‘I don’t know what is in your mind, lady, but I have told you what I know. Now, tomorrow we will attempt to discover why you have been told one story which I know is contrary to what happened.’
He turned on his heel and strode rapidly for the gates of the abbey. A shadow emerged — she realised it was Brother Bladulf — and a gate swung open to allow him to leave. Fidelma stood for a while gazing thoughtfully after him. Then, making up her mind, she returned to the abbot’s chambers. The steward, Brother Wulfila, was outside.
‘I wish to see the abbot,’ she told him.
‘He has retired for the night with strict instructions not to be disturbed. I am surprised that you are still up, lady, after our exhausting adventures.’
‘I presume the abbot rises early?’
‘He does.’
‘Then it will have to wait until the morning.’
The steward inclined his head. ‘Vade in pace.’
Outside, Fidelma glanced quickly up towards the windows of the scriptorium. A flickering light was showing in the window above. She strode purposefully through the hall, turned to the left, through the small cloistered area, and then ran up the stairs into the tower.
The door to the scriptorium was not locked. She entered and found Brother Eolann seated at his desk before a tall tallow candle. He looked up with a tired smile.
‘You are working late, Brother Eolann,’ she said. ‘And at a time when you should be resting after the adventures we have had.’
‘I have much work to catch up on, lady.’
‘We both should be resting,’ she said.
Brother Eolann looked at her expectantly as she paused. ‘But there is something on your mind, lady?’
‘You remember our conversation with Hawisa, the mother of the boy Wamba?’
The scriptor looked puzzled. ‘I do.’
‘Are you satisfied that she was telling us the truth?’
‘I thought so. Why do you ask?’
‘I wanted to know why Wulfoald had taken the boy’s body directly here to the abbey for burial and not to her cabin. That is what she told us, was it not?’
The look of bewilderment increased. ‘I remember what she said clearly.’
‘I do not wish to cast aspersions on your knowledge of this Longobard language, nor on your interpretation, but are you satisfied that she was telling us the truth?’
‘As I said, I thought she was.’
‘When I asked Wulfoald just now, he said that this was not so. He claims that he took her son’s body to her cabin and, moreover, Abbot Servillius was there with Hawisa at the time.’
‘Abbot Servillius was …? I was not told that. I mean, she did not tell me that.’ Even in the candlelight it seemed that Brother Eolann’s features had paled. Then he shook his head in denial. ‘That cannot be, lady. Someone is lying and I would say it is Wulfoald. The woman Hawisa was clear in her statement. I cannot see where there is any misunderstanding.’
‘I thought so,’ sighed Fidelma.
‘Anyway, there is one way to discover the truth,’ Brother Eolann went on. ‘Ask Abbot Servillius if he was there.’
‘He has retired for the night. I shall question him in the morning. But I want to find out why Hawisa lied to us.’
‘Then I am not sure what you-’
‘I have agreed with Wulfoald that we shall ride to Hawisa’s cabin at first light and speak with her again,’ she interrupted.
‘Is that a good idea?’ he protested. ‘If it is not Hawisa who is lying then it must be Wulfoald, and why would he lie unless there were some good reason — one that he does not want you to discover.’
‘I thought of that, which is why you must come with us. Once more I would have to rely on your ears and tongue as my interpreter so that I know what Hawisa is saying to Wulfoald.’
Brother Eolann was hesitant. ‘Is it necessary?’
‘It is.’
‘Then, of course, I shall come with you.’
‘Excellent. We shall meet in the courtyard at first light.’
As she reached the arch that led into the courtyard, Fidelma heard the sound of horses leaving the abbey. She paused in the shadow of the cloisters and saw two riders moving through the gates. Although they had their backs to Fidelma and only the torch-light to illuminate them, she could make out that one was male and one female. They disappeared into the darkness outside. Curious, she made her way to where Brother Bladulf was closing the gates after them.
‘Who was that leaving the abbey?’ she asked.
Brother Bladulf turned, surprised. ‘Oh, it is you, Sister … er, lady,’ he said, recovering. ‘That was the abbot.’
Fidelma stared at him in astonishment. ‘But the abbot had retired for the night and left instructions not to be disturbed. Who was the woman with him?’
‘Sister Gisa, lady. She came to get the abbot. An emergency, she said.’
‘An emergency?’ she echoed.
‘Old Aistulf. He is unwell and Sister Gisa came to fetch the abbot.’
‘Aistulf?’
‘So you have heard of Aistulf? Apparently, he was an old friend of Abbot Servillius but he only appeared in this valley two years ago. He is a hermit, who plays the pipes yet shuns regular intercourse with his fellow beings. He prefers to sleep in a cave and wander the woods at will.’
‘So there is an emergency with Aistulf. Does the abbot usually rise from his bed in the middle of the night to respond so promptly to his call?’
Brother Bladulf pulled a sad face. ‘Not often, although sometimes he has sent word and the abbot has responded.This time Sister Gisa was in a panic so perhaps it is some medical matter.’
‘Then why not send for Brother Hnikar?’
‘Brother Hnikar?’ The gatekeeper’s expression was dour. ‘He is a good physician, do not mistake me. But Brother Hnikar is the last person I would send for if I was dying and needed comfort rather than a lecture on how I should have led my life before I reached the point of death.’
‘He is as bad as that?’ Fidelma tried to keep a straight face.
‘If I were a hermit, in love with nature, I would not send for him. Anyway, I do not think that enters into it. Aistulf only trusts Abbot Servillius and Sister Gisa. I am told that Sister Gisa has a good knowledge of the apothecary’s art.’
‘Do they have far to go?’
‘A good question, lady, but one without an answer. Somewhere up into the hills across the river,’ he pointed in the opposite direction to the slopes of Mount Pénas. ‘No one but the abbot and Sister Gisa are allowed to know where he bides. And now, lady, the hour grows later … I have to be up early to lead the brethren up to the sanctuary to recover the body of Lady Gunora.’
Fidelma took the hint and turned back towards the guest-hostel. Suddenly realising just how exhausted she was, she collapsed straight onto her bed and was asleep before she could put the cavalcade of thoughts into some order.
Someone was shaking her by the shoulder. She blinked and tried to focus. Then she started nervously.
Brother Wulfila, the steward, was standing by her bed with a candle.
‘Venus, the morning star, is already clear in the eastern sky. It will soon be dawn, lady. I was told to wake you. Brother Bladulf and some of the brethren have already left on foot for the sanctuary.’
She struggled up in the bed. ‘Dawn already?’ She tried to think.
‘Wulfoald is in the courtyard and has given orders that a horse be saddled ready for you.’
‘Wulfoald?’ She paused for a moment and then groaned as memory came flooding back. ‘I am sorry, Brother Wulfila. Last evening saw me exhausted and my mind is still confused. My apologies. Tell Wulfoald I will join him shortly.’
As he set down the candle for her and turned for the door, she called, ‘Is Brother Eolann already in the courtyard as well?
Brother Wulfila turned back with a frown. ‘Brother Eolann, the scriptor, Sister?’
‘Yes.’
‘No, he
is not there.’
‘He might have overslept as I did,’ Fidelma said. ‘Could you make sure he is roused? He is joining Wulfoald and me, so he must be quick.’
The steward looked astonished. ‘You are free to come and go as you will, lady, but the scriptor must have permission from the abbot.’
Fidelma sighed impatiently. ‘Has Abbot Servillius returned then? He rode out last night in answer to a plea from Aistulf the hermit.’
Brother Wulfila was shaking his head. ‘He has not returned, lady.’
‘Very well. If he must secure permission, then seek it from Venerable Ionas but go and make sure Brother Eolann is ready to join us. It is necessary.’
‘Very well, Sister. There are not too many people stirring in the abbey at the moment, for many were up to see the fire earlier.’
Fidelma kept her irritation under control. ‘The fire? What fire?’
‘Oh, there appeared to be a great fire high up on the mountain, on Mount Pénas. It blazed brightly in the darkness. Several of our brethren were roused and went out to stand watching it. It blazed a long time. Sometimes, when the weather is hot, fires start among the trees up there.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When Fidelma entered the courtyard, she saw Wulfoald waiting patiently by his pale grey horse. He was holding a second horse, presumably meant for herself. First light was creeping in, but it was still too dark to see clearly up the mountain and there was no sign of the conflagration that Brother Wulfila had mentioned. Fidelma glanced round. There was no sign either of Brother Eolann.
‘Brother Eolann is coming with us,’ she asserted, ‘so we had best get another horse.’
Wulfoald looked surprised. ‘Why is the scriptor coming with us?’
‘Because he is my witness to what the old woman said and which is so contrary to what you told me.’
The warrior’s mouth tightened. ‘This is delaying us, lady. Brother Bladulf and his companions have already left to ascend to the sanctuary with two of my men.’
Before she had time to reply, Brother Wulfila came hurrying across the courtyard. He seemed agitated.
‘Where is Brother Eolann?’ demanded Fidelma before he had time to recover his breath.
‘Sister … er, lady, you had best come with me. He’s in the scriptorium.’
‘What is it?’ she pressed.
However, the steward simply shook his head and waved her to follow him.
With a muttered apology to Wulfoald, she turned and went after him through the small cloisters to the stairs ascending in the tower to the scriptorium. Brother Eolann was seated in a chair, with Brother Hnikar bending over him and dabbing at a wound in his forehead with a wet cloth. Blood had stained his robe and he looked very pale.
‘What happened?’ Fidelma gasped.
Brother Hnikar answered first. ‘I think he fell down the steps and knocked himself out.’
‘Is that so? she demanded of the scriptor, who nodded and then winced at the movement.
‘Truthfully, I do not know, lady,’ he said, resorting to their own language. ‘I was working late here, as you know. Then, when I had finished, I extinguished the lamp, for I am used to finding my way in the twilight. I was crossing the scriptorium when I think I tripped and hit my forehead. ’ He raised a hand to show her: there was bruising and signs of a lump.
Fidelma examined the wound closely, much to Brother Hnikar’s annoyance. ‘You think you tripped?’ she repeated.
‘I am sure I did. But I am confused. I can’t recall much.’
Then the steward, Brother Wulfila, was speaking. ‘When you asked me to find the scriptor I looked for him in his chamber and then came to the scriptorium and found him semi-conscious on the floor in a pool of blood. I sent for our physician and came to find you.’
‘I knew nothing until Brother Wulfila was dabbing water on my head,’ confirmed Brother Eolann. ‘He placed me in this chair and went for the physician.’
Brother Hnikar turned, regarding Fidelma with disapproval.
‘I can allow no more questions until I have administered balms for the wound and allowed the scriptor to rest.’
Brother Eolann glanced up with an unhappy expression. ‘I am sorry, lady. Brother Hnikar will not allow me to join you to see Hawisa this morning.’
Fidelma grimaced sourly. ‘That much is obvious.’ Without someone she could trust to translate Hawisa’s words, the whole exercise of going to see the old woman again was pointless.
‘Be careful, Brother Eolann,’ she said in her own language. ‘I’ll find an alternative translator.’
Brother Hnikar’s features were even more disapproving now.
‘The Rule in this abbey, Sister Fidelma, is that all conversations are carried on in the common language of the abbey — that is, Latin. We, who are one under God, have no secrets from Him, and therefore should have no secrets from one another.’
Fidelma lowered her head, more to hide her irritation than in a sign of submission.
‘Sister Fidelma was merely wishing me a speedy recovery,’ Brother Eolann said hastily in Latin.
‘Indeed, a speedy recovery,’ she added in Latin.
Brother Eolann hesitated and then said: ‘I am truly sorry, Sister Fidelma. I am sorry for everything.’
She left the scriptorium with a slightly puzzled frown at the inflection on his last word. Brother Wulfila came hurrying after her.
‘Has Abbot Servillius returned yet?’ she asked as they came down the tower stairs.
‘Neither he nor Sister Gisa have returned,’ replied the steward.
‘And Brother Faro?’
‘Brother Faro left yesterday to take alms to the poor of a settlement down the valley, and has not returned to the abbey.
Fidelma’s mind was working furiously as she emerged into the courtyard. It was now bright daylight. Wulfoald was still waiting, albeit impatiently, with the horses. The courtyard was unusually crowded: everyone seemed to be staring upwards, looking towards the mountain. Fidelma too glanced up. A long pall of grey-black smoke was trailing into the sky at some point on the mountain slopes. A feeling of apprehension came over her.
‘What is that smoke?’ she asked Brother Wulfila, who had followed her out and was also gazing upwards.
‘I told you,’ the steward reproved. ‘During the night there was a blaze on the mountainside that lasted quite a time.’
‘Where would you say it was located?’
‘It is difficult to say exactly. Somewhere along the trail leading to the sanctuary on the mountain-top but, Deo favente, it does not seem to be anywhere near the sanctuary of the Blessed Columbanus.’
Wulfoald overheard the exchange and said, ‘If you are worried about the journey, you have only to look there. See, there are the remains of rainclouds sweeping across the peaks. It must have been raining heavily up there. That will have dampened the fire, so there is no danger. Now, where is Brother Eolann?’
‘He will not be coming,’ she replied shortly. ‘He had an accident.’
Wulfoald’s eyes widened. ‘That is unfortunate. Is he badly hurt?’
‘Not badly, but enough to prevent him journeying up the mountain.’
‘Then how …’ began Wulfoald.
‘ … will I know what Hawisa is saying unless I rely on you to translate? In the circumstances …’ She smiled tightly.
‘This is a bad business.’ They turned to find that the Venerable Ionas had joined them. For a moment Fidelma was uncertain about what he was referring to. Then she realised that he was staring at the black pall of smoke on the mountain. The elderly scholar suddenly observed Wulfoald waiting with the horses. ‘Where are you off to?’
Wulfoald indicated the mountain. ‘I was heading up there with Sister Fidelma. However, I think she might have changed her mind.’
The Venerable Ionas seemed puzzled. ‘I thought you were sending your warriors with Brother Bladulf to the sanctuary? Is there need for Sister Fidelma to show you the way?’
; ‘Bladulf and my warriors have already gone but Sister Fidelma and I are on another errand. We were going to Hawisa’s cabin with Brother Eolann, since she needed someone to interpret our language for her. Brother Eolann has had an accident and cannot go.’
‘I need someone who knows your Longobard language as well as Latin,’ she began to explain, and then cursed herself for a fool as the reply was obvious.
‘But Wulfoald speaks-’
‘Alas, I would not be suitable for Sister Fidelma.’ Wulfoald smiled tightly. ‘She needed another voice.’
Venerable Ionas regarded him with incomprehension. Then he shrugged and waved to a rotund little man, unshaven andwith bad teeth. The man was strapping a bag to a mule in a corner of the courtyard. He had a mass of black hair flecked with silver and a shaggy beard.
‘Ratchis,’ Venerable Ionas called, turning to Fidelma as the man came waddling over, slightly out of breath. ‘Sister, if you are certain you need another translator, then here is the very man. It is a happy coincidence that he is starting over the mountain this very morning.’
The man halted before them with a lopsided smile and greeted them all in Latin.
‘Ratchis,’ Venerable Ionas said, ‘are you good as a translator? Can you construe our good tongue of the Longobards into Latin?’
The fat merchant looked surprised at the question.
‘I have been trading in these mountains all my life, Venerable Ionas. You know I can.’
‘Then will you accompany Sister Fidelma here up the mountain and translate as she requests?’
The merchant looked doubtful. ‘I am on my way to Ticinum Papia. I cannot delay long.’
‘This will be on the way there,’ intervened Wulfoald, adding in a sour tone, ‘It will not take long. A brief halt and you will be on your way with the blessing of this abbey.’
The merchant glanced at Wulfoald in surprise. ‘Are you coming as well? But you speak both-’
‘Let us delay no longer with questions,’ snapped the warrior in irritation. ‘The sooner we leave, the sooner you will be on your way to Ticinum Papia.’
Fidelma turned to thank the bemused merchant for his services before mounting the horse that Wulfoald held ready. The warrior swung easily into the saddle while the merchant scrambled on to his mule.
Behold a Pale Horse sf-22 Page 24