’

  ‘How would a sure-footed lad who had tended goats on these mountain slopes all his life manage to fall from this place? The edge is so clear and the dangers obvious.’

  ‘Maybe one of the goats had wandered too near the edge and in trying to rescue it, he slipped?’ suggested Brother Eolann. ‘I think we should consider that.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Fidelma admitted, albeit with reluctance. ‘However, speculation is not going to reveal any secrets to us. I shall climb down.’

  Brother Eolann protested at once but she waved his concerns aside. ‘There are more difficult descents among the high peaks in Muman,’ she said.

  ‘But what are you seeking?’

  ‘I won’t know until I see it,’ she replied, and then she walked to the edge, examining the rockface carefully.

  ‘Careful!’ called Brother Eolann nervously.

  ‘If you are going to shout like that,’ admonished Fidelma, ‘you will cause me to start and fall. Ah, I see a way …’ She climbed over the edge and began to move down the rockface. As a child, she and her brother, Colgú, had scrambled over the hills of Cnoc an Stanna and Sliabh Eibhlinne. Such climbs held no fears for her. Her descent was as nimble as one of Wampa’s goats, and in a short time, she stood on the rocky path below.

  ‘Stay there,’ she called up. ‘If there is anything to be seen, I shall see it.’

  She walked along the base of the rockface, her eyes searching the ground but unable to see anything that seemed out of place. Not that she really expected to see anything. If the boy had been killed or, if he had fallen, there would be no traces left, so long after his death. As she walked up and down the stony area below the rocks, the only thing that caught her eye was what appeared to be a small piece of smashed twig among some pieces of coloured pottery and glass beads. There was something odd about the twig. She picked it up and turned it over in her hands before suddenly realising what it was. It was less than a finger-length and about as thick. It had been smashed at both ends but was hollow, like a piece of cane. Halfway along were two neatly cut holes. At one end were markings which showed something had been attached there. A mouthpiece?

  ‘Are you all right?’ came Brother Eolann’s anxious voice from above.

  She glanced up and realised that he could not see her because of the overhang.

  ‘All is well,’ she called up. Standing away from the cliff face so that she could see Brother Eolann, she added, ‘I won’t be long.’

  ‘Have you found something?’

  ‘Nothing yet,’ she replied. She moved back to where she had found the items and peered around before gazing up the rockface. There was a shelf of rock a little way above the spot where she stood. It was just above the level of her head, but she was able to find some holds so that she could scramble to head height.

  A crude box lay on its side on the shelf, its lid open. It was made of rough wood and no more than twenty centimetres in length and ten in width, and not very deep. Fidelma lifted it carefully so that the few things still in it did not spill out as she climbed down again. The box was of very unskilled workmanship
indeed. The two hinges were of metal but it was obvious that the hand that had made them had not made the box. Letters had been burned on the underside of the lid. They were badly formed and probably made with the point of a hot poker. WAMBA.

  It was obviously the box stolen from the cairn. But the thief must have dropped it as he scrambled down to his horse. It must have caught on the rock shelf when the thief had dropped it, having taken flight when he saw himself observed. The observer had not seen where the box had fallen, however, since it had not been recovered. Inside were some curious little knick-knacks of no particular value, the mouthpiece that went with the pipes and some cheap ceramic jewellery and clay items.

  Why would a thief desecrate a memorial? She began examining the items in the box – then she noticed something. Emptying out the contents, she shook the box. It rattled as if something was still loose. She began to run her fingers over the bottom of the inside. It did not fit tightly and she was able, with care, to prise it free. Underneath it lay a small object. She lifted it out between thumb and forefinger. It was a gold coin.

  She replaced the false bottom and the other items, but put the coin into her marsupium.

  ‘What’s happening?’ called Brother Eolann from above.

  ‘I’ve found Wamba’s box,’ she replied. ‘I’m coming up. Can you let me have your cincture?’

  ‘What?’ Brother Eolann sounded puzzled. The word she used in their own language was criós, for the cincture was a ropelike cord encircling the waist which most religious wore.

  ‘Throw it down, so that I can carry the box up with me.’

  The task to secure it did not take long. ‘I’m coming up,’ she called.

  She began to climb carefully up again, refusing Brother Eolann’s offer of a helping hand as she scrambled over the edge back to the path they had come by.

  ‘You had me concerned, lady. Imagine if you had fallen. How would I have been able to report such a matter to the abbot?’

  Fidelma pouted. ‘I would have been in no position to have imagined that,’ she replied dryly. ‘And I could not have advised you anyway.’ She gazed around before letting her eyes settle back on the cairn. Then she untied the box and returned the cincture to her companion.

  ‘Well, at least we can replace the box in the cairn. The thief must have dropped it.’

  ‘Was there anything in it?’ queried Brother Eolann.

  She reached into her marsupium and showed him the coin.

  ‘But Wamba gave the gold piece to Brother Waldipert,’ pointed out Brother Eolann, perplexed. ‘And didn’t Waldipert give it to Abbot Servillius?’

  ‘This is certainly a very old gold coin, the like of which I have not seen before,’ Fidelma said, while turning it over in her hands. She paused, remembering the words of Brother Ruadán. He had used ‘coins’ in the plural. ‘I wonder …’

  ‘You wonder?’ prompted Brother Eolann expectantly.

  ‘Perhaps young Wamba found two coins and decided to keep one hidden until he found out the value of the other. He may have thought they would be taken away from him if he offered both. His mother could not have known of its existence otherwise she would have removed it before she placed the box in the cairn.’

  ‘That seems logical,’ Brother Eolann agreed.

  ‘But did the would-be thief know it was there?’

  Fidelma examined the gold coin again. It was small, definitely of gold and not a mixture made with any baser metal. It carried the image of a chariot drawn by two horses with a charioteer guiding it, while the small symbols around it seemed to represent stars in the sky.

  ‘I believe I have seen similar coins before,’ she commented thoughtfully.

  ‘Venerable Ionas has knowledge about such coins.’

  ‘I wonder if Abbot Servillius consulted him about the coin Wamba brought to the abbey? This is a mystery that I must resolve,’ Fidelma said firmly, trying to recall the last gasping words of Brother Ruadán.

  ‘Should we not return this to Hawisa?’ protested the scriptor.

  ‘Eventually. If Brother Ruadán was right, that the boy was killed for the first gold coin, the warrior Wulfoald and Abbot Servillius have some questions to answer.’

  She realised, as she said it, that she was in no position to pose those questions. She might be an advocate of the law in her own land, and she might have been invited by King Oswiu of Northumbria to solve the murders at Streonshalh and by Venerable Gelasius to solve the crime in the Lateran Palace, but here – who was she? Just a passing stranger of no local rank. A foreigner without standing. Lord Radoald was the only power in the land and he was hardly likely to grant her any authority to investigate this matter.

  She placed the gold coin carefully in her marsupium again.

  ‘This is turning out to be frustrating. Perhaps I was expecting too much.’

  ‘How could Brother Ruadán know about the coin?’ demanded Brother Eolann. ‘I do not understand this matter at all.’

  ‘Those are the questions that I came here seeking the answers to. But it looks as though I will not find them. It is always irritating when one encounters a blank wall.’ She glanced up at the sky. They would not have a great deal of time until the darkening eastern skies were upon them. ‘Perhaps we should continue our climb to this sanctuary?’

  ‘If we go back to Hawisa’s cabin and continue up the track from there, it will put extra time on the journey, although that is easier and safer,’ mused the scriptor.

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  Brother Eolann thought for a moment. ‘If you don’t mind heights, lady, there is a small footpath along here, where people may pass only in single file. It becomes very steep in places. But after passing a rocky outcrop, it joins the main path, and it is an easy journey to the summit. It would save us considerable time in reaching the sanctuary. Having witnessed your abilities just now, I think you should be able to make the passage with ease.’

  ‘In that case, let us try this quicker path.’

  He led the way, turning up what appeared to be a goat’s track that Fidelma would have missed altogether. Inconspicuous and overgrown, it inclined rapidly, scarcely the width of a foot wide.

  ‘You seem to know these mountain tracks very well, for a stranger and a scriptor,’ Fidelma said. She had made the remark automatically, but when she began to think about it, it was curious. The suspicious thought had barely crossed her mind when Brother Eolann paused and turned back to her.

  ‘As you said to Hawisa, I am cursed with a curiosity,’ he said seriously. ‘Confined to a library, one is likely to be without exercise, to grow weak and idle. Now and then I seek permission from the abbot to climb the hills here in order to maintain myself in fitness. Juvenal, in his Satires, exhorted one to maintain mens sana in corpore sano – a sound mind in a sound body. I believe that to keep the mind sound you also need to keep the body sound. Hence, in the two years I have been here, I have come to know many byways and tracks.’

  ‘Then your knowledge is lucky for me,’ Fidelma replied.

  They continued to climb upwards and, at times, Fidelma had to pause and close her eyes to stop herself becoming dizzy on the often precipitous slopes. But finally, as Brother Eolann had forewarned, they came to a rocky outcrop which seemed to block their path. Next to it was a sheer drop. Brother Eolann turned with an encouraging smile.

  ‘This is the difficult part,’ he said. ‘There are handholds on the rock and you have to lean almost backwards and rely on the handholds to keep you balanced. Are you happy about this?’

  Fidelma glanced down at the fall, shivered slightly as she realised the dangers of the height, and nodded swiftly. ‘Let’s get on with it,’ she muttered. It was better to do this quickly than to stand talking about it.

  ‘I’ll go first and show the way. Make sure your bag is firmly fixed to your back and that you are balanced.’

  He adjusted his own bag on his back and waited while she did the same. Then he set off crawling under the overhang where
she could not see a path and yet somehow there must have been. He seemed to be finding handholds to steady him and then … then he had vanished on the other side of the rock.

  ‘Can you hear me?’ she called anxiously.

  A moment passed. Then: ‘Sorry, I was just catching my breath.’ His voice came from a short distance away. ‘Now, can you remember how I crawled under the overhang?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘You’ll see some places where your hands can take a good hold. You’ll find yourself leaning backwards as if you are going to fall. Keep a good hold with one hand before you move to the next hold.’

  Fidelma took a deep breath and began to move slowly forward, almost crouching at first as she came under the overhang. She saw what he meant almost immediately and found she was in a position to move forward. There were little ledges where she could secure a grasp. Slowly, hand by hand she moved forward. She tried not to think what was behind her, the emptiness and the fall to the rocks below. The worst moment was when she found herself leaning backwards into that frightening space with only her hands clasping at the rocks to prevent her falling.

  ‘You are nearly there,’ cried Brother Eolann’s voice in encouragement.

  She reached forward to grasp the next handhold, missed it and felt herself swinging out. The full weight of her body was hanging on one hand while her other hand was grasping at nothing.

  ‘Help me!’ she cried in panic.

  It seemed an eternity before a strong hand seized her wrist and pulled. For a moment she was suspended in space – one hand clinging desperately to the rock and the other caught by the wrist in the hand of Brother Eolann. For a curious moment, their faces were separated by inches, her fiery green eyes staring into his light blue ones. It seemed as if time had stood still and all she was aware of was the void below her. Then she was lying on a sloping bank, gasping for breath. She realised she was on the other side of the overhang. Brother Eolann was still clutching her wrist.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked anxiously.

  Fidelma shuddered and shook her head. She felt the pressure on her wrist relax as he released it and automatically she reached with her other hand to massage it. ‘You caught hold of me in time.’ She knew she was stating the obvious.