Behold a Pale Horse

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Do you think these men are truly the killers of Lady Gunora?’ Brother Eolann’s nervousness was evident.

  ‘Why else would they have been lurking around that particular area?’

  Brother Eolann looked uncomfortable. ‘It is a situation that is new to me. I am not able to guess who they are or their motivations. This must be the fortress of a local war lord. That is all I know. As I said, I am not familiar with this part of the country. What can we do?’

  ‘Do? I don’t think there is anything we can do until our captors make the next move.’

  ‘We can’t just wait, hoping they will bring us food.’ Brother Eolann’s voice rose in protest.

  Fidelma gave him a look of pity. ‘Were you never taught the dercad?’

  The dercad was an ancient form of meditation which some church leaders disapproved of as it was practised in the time before the Faith of Christ came to the shores of the Five Kingdoms of Éireann. It was a way of making the mind as still as water in a dark mountain pool, ridding oneself of the chaos of emotions and fear, the worst of all the emotions.

  ‘Of course I was,’ protested the scriptor. ‘But how does that help us now?’

  ‘I suggest we can occupy the time in no other constructive manner than by ridding our minds of expectation and fear.’

  Fidelma took a seat on the other bed, sitting cross-legged with her hands folded in her lap. Then she closed her eyes and began to breathe slowly and deeply.

  Brother Eolann pursed his lips for a moment or two, then shrugged and copied her.

  How much time passed was difficult to say. But the day had grown dark. They could hear faint sounds, laughter, shouting and conversation from around them. Suddenly the stillness was broken by the scraping of the wooden bar being raised and the door was pushed open. Fidelma’s eyes opened immediately and she rose from her position. Brother Eolann stirred and looked about sleepily, showing that instead of being in a true state of the dercad, he had actually fallen asleep.

  A man entered carrying a lighted oil lamp which he set on the table; he then withdrew without a word. But even as he left, another man came in bearing a pitcher and clay beakers. These were placed on the table in silence, and then the first man reappeared with wooden platters on which was bread, cold meats, cheese and fruit. He turned and left just as Fidelma found her voice.

  ‘Wait! Who are you? What do you want with us?’

  Her words were spoken in Latin and she was going to tell Brother Eolann to translate them when a deep voice answered her.

  ‘Peace, little sister. All will be answered in good time.’

  In the door stood a big man, so large that his shoulders seemed to brush either side of the frame. He looked fat but on closer inspection he was built of solid muscle. He had a mass of black curling hair and dark eyes that blazed curiously as they reflected the lamplight.

  ‘Who are you?’ demanded Fidelma again.

  ‘I am Kakko, little sister.’

  ‘And is this your fortress?’

  The big man threw back his head and roared with laughter, as if she had said something exceptionally funny. She waited patiently until his mirth subsided. She was aware that Brother Eolann was staring longingly at the food and drink that had been placed on the table, trying to restrain himself. However, this was an opportunity not to be missed.

  ‘Have I said something to amuse you?’ she asked coldly.

  ‘I am only the steward here, little sister.’

  ‘Then whose fortress is it?’

  ‘This fortress and the lands along this valley belong to my lord.’

  Fidelma suppressed a sigh of impatience. ‘And who is your lord?’

  ‘My lord is Grasulf son of Gisulf.’

  She looked across at Brother Eolann but he shook his head, indicating that the name meant nothing to him.

  ‘And who is Grasulf exactly?’

  Kakko’s dark eyes widened almost in horror. ‘You do not know of the Lord of Vars?’

  ‘We are strangers here.’

  ‘Strangers?’

  ‘We are of Hibernia. I had been in this land but a few days when your warriors abducted me and my companion.’

  The big man stared thoughtfully from Fidelma to Eolann. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded of Fidelma.

  ‘I am Fidelma and he is Brother Eolann, the scriptor at Bobium.’

  Kakko was staring at Brother Eolann. ‘Hibernians, eh? There are many in this land. Perhaps too many. They are the ones who set up Bobium in the first place.’

  ‘As I have said,’ Fidelma added firmly, ‘I have been in your country but a few days and plan to stay little longer. I do not know why you have taken me captive but I demand my release.’

  The steward’s eyes widened again and then a big smile spread over his features. Humour seemed to come easily to him.

  ‘You demand?’ he grinned. ‘I will tell that to my lord Grasulf when he returns.’

  ‘When he returns?’ snapped Fidelma. ‘Returns from where?’

  ‘My lord is on a boar hunt and is not expected back until tomorrow.’

  ‘So who gave instruction for our abduction?’

  ‘It has become a standing practice that any stranger in his territory should be detained and questioned,’ Kakko told her.

  Finally, Brother Eolann was stung into speaking. ‘When has the Valley of Trebbia been in your lord’s domains? It is Lord Radoald of Trebbia who governs there.’

  ‘You were on Mount Pénas,’ pointed out the steward.

  ‘On the Trebbia side of the mountain. We were at the sanctuary of Colm Bán when your men captured us,’ he protested.

  The steward was unmoved. ‘You may present your complaint to Lord Grasulf on his return.’

  ‘What is this Lord Grasulf afraid of?’ Fidelma suddenly said.

  This drew a frown from Kakko. ‘Who says my lord is afraid of anything?’ he hissed.

  ‘He is afraid of something, otherwise why would he give orders that strangers be seized and brought here for questioning, even when they are not found in his domain?’

  ‘You are a stubborn person, little sister,’ Kakko mused, still retaining his good humour. He gestured to the food on the table. ‘You have not eaten. You are the guests of my lord Grasulf, and he would be displeased if you were not treated well.’

  ‘Then your lord will be disappointed, for we have not been treated well at all, starting with our abduction,’ Fidelma replied coldly. ‘Then we have had our bags taken from us. If we are kept prisoners overnight, I demand the return of them.’

  Kakko spread his hands in a gesture almost of resignation.

  ‘I will ensure that they are returned. We needed to be certain that you carried no weapons or secret messages.’ Fidelma’s look was enough to quell him.

  ‘As soon as this Grasulf returns, I demand to see him at once – do you understand?’

  Kakko turned, shaking his head. ‘You are more than a mere religieuse, Sister,’ he said quietly. ‘Your manner betrays you.’ Then he was gone, shutting the door. They heard the wooden bar being set in place.

  ‘I don’t think you were wise, lady,’ Brother Eolann muttered through a mouthful of bread and cheese. ‘I told you not to reveal your rank.’

  ‘I did not,’ replied Fidelma.

  ‘As the man said, your manner did. An ordinary Sister of the Faith would not be asserting herself in such a fashion.’

  ‘Did you say that you had never heard of this person Grasulf?’

  ‘I hadn’t, but I have heard of the Lord of Vars. I said that I thought we might be in his territory.’

  ‘Do you have any idea of the manner of man he is?’

  ‘I know only that there is much enmity between him and Trebbia.’

  ‘Do you think that this story of watching out for spies and informers is true then?’

  ‘I can only repeat that there is much tension in this land. Isn’t that why the Lady Gunora fled to the abbey with the little prince, because she did not believe that Grim
oald’s Regent, Lupus of Friuli, was to be trusted? Everything fits into a pattern. There is much fear in the land.’

  ‘Indeed. And what if these people are the ones who killed Lady Gunora? If so, what have they done with the boy?’

  ‘Let us pray that we will be enlightened tomorrow,’ replied Brother Eolann.

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘When you see Grasulf. That is,’ Brother Eolann said with a thin smile, ‘if the Lord of Vars accedes to your demand to see him on his return from his boar hunt.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was nearly midday before they heard the wooden bar being lifted once more from its position securing the door. Kakko, the steward, stood framed against the sunlit courtyard beyond.

  ‘You will come with me, little brother,’ he boomed. Then, glancing at Fidelma, he added: ‘You will stay.’

  Hesitantly, Brother Eolann rose and moved to the door.

  ‘Why him,’ Fidelma demanded, ‘and not me?’

  Kakko’s permanent smile seemed to broaden. ‘Again, a question? Always questions,’ he said. Then: ‘My lord Grasulf might spare you the time to meet with him later. At the moment, he only wants this one.’ He jerked his head to Brother Eolann.

  Fidelma would have preferred that they kept together, but there was no alternative. As time passed, she began to pace the chamber in frustration. Eventually, the big steward returned. The scriptor was not with him.

  ‘And now, little sister, you will come and meet Grasulf,’ he announced.

  ‘Where is Brother Eolann?’ she asked.

  ‘He is happy enough, little sister. This way.’

  She was clearly not going to get any further information from the steward and so she suppressed her feelings of apprehension and followed Kakko. She felt the immediate heat of the day as she moved from the cool of her prison into the small courtyard. The open space with the sun shining directly overhead was hot. Kakko led the way across the paved yard at a surprising pace for one so large. Once again Fidelma observed that the big man was not fat but well-muscled.

  A door on the far side led into another courtyard, at one end of which were two large doors, half-open, with warriors lounging outside. They stared curiously at Fidelma as she and Kakko passed them and went into a small chamber. This, however, proved to be an antechamber, leading into a large hall. Fidelma had seen such halls before and always associated them with the traditional feasting places of chiefs and princes. She was right, for at one end, on a slightly raised dais, stood an ornately carved chair. On the back of the chair, on either side, were carved two birds of prey: she saw that they were ravens. In her own land, ravens were birds of ill-omen, symbolic of the goddess of death and battles. Smaller chairs and a table stood nearby. Colourful tapestries showing scenes of warfare and various weapons hung from the brick walls of the hall. Fidelma had noticed that most of the buildings in this land were constructed of red baked bricks which seemed to be a favourite material of Roman buildings. It was so unlike the stone blocks and the wood of her own land. The hall was well lit through a series of tall windows but it was cool after the blast of hot air she had been met with on her brief walk here.

  At first glance it seemed the hall was empty. Then she heard a soft growling and became aware of two hunting dogs lying at either side of the ornate chair. They lay upright, forepaws stretched before them; heads up, alert with eyes watching them as they entered. Kakko took a pace forward and halted.

  From an open doorway a man emerged, walked to the ornate chair and slumped into it. He was thickly built. Like the steward Kakko, he was muscled, showing he was more a warrior than one used to an easy life. He was not tall, more of average height, and certainly not handsome or, at least, not so far as Fidelma was concerned. He wore his fair hair long and with a full beard. So far as she could see, his eyes were pale and his features ruddy. She estimated that he was in his middle years. His expression was unfriendly. He waved a beckoning hand – a curt, impatient gesture.

  Kakko strode forward until he was near the dais and then he halted and bowed, glancing at Fidelma to ensure she followed his example. She did not. She merely halted at Kakko’s side and stared defiantly at the man.

  ‘This is the one called Fidelma, my lord,’ Kakko announced.

  The pale eyes studied Fidelma.

  ‘I am told that you are a religieuse from Hibernia,’ the man said in Latin, speaking as if it was his first language.

  ‘And you are … ?’ countered Fidelma. She was angered by the arrogant manner of her captor.

  Kakko gasped at what he saw as her lack of humility in front of his lord. The man’s eyes widened slightly and then he held up a languid hand to his steward as if instructing him to respond.

  ‘You stand in the presence of Grasulf son of Gisulf, Lord of Vars,’ Kakko announced. ‘It is an insult not to bow before him, even if you are a foreigner.’

  ‘Lord of Vars?’ Fidelma echoed Kakko as if considering the title. Then she spoke coldly and deliberately. ‘Then, Grasulf son of Gisulf, know that I am Fidelma of Cashel, in the land of Hibernia, daughter of King Failbe Flann of Muman.’

  Kakko stared at her for a moment and then smiled grimly. ‘I thought she was more than a mere religieuse by her manners,’ he said with some self-satisfaction.

  ‘Is a daughter of a king prohibited from being a member of the religious?’ she snapped. Then she tried to translate her title of dálaigh. ‘I am also a procurator in my own land.’

  Grasulf leaned forward, his brows drawn together as he examined her with interest. ‘A princess, a religieuse and a lawyer, all these in one? Is that possible?’ His voice was filled with irony.

  ‘Indeed, all these in one,’ she responded coldly.

  ‘Bring a chair for Fidelma of Hibernia,’ the Lord of Vars addressed his steward. ‘Then fetch wine.’

  Kakko hurried to one side of the hall to fetch the chair.

  ‘My steward was right to suspect you were of noble rank,’ Grasulf said. ‘Why did you not tell him?’

  ‘I told him only what he needed to know: that I am a visitor in your land, spending a few days here to see an old mentor of mine at the Abbey of Bobium.’

  ‘You mean the man whom you travel with, the scriptor of Bobium?’

  ‘Not Brother Eolann, who was simply showing me the sanctuary of Colm Bán on the top of Mount Pénas when we were kidnapped by your men.’

  Kakko had placed the chair by her and Fidelma sat down at her ease. The big steward then went to a side table and took up two earthenware goblets and a large glazed pitcher which appeared to be full of red wine.

  ‘Colm Bán?’ Grasulf was asking, puzzled.

  ‘You call him Columbanus. He that founded the Abbey at Bobium.’

  ‘Ah, so,’ sighed the Lord of Vars. ‘I have heard of him and he is long dead. So who were you visiting at Bobium if not this scriptor?’

  ‘Brother Ruadán, who died recently.’

  Kakko stirred slightly. ‘I met this Brother Ruadán once, my lord,’ he said. ‘He was very elderly. He used to wander the territory up to Placentia preaching against the Christian belief of the Arians.’

  Lord Grasulf took a goblet of wine from Kakko and swallowed eagerly before speaking.

  ‘You say that he is now dead?’

  ‘He is,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘Now I demand to be released with my comrade, Brother Eolann, and to be allowed to return to Bobium so that I may continue my journey back to my own land.’

  ‘Released?’ Grasulf sat back in his chair and stared moodily at her for a moment. ‘Life is not as simple as that, lady. These are troubled times and people do not always tell the truth. Who knows why you and your companion were really on the summit of the Pénas overlooking this valley. Perhaps you were spying?’

  Fidelma thrust out her chin. ‘The truth is as I have told you. There is nothing else.’

  ‘We will see.’

  ‘I protest—’

  ‘To whom, lady? I am Lord of Vars and any authority you have doe
s not exist here either by birth, by law or by your religion.’

  ‘Not by religion? Then I perceive you are all followers of Arius here?’

  For the first time Grasulf’s features broadened into a smile while Kakko gave one of his great guffaws of laughter. Grasulf took another large swallow of his wine before responding. Fidelma deduced that he was a man fond of his drink.

  ‘Lady, we are true Longobards,’ replied Grasulf. ‘We hold to our own beliefs. We worship only Godan, Father of the Gods, King of Asgard, ruler of the Aesir. Lord of War, Death and Knowledge. He is our true god and protector.’

  Fidelma gasped involuntarily. ‘Then you are pagans?’

  ‘We are only those who follow a different god to you.’

  ‘How long do you propose to keep us prisoner?’ she demanded, having absorbed this information. ‘And where is Brother Eolann? Has he been harmed?’

  ‘Do not distress yourself, lady,’ boomed Kakko humorously. ‘My lord has a small scriptorium to which your companion has been taken. My lord’s scriptor died several moons ago, since when the books have been abandoned.’

  Grasulf added: ‘I have decided that while you and Brother Eolann are here you may make yourselves useful in sorting out my books.’

  ‘So,’ she said finally, ‘you propose to keep us here indefinitely? ’

  ‘Until I ascertain that you are no threat.’

  ‘Threat to whom?’

  ‘Threat to the peace and well-being of my people.’

  ‘Who do you fear, Grasulf, apart from a wandering woman of Hibernia and a scriptor?’ she sneered. ‘Maybe it is this Perctarit or maybe Grimoald, who are fighting over this kingdom.’

  ‘Why should I fear either?’ replied the Lord of Vars indifferently. ‘Who pays me well, has my allegiance.’ He was helping himself to more wine when he realised that Fidelma had scarcely touched her goblet. ‘You do not drink your wine, lady. Can it be that you have no love for the juice of the grape?’

  ‘I love freedom even more,’ she replied. ‘If my companion and I are to be kept as prisoners here, I would make a plea to your chivalry that we are not continually confined to the same stuffy cell.’