Behold a Pale Horse sf-22

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘You were on Mount Pénas,’ pointed out the steward.

  ‘On the Trebbia side of the mountain. We were at the sanctuary of Colm Bán when your men captured us,’ he protested.

  The steward was unmoved. ‘You may present your complaint to Lord Grasulf on his return.’

  ‘What is this Lord Grasulf afraid of?’ Fidelma suddenly said.

  This drew a frown from Kakko. ‘Who says my lord is afraid of anything?’ he hissed.

  ‘He is afraid of something, otherwise why would he give orders that strangers be seized and brought here for questioning, even when they are not found in his domain?’

  ‘You are a stubborn person, little sister,’ Kakko mused, still retaining his good humour. He gestured to the food on the table. ‘You have not eaten. You are the guests of my lord Grasulf, and he would be displeased if you were not treated well.’

  ‘Then your lord will be disappointed, for we have not been treated well at all, starting with our abduction,’ Fidelma replied coldly. ‘Then we have had our bags taken from us. If we are kept prisoners overnight, I demand the return of them.’

  Kakko spread his hands in a gesture almost of resignation.

  ‘I will ensure that they are returned. We needed to be certain that you carried no weapons or secret messages.’ Fidelma’s look was enough to quell him.

  ‘As soon as this Grasulf returns, I demand to see him at once — do you understand?’

  Kakko turned, shaking his head. ‘You are more than a mere religieuse, Sister,’ he said quietly. ‘Your manner betrays you.’ Then he was gone, shutting the door. They heard the wooden bar being set in place.

  ‘I don’t think you were wise, lady,’ Brother Eolann muttered through a mouthful of bread and cheese. ‘I told you not to reveal your rank.’

  ‘I did not,’ replied Fidelma.

  ‘As the man said, your manner did. An ordinary Sister of the Faith would not be asserting herself in such a fashion.’

  ‘Did you say that you had never heard of this person Grasulf?’

  ‘I hadn’t, but I have heard of the Lord of Vars. I said that I thought we might be in his territory.’

  ‘Do you have any idea of the manner of man he is?’

  ‘I know only that there is much enmity between him and Trebbia.’

  ‘Do you think that this story of watching out for spies and informers is true then?’

  ‘I can only repeat that there is much tension in this land. Isn’t that why the Lady Gunora fled to the abbey with the little prince, because she did not believe that Grimoald’s Regent, Lupus of Friuli, was to be trusted? Everything fits into a pattern. There is much fear in the land.’

  ‘Indeed. And what if these people are the ones who killed Lady Gunora? If so, what have they done with the boy?’

  ‘Let us pray that we will be enlightened tomorrow,’ replied Brother Eolann.

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘When you see Grasulf. That is,’ Brother Eolann said with a thin smile, ‘if the Lord of Vars accedes to your demand to see him on his return from his boar hunt.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was nearly midday before they heard the wooden bar being lifted once more from its position securing the door. Kakko, the steward, stood framed against the sunlit courtyard beyond.

  ‘You will come with me, little brother,’ he boomed. Then, glancing at Fidelma, he added: ‘You will stay.’

  Hesitantly, Brother Eolann rose and moved to the door.

  ‘Why him,’ Fidelma demanded, ‘and not me?’

  Kakko’s permanent smile seemed to broaden. ‘Again, a question? Always questions,’ he said. Then: ‘My lord Grasulf might spare you the time to meet with him later. At the moment, he only wants this one.’ He jerked his head to Brother Eolann.

  Fidelma would have preferred that they kept together, but there was no alternative. As time passed, she began to pace the chamber in frustration. Eventually, the big steward returned. The scriptor was not with him.

  ‘And now, little sister, you will come and meet Grasulf,’ he announced.

  ‘Where is Brother Eolann?’ she asked.

  ‘He is happy enough, little sister. This way.’

  She was clearly not going to get any further information from the steward and so she suppressed her feelings of apprehension and followed Kakko. She felt the immediate heat of the day as she moved from the cool of her prison into the small courtyard. The open space with the sun shining directly overhead was hot. Kakko led the way across the paved yard at a surprising pace for one so large. Once again Fidelma observed that the big man was not fat but well-muscled.

  A door on the far side led into another courtyard, at one end of which were two large doors, half-open, with warriors lounging outside. They stared curiously at Fidelma as she and Kakko passed them and went into a small chamber. This, however, proved to be an antechamber, leading into a large hall. Fidelma had seen such halls before and always associated them with the traditional feasting places of chiefs and princes. She was right, for at one end, on a slightly raised dais, stood an ornately carved chair. On the back of the chair, on either side, were carved two birds of prey: she saw that they were ravens. In her own land, ravens were birds of ill-omen, symbolic of the goddess of death and battles. Smaller chairs and a table stood nearby. Colourful tapestries showing scenes of warfare and various weapons hung from the brick walls of the hall. Fidelma had noticed that most of the buildings in this land were constructed of red baked bricks which seemed to be a favourite material of Roman buildings. It was so unlike the stone blocks and the wood of her own land. The hall was well lit through a series of tall windows but it was cool after the blast of hot air she had been met with on her brief walk here.

  At first glance it seemed the hall was empty. Then she heard a soft growling and became aware of two hunting dogs lying at either side of the ornate chair. They lay upright,forepaws stretched before them; heads up, alert with eyes watching them as they entered. Kakko took a pace forward and halted.

  From an open doorway a man emerged, walked to the ornate chair and slumped into it. He was thickly built. Like the steward Kakko, he was muscled, showing he was more a warrior than one used to an easy life. He was not tall, more of average height, and certainly not handsome or, at least, not so far as Fidelma was concerned. He wore his fair hair long and with a full beard. So far as she could see, his eyes were pale and his features ruddy. She estimated that he was in his middle years. His expression was unfriendly. He waved a beckoning hand — a curt, impatient gesture.

  Kakko strode forward until he was near the dais and then he halted and bowed, glancing at Fidelma to ensure she followed his example. She did not. She merely halted at Kakko’s side and stared defiantly at the man.

  ‘This is the one called Fidelma, my lord,’ Kakko announced.

  The pale eyes studied Fidelma.

  ‘I am told that you are a religieuse from Hibernia,’ the man said in Latin, speaking as if it was his first language.

  ‘And you are …?’ countered Fidelma. She was angered by the arrogant manner of her captor.

  Kakko gasped at what he saw as her lack of humility in front of his lord. The man’s eyes widened slightly and then he held up a languid hand to his steward as if instructing him to respond.

  ‘You stand in the presence of Grasulf son of Gisulf, Lord of Vars,’ Kakko announced. ‘It is an insult not to bow before him, even if you are a foreigner.’

  ‘Lord of Vars?’ Fidelma echoed Kakko as if considering the title. Then she spoke coldly and deliberately. ‘Then, Grasulfson of Gisulf, know that I am Fidelma of Cashel, in the land of Hibernia, daughter of King Failbe Flann of Muman.’

  Kakko stared at her for a moment and then smiled grimly. ‘I thought she was more than a mere religieuse by her manners,’ he said with some self-satisfaction.

  ‘Is a daughter of a king prohibited from being a member of the religious?’ she snapped. Then she tried to translate her title of dálaigh. ‘I am also a procura
tor in my own land.’

  Grasulf leaned forward, his brows drawn together as he examined her with interest. ‘A princess, a religieuse and a lawyer, all these in one? Is that possible?’ His voice was filled with irony.

  ‘Indeed, all these in one,’ she responded coldly.

  ‘Bring a chair for Fidelma of Hibernia,’ the Lord of Vars addressed his steward. ‘Then fetch wine.’

  Kakko hurried to one side of the hall to fetch the chair.

  ‘My steward was right to suspect you were of noble rank,’ Grasulf said. ‘Why did you not tell him?’

  ‘I told him only what he needed to know: that I am a visitor in your land, spending a few days here to see an old mentor of mine at the Abbey of Bobium.’

  ‘You mean the man whom you travel with, the scriptor of Bobium?’

  ‘Not Brother Eolann, who was simply showing me the sanctuary of Colm Bán on the top of Mount Pénas when we were kidnapped by your men.’

  Kakko had placed the chair by her and Fidelma sat down at her ease. The big steward then went to a side table and took up two earthenware goblets and a large glazed pitcher which appeared to be full of red wine.

  ‘Colm Bán?’ Grasulf was asking, puzzled.

  ‘You call him Columbanus. He that founded the Abbey at Bobium.’

  ‘Ah, so,’ sighed the Lord of Vars. ‘I have heard of him and he is long dead. So who were you visiting at Bobium if not this scriptor?’

  ‘Brother Ruadán, who died recently.’

  Kakko stirred slightly. ‘I met this Brother Ruadán once, my lord,’ he said. ‘He was very elderly. He used to wander the territory up to Placentia preaching against the Christian belief of the Arians.’

  Lord Grasulf took a goblet of wine from Kakko and swallowed eagerly before speaking.

  ‘You say that he is now dead?’

  ‘He is,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘Now I demand to be released with my comrade, Brother Eolann, and to be allowed to return to Bobium so that I may continue my journey back to my own land.’

  ‘Released?’ Grasulf sat back in his chair and stared moodily at her for a moment. ‘Life is not as simple as that, lady. These are troubled times and people do not always tell the truth. Who knows why you and your companion were really on the summit of the Pénas overlooking this valley. Perhaps you were spying?’

  Fidelma thrust out her chin. ‘The truth is as I have told you. There is nothing else.’

  ‘We will see.’

  ‘I protest-’

  ‘To whom, lady? I am Lord of Vars and any authority you have does not exist here either by birth, by law or by your religion.’

  ‘Not by religion? Then I perceive you are all followers of Arius here?’

  For the first time Grasulf’s features broadened into a smile while Kakko gave one of his great guffaws of laughter. Grasulf took another large swallow of his wine before responding. Fidelma deduced that he was a man fond of his drink.

  ‘Lady, we are true Longobards,’ replied Grasulf. ‘We hold to our own beliefs. We worship only Godan, Father of the Gods, King of Asgard, ruler of the Aesir. Lord of War, Death and Knowledge. He is our true god and protector.’

  Fidelma gasped involuntarily. ‘Then you are pagans?’

  ‘We are only those who follow a different god to you.’

  ‘How long do you propose to keep us prisoner?’ she demanded, having absorbed this information. ‘And where is Brother Eolann? Has he been harmed?’

  ‘Do not distress yourself, lady,’ boomed Kakko humorously. ‘My lord has a small scriptorium to which your companion has been taken. My lord’s scriptor died several moons ago, since when the books have been abandoned.’

  Grasulf added: ‘I have decided that while you and Brother Eolann are here you may make yourselves useful in sorting out my books.’

  ‘So,’ she said finally, ‘you propose to keep us here indefinitely? ’

  ‘Until I ascertain that you are no threat.’

  ‘Threat to whom?’

  ‘Threat to the peace and well-being of my people.’

  ‘Who do you fear, Grasulf, apart from a wandering woman of Hibernia and a scriptor?’ she sneered. ‘Maybe it is this Perctarit or maybe Grimoald, who are fighting over this kingdom.’

  ‘Why should I fear either?’ replied the Lord of Vars indifferently. ‘Who pays me well, has my allegiance.’ He was helping himself to more wine when he realised that Fidelma hadscarcely touched her goblet. ‘You do not drink your wine, lady. Can it be that you have no love for the juice of the grape?’

  ‘I love freedom even more,’ she replied. ‘If my companion and I are to be kept as prisoners here, I would make a plea to your chivalry that we are not continually confined to the same stuffy cell.’

  Grasulf almost chuckled. ‘What do you suggest? That I let you wander freely outside the walls of my fortress?’

  ‘We will respect the confines of your fortress. But there must be a place where we may rest our minds and bodies — an herbarium, a place of greenery, a place where we could relax yet keep our minds active. Let us have some freedom from the confines of cells and libraries. I ask this as the daughter of a king in my own land, for does not the saying exist in your land that a king may grant respect to others if he is strong and secure in his own kingdom? You tell me that you are strong and secure in your territory: you may now prove it to me.’

  ‘The saying is that an excess of caution does no harm for it is better to have eggs today than only the promise of chickens tomorrow,’ replied Grasulf. Then he turned to Kakko and spoke rapidly in the language of the Longobards, before he gestured a dismissal with his hand and turned to refill his goblet from the pitcher.

  Fidelma wondered if it would be politic to ask whether his men had killed Lady Gunora and if the young prince was a prisoner in the fortress. Then she decided she must find out more first. If the Lord of Vars had killed Lady Gunora and kidnapped the boy, then he would have no compunction in killing her and Brother Eolann. And the thought also struck her that if the two men she had seen the previous day with the flaming sword and laurel wreath emblem, were the sameones who had attacked Magister Ado — what were they doing in a fortress of pagans? Many thoughts ran through her mind.

  Kakko did not lead her back to the chamber where she had been a prisoner but took her on a different route. As they crossed the smaller courtyard he was still chuckling.

  ‘You have impressed my lord Grasulf, little sister. You will be released from your chamber in the mornings and returned to it at night. During daylight you will be taken to the library. Next to that you will also find a small open area where you may take exercise. There is a door on the far side which gives access to the necessarium.’ He glanced at her and added, ‘Do not have any false hopes, little sister. The area is enclosed on three sides by the fortress walls and on the fourth … well, if you had wings to fly, like Huginn and Muninn, you might fly away.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘You saw the ravens carved on my lord’s chair? They are Huginn and Muninn, the ravens who guard our great god, Godan.’

  Fidelma did not bother to reply. Her mind was busy thinking that if they were not confined to the claustrophobic chamber in which they had been held, there might be a better chance of escape. They were crossing the main courtyard again, though not in the same direction. A thought suddenly struck her.

  ‘You promised to return our travelling bags. There are personal items in them that we might use to make ourselves comfortable during our stay here — for however long that may be.’

  Kakko grinned. ‘No harm in that. They will be returned to you.’

  He opened a door at the base of a tower in a corner of thecourtyard. Once through the tower door they turned immediately to the left, where dark wooden doors gave access into a large chamber with a long central table. All around the walls was shelving, with books piled everywhere. Fidelma gazed round the library. She had certainly seen larger ones in her own land, where the books were usually hung on pegs in book-satc
hels rather than stacked on shelves. Brother Eolann was there with his head already buried in one of the scroll books. He looked up, his face smiling and eager.

  ‘This is truly amazing, lady,’ he greeted her. He remained seated at the table and was tapping a thick scroll before him.

  ‘I would not call it amazing,’ she replied, her eyes travelling to the high windows which let in a certain amount of light but not sufficient to read by. There were candles and an oil lamp and disused writing materials scattered about. Apart from the door which she had come in by, there was another one at the far end of the room.

  ‘Through that door you will find a large space which is often used for exercise,’ Kakko said, pointing. ‘I should warn you not to go too near the edge as it is a long way down into the valley below.’ He grinned at them and left, and she heard a key turn in the lock.

  ‘By amazing, I meant this, lady.’ Ignoring the interruption, Brother Eolann was again tapping the book before him.

  ‘Why, what is it?’ Fidelma was not particularly interested as she surveyed the confines of the library.

  ‘Origio Gentis Longobardotum.’

  ‘The Origin of the Longobards?’ translated Fidelma.

  ‘Exactly so, lady. I have heard of this book but never seen it before. It tells how their gods Godan and Frea set the Longobards free from their unjust rulers to move south to take over these lands.’

  ‘It’s an old book then?’ she asked absently.

  ‘I doubt more than twenty years old. It is said to have been drawn up by King Rothari, who was grandfather of Godepert and Perctarit.’

  ‘Perctarit again?’

  ‘The same Perctarit who is trying to regain his throne here. Rothari died twelve years ago and he ordered this book to be written and also the Edictum Rothari which is the first codification of the laws of the Longobards.’

  Fidelma sighed impatiently. ‘In truth, Brother Eolann, my head is swimming with all these strange, unpronounceable names. I am longing to return to the sweet sounds of our own language in Muman. Now, first things first. How did they treat you? You weren’t hurt during your questioning?’