‘But we will definitely have time to speak with Hawisa and get to the sanctuary?’
‘Of course. I have climbed the mountain before.’
Abbot Servillius looked up from his desk in mild surprise when Fidelma had told him her intention.
‘I did tell you that I wanted to see one or two places in this vicinity associated with Colm Bán that I might take news of this abbey back to the land of his birth,’ she reminded him. ‘Having come all this way, I could not return to Hibernia without seeing this sanctuary.’
The abbot was less than enthusiastic. ‘Of course, I understand that you would want to see the sites connected with our blessed founder, your illustrious countryman,’ he said. ‘But this might not be the best of times to wander the mountains.’
‘But I have no other time, Father Abbot.’ She gave an impression of a tearful pout. ‘I shall be leaving soon, and not to have seen this little sanctuary that Brother Eolann told me so much about … that would be shameful. Perhaps you should have told me about it sooner.’ She thought an implied criticism might help strengthen her argument.
Abbot Servillius blinked. ‘I should have mentioned it,’ he admitted, on reflection. ‘A group of us from the abbey ascend the mountain to the sanctuary every year in order to celebrate the Pascal festival and the martyrdom of the Christ. It was at the sanctuary that Columbanus died during one of his retreats.’
She felt him weakening so she pressed again. ‘I learned of its existence from your scriptor, Brother Eolann, who has offered to show me the sanctuary if we can obtain your permission. He comes from my father’s kingdom and wants me to take good stories of this place back to his brethren.’
‘I knew that the scriptor came from Hibernia,’ agreed Abbot Servillius. He had conceded defeat. ‘I suppose that he would be best qualified to show you the sanctuary. Very well, Sister Fidelma. You have my permission. At least the days are still warm, but you had best take ample clothing, for the weather can change rapidly in the high places. Be warned of any bands of armed strangers. We must all be vigilant if the rumours are true that Perctarit has returned.’ He shrugged. ‘Send Brother Eolann to me and I will give him instructions.’
It seemed that it was only a short time later that Fidelma and Brother Eolann were looking down on the abbey below them and climbing upwards on an easy track in the midday sunshine. Brother Eolann had suggested that they make the journey on foot as, although he believed they could reach Hawisa’s cabin on horseback, they would not be able to continue on to the sanctuary by those means. As the scriptor had advised, Fidelma wore her strongest leather sandals while slung on her back was a sack in which she had a blanket and her toiletries, together with some basic items to eat.
The ascending slopes were covered with thick woods and rocky outcrops, and even naturally hollowed-out areas where water was trapped on the mountainside, forming little pools. Now and then they encountered a local shepherd or goatherd and exchanged greetings. Hawisa’s home turned out not to be very far at all. They eventually found a small cabin built under the shelter of some trees by the side of a stream that tumbled down the hillside. As they approached, a dog started to bark a warning. A heavily built woman with coarse black hair and weatherbeaten skin, tanned a rich chestnut-brown, came forward to greet them.
Her words were spoken in the gutturals of the Longobards,which Fidelma was beginning to generally identify, although still unable to understand it. Brother Eolann replied and Fidelma heard the name ‘Hawisa’, at which the woman frowned and nodded.
Fidelma turned and, using Brother Eolann as her interpreter, said: ‘Tell her that I would like to ask a few questions about her son, Wamba.’
The woman’s eyes narrowed at once. ‘He’s dead,’ she said flatly.
Fidelma continued speaking through the scriptor.
‘We know, and we are so sorry for your loss. I am told that he fell from some rocks while tending his goats.’
The woman made a sound like a snort. ‘Wamba was not the sort of clumsy boy who would fall. Ask Wulfoald for the truth.’
‘The warrior? I thought he was the one who found Wamba and took his body to the abbey.’
Brother Eolann seemed to be searching for the right words.
‘And why did not Wulfoald bring the body home to me?’ the woman demanded.
‘Did he know where Wamba lived?’
‘Ha!’ It was almost a bark of laughter. ‘And when word was finally brought to me that my son was dead, and I went down to the abbey, my boy had been buried, so that I could not see him. How do I know now what injuries he had, or even the cause of them?’
‘Have you reason to suspect that things did not transpire as you were told?’
‘Speak to your abbot and leave me in peace with my suspicions.’
Fidelma pursed her lips for a moment. ‘What are your suspicions, then, Hawisa?’
‘I say nothing but there are questions to be answered. They must be answered by Abbot Servillius and Wulfoald. He knew well enough where my cabin is. Why did he proceed to the abbey?’
‘But what purpose would he have for conspiring to keep news of your son’s death from you until he was buried?’
The woman stood with arms folded and lips compressed. It was clear that she had had her say and was not going to release any more. Fidelma suppressed a sigh.
‘I wanted to ask you whether Wamba ever spoke of a Brother Ruadán, an old Hibernian Brother in the abbey.’
The woman slowly shook her head. ‘Wamba used to sell our milk to Brother Waldipert at the abbey’s kitchens,’ she told Fidelma through Brother Eolann. ‘My nephew, Odo, has now taken over my herd of goats and continues to sell milk to the abbey. Apart from Brother Waldipert, I do not think my lad knew anyone else among the brethren.’
Fidelma felt disappointed at not being able to form an immediate link between Brother Ruadán and Wamba. ‘I am told that Wamba found something on the mountain a few days before he died.’
The woman blinked. A suspicious expression crossed her features and she said defensively, ‘There is a saying that what is found on the mountain and not claimed immediately belongs to the finder and cannot be reclaimed later.’
‘Do not worry,’ Fidelma assured her. ‘I am not here to claim anything. I just want to know the circumstances of that find and what happened to it.’
The woman looked from her to Brother Eolann, who had been translating this, and back again to Fidelma.
‘Sit you down,’ she said heavily, indicating a wooden bench by the trees. ‘I will fetch cider for you. The day is hot, andthough I am not enamoured of your abbot, there is no need for you to suffer in his stead.’
Fidelma had noticed some long pauses in between the translations and so took the opportunity to ask Brother Eolann if he found the task difficult.
‘The woman speaks with an accent of the peasantry. Sometimes it is hard to understand.’
A few moments passed before Hawisa returned with an earthenware jug, which had been standing in the stream, and some mugs. She poured a rich, dark golden liquid into them, and they sipped gratefully at the chilled liquid. Hawisa now seated herself nearby and stared into her own drink for a moment or two and then spoke with sad reflection, pausing every so often for the Brother to translate for the lady.
‘Wamba came back from herding the goats one day and told me that we would soon be rich.’ She grimaced fleetingly at the memory. ‘He told me that he had found a little gold coin. Alas, he did not know the value for it did not make us rich, but the abbot gave me sufficient goods in exchange that lasted for a while.’
‘I am sorry, but I do not understand.’ Fidelma glanced at Brother Eolann, wondering if he had misinterpreted what she was saying. ‘I understood the boy took the coin to Brother Waldipert and he promised the boy a valuation of the coin. Wamba died before he could go back to the abbey to conclude the deal.’
Brother Eolann had a hesitant exchange with the woman.
‘She confirms what you said,
’ the young man responded at last. ‘She saw Abbot Servillius, who told her that the coin was old but not valuable. He arranged for her to be provided with some produce in compensation for the coin. She saysthat it was a pity. Wamba had hoped to increase their little herd by purchasing another goat or two.’
Fidelma turned back to Hawisa.
‘So it was not worth very much. What sort of coin was it?’
The woman shrugged. ‘Coins are rare in this part of the world. Yet I have seen gold before.’
‘So the abbot kept this coin?’
‘He did.’
‘And you are sure that it was an old coin?’
The woman nodded and set down her empty earthenware mug beside her.
‘I have been robbed of those I loved. First my fine husband was taken to serve in Grimoald’s army three years ago. He never returned and others told me he had been slain. Now my only child is dead. I have nothing to lose now so I care not what you report to your abbot. Wamba was killed because he found a piece of gold. That was why he was buried hurriedly, so that I should not see the wounds.’
She leaned forward suddenly and, using two forefingers, sharply tapped Fidelma’s chest. She repeated a short sentence three times, but the only word Fidelma could make out was Odo. She glanced at Brother Eolann. ‘What does she say about Odo — that’s the nephew, isn’t it?’
‘She says Odo will confirm her story,’ replied Brother Eolann. ‘I don’t think there is a need for that. I have translated all she has said.’
‘We can accept her account of what happened,’ agreed Fidelma. Yet there is something illogical here,’ she went on. ‘Even if the coin was gold, it could not be so valuable that it would need several to be involved in the conspiracy to kill the boy. There wouldn’t be enough for anyone to take a profit from the deed.’
Brother Eolann regarded her uncertainly. ‘What do you mean?’
‘First, we must include Brother Waldipert in this affair. Then we must include Abbot Servillius himself, as he valued the coin. Then we must include the warrior Wulfoald. The implication is that he might have killed the boy. He certainly found the body and took it to the abbey. We might even add Brother Hnikar who, as apothecary, would have washed and laid out the body for burial. He would have noticed if the body carried any marks to indicate an unnatural death — for I think Hawisa is arguing that the boy was buried before she could see the body and be aware that her son had been murdered.’
Brother Eolann shrugged. ‘I have not your clever tongue nor way of thought.’
Hawisa had been watching them very carefully during this exchange and suddenly spoke vehemently.
‘She says that all she knows is that she saw the gold coin. Wamba took it to the abbey and he was dead the next day. And now he lies in the graveyard of the abbey where she cannot pray daily, for the journey is too much. She contents herself by praying at the spot where he was found.’
The woman suddenly snapped out something in a harsh voice.
‘Report me to your abbot. I have no fear,’ translated Brother Eolann.
‘Neither do you need to fear,’ Fidelma assured her. ‘We are not here to report to Abbot Servillius. He does not know that we are here anyway, and we would prefer it that you did not tell anyone of our visit.’
Hawisa looked puzzled.
‘Tell her that I am just a visitor from Hibernia. I camehere because I am cursed with a curiosity about all things. And I heard about the story of her son, Wamba.’
Hawisa was still puzzled but seemed to accept that this was some sort of explanation. Once more Brother Eolann began to translate as she spoke. ‘The founder of the abbey was from Hibernia. I am told several of your countrymen come to visit the abbey in his memory.’
‘Exactly so.’ There was a silence and then Fidelma added: ‘Before we leave, we would say a prayer at the spot where Wamba fell, where you now go to say your daily prayer. Would you tell us the way there?’
Once again Hawisa was regarding Fidelma suspiciously. ‘Why would you want to see where my son fell to his death?’
‘It is not to see where but merely to say a prayer for his soul.’ Fidelma knew she was lying and hoped that Brother Eolann could translate her words with more sincerity. Hopefully, she would be forgiven for the lie as it was in the cause of seeking the truth.
Hawisa did not answer at once. She seemed to think carefully before telling them, ‘If you follow that path,’ she indicated a track through the trees just beyond the cabin, ‘follow it to the north-east, you’ll eventually come to two large rocks that divide the pathway. Do not take the descending path but follow on and you’ll emerge along a series of high rock formations. There is a small cairn which I raised to mark the spot. It was said that is the point from where he fell.’
Fidelma reached forward and placed a hand on the woman’s arm.
‘We are most grateful for your help, Hawisa.’
‘I ask you not to damage the little cairn. Someone did so between yesterday and this morning when I went to pray.’
‘We will not damage it,’ Fidelma promised, then she frowned. ‘What sort of damage?’ she asked.
‘The stones were knocked aside,’ replied Hawisa.
‘Oh. Perhaps it was some animal then?’
‘Not so. I built the cairn around a small wooden box in which poor Wamba used to keep a few things he prized. Coloured beads, stones and his favourite pipe.’
‘Pipe?’ queried Fidelma.
‘Most lads play pipes on the mountain. Simple things. It was only a rough box that he had made himself. Someone has taken it, and a curse on their soul for doing so. They are a disgrace to their cloth.’
Fidelma stared at the woman. ‘Their cloth? What makes you say that?’
Brother Eolann seemed to have some difficulty with translating. ‘A neighbour saw a man in religious robes taking the box and climbing down to his horse.’
‘It was taken by a religieux?’
‘Someone looking like a religieux,’ added Brother Eolann hurriedly.
‘Did this neighbour describe him or his horse?’ Fidelma waited impatiently for Brother Eolann to pose the question.
‘The neighbour could see no more,’ said Eolann, after a further exchange. ‘I asked where this neighbour was and she says that he has gone to the market of Travo and will be gone for some days.’
Fidelma thought for a moment and then rose slowly. ‘We will not damage the cairn. Be assured.’
‘Then I would be grateful for your blessing and your prayers before you leave. Forgive a grieving mother for my sharpness.’
It was Brother Eolann who intoned the prayers in the locallanguage before they bade farewell to the woman and followed the path indicated by her.
Although they were high on the mountain, they were still within the treeline, where tall beech trees interspersed with rowan were still dominant. Here and there were other trees which reminded Fidelma of oak, but were different. She had noticed these curious oaks before. She took the opportunity to ask Brother Eolann if he knew what they were. He told her that they were called turkey-oak and were native to the area. Here and there, birds flitted from branch to branch and she caught sight of white and yellow wagtails and sparrow-hawks.
Brother Eolann cast a glance at the sky, saying, ‘We mustn’t delay in reaching the sanctuary at the top. It will not be very long before twilight is upon us.’
‘Are there dangerous animals on the mountain if we do not make it and have to encamp for the night?’
‘In terms of big animals, I have seen foxes and wolves. But the one thing I hate is something that is not seen in our land.’
‘Which is?’ asked Fidelma curiously.
‘There is a snake called a vipera; its bite can be dangerous, for it injects a poison.’
Fidelma shivered a moment and glanced around her feet. ‘I have heard of the like but never encountered one.’
‘I have only once seen one,’ confided Brother Eolann. ‘Brother Lonán found it in t
he herbarium last autumn. It was curled up basking in the sun. He tried to pick it up, thinking it was a slow-worm, and it bit him and he was in pain for several days. Thankfully, Brother Hnikar had some potion and told Lonán to go and lie down and not to exert himself, for the action would carry the venom through his body. He recovered but it took many days.’
‘Then you must warn me if you see such a creature in my path,’ Fidelma said fervently. ‘Wolves and foxes do not worry me, but the idea of such creatures as snakes …’ She shuddered again.
They moved out of the shaded pathway on to an open rocky path on the mountainside. To their left the hillside rose steeply and was studded with boulders and dark grey rocks. To their right, the hillside fell equally steeply.
‘Ah!’ Fidelma exclaimed and pointed to a small pile of stones that lay a little way ahead of them. ‘That must be Hawisa’s cairn.’
There was nothing remarkable about the cairn, which Hawisa had raised in memory of her son.
Fidelma looked about with a critical eye. Then she moved to the edge of the path, to where the hillside fell away steeply. Some twenty metres or so below them was a broad track which was obviously used frequently.
‘What track is that?’ she asked.
‘It is a track that leads across the mountains from the north and, if one continues down into the valley, it comes to the abbey,’ confirmed Brother Eolann.
Fidelma peered over the edge. ‘It’s quite a fall, but easy to climb down. That is doubtless where this person who took the box left his horse, climbed up and then returned with the box.’
‘It is also where the boy must have fallen, to be found by Wulfoald as he rode by.’
‘How would a sure-footed lad who had tended goats on these mountain slopes all his life manage to fall from this place? The edge is so clear and the dangers obvious.’
‘Maybe one of the goats had wandered too near the edge and in trying to rescue it, he slipped?’ suggested Brother Eolann. ‘I think we should consider that.’
‘Perhaps,’ Fidelma admitted, albeit with reluctance. ‘However, speculation is not going to reveal any secrets to us. I shall climb down.’
Behold a Pale Horse sf-22 Page 16