Behold a Pale Horse

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘A trained rider on a good horse could make it,’ corrected Wulfoald.

  ‘I saw him,’ affirmed Odo. ‘He was riding down the mountain but I lost sight of him in the smoke. He was the man who did this, there is no doubt.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’ Fidelma leaned forward eagerly.

  Odo shook his head. ‘He was just a figure in the darkness. All I remember was that the horse was pale. It could have been white or grey.’ He suddenly peered at Wulfoald’s horse and frowned. ‘It was much like that one.’

  ‘Set deliberately …’ Wulfoald was thoughtful. ‘It is lucky that the fire did not spread further.’

  ‘There was a heavy rain that swept the area, and other mountain people came to make sure there were fire-breaks in case it restarted. They have all returned to their homes to ensure their herds are well. I was about to leave when I saw people passing up the road to the sanctuary …’

  ‘That would have been Brother Bladulf and his brethren,’ Wulfoald observed.

  ‘They passed by on foot along the main track up towards the sanctuary. I waited in case they returned and then I saw you coming directly to Hawisa’s cabin and thought you must have been responsible.’

  ‘If someone was responsible for the fire, and therefore the death of the old woman, then there are many questions to be answered. By the way,’ Fidelma had a sudden thought, ‘did your aunt tell you about the day Wamba was found?’

  ‘She had spoken of nothing else since the burial,’ confirmed the goatherd. ‘My cousin was her only child. Why do you ask?’

  ‘And what did she say? Explain the circumstances.’

  ‘That day she came to my cabin, which, as I say, is not far away down the mountain. She told me that a warrior had found Wamba where he had apparently fallen from a rockface. He was dead. She asked me to tend to the goats while she went to the abbey where the body was being taken for burial.’

  ‘Did she say how she knew the warrior had found her boy?’

  Odo stared at her in puzzlement. ‘Because the warrior told her so.’

  ‘She had not gone to the abbey when you saw her. When had the warrior told her about finding the body?’

  The young man looked bewildered. ‘I do not understand. He told her when he brought the body to her cabin.’

  Fidelma heard Wulfoald’s suppressed exclamation of satisfaction but ignored it.

  ‘Did she tell you who this warrior was? His name?’

  ‘Only that he was one of Lord Radoald’s men, that’s all I know. Strangely enough, Abbot Servillius was with her at the time. He had come to give Wamba payment for some old coin that Wamba had been given. Apparently he had taken the money to the abbey.’

  ‘You did not go to Wamba’s funeral?’

  ‘I could not. Hawisa asked me to look after the goats. She went.’

  Fidelma was sitting back, her mind racing. The story was totally contrary to what Hawisa had told them on their visit to her. This account entirely supported Wulfoald’s version of events. How could such a thing be?

  ‘Well.’ Wulfoald smiled almost triumphantly. ‘Now you know my story is correct.’

  ‘So one other thing, Odo. Did you know that your aunt had placed a box belonging to Wamba in the cairn that she had erected?’

  The youth nodded sadly. ‘It was stolen almost immediately,’ he replied. ‘One of the goatherds even saw it being taken. He actually saw a man in the robes of a religieux climbing down from where the cairn was, with the box in his hand. He scrambled up to the path to intercept him, but by the time he reached the spot, the thief had escaped on a horse. Curiously enough, yesterday morning my aunt found the box, slightly damaged, but placed back in the cairn.’

  Fidelma did not bother to explain but asked, ‘Was the colour of this horse mentioned?’

  Odo thought a moment and then he realised the implication. ‘It was pale grey too.’

  ‘Where would this witness be now?’

  ‘Gone, lady. He went to Travo soon after the cairn was desecrated and has not returned.’

  Fidelma sat back, gazing moodily at the gushing waters of the stream. Not for the first time, questions cascaded in her mind. Why had Hawisa told her and Brother Eolann such a different tale? Why would she lie so blatantly? Then she realised she was asking the wrong question. She had not thought of it before – indeed, had never contemplated it. How did she know what Hawisa had told her? Her story had been relayed through interpretation only. Fidelma had totally relied on her interpreter and that was Brother Eolann. But why should Brother Eolann have misinterpreted what the old woman had said? If Hawisa was not lying at the time, why would the scriptor purposely distort her words? There were other questions. Why did Abbot Servillius climb all the way to Hawisa’s cabin to compensate her for a coin that was not worth much? And why had Brother Ruadán claimed that Wamba had been killed because he found the coins?

  Fidelma rose to her feet, turning over the answers she had received and coming up with more questions. Another thought struck her. She turned quickly back to Odo.

  ‘You said that Abbot Servillius had come to Hawisa’s cabin that day to recompense Wamba for some coins that he had been given and taken to the abbey.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Do you mean Wamba had found the coins or been given these coins by someone else?’

  ‘Wamba told me that he had been given two coins, not that he found them. He believed they were gold and ancient, but he never showed them to me. He only mentioned one to his mother.’

  ‘But let me make this absolutely clear. Wamba was given the coins?’

  ‘That’s what he told me and what he told his mother.’

  ‘Who gave him the coins?’

  ‘Some old religieux, one of the Hibernians at the abbey.’

  ‘Can you remember the name?’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘Not really. A name that sounded like strong rope.’

  The Latin word he used was rudens. Fidelma gave a quick smile of satisfaction.

  ‘Brother Ruadán?’ she asked.

  Odo had no hesitation. ‘That was the name.’

  Fidelma heaved a deep sigh. So it had been Brother Ruadán who had given Wamba the coins, coins that the old man considered had brought about the death of the boy.

  ‘I would be careful, Odo,’ she advised him. ‘There are strange things happening on this mountain. After we leave here, I would take your goats to some new pasture where you might protect yourself for a while.’

  Wulfoald was on his feet looking moodily at the horses. ‘I was hoping we could use the merchant’s mule to help carry the old woman’s body back to the abbey. It would be appropriate if she could be buried with her son.’

  Fidelma glanced at him in appreciation. ‘You can put it on my horse,’ she offered. ‘I can ride double behind you.’

  ‘Thank you, lady. I can help you move the body,’ Odo said. ‘It would be the right thing to do.’

  It did not take long to carry out the gruesome task, arranging Odo’s blanket to wrap the body in. The youth agreed to come to the abbey before midnight when such burials were carried out, to pay his last respects to his aunt.

  ‘Nothing further we can do here,’ Wulfoald said, as he stood with the horses. ‘I don’t understand it. If the fire was deliberately set, and it seems it was, then are we saying that this was an act of Grasulf and his men?’

  ‘I am as perplexed as you are, Wulfoald, by what we have seen and heard,’ Fidelma replied quietly.

  Wulfoald grimaced almost humorously. ‘I am sure that this has not turned out satisfactory to whatever ideas you had, lady,’ he said to Fidelma. ‘However, I would urge that we return to the abbey as quickly as possible. We ought to have a word with the scriptor, Brother Eolann, to see if he can cast any light on what Hawisa originally said to you and, perhaps, why.’

  ‘You are right, Wulfoald,’ Fidelma acknowledged. ‘I am sorry. I should have realised long before this that you were telling the truth.’

  Wu
lfoald looked amused but said, ‘Why is that, lady?’

  ‘When Brother Waldipert, the cook, told me that you had brought Wamba’s body to the abbey, he said quite clearly that you brought the body with the abbot and not to the abbot. That meant that you and the abbot had both escorted the body to the abbey. It was stupid of me to have overlooked it.’

  Wulfoald pursed his lips for a moment and then shrugged. ‘A small word, a tiny inflection. Easily missed. Grammatici certant et adhuc sub judice lis est?’

  Fidelma smiled wanly. ‘Grammarians discuss, and the case is still before the courts,’ she repeated. ‘But remember, wars hang on such linguistic misunderstandings.’

  ‘Let us hope no war hangs on this mystery,’ Wulfoald replied as he untethered his horse and mounted, holding out an arm to help Fidelma swing up behind him. Then he bent and took the reins of the beast that carried the corpse of the old woman and began to lead it carefully behind them down the mountain track towards the abbey.

  Fidelma felt bewildered as she held on to the back of the warrior. There was something not quite right here, something that made her believe that the answers to all these mysteries still lay in the abbey itself.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Fidelma and Wulfoald left their grisly burden at the gates of the necropolis with one of the brethren, to await instructions on the burial, before continuing into the abbey itself. When Brother Wulfila swung back the gates to allow them to enter the courtyard, he looked nervous, and Fidelma immediately became aware of a tension in the air as they dismounted. One of the brethren took the horses to the stables.

  ‘Did all go well?’ demanded the steward. ‘Did you find out the cause of the fire?’

  ‘It seems that the fire was deliberately set,’ Wulfoald replied. ‘It destroyed the cabin of Hawisa and she perished in the flames.’

  ‘Deliberately set?’ gasped the steward.

  ‘I have to inform you, as steward, that we brought the body of Hawisa down and left it at the necropolis. We considered it appropriate that the old woman should be buried with her son.’

  ‘Perhaps it is best, then, if the body is taken to the chapel overnight.’

  ‘We thought it would be more expedient to leave it at the necropolis,’ Sister Fidelma said. ‘I am afraid the odours would be offensive to the brethren if it was brought into the abbey.’

  Brother Wulfila looked undecided. ‘But the body should be given a blessing before burial. It ought to be brought to the chapel for services …’

  ‘I suggest that the blessing be done at the graveside,’ Wulfoald replied dryly. ‘Death, in such circumstance, does not smell sweet.’

  It took the steward a few moments before he understood. ‘Of course, of course,’ he muttered, anxiously peering around as if looking for someone.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Fidelma asked. ‘You appear preoccupied, Brother Wulfila.’

  ‘I am sorry, lady. I have a matter to attend to,’ he said, and then he left them to hurry away.

  Wulfoald glanced at Fidelma with a shrug and hailed Brother Hnikar who was passing by.

  ‘Is Abbot Servillius in his chamber?’

  The apothecary halted. ‘He has come back but is not to be disturbed.’

  ‘Not to be disturbed?’ queried Wulfoald, amazed.

  The other man explained: ‘Abbot Servillius returned a short while ago. He has retired immediately to his chamber for he is exhausted. I have never seen him look so worried. He told the steward specifically that he is not to be disturbed until the bell for the evening meal.’

  ‘And Sister Gisa – where is she?’ Fidelma asked, recalling that they had ridden out together on the previous night.

  ‘Abbot Servillius says Sister Gisa has remained with Aistulf. It is very curious.’

  Wulfoald gave him an encouraging smile. ‘Then I am sure the abbot will explain when he emerges from his rest. Doubtless he is exhausted, having been away all night. If Sister Gisa is with Aistulf, then she will be all right. Meanwhile, Sister Fidelma, we must go in search of Brother Eolann.’

  Fidelma agreed. ‘Has he recovered from his er … fall?’ she asked Brother Hnikar.

  ‘Yes, yes. He is fine and he claims no pain at all from his injury, even though he has a bruise and a bump on his head. I saw him a short time ago, heading for the scriptorium.’

  Fidelma led the way to the entrance to the scriptorium through the smaller courtyard and up the tower. The chamber in which Brother Eolann was usually to be found, however, was empty and in gloom. Although it lacked a long time until dusk, every time she had been in the room there was a lamp or tallow candle spluttering with light. There was none now. With a puzzled grimace to Wulfoald, she turned and opened the door into the copyists’ room. Here the lamps blazed as a dozen or so of the brethren were seated at their desks with maulsticks to rest their wrists on as they used their quills to copy texts on to vellum from the skins of goats or sheep. There was an industrious scratching as they painstakingly bent to their various tasks.

  One of them looked up and caught sight of Fidelma and Wulfoald. He rose from his stool and came forward with an inquiring glance.

  ‘I am looking for the scriptor, Brother Eolann,’ she told him.

  ‘We have not seen him for a while, Sister,’ the scribe replied. ‘We thought he might have left the abbey again.’

  ‘Left the abbey again?’

  ‘He was away nearly four nights with you, Sister,’ replied the scribe solemnly but without guile.

  She flushed in annoyance. ‘He was here this morning and had an – an accident. A fall. He has not been seen by you today?’

  ‘He was here some time today,’ offered another of the copyists, glancing up.

  ‘He may be with Venerable Ionas, Sister,’ said another. ‘He is often in conference with him. Venerable Ionas works in his own chamber through there.’ He pointed to another door.

  Fidelma thanked them and, with Wulfoald behind her, followed the direction that the copyist had indicated through a door into a small passage. Even before they began to search for Venerable Ionas’ chamber, they saw the elderly scholar himself walking along the passage as if on his way to the copyists’ room. His expression grew concerned when they told him who they were looking for.

  ‘I have also been in search of Brother Eolann. I saw him briefly after Abbot Servillius returned. In fact, he said he was going to make confession to the abbot but he has not been seen in the scriptorium since then. I was told that he had a bad fall this morning and perhaps he is still suffering from the shock of it.’

  Venerable Ionas told them the location of Brother Eolann’s chamber but they had no luck there. The scriptor believed in living frugally for there was hardly anything that could be described as personal belongings in the room, only a spare set of sandals, some clothing and personal toilet articles. There was not even a book nor a set of scribal implements to mark his profession.

  Fidelma turned to Wulfoald with a look of resignation.

  ‘There is little more that we can do until we find Brother Eolann’s whereabouts.’

  ‘I agree. This matter is becoming curious, lady. Unfortunately, I have the security of the valley to occupy me and so must return to Radoald’s fortress to discuss these matters with him.’

  ‘You believe warfare is imminent?’

  ‘That is one thing that is sure. And another thing that is also sure is the fact that Grasulf of Vars will be part of it. But he will go with the side that pays him the most. That’s why Suidur went to see him, to find out what Perctarit was offering him.’

  They had made their way back down to the courtyard and Wulfoald called for his horse to be brought out.

  Fidelma waited a moment before making up her mind to bathe after her journey. Later, she lay down in her chamber and dozed for a while. It was growing late when she opened her eyes. Time had passed quickly. Her feelings of unease began to increase. She must not delay in questioning Abbot Servillius about his visit to Hawisa. When she went down
to the main hall and found Brother Wulfila, she was informed that the abbot had not yet emerged. His strict instruction was that he should not be disturbed before the bell for the evening meal.

  In response to her question, the steward declared that he had not seen Brother Eolann since midday. There was no further news of Sister Gisa, but Brother Faro had returned – although on being told of Sister Gisa’s absence, he insisted on leaving the abbey again to see if he could find his companion. The steward seemed distressed that no one appeared to be obeying the rules of the abbey any more.

  Annoyed at what she saw as timewasting, Fidelma decided to seek out Venerable Ionas again to see if his scholarship could shed light on those matters that were worrying her. She retraced her steps to the scriptorium and then found his chamber. A few seconds after tapping on the door, the elderly scholar’s voice invited her to enter. He was sitting at his desk with some manuscript books laid out in front of him and a quill in his hand.

  ‘Venerable Ionas, may I bother you for a moment?’

  The old man sat back from his desk with a frown and laid down the quill. ‘If you are still looking for Brother Eolann, he has not been seen yet. It is very vexatious.’

  ‘I have heard as much from Brother Wulfila,’ she replied, entering and shutting the door behind her. ‘But it is about another matter I have come to seek your advice.’

  ‘Then how can I be of help, Sister Fidelma?’ he asked with interest.

  ‘I hear that you know something about ancient coins.’

  ‘I know a little, for in the study of history, coins can sometimes be useful.’

  ‘Can you tell me what this is?’ She had taken the gold coin from her ciorr bholg, or comb bag, and placed it in his hand, before sitting by his desk on a small stool.

  Venerable Ionas peered at it shortsightedly, turning it over in his frail hands. Then he nodded slowly. ‘A gold piece from ancient Gaul. It looks quite old. Where did you find it?’

  ‘Oh, it was given to me.’ Fidelma glossed over its provenance. ‘But are you sure it is from Gaul, not a local coin?’