Behold a Pale Horse

by Peter Tremayne

  There was a note of dismissal in his tone and Fidelma inclined her head and left.

  Outside the door, she hurried through the now-deserted hallway into the courtyard. It was dark and only a few brand torches were blazing outside, casting shadowy, flickering lights across the almost empty area. Thankfully, Wulfoald had stopped to talk awhile with the Venerable Ionas, for they were just parting and Wulfoald was moving towards the gates.

  ‘Wulfoald, stay a moment!’

  He turned at her breathless call.

  ‘Sister Fidelma. How can I help you?’

  She came up to him in the light of a nearby torch. ‘I realised that I needed to ask you some questions.’

  ‘Questions, lady? About what?’

  ‘You found the body of the boy, Wamba, did you not?’

  His eyes narrowed slightly. She could see the action clearly, even in the half-light.

  ‘Wamba?’ he repeated. ‘What have you heard of Wamba?’

  ‘I know he was a young goatherd who now lies buried in the abbey necropolis.’

  ‘He was buried there a week or so before you came to Bobium. How does he concern you, lady?’

  ‘It would be easier if you answered my questions first,’ insisted Fidelma, ‘and then I will see if things make sense or whether I am chasing shadows.’

  Wulfoald shrugged indifferently. ‘So what is it you want to know?’

  ‘You confirm that you found his body?’

  ‘I did. You want the details? Then know that I was riding back over the hills, on the road to this abbey across Mount Pénas. I happened on the boy’s body lying alongside the track underneath a cliff face. It seemed that he had fallen and broken his neck.’

  ‘After you found the body, what then?’

  ‘I knew the boy. He was a goatherd and lived with his mother, Hawisa, not far from the place where I found him. You said that you passed her cabin on the way to the sanctuary.’

  Fidelma controlled her surprise. ‘You say you know her?’

  ‘Of course. Most people know each other throughout this valley.’

  ‘So what did you do? With the body of Wamba, that is.’

  ‘I took him home.’

  ‘You took him home?’ Fidelma blinked.

  ‘To his mother Hawisa.’

  ‘You took his body to her cabin?’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘Where else would I take it?’ the warrior replied in irritation.

  Fidelma made a decision that she must now confront Wulfoald with the facts as Hawisa had told them.

  ‘What if I told you that Hawisa says that you took the body straight to the abbey, and by the time she came here, the body of her son was already buried?’

  Wulfoald’s face wore a look of amazement. Then he said, slowly, ‘I would say, lady, that one of us was not telling you the truth.’

  ‘Why would the old woman lie?’

  ‘Why would I lie?’ the warrior retorted.

  ‘There might be many reasons.’

  ‘Then ask Abbot Servillius, if you doubt my word.’

  Fidelma frowned uncertainly. ‘Abbot Servillius? What has he to do with it?’

  ‘He was at Hawisa’s cabin when I brought the boy’s body there.’

  It was Fidelma’s turn to stare at him in amazement. ‘What was he doing there?’

  ‘He had gone to see Wamba or Hawisa about giving them the value of a coin that the boy had found and brought to the abbey. Apparently it was only a small coin and not worth much, but the boy had thought it valuable. We agreed with Hawisa that the boy’s body would be taken to the abbey graveyard as a tribute. We all came down to the abbey for the burial that night. Hawisa stayed with a relative in the settlement.’

  Fidelma stood unable to move, totally bewildered at the man’s confidence. ‘I say again,’ she finally said, ‘why would the old woman lie?’

  Wulfoald’s tone was belligerent. ‘I can offer no explanation, lady. But there is one way to answer the question.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘To put it to the person who can answer it.’

  ‘Hawisa?’

  ‘Exactly so. Tomorrow, when my men go to the sanctuary, I shall accompany them as far as Hawisa’s cabin. They can go on but I shall put the question to her.’

  ‘Then you will have no objection if I accompany you?’ she said coldly.

  ‘I would expect no less. However, having been once abducted on that mountain, are you sure that you are willing to ride up there again? Is that wise?’

  ‘Wise or not, I think we should both hear the answer that Hawisa gives us as to what are two diametrically opposed accounts over the death of her son.’

  ‘Agreed, lady. You are right. Let us meet here at first light.’

  ‘Very well. One more thing,’ she said as Wulfoald started to turn away.

  ‘Only one?’ He turned back with a thin smile.

  ‘When you came across the body of Wamba, was there anything suspicious about it?’

  ‘Suspicious?’ She had his full attention now. He took a small step towards her, staring down into her face as if trying to read her mind. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Everything appeared as if he had missed his footing at that point, fallen down the cliffs and broken his neck?’

  ‘What else could have happened?’

  ‘What else?’ echoed Fidelma softly, but did not answer the question.

  ‘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.’