There came a point when they began to climb so steeply that eventually the canter was slowed and fell back to a walking pace. By this time, a light glimmered in the eastern sky, indicating the coming dawn. Fidelma knew that they had crossed several streams. Perhaps they were crossing and recrossing the same watercourse? An attempt to throw off any trackers with hunting dogs?
It was not until the sun was pushing above the far eastern hills that she realised they had climbed a fair way into the mountains. It was then that Suidur pointed to a distant herder’s hut. At least, she assumed it was, because she could not think of anyone else who would dwell this high up in the mountains. Suidur did not make any explanation as they continued slowly towards the hut. Only when they reached it did he halt and announce: ‘Here we will rest.’
Fidelma slid from her perch, feeling remarkably alert for someone who had had so little sleep. Brother Eolann was stretching himself after the lengthy ride while the two warriors, for the dawn had revealed the two silent men to be such, had taken the horses to a small paddock behind the hut to rub them down and fodder them. Fidelma peered at the peaks that arose all about them before she said to Suidur: ‘We are nowhere near Mount Pénas.’
The physician smiled. ‘You are observant, lady. True, we have come further south. We have followed the Staffel River, and that high peak before us is the mountain on which it rises. It is said that the Carthaginian Hannibal climbed up it when he was resting his army in the Trebbia Valley on the far side.’
‘So we are not far from Bobium?’
‘No, not far. We will eventually cross the mountains almost opposite Radoald’s fortress, a little to the south. This way we may fool Grasulf, who may think you will head directly to Bobium and therefore send his men to stop you crossing Mount Pénas. I suggest that you and your companion get some sleep. We have only done a third of our journey, for both the climb on this side and the descent into the Trebbia Valley are difficult. That mountain is the highest in this range and we will skirt it, going over via a lesser height and come on a trackway that will wind down to the Trebbia.’
Brother Eolann came forward, looking sleepy. ‘Gratias tibi ago,’ he said. ‘I do not know you although I have seen you from a distance. But Brother Hnikar speaks highly of your skills. I thank you for your timely intervention.’
‘Non est tanti,’ replied Suidur, dismissing his thanks with the traditional saying that it was nothing.
Fidelma, however, knew that there were questions to be asked, and the sooner the better. At least, with daylight, she could see that the two warriors who accompanied them were not the same men who had twice attacked Magister Ado – although they wore the same manner of clothing and emblem.
‘Why?’ she suddenly asked.
‘Why?’ repeated Suidur.
‘I do not understand why you put yourself into such danger to rescue us. You went to the Lord of Vars and seemed to be welcomed as a friend. You say that you drank with him and his steward and even placed some sleep-inducing potion in their drinks and then helped us escape from our prison. It occurs to me that I should ask the question – why?’
Suidur gazed thoughtfully at her. ‘Would it not be easier to have some rest first and then discuss this question at more leisure when we have eaten?’
Fidelma shook her head firmly. ‘I cannot rest with such questions swimming in my mind,’ she said simply.
‘Very well.’ Suidur went into the hut and motioned them inside. Fidelma was surprised to see ashes still glowing in a central hearth and within a few moments the physician had added more fuel and stirred it into a blaze. ‘This is one of the places Lord Radoald maintains to keep watch on his western borders.’
He motioned them to be seated. There were rugs and blankets which they arranged around the fire.
‘And now,’ Suidur said with a smile, ‘how did I come to the fortress of Grasulf? Last night I was visiting …’ he hesitated ‘ … shall we say a loyal servant of Lord Radoald. Oh yes, we have spies here. You may have deduced that Grasulf is a man of certain beliefs. One is a belief in gold. We have learned that Perctarit, the deposed King, has offered Grasulf gold for his allegiance. Once Grasulf has that gold, he will raise his people to attack his neighbours.’
‘It does not explain what you were doing in the fortress,’ pointed out Fidelma.
‘All in good time, lady. My men,’ he indicated the two warriors outside, ‘often go there, pretending to be in sympathy. You might have seen them before, because they were in the fortress when you arrived as prisoners. They alerted me when I came to make contact with my … my spy.’
‘I saw them,’ Fidelma agreed.
‘They recognised Brother Eolann and described you. I knew Lord Radoald would not want you to remain in the hands of Grasulf, who has been known to sell women to slavers. Leaving my men, with the horses, at the bottom of the hill, I went up to the fortress and sought entrance. It is not the first time that I had been an envoy between Radoald and Grasulf, therefore I was known at the fortress.
‘As you saw, Grasulf welcomed me, thinking I had arrived in this role and, naturally, I pretended that I had come with counter-proposals to pay for his allegiance. However, it was decided that we needed to prepare our negotiation in liquid form. Grasulf was most willing to do so; he had already drunk much wine and it was easy to pour my potion into his drink. I also did the same with Kakko. My men had told me which chambers you had been placed in, and the rest was simple.’
It sounded simple. Perhaps too simple, Fidelma thought. Her mind was spinning with questions again.
‘And now,’ Suidur was saying, ‘since you have asked me for my story, lady, may I ask how you came to be prisoners in Grasulf’s fortress?’
She glanced quickly at Brother Eolann, hoping to warn him not to mention the finding of Lady Gunora’s body. No need to part with all the information until she knew how, or if, these matters related. However, Brother Eolann had sunk back and was breathing deeply. Suidur followed her glance, saying, ‘Our friend is asleep, as you should be.’
‘Then my story first, Suidur. Brother Eolann offered to take me to the sanctuary of Colm Bán on the peak of Mount Pénas – with the approval of Abbot Servillius, of course. When I return to Hibernia, my people will want to know all about the abbey. So, we climbed up the mountain and stayed the night at the sanctuary. Just when we were about to return to the abbey the next morning, Grasulf’s men appeared and took us captive to his fortress.’
‘You are a stranger in this land, Fidelma of Hibernia,’ Suidur said solemnly. ‘There are many things that are going to be unusual and even curious to a stranger’s perception. If I might offer some advice, I would return to your own land as soon as you can. There is an evil spreading through these mountains.’ Suddenly he stood up. ‘Now once more, I plead with you to rest. We shall move off at midday. We will not reach Radoald’s fortress until tomorrow, so we will have to spend tonight on the mountain.’
It was midday when Fidelma awoke. The sun stood high in a cloudless sky. Brother Eolann was also stirring but there was no sign of Suidur, although she could hear movement outside the hut. She rose quickly and looked out. Suidur was talking to the two warriors in the swift, guttural tones of the local language. Fidelma glanced back to the scriptor who was sitting up and blinking.
‘Brother Eolann,’ she whispered urgently, ‘a word of warning. Do not mention finding the body of Lady Gunora, nor anything about the coins or Wamba.’
Brother Eolann frowned. ‘Or anything about the missing prince?’
‘Exactly. Let us be circumspect.’
‘Ah, you are both awake.’ The shadow of Suidur had fallen across the doorway. ‘That is good. We must be on our way soon.’
‘A wash and some food would be appreciated before we set off again, if that is possible,’ Fidelma said.
‘There is a stream and a little waterfall behind this hut, lady,’ Suidur replied. ‘And there is something to eat before we set off.’
Fidelma
took her ciorr bholg, her comb bag with her toiletries, and made her way to a sheltered spot at the back of the hut. The cold water was refreshing, splashing down the mountain to form both a pool and a shower. She hurried over her toilet so that Brother Eolann could follow her example. She presumed that Suidur and his men had already washed for they looked refreshed as if they had not ridden through the night. The meal was of goat’s cheese and fruit, washed down by the crystal waters of the mountain stream.
It turned out that the two warriors spoke no Latin and so the conversation was limited to Suidur. Brother Eolann exchanged a few words with them but they gave the impression of preferring not to engage in conversation.
‘I think Radoald mentioned that his family would suffer if Perctarit returned as King,’ Fidelma commented, as they began to eat. ‘Is that why he is anxious about Grasulf?’
Suidur nodded. ‘Radoald’s father helped Grimoald to overthrow Perctarit, driving him into exile in the lands of the Franks. Radoald fought alongside his father, Lord Billo. His father did not return to Trebbia and Radoald became Lord. I doubt whether Perctarit will feel kindly towards Radoald if he returns to power in this land.’
‘When we were in Grasulf’s fortress a messenger rode in to say that Lupus had turned against Grimoald but had been destroyed with his army after four days of fighting somewhere. Is that bad?’
The physician studied her with keen interest.
‘For a stranger, lady, you have picked up much. We heard about this story too. The answer is that it might be bad for us, for it depends on what the Khagan will do next.’
‘The one who defeated Lupus?’
‘The same. It seems that Grimoald, unable to march north quickly enough to face Lupus, offered an alliance with the leader of the Avars. The Avars threw themselves against Lupus and defeated him. But what will the Khagan demand of Grimoald in return? Will the Avars flood into this land? If so, then God help every one of us. To the Avars we are all sheep ready to be shorn.’
‘I presume the Avars are not followers of the Faith?’
‘So far as I know they will follow any faith they believe helps them – from their chief god, Ts’ob, to various forms of our own Christ. But they are hungry for land and power and, frankly, the news that Grimoald had formed an alliance with them is not pleasing to our people.’
‘You think these lands are in immediate danger?’ interposed Brother Eolann.
‘What is happening is setting brother against brother and neighbour against neighbour. The Pale Horse will be sweeping through these valleys soon and none will be spared.’
‘Pale Horse?’ queried Fidelma.
‘The rider is Death himself,’ replied Suidur. ‘That is why I offered my advice – leave this land while you can.’
Fidelma turned her gaze across the mountains to the north and the east and sighed. ‘It seems so peaceful and beautiful.’
‘Even from ancient times these valleys have been drenched in blood. The Ligurians, the Gauls, the Romans, the Carthaginians, then the Romans again and then my own people, the Longobards – they have all fertilised these beautiful valleys with their blood. It will be so again.’ Suidur stood up and appeared to be contemplating the prediction for a moment before turning to his men and snapping an order. They began to pack up and prepare the horses.
Seeing Suidur’s mount in daylight, Fidelma realised that her thoughts in the darkness had been right. It was of the same breed and colouring, the same pale grey, that she had seen several times in the valley. She had seen Wulfoald and Brother Faro mounted on this same short-backed animal with the narrow croup and long tail. It had certainly displayed a hardiness and stamina and galloped like a sprinter for all its fiery temperament. It was truly a warrior’s horse.
‘Is that Wulfoald’s horse?’ she asked Suidur, for the beast was so alike.
‘What makes you think that?’ the physician demanded, puzzled. Then he smiled. ‘Oh, I see. This is of the same breed. They were introduced in the valley only a decade ago and have flourished.’
‘I have never seen the breed before. They are light, sturdy animals.’
‘I see that you are a judge of horses, lady. Lord Billo, when he was Lord of Trebbia, bought half a dozen of them from a Byzantine merchant in Genua and bred them. We are not sure where they came from, although it was said that the merchant brought them from the east.’ Suidur paused abruptly and gazed intently towards the north.
‘You see something?’ asked Fidelma, aware of the slight tension in his body.
‘I do,’ replied the physician. ‘If seems that Grasulf was not long in recovering before raising the alarm.’
Fidelma stood and tried to follow his gaze across the valley. ‘What is it?’
‘About twenty-five horsemen following us. Don’t be alarmed, we are in no immediate danger.’
Brother Eolann was straining in the same direction now. ‘How far away?’ he demanded.
‘Oh, it will take them some time before they manage to climb up here,’ Suidur assured him.
Fidelma could now just make out a series of tiny dots at the far end of the valley. They were moving in line like a string of ants.
‘You have good vision, Suidur,’ she said. ‘I can barely see them. Is it Grasulf?’
‘No one else would be riding so hard. You might not be able to discern them well, but I think that is as it should be. We would not wish to see them any closer to us.’
He checked with his warriors that all was ready. Once more Fidelma and Brother Eolann took their bags and hoisted them on their backs, before mounting behind the warriors. They set off at a walking pace, continuing along the track which wound at a steep incline up through the hills.
‘Don’t worry,’ Suidur called back. ‘I think even Grasulf will turn back once we are well inside the territory of Radoald.’
Fidelma realised that, although they continued to move steadily up sharp gradients, they were not actually climbing over the mountains but rather weaving their way through them. The tracks were often wide enough only for one horse to proceed at a time. And now and then the way was so steep that they had to dismount and lead the horses. It was, for her, an extraordinary experience. Once more the conditions meant there was little exchange of conversation. They moved on through the hot afternoon with Fidelma now and then casting an apprehensive glance behind. But they had circled through the mountains so much there was little prospect of seeing any pursuers. They stopped only once at a mountain spring to allow the horses to drink and to refresh themselves. It was not until nearly sunset that they came to a strange little dell, an area that seemed to be carved unnaturally into the hillside. Yet, as she inspected it closer, she saw that it was in fact a natural shelter with overhanging bushes.
‘This will be our last halt,’ Suidur explained. ‘We start down into the Trebbia Valley tomorrow.’
‘Will it be safe to halt here?’ asked a nervous Brother Eolann.
‘Grasulf for all his pagan beliefs does not have wings like his ravens,’ replied Suidur with a smile. ‘I am sure he will have given up the chase a long time ago.’
Before long, a fire was lit and food distributed and they curled themselves up with their blankets. The shelter was not as convenient as the previous one and there was no gushing spring with shower or pool. But a small trickling spring provided water for drinking and enough to splash the face and hands.
That night Fidelma didn’t bother pursuing any conversation but was asleep almost immediately.
At first she thought it just part of a dream. She became aware of whispering. She lay for a moment trying to struggle into full consciousness without opening her eyes or moving. To her amazement the voices were speaking in Latin, and while one of them was Suidur, she could not identify the other one.
‘ … dripping moisture hollows out a stone,’ Suidur was saying. ‘Grimoald acts far too quickly and as a result makes rash decisions. He should have waited.’
‘Now the magister is alert and we will never fi
nd it.’
‘There is still a chance, my lord. Grasulf will not move before he has the gold in his hand, that is for sure. My men and I went to his fortress pretending to make a counter-offer. He has certainly not been paid yet.’
‘And the foreigner and the scriptor? How do they stand in this matter?’
‘They are not involved. They had to be rescued. A pity, I might have found out more if I had stayed, but you know what Grasulf is like. He has no morals and would have used the girl as he thought fit or sold her to slavers. No, she had to be rescued from Vars.’
‘And you are sure that Lady Gunora was not a prisoner there?’
‘If the boy is right, Lady Gunora must be dead.’
Fidelma felt herself go cold listening to the exchange. ‘If Perctarit and his main force are at Mailand, then his men would have to move quickly now,’ said the strange voice. ‘Once Grasulf is paid for his services, he can turn on Radoald, and once Radoald is destroyed, then the routes to Genua are wide open. While Perctarit occupies the entire plain of the Padus, his Frankish allies can land by ship at Genua and march with their supplies and reinforcements all the way to him.’
‘I agree that if anything is to happen, it must happen during the next day or so. We are still no nearer to knowing where the gold is or who will supply it. It may be that we were entirely wrong about the magister.’
‘You will be in the mountains?’
‘I will go to see my son first and inform him.’
Hearing receding footsteps, Fidelma allowed her eyes to flick open, but from where she lay she could see nothing. She heard a rustle nearby and closed her eyes again. Her thoughts were confused but while she tried to sort them out, sleep overcame her once again.
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