Behold a Pale Horse

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘I assure you, therefore, that it is important to look inside,’ insisted Fidelma. ‘We must do it and do it now.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘The answer to all the deaths that have happened and may happen will be found in this mausoleum. I ask you to trust me.’

  Venerable Ionas stared at her in amazement, but he could feel her sincerity. He hesitated a moment more and finally agreed. ‘Very well. Thankfully, it is easy enough to replace such fittings as these.’ He bent down, picked up a piece of rock and banged it against the iron lock. It fell away with only three sharp blows. Together, they drew back one of the doors. Whatever Venerable Ionas was expecting to see inside, it was not a wagon piled with leather sacks. This occupied most of the interior and there was no sign of any sarcophagus.

  Fidelma’s expression did not change as she stepped forward and began to tug open one of the sacks. She held it for Venerable Ionas to see. Inside it was stuffed with golden coins.

  ‘Is this the Aurum Tolosa?’ breathed the old scholar, staring at it. ‘Does it truly exist?’

  Fidelma gave a shake of her head, saying, ‘It might well be from Tolosa, but it is not the fabled gold of Caepio.’

  ‘Then what … ?’

  ‘It is meant as payment to the Lord of Vars for his services, and I think he will be coming for it soon. We had best try to fix the lock and return to your chamber to discuss this matter.’

  When they were back in his chamber, they sat for a while in silence.

  ‘How long have you known?’ Venerable Ionas finally asked.

  ‘Only since last night,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I was too busy chasing the mythological gold to come to a solution earlier.’

  ‘The Aurum Tolosa?’ asked Venerable Ionas, bewildered. ‘But where does this gold come from? You say it is payment for the Lord of Vars – but for what, and why?’

  ‘From Perctarit to Grasulf to persuade him to join him in an uprising against Grimoald. One thing I learned at Vars was that Grasulf was expecting such payment. When Perctarit was ready, he would tell Grasulf where it had been placed by his agent.’

  ‘His agent? Who placed it there, in the mausoleum of Bobolen?’

  ‘I think I know, but I need to confirm things. I am sure the wagon has been hidden there for some time. I don’t know how, but I believe poor Brother Ruadán discovered the secret. He found some coins and, presumably out of charity, gave two of them to Wamba.’

  Venerable Ionas was shaking his head in bewilderment.

  ‘I still cannot understand. Was it something to do with Brother Eolann?’

  ‘He had a hand in it yet he was not the central person involved.’

  ‘There are many questions to be answered, Fidelma.’

  ‘I know,’ she agreed grimly. ‘That is why I cannot reveal who I think is the instigator of this plot.’ She rose and added: ‘Matters will soon come to fruition. I leave you for a while.’

  ‘Where do you intend to go?’

  ‘To seek out Lord Radoald. I believe that he can supply some answers to this mystery.’

  ‘You must be careful,’ insisted Venerable Ionas. ‘If it is known that you have discovered this gold, even the fact that you are a woman – indeed, a princess from Hibernia – will not protect you.’

  Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘I never thought it would,’ she replied. Then she asked: ‘Are there any men of strength in the abbey? A blacksmith and his assistant?’

  Venerable Ionas pursed his lips for a moment in thought. ‘We have three or four such men.’

  ‘Then they must be men that you totally trust. Only you are to communicate with them and let them take an oath of silence about what you will ask them to do. No word of what I want you to ask them must be revealed to anyone else in the abbey. Nor must you mention it to anyone yourself, not even to those whom you trust, like Magister Ado, Brother Bladulf or Brother Wulfila or even Brother Lonán.’

  ‘I do not understand but I shall trust you, Fidelma. I will make the men take such an oath and bind them to silence.’

  She outlined her instructions. ‘This must be done in secret. If I am right, it should buy some time, at least. I hope to return to the abbey well before the end of the day, and by that time all will be clear.’

  ‘I pray that it is, for you are saying that I cannot trust some who are my closest associates … even friends.’

  ‘I would also ask you to request the brethren to stay close to the abbey today,’ she added.

  ‘Are you some soothsayer that you are sure of this impending danger?’ queried the elderly scholar in resignation.

  ‘Ah, had I eyes that foresee the future, I would never have left the port of Genua.’

  ‘Well, there are no footsteps backwards in life, my child. Once the die is thrown, we must accept the outcome and make of it what we will.’

  Fidelma paused at the door. ‘You are right, Venerable Ionas. Sometimes I give way to a selfishness of spirit, of which I should be ashamed. I have learned much from the mistake of putting trust in Brother Eolann.’

  ‘God made you as you are, Fidelma, and for that this abbey is grateful. Stay safe and hurry back to us.’

  She left the abbey soon afterwards and only the Venerable Ionas saw her leading a horse out of the stables. He had contrived to send those brethren in the courtyard on some errands and he, himself, opened the gates for her. He followed her with a worried eye as she mounted the animal and trotted it down towards the river.

  The way to Radoald’s fortress was easy as Fidelma was beginning to know it well. She crossed the hump-back bridge and turned to follow the turbulent waters of the Trebbia upstream beside the thick woods that spread along its banks. It was still early and the day tranquil with sunny blue skies. The various forest noises were so soporific that Fidelma had difficulty in accepting the grim reality of the deaths that had taken place in this pleasant countryside; in accepting the threat of warfare that would tear this peaceful valley apart.

  She was concentrating so hard that a sudden shout caused her to look up in dismay. Two warriors had emerged from the trees, long black cloaks streaming, but without weapons in their hands. They were upon her before she could react. One of them grabbed at her horse’s bridle and, without slowing, began to canter along the side of the river. The other rider followed behind.

  She could do nothing but feel anger with herself that she had been daydreaming, unaware of them lying in wait. The anger was enhanced by the fact that she now recognised the men. She did not need to examine the flaming sword and laurel wreath emblem on their jerkins nor look closely at the manner of their dress. They were the same men who had attacked Venerable Ado in Genua, the same men who, she believed, had shot an arrow at Magister Ado and hit Brother Faro by mistake when they had first arrived in the Valley of Trebbia.

  They said nothing to her. One was leaning slightly forward, still holding her horse’s reins so that she had no control over the animal; the other man rode behind. She had no choice but to hang on, for the momentum of the horses made it difficult to do anything else.

  She knew that they were heading upstream still, the Trebbia gushing along by the track, and she was not entirely surprised when they turned off and headed up the slope towards the fortress of Radoald, which had been her very destination.

  The gates of the fortress swung open and her escorts cantered into the courtyard. Her jaw tightened. Fidelma realised that there were still several questions to be answered, but she felt confident that she had the outline, if not the detail, of the mystery.

  No one said anything, no one made any move, as the dust settled around them. Then, from the main door to the great hall, a figure with white hair emerged – a tall, smiling figure. It was that of the physician, Suidur the Wise.

  ‘Well, Sister Fidelma – or should I call you Lady Fidelma? I am never quite sure of the correct usage for a princess who has become a religieuse.’ He bowed with a touch of irony. ‘You are most welcome here. Get you down and come inside and take some ref
reshment. The dust of travel causes the throat to dry.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ‘Welcome?’ parried Fidelma, sliding from her horse. ‘A strange welcome, to be sure.’

  ‘These are warriors from Grimoald,’ Suidur explained when he saw her glance towards her captors. ‘I am afraid they can become a little too enthusiastic, for which I apologise.’

  ‘I have observed their enthusiasm before; first in Genua and then again when I entered this valley,’ she responded.

  Suidur regarded her with a smile. He turned to the warriors and spoke rapidly in their own language. They saluted him and took the horses away. He gestured to her to follow him, saying, ‘I have always thought that you had a sharp eye, lady.’

  Inside the great hall, she found Lord Radoald in the company of an older man clad in rough homespun, with long grey hair and a bent figure. They both rose to their feet as Suidur led her in. As the elderly man rose, Fidelma’s quick eye saw that the stoop of his back had been feigned. She studied his features and a smile of satisfaction formed on her lips.

  ‘Well, Fidelma,’ greeted the young Lord of Trebbia. ‘We have been expecting you.’

  ‘Expecting me? Oh, I suppose your spies saw me leaving the abbey and coming this way. Is that why the warriors ambushed me?’

  It was the man in rough homespun who replied. ‘We are engaged in a conflict of shadows, lady. We cannot afford to take chances.’

  Radoald turned to the man and said, ‘This is—’

  ‘Aistulf.’ Fidelma smiled. ‘There is no need for you to play the bent, elderly hermit before me. You are a strange hermit, Aistulf. A player of the pipes, but one who speaks Latin and commands warriors. Why is it that you hide in the mountains and let your son rule in your place as Lord of Trebbia?’

  It was Aistulf who finally broke the surprised silence that followed her question.

  ‘I think we have underestimated you, Fidelma of Hibernia,’ he said softly. ‘How did you know? You, a stranger? I have let no one, apart from Servillius and Gisa, see me close enough to identify me as the former Lord of Trebbia. My household has been sworn to secrecy. How have I been betrayed?’

  ‘You have not been betrayed, Lord Billo. At least, not so far as I am concerned,’ replied Fidelma. ‘It was a matter of logic, confirmed by the fact that I overheard you on the mountain when Suidur was bringing us back into the Trebbia Valley. You thought me asleep. When you said that you would speak to your son, it was obvious. It is known that Lord Billo and his son Radoald went to fight for Grimoald. Radoald came back from the wars and was proclaimed Lord of Trebbia. At the same time, a new person came to the valley, a recluse, Aistulf. It was easy to draw the conclusion.’

  ‘I came back after the wars against Perctarit seeking peace but knowing there were many things which might prevent it. I gave up my domain to my son, Radoald, changed my name and set out to live in the peace of this valley. I wanted to end my days without seeing another man, woman or child stained with blood, and hearing the cries of the wounded and dying. That is why I lived as I did. My son is now Lord of Trebbia. But unfortunately, death has followed me into this valley and now I must help to repel it. My son remains Lord of Trebbia, and if we bring this matter to a successful conclusion I will go back to being Aistulf the hermit, for that is all I want.’

  Radoald signalled a servant to come forward with a flagon and goblets. ‘Be seated and refresh yourself,’ he invited Fidelma.

  Fidelma had long practised the philosophy that when one was faced with no alternative it was better to appear to accept the inevitable. She sat down and accepted the goblet but asked for nothing more potent than the rich, cold water from a mountain spring.

  ‘So why were you expecting me?’ she asked, turning to Aistulf.

  ‘We were expecting you because my dear friend, Servillius, said he would send you here,’ Aistulf said. ‘Did he not explain that he thought you could be of service?’

  ‘Abbot Servillius was murdered last night,’ she announced flatly.

  The brief silence that followed her statement was ended by a sharp intake of breath. Standing at the doorway was Sister Gisa. Fidelma felt a momentary satisfaction. At least she had not been wrong in her suspicion that she would find the girl at Radoald’s fortress. Sister Gisa had run to Suidur, who was comforting her.

  ‘I also heard that you found Lady Gunora’s body,’ Aistulf said quietly. ‘I had not realised, when I played the lament, that it was also for my poor friend. I thought it was for Gunora.’

  ‘Brother Bladulf had not returned from the mountain with her body. You played the lament not only for Servillius but also for Hawisa and Brother Eolann.’

  Aistulf’s eyes widened in horror. ‘So many deaths?’

  ‘We heard of Hawisa’s death from Wulfoald, but—’ began Radoald.

  ‘You had better tell us how this came about, lady,’ intervened Aistulf.

  Fidelma told them what she knew.

  ‘Let me get this correct,’ Aistulf said at the end of her recital. ‘Wulfoald left you at the abbey, having learned that Servillius had arrived back but had retired with orders not to be disturbed. You say that Venerable Ionas and you went to see Servillius but found him dead?’

  ‘Essentially correct.’

  ‘So you never saw Servillius and he never explained why you should come here?’

  ‘What was he supposed to tell me?’ she countered.

  ‘Among other things, he was supposed to tell you that we were expecting you and Wulfoald to return here. Wulfoald told us that he had not seen Servillius and received no such message.’

  Fidelma compressed her lips. ‘He had no opportunity to see him. I was too concerned in following a wrong trail laid by Brother Eolann, and so when I went back to the abbey, I went to talk with Venerable Ionas and told him what I thought was happening. I was foolishly misled. When Venerable Ionas and I went to see the abbot, having wasted time, we found he had been killed almost as soon as he returned to the abbey.’

  ‘So, if it was not the message we sent you with Servillius, what led you here this morning?’ Suidur asked sharply.

  Fidelma ignored the question. Instead she asked: ‘I presume that Prince Romuald is safe here?’

  Radoald leaned forward in surprise. ‘How could you possibly know that he is here?’

  ‘That’s simple. Abbot Servillius said that Lady Gunora and the prince left the abbey before first light to reach this fortress. I found Lady Gunora’s body, as you know. The boy was missing. However, Wulfoald, when I told him that Lady Gunora’s body had been found, was not concerned about the prince. He simply rebuked me for not informing him sooner.’

  ‘What did that tell you?’ Aistulf was interested.

  ‘That it was only Lady Gunora who had been missing. It meant Prince Romuald was safe here. That was confirmed by you, Aistulf.’

  ‘By me?’ he asked wonderingly.

  ‘When I overheard you on the mountain, saying, “If the boy is right, Lady Gunora must be dead.” So what did the boy tell you?’

  ‘What do you think happened?’ countered Radoald.

  ‘That Lady Gunora and the boy did not leave the abbey unobserved. I believe they were followed. They had one horse. Lady Gunora may have noticed and told the boy to dismount and hide while she tried to draw off the pursuit. She succeeded so far as the boy was concerned. But she was overtaken and slain.’

  A silence followed and then Aistulf nodded slowly. ‘You are right, lady, so far as the boy is concerned. Wulfoald found him wandering along the river early that morning. The prince told him that Lady Gunora had turned back towards the abbey, having instructed him to hide. She told him that, if she did not return, to go to the fortress of my son, Radoald, and on no account return to the abbey.’

  ‘So Lady Gunora tried to draw off the pursuers across Mount Pénas?’ mused Fidelma. ‘Poor lady. She sacrificed herself. But the boy is safe?’

  ‘Even as you said,’ agreed Suidur.

  ‘There is one t
hing that might interest you, lady,’ Aistulf added. ‘The prince, while hiding, caught sight of their pursuer. There was, in fact, only one. My son gave us the same description which Odo gave to Wulfoald and yourself. It was the same as that of the person seen leaving the vicinity of Hawisa’s cabin at the time of the fire.’

  ‘A man on a pale horse?’

  ‘And the prince also insists that the rider of the pale horse was a warrior.’

  Fidelma was quiet for a while. ‘Now tell me why you wanted me to be here?’

  Aistulf said, ‘My friend, Servillius, thought you could be trusted.’ Then he looked around at the others. ‘It will come as no surprise to you that we are supporters of King Grimoald.’ When Fidelma did not respond, he went on: ‘It would seem that you have little interest in the war that is erupting now. It is that war which is our concern – the attempt of Perctarit, with those who remain loyal to him and his Frankish allies, to return to the throne of the Longobards.’

  ‘As you say, the politics of the matter should be of little concern to me, for this is not my country,’ replied Fidelma.

  ‘True enough. That being so, why did you leap to defend Magister Ado in Genua when the warriors of King Grimoald tried to capture him?’ Aistulf observed.

  ‘Merely chance. I saw two men assaulting an elderly cleric in a back street. When we entered this valley, these same men tried to assassinate him from behind the shelter of trees and bushes.’

  ‘If it had not been for your shout of warning,’ intervened Sister Gisa resentfully, ‘they would not have missed their target and hit Brother Faro.’

  ‘It is one of the matters I need clarification on. The would-be assassins were dressed as your King’s men and therefore your allies. Can it be that you would applaud the assassination of an elderly cleric of such outstanding scholarship as Magister Ado – simply as part of your cause?’

  ‘He was considered an agent of Perctarit,’ Sister Gisa declared, thrusting her chin out aggressively. ‘An enemy to King Grimoald. You saved him from being captured by the two men that Grimoald sent to question him.’