‘Time was that preachers from your abbey came into this valley to convert my people,’ he said reflectively. ‘However, there are still many true Longobards left, though we are a dwindling number. We place our faith in Godan and the power of our swords. We stand above the squabbles between you Christians. Nicene Creed and Arian Creed – what difference? What is the choice between dying by the sword and dying by the dagger?’
‘You see the Faith as a means of death?’ inquired Fidelma with interest.
‘However you perceive your Christ, He is your god, not mine.’ Grasulf dismissed the subject. ‘And how have you passed the time in my little scriptorium? Did you find it interesting?’
‘All knowledge is interesting,’ conceded Fidelma.
‘So, what in particular?’
‘The history of Rome.’ It came automatically to her, although she had little interest in the subject.
‘Ah, Livy?’
‘You have read his history?’ Fidelma was surprised but then realised that there was no reason to be so.
‘Of course,’ replied Grasulf. ‘Livinius was from Patavium so he took an interest in this area. What period did you find interesting?’
‘It was just a passage about someone called Caepio that caught my attention.’
She was not prepared for the effect of the name. A suspicious look came into his eyes and then Grasulf threw back his head and uttered a false-sounding chuckle.
‘Caepio?’ he said. ‘You surely don’t give credence to that silly tale! What stories have you been filling your compatriot’s head with, Brother Eolann?’
Fidelma turned quickly to find that Brother Eolann had coloured in embarrassment.
‘What stories would you have been filling my head with?’ she asked quietly in their own language.
The scriptor replied almost violently. ‘I have no idea, lady. Truly, I don’t know what he is talking about.’
Fidelma turned back to Grasulf. ‘I alighted on the page by chance,’ she said cautiously. ‘What story should I have been aware of?’
‘By chance? Why, it has even become part of the Latin language.’
‘I still don’t follow your meaning.’
‘What does one say when one has achieved some ill-gotten wealth – wealth that brings a curse with it?’
Fidelma had not learned a colloquial form of Latin and looked to Brother Eolann for some guidance. The scriptor still seemed embarrassed and shook his head. So she turned back to Grasulf.
‘It is said that the person has the gold of Tolosa – Aurum Tolosa habet,’ explained the Lord of Vars.
‘And how does that relate to this man Caepio?’
‘He was the governor of this very territory in ancient times and marched his army into Gaul. The story is that he seized a fabulous treasure in the town of Tolosa. He sent this wealth of gold back here to his villa in Placentia meaning to keep it, but it disappeared. Some will even tell you that he hid the gold in these very mountains. Every now and then, some fool claims they have found Caepio’s gold.’
‘But the passage in Livinius merely says that his stupidity caused several Roman legions to be annihilated.’
‘The story also says that before that battle, his legions had sacked Tolosa and carried away forty-six wagons of gold and treasure and sent them here.’
‘And these wagons disappeared?’
‘They vanished,’ agreed Grasulf. ‘Anyway, it is not mythical gold we want, eh, Brother Eolann? Many lords in these valleys would bring their men rushing like wolves from the hills down on Grimoald and his supporters for a bag of Frankish gold.’
Brother Eolann was looking uncomfortable. ‘I would not know,’ he muttered.
‘The story of the gold is local gossip,’ said Grasulf, picking up his goblet of wine again. It was clear that he had dismissed the topic.
Fidelma waited a few moments and then raised another topic that had crossed her mind.
‘I saw a rider come into the fortress not so long ago. He had clearly arrived here after a hard and hasty ride. I presume he brings important news about the dangers that beset this country?’
The Lord of Vars looked at her speculatively over the rim of his goblet. ‘You have a sharp eye, lady.’ Was there a dangerous tone in his voice?
‘It is my training to observe.’
‘Well, the news is interesting. Lupus of Friuli, Grimoald’s Regent in these northern lands, and his army have been defeated.’
‘I heard that this Lupus had turned against Grimoald.’
‘That is true. You have a good memory as well as a sharp ear, eh?’
‘I repeat, it is my training to observe and remember.’
‘How was he defeated?’ intervened Brother Eolann. He sounded concerned.
‘Lupus, as you know, had decided to stand against Grimoald. He declared for Perctarit. Grimoald signed a treaty with the Khagan, the Khan Kubrat …’
‘These names mean nothing to me,’ Fidelma pointed out irritably.
‘The Khagan rules the Avars who dwell to the north and east of our lands, in what used to be called Illyria. They attacked into our lands to overthrow Lupus. The rider you saw brought the news that Lupus and his army held out in Friuli for four days against the Avars. Lupus is now dead, his army slaughtered or scattered.’
‘Surely that is good for Grimoald?’ Fidelma commented.
‘Only if the Khan respects the treaty. At the moment the entire Valley of the Padus is open to invasion by the Avars. In that, Grimoald might have made a mistake. Grimoald had marched to the Meridies, south of this land, to fight the Byzantines. So he is still marching back northwards. The other news is that Perctarit and his Frankish allies are already in the lands just north of Mailand not far from here. Blood, fire and pillage sweep across the land. We must be vigilant. That is why strangers are stopped and questioned.’
‘But this has nothing to do with me, nor does it present any reason for holding me or my compatriot as prisoners in your fortress. You should allow us to return in peace and safety to Bobium.’
‘You are persistent in that matter, lady. But I have not yet satisfied myself that you do not present a threat to me or to my people.’
Kakko reappeared with two servants who began to clear away the plates under his supervision.
Grasulf rose to his feet, smiling thinly. ‘It is my hope that we will have many more of these stimulating exchanges.’
‘But it is my hope that this will be the only such exchange,’ replied Fidelma, also rising.
The Lord of Vars chuckled sardonically. ‘I fear your hope will be a vain one. You have a refreshing boldness, lady. We say that there is no sharper blade than the tongue of a woman. But I think you will find that I am a match for you.’
‘We also have a saying among my people. “A cur is bold in the place where he is well known”.’
His face darkened and he turned to Kakko. ‘Our guests may return to their quarters.’
The big steward came forward, led the way to the doors and swung them open.
A tall man, clad in a long black robe, stood outside, about to enter. His hair was snow-white. He had a nose that was prominent and thin bloodless lips, and his eyes were dark, almost without pupils.
He started as he caught sight of Fidelma and stepped back in surprise.
The recognition was mutual.
Kakko was unaware of the recognition that passed between them as he turned to give a gentle shove to Brother Eolann. Fidelma and the scriptor followed him through the door, neither of them speaking to the newcomer; nor did he speak to them.
They passed Suidur the Wise, physician to Radoald, Lord of Trebbia, without a word.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Outside the hall, as Kakko signalled to a bored-looking warrior to escort them back to their prison chamber, Fidelma took the opportunity to ask Eolann in their own language: ‘Did you see who that was?’
‘I did not recognise the man, why?’
‘That was the physician of
Radoald, Lord of Trebbia.’
‘I didn’t notice. I have never met him but only seen him once from a distance.’ Brother Eolann sounded surprised. ‘What is he doing here? I would not have thought that Radoald had much in common with this Grasulf.’
Fidelma was thinking of the group that she had seen in the courtyard at Radoald’s fortress and of Suidur talking with the two tall men in black cloaks who might have been the attackers of Magister Ado. Now Suidur had appeared in the fortress of the Lord of Vars. What could be the connection?
‘I have an idea,’ she began, but they were already at the chamber door. However, instead of allowing them both to enter, the guard pointed to Fidelma to go through and then shut the door behind her. She found a lamp had been lit already for her. She then heard the guard say something roughly to Brother Eolann and a door banged nearby. She stood inside the room for a moment. Now the matter would have to wait until the next day when she and Brother Eolann would be allowed back to Grasulf ’s scriptorium where they could talk freely.
She was turning towards the bed when Eolann’s voice came clearly from somewhere nearby: ‘Can you hear me, lady?’
She swung round. She could see nothing.
‘I hear you,’ she replied. ‘Where are you?’
‘There is a grille in this wall. I think it connects with your chamber. I am in the next chamber to yours.’
The voice did seem to come from a wall. She caught sight of a small grille in it just above head-level.
‘I see the grille.’
‘Good. They have separated us but we can still talk.’
‘That we can,’ she agreed.
‘You mentioned that you had an idea,’ prompted Brother Eolann.
‘My idea?’ Fidelma went to the wall and leaned against it, just under the grille. ‘Why to escape, of course.’
There was a silence from Brother Eolann before he spoke again. ‘You’ll forgive me, lady, but I had that idea the moment we were taken prisoner on Mount Pénas. However, there is no escape from here and if you are thinking of escape from the scriptorium, well, as the steward said, it seems that the only way to achieve that is if we could fly.’
‘Or if we could climb,’ replied Fidelma pointedly.
She heard Brother Eolann gasp. ‘How do you mean? Climb where?’
‘You believe yourself to be a good climber, don’t you? I saw so myself when we climbed under the difficult overhang on Mount Pénas.’
‘A slope is different from a vertical cliff face. Climbing down there is impossible.’
‘Why so?’
‘Firstly, we are locked in here. It is only during daylight hours that we will be allowed into the library, so someone would see us even if we were crazy enough to begin the descent. To escape we need to take a little more than we stand up in, especially once we have succeeded in the miracle of getting down into the valley. So how do you convince Kakko to allow us to take our bags to the library? And what if we did reach the valley floor? There is a small township down there and if no warriors are waiting for us at the bottom, then there will be people.’
Fidelma considered the matter for a moment. ‘You have raised some good objections, Brother Eolann. But it is better to take the opportunity than do nothing. I say that it could be done. It looks impossible from the centre of the terrace where you have a sheer drop. That is where they throw their condemned prisoners from. But I also looked at the corners, especially where part of the wall of the library seems to overhang. It doesn’t. It balances on a thrust of rock – and from what I saw, one could scramble with ease to the underside of that stonework. The rockface has more handholds and has a more gradual slope.’
There was quiet from the grille. Then Brother Eolann whispered, ‘One thing I will grant you, lady; you do have the blood of the Eóghanacht in you. A fighting race. But that is about all. I think such a plan is ridiculous. You cannot see the rockface all the way down from the terrace. You may easily get stuck halfway down.’
‘I shall try to investigate it more closely tomorrow. If it looks as though it can be done, then I am determined to do it, ridiculous or not,’ she said decisively.
‘And what about the other problems, such as transporting our bags to the library, getting food for the journey, planning a route which will bring us unobserved to Mount Pénas, let alone over it and back to Bobium – what of those little problems? There is no way of escaping. We have to resign ourselves to it.’
‘Pity the man drowned in the tempest, for after the rain comes the sunshine,’ snapped Fidelma, using an ancient saying of her people to chide those who advocated inaction. ‘I am determined on my course. The sea does not wait for the ship to load its cargo. The ship must be ready to catch the tide.’
Brother Eolann did not respond.
It was some time before Fidelma closed her eyes and fell asleep.
She came awake with the sound of the wooden bar being removed at the chamber door. She swung swiftly from the bed. The room was curiously bright as the moon was full and shining directly into it.
A tall figure stood in the doorway with a lamp whose flame was partially concealed by his hand.
‘Suidur!’ she gasped, recognising the figure. ‘What do you want?’
‘Silently does it, lady,’ came his sibilant tone. ‘What I want is for you to get dressed and fetch your belongings. Quickly now.’
‘Do you mean me harm? If so, I shall not stir.’
‘No harm is meant to you, lady. At the moment, I am the only means you have of escape from the Lord of Vars’s fortress, so hurry. Every moment’s delay means discovery.’
Fidelma blinked in surprise. ‘Where … ?’ she began.
‘Grasulf and Kakko are in a drunken stupor,’ he whispered. ‘Of course, that being thanks to the help of a little potion of mine as well as their propensity for strong drink. But we do not have long. Have you something to cover your head?’
She hesitated a moment, wondering whether she should trust him. What did old Brehon Morann once tell her? Catch the pig by the leg when you can.
‘Very well,’ she said decisively. ‘Is Brother Eolann coming?’
‘Of course, lady. He is already here and waiting.’
‘Then I shall do what you say.’
Suidur stood just inside the door as if keeping sentinel over the courtyard. Within moments, Fidelma had joined Brother Eolann who was already dressed and had his bag slung on his back. Suidur, still holding a lamp, whispered: ‘Keep close.’ Then he raised a forefinger to his lips.
Although filled with numerous questions and anxiety, Fidelma uttered no word but followed the white-haired physician across the courtyard, conscious of Brother Eolann at her shoulder. The gates were shut. However, with an attitude of assurance, Suidur went to where one of the guards was sitting on the ground, nodding sleepily. The man suddenly became aware of Suidur standing over him and scrambled to his feet.
‘A bad thing if Grasulf caught you asleep at his door,’ Suidur told him sternly.
The guard looked around fearfully as if expecting the Lord of Vars to appear.
‘I was not really asleep, master. You would not tell … ?’
‘Only if you move quickly and open the gate for my companions and me. We are late already and must hasten on an errand for the Lord of Vars.’
The gatekeeper, to Fidelma’s amazement, hurried to the task, almost bowing as they passed silently through.
Outside, as she remembered it, the track began to wind steeply down the curiously shaped thrust of rock on which the fortress of the Lord of Vars balanced. Suidur, who had extinguished his lamp for the full moon was adequate light for them, walked swiftly down the track without speaking. They hurried behind him.
They finally came to the lower reaches where woodland started. From this dark band of trees, the figure of a warrior suddenly appeared on the path before them. Suidur did not pause but called out something softly, to which the man seemed to assent and waved. A second man emerged from the woods, lead
ing three horses. Suidur turned to Fidelma and Brother Eolann. ‘I am afraid that you must ride double behind my men,’ he said. ‘I cannot get extra horses and we must be well away from here before first light.’
‘Can I ask why you are doing this?’ Fidelma inquired.
It was hard to see Suidur’s features in the shadows but it seemed that he spoke with irony. ‘Did you like being a guest of the Lord of Vars so much that you wanted to stay?’
‘Of course not, but—’
‘Then postpone your questions until we have put some distance between ourselves and this place. I want to get into the shelter of the mountains.’
The two warriors mounted their horses and then Fidelma and Brother Eolann were helped to swing up behind them. Suidur was already in the saddle and the three horses moved off quietly through the woods, skirting round the few lights that showed the extent of the settlement that spread under the fortress of the Lord of Vars. For a physician Suidur showed a surprising knowledge of how to trek quietly through the woods. The thought crossed Fidelma’s mind that perhaps the man had been a soldier before he became a physician.
She clung on to the rider before her, trying to make sense of the events that had transpired. Could these be the same men she had seen speaking with Suidur in the fortress of Radoald? The same men who had witnessed Brother Eolann and herself being brought as prisoners to the fortress of the Lord of Vars? Suidur had appeared at Grasulf’s fortress and apparently been welcomed there. Why had he rescued her and Brother Eolann? It made no sense at all.
With the questions swimming in her mind they rode on, moving without speed, until the township was well behind them. They reached an open track which ran alongside a noisy gushing river. Fidelma noticed from the white frothy movement of the current that they were heading upstream into the mountains. By her reckoning, the mountain that they had come over, Mount Pénas, lay behind her left shoulder. But it was still a long way from first light and although the sky was cloudless and the moon high and bright, she could not be sure.
It was now that Suidur raised his hand and gestured in a forward motion. The pace of the horses began to increase to a trot and then a canter. Fidelma had ridden almost before she had begun to walk and considered herself a capable horsewoman. The horse beneath her had certainly not been bred for the fields or for hauling carts. She felt the strong muscles as the beast stretched its powerful limbs beneath her. She knew instinctively that the rider was keeping it in check otherwise it would break into a full-scale gallop. This was a horse bred for warriors, a warhorse. She could not see in the darkness but she suspected it was of the singular breed that she had seen in the valley before.
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