She was passing the chamber where she had spoken with Lady Gunora the night before when she paused with a puzzled frown. The door of the chamber was slightly ajar. All was quiet. She pushed it open and glanced inside. The room was empty and there were signs of a hurried departure. A chair was overturned, and blankets and pillows were still strewn on the floor. But there was no sign of any personal possessions nor bags, which she had seen when Lady Gunora had invited her inside.
Fidelma examined the room closely. Lady Gunora andthe young prince had obviously vacated the chamber in great haste. Then, recalling that she had a more important mission than getting involved in this new mystery, Fidelma drew the door back to its original position and made her way cautiously to the end of the passage. There was no sign of Brother Wulfila. The passages were deserted. She encountered no one on the way to Brother Ruadán’s chamber.
Fidelma entered the room quietly. It was now bathed in a soft early-morning light. The frail form of Brother Ruadán lay still on the bed, his breath shallow and asthmatic.
‘Brother Ruadán,’ she whispered as loudly as she could.
The breath caught for a moment. At least it showed that Brother Ruadán was awake and had heard her. The old face on the pillow turned slowly towards her. She moved to the side of the bed.
‘It is I, Fidelma.’
‘You came back?’ The words emerged in a difficult, wheezy fashion. ‘I … I thought I had dreamed your being here yesterday.’
She sat down on the edge of the bed and took one of his cold, parchment-textured hands in her own.
‘I am here. You seemed agitated when I came before.’
‘Is there anyone with you? I cannot see clearly.’ The pale eyes darted nervously around the room.
‘We are entirely alone,’ she assured him. ‘What troubles you?’
‘What are you doing here — here in Bobium?’
‘I was travelling to Massilia but my ship was damaged in a storm. So I was stranded in Genua. I met Magister Ado and was told that you were here in this abbey and so I came to visit you. I am distressed to find you so unwell.’
There was a long, wheezy sigh from the old man.
‘I am distressed that you should find me at all. My time is nearly done. There is evil here and, I fear, much danger. Be advised, return to Genua as soon as you can. Continue your journey home and forget this place.’
‘And desert you to this evil without help? Come, tell me what this is all about and I will see if I can help you.’
‘There is no help for me,’ the sick man whispered. ‘I shall soon be at rest. I have one thing to ask of you …’
‘Whatever I can do for my old master, I shall do,’ replied Fidelma firmly.
‘When you return home, light a candle in the little chapel on Inis Celtra and pray for the repose of my soul.’
‘You are not dead yet,’ she averred in a strong tone, trying to fight back the tears that were welling in her eyes.
‘By the time you reach Genua, I shall be so,’ he sighed.
There was a sound from the corridor outside, the slap of leather sandals on stone as one of the brethren passed by. Fidelma felt the old hand gain a sudden strength as it caught on her own.
‘You must believe me, Fidelma.’ The voice was a hoarse whisper. ‘For the love I bore your late father, King Failbe Flann, believe me. I fear you will be in danger. They tried to kill me. They have already killed the boy to maintain his silence. They will not think twice about killing you. They know I have seen the gold. They know I suspect them — that is why I shall soon be dead.’
‘The boy?’ Fidelma was suddenly aghast. ‘Do you mean Prince Romuald?’
The old man shook his head with a vehemence of which Fidelma had not thought him capable.
‘No, no, no. I mean the goatherd.’
Fidelma was confused. ‘The goatherd? Who are “they” and why should a goatherd be killed? Tell me what you mean.’
The figure again gave a deep wheezy sigh. ‘I grow tired and weak. I am confused. The less you know, the better. Just leave this place as soon as you can.’
‘Are you saying that you expect to be killed by whoever it is you speak of?’ she insisted.
‘Killed?’ muttered Brother Ruadán in an absent-minded tone. ‘The boy … poor little Wamba. He did not deserve to die because he had the coins. Dead. Ancient gold — I saw it. What evil can be disguised in a mausoleum.’
‘I don’t understand.’
There was another noise in the corridor and this time she heard the voice of Brother Hnikar speaking loudly to someone. It was obvious that it would be better if the apothecary did not find her in the cubiculum of Brother Ruadán. She leaned over her former tutor.
‘I will come back later when there is less likelihood of being interrupted. Then we will talk more of this, Brother Ruadán,’ she whispered in his ear. She placed his hand back by his side and moved silently towards the door, pausing and listening at it without opening it.
The voice of Brother Hnikar had grown faint but she could still hear it not far away. She carefully opened the door a fraction and peered through the crack. There was no one in her range of vision so she opened it wider and glanced out. Some short distance along the passage a door was open and it was from there she could hear the voice of the apothecary. She slid into the corridor and gently closed the door behind her and then moved quickly along to where another corridor branched off at a right angle. Only when she turned into it and was thus obscured from the vision ofBrother Hnikar, if he returned to the main corridor, did she relax a little.
She paused for a moment, frowning. Instead of resolving her original questions, she was now filled with many more and she felt frustrated. A bell started to sound and members of the brethren were now moving about. Two of them passed her, glancing down at her feet with some degree of amusement. It was only then that she noticed that she was still holding her sandals in one hand and that her feet were bare. Embarrassed, she slipped the sandals on before realising that the tolling of the bell announced the first meal of the day. She followed the brethren, knowing they would lead her to the refectorium.
She saw Brother Bladulf, the gatekeeper, coming towards her. He stopped and bowed his head in salutation.
‘I was coming to make sure you knew your way, Sister.’ He turned, guiding her to the hall. She was led to the abbot’s table. It was deserted apart from the Venerable Ionas. She glanced quickly around the refectorium. Sister Gisa was with her fellow Sisters in their corner and Brother Faro was in his place. Of Bishop Britmund and his companion there was no sign. She exchanged a greeting with Venerable Ionas and sat down. The old scholar rose and, in the absence of the abbot, intoned the gratias or grace. Then he sat down and there was a single chime of the bell and the meal began.
‘Is it unusual that so many senior clerics are missing from the first meal of the day?’ she asked.
Venerable Ionas smiled. ‘It is unusual,’ he agreed. ‘A rider has brought word that Lord Radoald is expected soon and Abbot Servillius is making preparations for the meeting. Personally, I do not think there can be any satisfactory outcome.’
Fidelma had heard enough of the problems between the factions and concentrated on her meal. She was leaving the hall when there came the unexpected sound of a trumpet. She had emerged at the top of steps leading to the courtyard just in time to see Brother Wulfila hurrying to the gates of the abbey. As she stood watching, Abbot Servillius with Venerable Ionas beside him appeared on the steps.
Four horsemen entered through the gates and halted in the courtyard. Their leader was immediately recognisable as Radoald, Lord of Trebbia, and behind him, on his pale-grey steed, was the warrior Wulfoald. They all dismounted, and while Lord Radoald and Wulfoald came forward, the others took charge of the horses. The abbot hurried down to greet the newcomers. Fidelma remained at the head of the steps. She observed that Bishop Britmund and his companion had also emerged to greet the Lord of Trebbia and Wulfoald. The abbot was lea
ding the newcomers back and Radoald, catching sight of Fidelma, raised a hand in greeting but passed on without speaking. Wulfoald merely glanced distantly at her. Greetings were being exchanged with Bishop Britmund and Brother Godomar and then they all moved inside.
Fidelma stood uncertainly, wondering what to do next. Brother Faro had been speaking with another of the brethren and, ending his conversation, came towards her. She noticed that he was still wearing his arm in a sling.
‘How is your wound today, Brother?’ Fidelma smiled in greeting.
‘God be praised, Sister, it is much, much better. A little sore but healing exactly as Brother Hnikar foretold.’
‘I am pleased to hear it.’
Magister Ado had appeared and, looking about, came directlytowards them. Immediately, Brother Faro said nervously: ‘If you will both excuse me, I am reminded that I have to meet with-that I have to see someone.’
Fidelma watched him hurrying away with some surprise but Magister Ado came to a halt beside her and gave a soft chuckle.
‘The boy is in love,’ he explained softly.
‘Sister Gisa?’
‘It is obvious,’ affirmed the elderly religieux. ‘While there is no restriction about consorting, Abbot Servillius, as you know, is of the school that favours the segregation of the sexes in the religious life. Poor Gisa and Faro, they try hard to maintain their secret. Thankfully, Abbot Servillius is not so perceptive in that field.’
‘I understand.’
‘It is a good day, Sister Fidelma,’ Magister Ado said, changing the subject and glancing at the bright blue canopy of the sky. ‘I would have suggested that you might like to take the opportunity to see the abbey’s herbarium. We are very proud of our herb garden. It is tended by one of the Hibernian brethren that are still among us — Brother Lonán. Better to be out on a day like this than inside in gloom.’
‘This might not be the best time to absent oneself in the gardens,’ observed Fidelma. ‘However, you used a conditional form. You would have suggested it but for what?’
Magister Ado was amused. ‘You do have a sharp ear. But I think I shall be called to take part in this meeting, which will be a waste of time.’
‘You seem sure of that. I mean, that it will be a waste of time.’
‘I am certain of it. Trying to make peace with Britmund is like trying to catch an eel with your bare hands.’
Brother Wulfila emerged from the main door, glanced round and came hurrying towards them, slightly out of breath.
‘Magister Ado, the meeting is about to begin and the abbot requests your presence immediately in his chamber.’ Then, to her surprise, he turned to Fidelma. ‘The abbot especially asks for your presence as well, Sister Fidelma.’
‘As I said, a waste of time, but for the sake of Lord Radoald, we must pretend,’ muttered Magister Ado as he led the way after the scurrying form of Brother Wulfila.
When the steward showed them into the abbot’s chamber they found Radoald and Wulfoald there with Venerable Ionas. Bishop Britmund and his companion Brother Godomar were also present. Abbot Servillius had, surprisingly, vacated his chair to allow Radoald to be centrally seated with Wulfoald, the young warrior, standing behind him. On the left, Bishop Britmund sat, with his companion behind him. Abbot Servillius, with Venerable Ionas, were seated on his right, facing them. As they entered, the abbot signalled to Magister Ado to seat himself to his left. Brother Wulfila guided Fidelma to a seat at the end of the chamber and sat next to her. Bishop Britmund watched her, brows gathered in a frown of disapproval.
Lord Radoald gave a quick glance, encompassing them all. ‘As you were informed, Bishop Britmund has come to this place, at my request to see if there are ways, if not of agreeing with the different interpretations of the Faith, then at least finding a consensus by which some of the antagonisms that have prevailed in this valley may be overcome. A modus vivendi of obtaining peace. I sit here as your civil lord, sworn to maintain the peace of this valley. It is now up to you, Abbot Servillius, and to you Bishop Britmund, to agree how we may take this forward.’
Bishop Britmund, features set in harsh lines, immediately indicated Fidelma. ‘What is that Hibernian woman doing here?’ he snapped.
In fact, Fidelma was about to ask the same question.
‘The presence of the Lady Fidelma of Hibernia was requested by myself,’ replied Lord Radoald in an easy tone. ‘In this matter Abbot Servillius agreed.’
Fidelma herself was surprised at the answer.
‘Requested? The bishop’s tone rose, showing his annoyance. ‘Why so? I thought Abbot Servillius disagreed with women taking any degree of office in the churches and, furthermore, believed in the segregation of the sexes. What trickery is this? Does the woman practise witchery over you?’
Fidelma had not liked the bishop previously and now she found a resentment growing within her. She was about to speak when Radoald responded.
‘Fidelma of Hibernia is the daughter of a king of her country. We have heard that she now stands in high regard with the Holy Father himself, having recently been in Rome. One of the brethren of this abbey returned from Rome recently and has informed us that she is trained in the law of her land, played a role in the Council at Streonshalh, in the land of the Angles, when a debate of differences in the Faith was held. That experience alone stands her in good stead to sit and consider our discussion and perhaps offer advice. Is that not so, Father Abbot?’
‘It is so,’ agreed Abbot Servillius. ‘But, furthermore, Fidelma of Hibernia is a lawyer of her kingdom’s law system and one whose advice is based on logic.’
‘She is not a lawyer of our laws,’ snapped Bishop Britmund. ‘I object!’
‘Is that your only reason for objecting?’ inquired Radoald.‘I have already conversed with the lady Fidelma and found her to have a most remarkable approach to controversial matters. I am content that she remain and if she can cast light upon our path to resolve these differences, then neither side shall lose.’
Bishop Britmund saw that he was not going to have Fidelma removed and muttered sullenly, ‘My objection has been registered.’
‘And I have taken it under consideration and find it irrelevant,’ smiled Radoald. ‘Lady Fidelma, do you have any objection in sitting amongst us and offering opinion based on your experience of previous debates?’
Fidelma considered her involvement for a moment and then said, ‘If I can be of any help, I am, of course, willing to be so.’
She settled herself in her chair next to Brother Wulfila to watch the proceedings with interest. Thankfully, all the discussions were to be in Latin.
‘It grieves me,’ began Radoald, ‘as Lord of Trebbia, that there is conflict among the religious of this land. While the religious can resort to words with which to fight, often the people, stirred by those same words, use physical means which inflict pain and injury on others. We come together to see if we might find some resolution of these matters so that my people might live in harmony. That is the purpose of this meeting. Is it so agreed, Abbot Servillius?’
The abbot inclined his head to Radoald. ‘It is so agreed.’
‘Is it so agreed, Bishop Britmund?’
The stocky bishop emulated the abbot but not in the same words. ‘That is why I have agreed to come to this house of heresy,’ he replied belligerently.
There was a hiss of outrage from the abbot but VenerableIonas caught the abbot’s arm, as if to prevent him from rising to respond.
‘This discussion must be made in tones of conciliation,’ Radoald rebuked the bishop.
‘Yet before we can reach that point of discussion, the differences between us must be made clear,’ snapped the bishop. It soon became obvious that when Bishop Britmund spoke he had the frustrating habit of not allowing anyone to interrupt him, continuing to talk in deep stentorian tones over them until he had finished whatever point he was making.
‘I would have thought the differences are obvious,’ replied Abbot Servillius. ‘We accept
the Holy Trinity, God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit. The teachings of Arius the Alexandrian have been declared a heresy.’
‘He was exonerate at the Council of Tyre,’ rejoined the bishop.
‘And condemned as a heretic yet again at the Council in Constantinople,’ argued the abbot.
Radoald held up a hand. ‘My friends, I do not think a history of the decisions of councils in various parts of the world will add to our understanding of the current situation.’
‘We must be clear about this,’ Bishop Britmund continued.
‘There is only one God Who created all things. He was eternal, always existing. But Jesus was the incarnate Son of God, and could not have had existence eternally, not being born before time began and before God created all things. Being the Son of God he, too, must have been created by God. Does not the Blessed Paul say in his letter to the Corinthians that there is one God, the Father, from Whom comes all things? Does Blessed John not point out that Jesus Himself said that His Father was “greater than I”?’
‘We are not here to debate these matters of interpretation,’replied the abbot sharply. ‘Our Faith was proclaimed at the Council of Nicaea, when the work of Arius was declared heretical. We believe in the divinity of the Holy Trinity. God as Three in One. It is from Nicaea that we take our creed, believing that the Father, Son and Holy Spirit are of the same substance — homoousios — that is, of one being.’
‘There are enough proofs of our arguments in the Gospels, in the writings of Luke and in the Acts of the Apostles,’ replied the bishop with equal firmness. ‘We believe in one God. We believe Christ, being the Son of God, is subject and obedient in all things to God His Father. We believe the Holy Spirit is subject and obedient in all things to Jesus and to His Father. The Son and Holy Spirit were created by God. God is eternal and unbegotten, always existing.’
Fidelma was intrigued. As one who prided herself on her logic, she found the argument of Bishop Britmund curiously rational.
Radoald once again held up his hand for silence. ‘You have stated the irreconcilable differences of interpretation between you. And we are well aware of them. But the matter at this meeting is how we may come to a practical tolerance in this valley between these two views so that no one walks in fear from those with whom they disagree.’
Behold a Pale Horse sf-22 Page 10