Behold a Pale Horse sf-22

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Hurt? Oh, you mean by Grasulf. No, he did not hurt me. He just asked me questions about what we were doing, and then told me to come here.’ He glanced at the scroll and confided, ‘This was the first book I saw. I have to say, my first thought was whether our abbey library had a copy.’

  Fidelma was still walking about the room. ‘Let us take a look at the extent of our prison,’ she said, turning to the door that Kakko had indicated. ‘Have you examined the outside yet?’

  Brother Eolann looked embarrassed and shook his head. So she opened it and stepped through. Beyond was a terrace; on three sides, the walls of the fortress towered above it, while the fourth side was opened to a distant vista of mountains and skies beyond. A small protective wall ran along this side as a barrier from the sheer drop. Tubs of earth with plants were placed here and there to relieve the grey paved surface of the terrace.

  There was only one other door giving access to the areaapart from the one from the scriptorium. There were no handles on the outside of this door. Fidelma strode across to it and gave it a push. It was as solid as the wall around it, bolted or barred from the inside. Fidelma gazed up. There were a few high windows but it was clear that the area was enclosed and hardly overlooked at all — if anyone could, in fact, peer down from above.

  Fidelma then walked across to the small parapet with Brother Eolann following. She halted and gazed down. At first glance it appeared to be a sheer drop down a rockface to the valley below. She was used to mountains and heights but this view made her dizzy. She took a deep breath and stood back.

  ‘It is estimated to be one hundred and fifty metres to the valley floor,’ came a familiar voice, speaking Latin.

  She swung round to see that Grasulf, Lord of Vars, had stepped out through the mysterious door in the central wall.

  ‘An impressive view,’ conceded Fidelma.

  Grasulf ’s features were solemn. ‘It is not the recommended path out of this fortress. At least, not for our guests. It has other usages. Those we find attempting to betray us, or those who commit crimes against us, thieves and murderers, come to know it as a ready means of crossing the Ormet into the arms of our goddess Hel.’

  Fidelma was puzzled. ‘It is used as a method of execution,’ explained Brother Eolann. ‘Hel is the goddess who presides over their underworld, Helheim.’

  ‘I am impressed with your knowledge, Brother Eolann,’ the Lord of Vars said with a smile. ‘That is precisely what I mean. Ormet is the river that separates life from death. And now, how do you like my little library? I have been looking for someone who would appreciate the books here ever sincemy own scriptor died. Perhaps it was the Fates who brought you hither?’

  ‘Yes — if the Fates are what you call the warriors who abducted us,’ replied Fidelma dryly. ‘But I doubt we shall be here long enough to appreciate your books, Grasulf.’

  The Lord of Vars nodded in appreciation. ‘It is a long while since I have met with a person of wit. You shall feast with me this evening. Yes, Brother Eolann as well. You will tell me about your world beyond these valleys. I will send Kakko to escort you. In the meantime, continue to enjoy the scriptorium.’

  He turned and exited as he had come. They heard the door being secured on the inside.

  Fidelma walked back to the parapet.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Brother Eolann nervously.

  ‘Just checking to see what the way to the infernal regions looks like,’ she replied without humour.

  She spent a few minutes gazing down at the dizzy descent to the valley floor. Then she turned back into the library where Brother Eolann was once again examining the scroll book that he had found so amazing. Fidelma, whose thoughts were on escape, regarded him with disapproval. Then she turned to the shelves and a new thought struck her as she recalled the mystery of the library at Bobium.

  ‘Do you recall telling me that some of the books in your library had been vandalised?’

  ‘I do.’ The scriptor looked up with sudden interest. ‘Why?’

  ‘Do you recall the titles?’

  ‘Yes, for as I told you, I had to send to other libraries seeking copies to replace the ones whose pages were cut out.’

  Fidelma was blessed with a good memory. It was part ofa dálaigh’s training. ‘One of them was Livy’s history, Ab Urbe Condita Libri, as I recall.’

  ‘It was. Why?’

  ‘Because I see a copy of it.’ Fidelma pointed to the book. ‘It occurs to me that you might wish to know what was on the pages that were cut out.’

  Brother Eolann took the book from the shelf and placed it on the table. ‘This volume appears to be an exact copy. I recall how the next page started after the deleted one.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you can recall the pages that had been cut out?’

  ‘I have a pride in my task in life, lady,’ he protested. ‘I would be a poor librarian if I did not know what had been damaged in my own library.’ Brother Eolann began to turn the thick vellum pages. Then he paused and looked carefully at one particular page before reading, ‘Marcus triumphali veste in senatum venit … That is on the page after the one cut out.’

  Fidelma translated. ‘Marcus entered the senate in triumphal dress. So what is on the page that was cut out?’

  He turned back to the page: ‘Ah, it starts: Caepionis cuis tementate clades accepta erat damnnati bona publicata sunt. Caepio, who had caused the defeat by his rashness, was convicted and his possessions confiscated.’

  ‘It sounds as if it is an account of some battle, and someone called Caepio’s role in it.’ Fidelma was curious. ‘Why would anyone want to deface a book for that extract?’

  Brother Eolann shrugged. ‘Ancient battles are not a particular interest of mine, lady.’

  She took the book from him and scanned the text. It was of little interest so far as she was concerned. ‘This seems to recount that a Roman Proconsul called Caepio commandedpart of an army at a battle that took place at Aurasio. The senior General, Gnaeus Mallius Maximus, commanded the major part of the army. It seems Caepio was a patrician. Because his superior, Mallius Maximus, was not an aristocrat, he refused to cooperate with him or obey his commands. He thought it beneath his dignity.

  ‘The passage goes on to say that when the General succeeded in brokering a peace with the enemy’s army, Caepio attacked on his own. The result was that his army was wiped out before the enemy turned on Mallius’ army and wiped that out as well. Some one hundred and twenty thousand were slaughtered. Caepio managed to escape back to Rome but Rome was in an uproar at the news. They tried Caepio and found him guilty of misconduct. He was saved from death only by his aristocratic position, but was sent into exile, while all his wealth, goods and property were confiscated.’ She glanced at the scriptor. ‘I wonder when this happened. Can you tell from the text?’

  Brother Eolann leaned over her shoulder and pointed to some tiny figures in the margin: ‘According to the dates,’ he replied, peering at the text, ‘Anno Urbis Conditae six hundred and forty-eight … that means what we calculated as roughly a hundred years before the birth of Christ.’

  ‘Well, it teaches us nothing as to the reason why the passage should be cut from the book.’ Fidelma grimaced in resignation. ‘Maybe we should search for the Polybius and see if that is related to the same battle and this man Caepio. But it doesn’t seem significant. Maybe it was just wilful vandalism.’

  The key in the door suddenly scraped and Kakko appeared.

  ‘My lord Grasulf has told me that he has invited you to feast with him. I have taken the liberty to prepare baths andchanges of clothing for you, as I have heard of the daily bathing customs of the Hibernians.’

  Fidelma had been feeling sticky and awkward in the heat. Now that it was mentioned, she realised she had not bathed properly since they had left Bobium.

  ‘That is good,’ she commented.

  Kakko merely grinned. ‘The Lord of Vars is very sensitive about who joins him at his table and their state of cleanliness.
’

  ‘Our state of uncleanliness was thanks to his warriors who abducted us and brought us hither against our will,’ snapped Fidelma in answer to his jibe. ‘And further to your imprisoning us in a chamber without-’

  ‘Your bags have been placed in the chamber,’ interrupted Kakko, realising that he was unable to assert verbal domination over her. ‘Perhaps that will make it seem more tolerable. I shall return shortly and conduct you to where you may bathe and change.’

  ‘It would be even more tolerable if you provided us with separate cells for decency’s sake,’ she asserted. ‘We are not man and wife to be closeted together. There are times when separation is needed. Or do your worries on cleanliness not go as far as that?’

  The big man glowered at her for a moment, then decided to say nothing and left, locking the door noisily behind him.

  Brother Eolann shook his head. ‘I am sorry about this, lady.’

  ‘Sorry? For what?’

  ‘I should not have suggested staying at the sanctuary and delaying there.’

  ‘As I recall, I insisted on seeing it. Anyway, our delay was due to the finding of Lady Gunora. We must keep silent about that. This Lord of Vars may be the killer. The less he thinks we know, the better.’

  She stood up abruptly as another thought came into her mind and she went to the door leading on to the terrace.

  ‘Where are you going?’ demanded Brother Eolann.

  ‘Don’t worry, I am just going to have another look at the rockface. See if you can find that volume of Polybius. You might be able to check whether that passage related to — what was his name? Oh yes. Caepio.’

  The scriptor began to explore the library half-heartedly, turning over the books stacked around.

  When Fidelma returned she had a brightness in her eyes. ‘Any luck?’ she asked.

  ‘Luck?’ He seemed preoccupied.

  ‘With finding Polybius?’

  ‘Oh, no luck.’ He frowned at the suppressed excitement in her features. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I have an idea …’ she began.

  Then the key turned in the lock again and Kakko reappeared. ‘Your baths are ready,’ he announced.

  A sullen-looking woman waited to guide Fidelma to the room where she was to bathe. She was relieved when Kakko took Brother Eolann to another room. It was good to slip into the warm waters of the wood tub and relax with perfumes and oils. She took her time while the dour-looking servant, who alas spoke no other language than the Longobard dialect, waited impatiently for her to finish. Finally, feeling refreshed and relaxed and clad in the fresh clothing which had been provided for her, Fidelma followed the woman back across the main courtyard.

  As she was proceeding across the flagstones, there was a sudden shouting and the gates were pulled open. A horseman galloped into the courtyard and reined in his steed so abruptly that it reared up, its forelegs kicking viciously at the air.Jumping from the saddle, the rider flung his reins at a nearby attendant and almost ran in the direction of the main hall.

  Fidelma’s guide prodded her forward as she looked after him.

  Brother Eolann was already in the chamber that had become their prison.

  ‘I have been told that they will give us separate cells for tonight,’ he said, somewhat embarrassed. ‘It is being arranged now.’

  ‘That is some progress then,’ Fidelma said absently.

  It was not long before Kakko opened the door and indicated that Fidelma and Brother Eolann should follow him back to the great hall. A table had been laid and the steward now assumed the role of organising the servants as they carried in the dishes from the kitchen and prepared wine for the table.

  ‘It is not often I receive travellers from Hibernia in this valley,’ Grasulf said, as he gestured for them to be seated. It seemed that there were only the three of them at the meal.

  ‘How often do you abduct travellers?’ Fidelma replied dryly.

  Grasulf seemed amused at her retort. ‘I think, in your case, my men did well — for they have provided me with a good foil for my intellect,’ he replied gravely. ‘I find your responses most stimulating. By the way, the boar,’ he pointed to the meat dish that had been set on the table, ‘I killed yesterday.’

  There were various dishes brought in while Grasulf made commentaries about them and the wine that was served. Brother Eolann was content to let the conversation flow between Grasulf and Fidelma, concentrating on emptying his plate as each dish appeared. It seemed that the part of the meal preferred by the Lord of Vars came in a pitcher that Kakko kept filled at his side. He did not sip his wine butdevoured it in large swallows like a man whose thirst was unquenchable.

  ‘Time was that preachers from your abbey came into this valley to convert my people,’ he said reflectively. ‘However, there are still many true Longobards left, though we are a dwindling number. We place our faith in Godan and the power of our swords. We stand above the squabbles between you Christians. Nicene Creed and Arian Creed — what difference? What is the choice between dying by the sword and dying by the dagger?’

  ‘You see the Faith as a means of death?’ inquired Fidelma with interest.

  ‘However you perceive your Christ, He is your god, not mine.’ Grasulf dismissed the subject. ‘And how have you passed the time in my little scriptorium? Did you find it interesting?’

  ‘All knowledge is interesting,’ conceded Fidelma.

  ‘So, what in particular?’

  ‘The history of Rome.’ It came automatically to her, although she had little interest in the subject.

  ‘Ah, Livy?’

  ‘You have read his history?’ Fidelma was surprised but then realised that there was no reason to be so.

  ‘Of course,’ replied Grasulf. ‘Livinius was from Patavium so he took an interest in this area. What period did you find interesting?’

  ‘It was just a passage about someone called Caepio that caught my attention.’

  She was not prepared for the effect of the name. A suspicious look came into his eyes and then Grasulf threw back his head and uttered a false-sounding chuckle.

  ‘Caepio?’ he said. ‘You surely don’t give credence to thatsilly tale! What stories have you been filling your compatriot’s head with, Brother Eolann?’

  Fidelma turned quickly to find that Brother Eolann had coloured in embarrassment.

  ‘What stories would you have been filling my head with?’ she asked quietly in their own language.

  The scriptor replied almost violently. ‘I have no idea, lady. Truly, I don’t know what he is talking about.’

  Fidelma turned back to Grasulf. ‘I alighted on the page by chance,’ she said cautiously. ‘What story should I have been aware of?’

  ‘By chance? Why, it has even become part of the Latin language.’

  ‘I still don’t follow your meaning.’

  ‘What does one say when one has achieved some ill-gotten wealth — wealth that brings a curse with it?’

  Fidelma had not learned a colloquial form of Latin and looked to Brother Eolann for some guidance. The scriptor still seemed embarrassed and shook his head. So she turned back to Grasulf.

  ‘It is said that the person has the gold of Tolosa — Aurum Tolosa habet,’ explained the Lord of Vars.

  ‘And how does that relate to this man Caepio?’

  ‘He was the governor of this very territory in ancient times and marched his army into Gaul. The story is that he seized a fabulous treasure in the town of Tolosa. He sent this wealth of gold back here to his villa in Placentia meaning to keep it, but it disappeared. Some will even tell you that he hid the gold in these very mountains. Every now and then, some fool claims they have found Caepio’s gold.’

  ‘But the passage in Livinius merely says that his stupidity caused several Roman legions to be annihilated.’

  ‘The story also says that before that battle, his legions had sacked Tolosa and carried away forty-six wagons of gold and treasure and sent them here.’

  ‘And th
ese wagons disappeared?’

  ‘They vanished,’ agreed Grasulf. ‘Anyway, it is not mythical gold we want, eh, Brother Eolann? Many lords in these valleys would bring their men rushing like wolves from the hills down on Grimoald and his supporters for a bag of Frankish gold.’

  Brother Eolann was looking uncomfortable. ‘I would not know,’ he muttered.

  ‘The story of the gold is local gossip,’ said Grasulf, picking up his goblet of wine again. It was clear that he had dismissed the topic.

  Fidelma waited a few moments and then raised another topic that had crossed her mind.

  ‘I saw a rider come into the fortress not so long ago. He had clearly arrived here after a hard and hasty ride. I presume he brings important news about the dangers that beset this country?’

  The Lord of Vars looked at her speculatively over the rim of his goblet. ‘You have a sharp eye, lady.’ Was there a dangerous tone in his voice?

  ‘It is my training to observe.’

  ‘Well, the news is interesting. Lupus of Friuli, Grimoald’s Regent in these northern lands, and his army have been defeated.’

  ‘I heard that this Lupus had turned against Grimoald.’

  ‘That is true. You have a good memory as well as a sharp ear, eh?’

  ‘I repeat, it is my training to observe and remember.’

  ‘How was he defeated?’ intervened Brother Eolann. He sounded concerned.

  ‘Lupus, as you know, had decided to stand against Grimoald. He declared for Perctarit. Grimoald signed a treaty with the Khagan, the Khan Kubrat …’

  ‘These names mean nothing to me,’ Fidelma pointed out irritably.

  ‘The Khagan rules the Avars who dwell to the north and east of our lands, in what used to be called Illyria. They attacked into our lands to overthrow Lupus. The rider you saw brought the news that Lupus and his army held out in Friuli for four days against the Avars. Lupus is now dead, his army slaughtered or scattered.’

  ‘Surely that is good for Grimoald?’ Fidelma commented.

  ‘Only if the Khan respects the treaty. At the moment the entire Valley of the Padus is open to invasion by the Avars. In that, Grimoald might have made a mistake. Grimoald had marched to the Meridies, south of this land, to fight the Byzantines. So he is still marching back northwards. The other news is that Perctarit and his Frankish allies are already in the lands just north of Mailand not far from here. Blood, fire and pillage sweep across the land. We must be vigilant. That is why strangers are stopped and questioned.’