Behold a Pale Horse

by Peter Tremayne

  Grasulf almost chuckled. ‘What do you suggest? That I let you wander freely outside the walls of my fortress?’

  ‘We will respect the confines of your fortress. But there must be a place where we may rest our minds and bodies – an herbarium, a place of greenery, a place where we could relax yet keep our minds active. Let us have some freedom from the confines of cells and libraries. I ask this as the daughter of a king in my own land, for does not the saying exist in your land that a king may grant respect to others if he is strong and secure in his own kingdom? You tell me that you are strong and secure in your territory: you may now prove it to me.’

  ‘The saying is that an excess of caution does no harm for it is better to have eggs today than only the promise of chickens tomorrow,’ replied Grasulf. Then he turned to Kakko and spoke rapidly in the language of the Longobards, before he gestured a dismissal with his hand and turned to refill his goblet from the pitcher.

  Fidelma wondered if it would be politic to ask whether his men had killed Lady Gunora and if the young prince was a prisoner in the fortress. Then she decided she must find out more first. If the Lord of Vars had killed Lady Gunora and kidnapped the boy, then he would have no compunction in killing her and Brother Eolann. And the thought also struck her that if the two men she had seen the previous day with the flaming sword and laurel wreath emblem, were the same ones who had attacked Magister Ado – what were they doing in a fortress of pagans? Many thoughts ran through her mind.

  Kakko did not lead her back to the chamber where she had been a prisoner but took her on a different route. As they crossed the smaller courtyard he was still chuckling.

  ‘You have impressed my lord Grasulf, little sister. You will be released from your chamber in the mornings and returned to it at night. During daylight you will be taken to the library. Next to that you will also find a small open area where you may take exercise. There is a door on the far side which gives access to the necessarium.’ He glanced at her and added, ‘Do not have any false hopes, little sister. The area is enclosed on three sides by the fortress walls and on the fourth … well, if you had wings to fly, like Huginn and Muninn, you might fly away.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘You saw the ravens carved on my lord’s chair? They are Huginn and Muninn, the ravens who guard our great god, Godan.’

  Fidelma did not bother to reply. Her mind was busy thinking that if they were not confined to the claustrophobic chamber in which they had been held, there might be a better chance of escape. They were crossing the main courtyard again, though not in the same direction. A thought suddenly struck her.

  ‘You promised to return our travelling bags. There are personal items in them that we might use to make ourselves comfortable during our stay here – for however long that may be.’

  Kakko grinned. ‘No harm in that. They will be returned to you.’

  He opened a door at the base of a tower in a corner of the courtyard. Once through the tower door they turned immediately to the left, where dark wooden doors gave access into a large chamber with a long central table. All around the walls was shelving, with books piled everywhere. Fidelma gazed round the library. She had certainly seen larger ones in her own land, where the books were usually hung on pegs in book-satchels rather than stacked on shelves. Brother Eolann was there with his head already buried in one of the scroll books. He looked up, his face smiling and eager.

  ‘This is truly amazing, lady,’ he greeted her. He remained seated at the table and was tapping a thick scroll before him.

  ‘I would not call it amazing,’ she replied, her eyes travelling to the high windows which let in a certain amount of light but not sufficient to read by. There were candles and an oil lamp and disused writing materials scattered about. Apart from the door which she had come in by, there was another one at the far end of the room.

  ‘Through that door you will find a large space which is often used for exercise,’ Kakko said, pointing. ‘I should warn you not to go too near the edge as it is a long way down into the valley below.’ He grinned at them and left, and she heard a key turn in the lock.

  ‘By amazing, I meant this, lady.’ Ignoring the interruption, Brother Eolann was again tapping the book before him.

  ‘Why, what is it?’ Fidelma was not particularly interested as she surveyed the confines of the library.

  ‘Origio Gentis Longobardotum.’

  ‘The Origin of the Longobards?’ translated Fidelma.

  ‘Exactly so, lady. I have heard of this book but never seen it before. It tells how their gods Godan and Frea set the Longobards free from their unjust rulers to move south to take over these lands.’

  ‘It’s an old book then?’ she asked absently.

  ‘I doubt more than twenty years old. It is said to have been drawn up by King Rothari, who was grandfather of Godepert and Perctarit.’

  ‘Perctarit again?’

  ‘The same Perctarit who is trying to regain his throne here. Rothari died twelve years ago and he ordered this book to be written and also the Edictum Rothari which is the first codification of the laws of the Longobards.’

  Fidelma sighed impatiently. ‘In truth, Brother Eolann, my head is swimming with all these strange, unpronounceable names. I am longing to return to the sweet sounds of our own language in Muman. Now, first things first. How did they treat you? You weren’t hurt during your questioning?’

  ‘Hurt? Oh, you mean by Grasulf. No, he did not hurt me. He just asked me questions about what we were doing, and then told me to come here.’ He glanced at the scroll and confided, ‘This was the first book I saw. I have to say, my first thought was whether our abbey library had a copy.’

  Fidelma was still walking about the room. ‘Let us take a look at the extent of our prison,’ she said, turning to the door that Kakko had indicated. ‘Have you examined the outside yet?’

  Brother Eolann looked embarrassed and shook his head. So she opened it and stepped through. Beyond was a terrace; on three sides, the walls of the fortress towered above it, while the fourth side was opened to a distant vista of mountains and skies beyond. A small protective wall ran along this side as a barrier from the sheer drop. Tubs of earth with plants were placed here and there to relieve the grey paved surface of the terrace.

  There was only one other door giving access to the area apart from the one from the scriptorium. There were no handles on the outside of this door. Fidelma strode across to it and gave it a push. It was as solid as the wall around it, bolted or barred from the inside. Fidelma gazed up. There were a few high windows but it was clear that the area was enclosed and hardly overlooked at all – if anyone could, in fact, peer down from above.

  Fidelma then walked across to the small parapet with Brother Eolann following. She halted and gazed down. At first glance it appeared to be a sheer drop down a rockface to the valley below. She was used to mountains and heights but this view made her dizzy. She took a deep breath and stood back.

  ‘It is estimated to be one hundred and fifty metres to the valley floor,’ came a familiar voice, speaking Latin.

  She swung round to see that Grasulf, Lord of Vars, had stepped out through the mysterious door in the central wall.

  ‘An impressive view,’ conceded Fidelma.

  Grasulf ’s features were solemn. ‘It is not the recommended path out of this fortress. At least, not for our guests. It has other usages. Those we find attempting to betray us, or those who commit crimes against us, thieves and murderers, come to know it as a ready means of crossing the Ormet into the arms of our goddess Hel.’

  Fidelma was puzzled. ‘It is used as a method of execution,’ explained Brother Eolann. ‘Hel is the goddess who presides over their underworld, Helheim.’

  ‘I am impressed with your knowledge, Brother Eolann,’ the Lord of Vars said with a smile. ‘That is precisely what I mean. Ormet is the river that separates life from death. And now, how do you like my little library? I have been looking for someone who would appreciate
the books here ever since my own scriptor died. Perhaps it was the Fates who brought you hither?’

  ‘Yes – if the Fates are what you call the warriors who abducted us,’ replied Fidelma dryly. ‘But I doubt we shall be here long enough to appreciate your books, Grasulf.’

  The Lord of Vars nodded in appreciation. ‘It is a long while since I have met with a person of wit. You shall feast with me this evening. Yes, Brother Eolann as well. You will tell me about your world beyond these valleys. I will send Kakko to escort you. In the meantime, continue to enjoy the scriptorium.’

  He turned and exited as he had come. They heard the door being secured on the inside.

  Fidelma walked back to the parapet.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Brother Eolann nervously.

  ‘Just checking to see what the way to the infernal regions looks like,’ she replied without humour.

  She spent a few minutes gazing down at the dizzy descent to the valley floor. Then she turned back into the library where Brother Eolann was once again examining the scroll book that he had found so amazing. Fidelma, whose thoughts were on escape, regarded him with disapproval. Then she turned to the shelves and a new thought struck her as she recalled the mystery of the library at Bobium.

  ‘Do you recall telling me that some of the books in your library had been vandalised?’

  ‘I do.’ The scriptor looked up with sudden interest. ‘Why?’

  ‘Do you recall the titles?’

  ‘Yes, for as I told you, I had to send to other libraries seeking copies to replace the ones whose pages were cut out.’

  Fidelma was blessed with a good memory. It was part of a dálaigh’s training. ‘One of them was Livy’s history, Ab Urbe Condita Libri, as I recall.’

  ‘It was. Why?’

  ‘Because I see a copy of it.’ Fidelma pointed to the book. ‘It occurs to me that you might wish to know what was on the pages that were cut out.’

  Brother Eolann took the book from the shelf and placed it on the table. ‘This volume appears to be an exact copy. I recall how the next page started after the deleted one.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you can recall the pages that had been cut out?’

  ‘I have a pride in my task in life, lady,’ he protested. ‘I would be a poor librarian if I did not know what had been damaged in my own library.’ Brother Eolann began to turn the thick vellum pages. Then he paused and looked carefully at one particular page before reading, ‘Marcus triumphali veste in senatum venit … That is on the page after the one cut out.’

  Fidelma translated. ‘Marcus entered the senate in triumphal dress. So what is on the page that was cut out?’

  He turned back to the page: ‘Ah, it starts: Caepionis cuis tementate clades accepta erat damnnati bona publicata sunt. Caepio, who had caused the defeat by his rashness, was convicted and his possessions confiscated.’

  ‘It sounds as if it is an account of some battle, and someone called Caepio’s role in it.’ Fidelma was curious. ‘Why would anyone want to deface a book for that extract?’

  Brother Eolann shrugged. ‘Ancient battles are not a particular interest of mine, lady.’

  She took the book from him and scanned the text. It was of little interest so far as she was concerned. ‘This seems to recount that a Roman Proconsul called Caepio commanded part of an army at a battle that took place at Aurasio. The senior General, Gnaeus Mallius Maximus, commanded the major part of the army. It seems Caepio was a patrician. Because his superior, Mallius Maximus, was not an aristocrat, he refused to cooperate with him or obey his commands. He thought it beneath his dignity.

  ‘The passage goes on to say that when the General succeeded in brokering a peace with the enemy’s army, Caepio attacked on his own. The result was that his army was wiped out before the enemy turned on Mallius’ army and wiped that out as well. Some one hundred and twenty thousand were slaughtered. Caepio managed to escape back to Rome but Rome was in an uproar at the news. They tried Caepio and found him guilty of misconduct. He was saved from death only by his aristocratic position, but was sent into exile, while all his wealth, goods and property were confiscated.’ She glanced at the scriptor. ‘I wonder when this happened. Can you tell from the text?’

  Brother Eolann leaned over her shoulder and pointed to some tiny figures in the margin: ‘According to the dates,’ he replied, peering at the text, ‘Anno Urbis Conditae six hundred and forty-eight … that means what we calculated as roughly a hundred years before the birth of Christ.’

  ‘Well, it teaches us nothing as to the reason why the passage should be cut from the book.’ Fidelma grimaced in resignation. ‘Maybe we should search for the Polybius and see if that is related to the same battle and this man Caepio. But it doesn’t seem significant. Maybe it was just wilful vandalism.’

  The key in the door suddenly scraped and Kakko appeared.

  ‘My lord Grasulf has told me that he has invited you to feast with him. I have taken the liberty to prepare baths and changes of clothing for you, as I have heard of the daily bathing customs of the Hibernians.’

  Fidelma had been feeling sticky and awkward in the heat. Now that it was mentioned, she realised she had not bathed properly since they had left Bobium.

  ‘That is good,’ she commented.

  Kakko merely grinned. ‘The Lord of Vars is very sensitive about who joins him at his table and their state of cleanliness.’

  ‘Our state of uncleanliness was thanks to his warriors who abducted us and brought us hither against our will,’ snapped Fidelma in answer to his jibe. ‘And further to your imprisoning us in a chamber without—’

  ‘Your bags have been placed in the chamber,’ interrupted Kakko, realising that he was unable to assert verbal domination over her. ‘Perhaps that will make it seem more tolerable. I shall return shortly and conduct you to where you may bathe and change.’

  ‘It would be even more tolerable if you provided us with separate cells for decency’s sake,’ she asserted. ‘We are not man and wife to be closeted together. There are times when separation is needed. Or do your worries on cleanliness not go as far as that?’

  The big man glowered at her for a moment, then decided to say nothing and left, locking the door noisily behind him.

  Brother Eolann shook his head. ‘I am sorry about this, lady.’

  ‘Sorry? For what?’

  ‘I should not have suggested staying at the sanctuary and delaying there.’

  ‘As I recall, I insisted on seeing it. Anyway, our delay was due to the finding of Lady Gunora. We must keep silent about that. This Lord of Vars may be the killer. The less he thinks we know, the better.’

  She stood up abruptly as another thought came into her mind and she went to the door leading on to the terrace.

  ‘Where are you going?’ demanded Brother Eolann.

  ‘Don’t worry, I am just going to have another look at the rockface. See if you can find that volume of Polybius. You might be able to check whether that passage related to – what was his name? Oh yes. Caepio.’

  The scriptor began to explore the library half-heartedly, turning over the books stacked around.

  When Fidelma returned she had a brightness in her eyes. ‘Any luck?’ she asked.

  ‘Luck?’ He seemed preoccupied.

  ‘With finding Polybius?’

  ‘Oh, no luck.’ He frowned at the suppressed excitement in her features. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I have an idea …’ she began.

  Then the key turned in the lock again and Kakko reappeared. ‘Your baths are ready,’ he announced.

  A sullen-looking woman waited to guide Fidelma to the room where she was to bathe. She was relieved when Kakko took Brother Eolann to another room. It was good to slip into the warm waters of the wood tub and relax with perfumes and oils. She took her time while the dour-looking servant, who alas spoke no other language than the Longobard dialect, waited impatiently for her to finish. Finally, feeling refreshed and relaxed and clad in the fresh
clothing which had been provided for her, Fidelma followed the woman back across the main courtyard.

  As she was proceeding across the flagstones, there was a sudden shouting and the gates were pulled open. A horseman galloped into the courtyard and reined in his steed so abruptly that it reared up, its forelegs kicking viciously at the air. Jumping from the saddle, the rider flung his reins at a nearby attendant and almost ran in the direction of the main hall.

  Fidelma’s guide prodded her forward as she looked after him.

  Brother Eolann was already in the chamber that had become their prison.

  ‘I have been told that they will give us separate cells for tonight,’ he said, somewhat embarrassed. ‘It is being arranged now.’

  ‘That is some progress then,’ Fidelma said absently.

  It was not long before Kakko opened the door and indicated that Fidelma and Brother Eolann should follow him back to the great hall. A table had been laid and the steward now assumed the role of organising the servants as they carried in the dishes from the kitchen and prepared wine for the table.

  ‘It is not often I receive travellers from Hibernia in this valley,’ Grasulf said, as he gestured for them to be seated. It seemed that there were only the three of them at the meal.

  ‘How often do you abduct travellers?’ Fidelma replied dryly.

  Grasulf seemed amused at her retort. ‘I think, in your case, my men did well – for they have provided me with a good foil for my intellect,’ he replied gravely. ‘I find your responses most stimulating. By the way, the boar,’ he pointed to the meat dish that had been set on the table, ‘I killed yesterday.’

  There were various dishes brought in while Grasulf made commentaries about them and the wine that was served. Brother Eolann was content to let the conversation flow between Grasulf and Fidelma, concentrating on emptying his plate as each dish appeared. It seemed that the part of the meal preferred by the Lord of Vars came in a pitcher that Kakko kept filled at his side. He did not sip his wine but devoured it in large swallows like a man whose thirst was unquenchable.