Behold a Pale Horse sf-22

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘The concept is certainly gaining powerful adherents in Rome,’ Fidelma remarked. ‘Does that cause tension in Bobium?’

  ‘Not within the abbey, for the brethren are of one mind,’ Magister Ado replied quickly. ‘The cause of tension is mainly from the outside.’

  ‘You refer again to the followers of Arius?’ Fidelma saw a quick exchange of troubled glances between Brother Faro and Sister Gisa.

  ‘There is no need to worry,’ Magister Ado returned. ‘If you are thinking of the attack on me, I believe it might be retaliation because I have spoken out against the profligate bishops and nobles of this land who claim to be followers of Arius. They use the banner of Arius as an excuse for their attacks on the religious communities.’

  ‘Isn’t that a cause for concern? From what you tell me, you had barely stepped ashore at Genua when you were attacked. How long had you been away?’

  His look was suddenly keen. ‘You have an inquiring mind, Fidelma.’

  ‘It is the nature of my training,’ she admitted. ‘I ask pardon if there is anything amiss in my question.’

  The elderly religieux seemed to relax and smile. ‘Not at all. I was away but a few weeks. I took the journey only to purchase an ancient text in the scriptorium of the abbey at Tolosa. Now we are nearly home. Tomorrow we shall enter the Valley of the Trebbia. There will be nothing to fear there.’

  For someone who had so recently been attacked, Fidelma was surprised at the man’s quiet confidence and dismissal of further dangers.

  The next morning, leaving the main highway, they followed a smaller track across the hills and soon descended into a long winding valley through which a gushing river now flowed.

  ‘The Trebbia,’ announced Brother Faro, who was now riding alongside Fidelma. Magister Ado and Sister Gisa were a little way ahead of them. ‘The river flows all the way past Bobium. We will spend one more night on our journey, near Mount Lésima, and then the following morning we shall see the holy place where Columbanus settled with his followers.’

  The valley was even more reminiscent of some lush green valleys in parts of Fidelma’s native land. It was little wonder that Colm Bán had felt at ease in choosing this country in which to establish his community. Perhaps it had reminded him of his home. On hills on either side of the river, the brilliant green of beech in full leaf, the elder trees with their massive, many-branched domes, were glorious — but little else grew around them, for the dense leaves threw out a protective canopy during the summer, denying light to the shrubs that needed it. The beeches rose on the high slopes. Lower down, the more compact whitebeams grew, now and then catching a breeze causing them to show silver-white as the thick felt of hairs on the underside of their leaves were suddenly displayed. Again, bracken and fern spread along the lower valley slopes where the trees thinned. From some of these trees she saw the thick, climbing stems of wild clematis with their white and greenish flowers, causing an odour of vanilla to permeate the air.

  Brother Faro noticed her interest in her surroundings and unbent further from his usual air of distance.

  ‘You recall the dish we ate last evening?’ He pointed to some tall trees dominating areas of the lower reaches. ‘That was sweet chestnuts, the fruit of those trees there.’

  Fidelma had seen such trees in her journey to the Saxon kingdoms. An old sage had told her that the Romans had brought the tree into the country long ago.

  ‘They are similar to trees I have seen in the lands of the Saxons, but the nuts there do not ripen for eating like they do here,’ she observed.

  Magister Ado and Sister Gisa had halted in order for them to catch up.

  ‘The nuts on these trees are rich and succulent,’ calledSister Gisa over her shoulder, hearing the end of their conversation. ‘You have merely to bend down and gather the spiky husks, split them open and harvest the nuts. They are often used in the dishes here.’

  Magister Ado now dropped back to ride alongside Brother Faro in order that Sister Gisa and Fidelma could continue their conversation on local food. Sister Gisa and Brother Faro rode nearest to the riverbank while Fidelma and Magister Ado rode on the interior side of the path.

  Ahead of them, Fidelma had noticed a bird with pointed wings and long tail rising abruptly from where it had been standing by the edge of the river which ran to their left. The bird rose with its strange chirping cry and Fidelma recognised a kestrel. A moment later from the woods came piercing cries and two large, dark birds with broad rounded wings and short necks suddenly soared from the treetops. Buzzards. There came a cacophony of bird noise, causing her to glance at the dark woodlands. She saw a shadow by a tree and turned back with a cry of warning.

  Magister Ado had apparently already seen the shadow, for he leaned sharply across his horse’s neck. There was a whistling sound and Brother Faro gave a cry of pain and fell from his horse, sprawling on his back on the track. Fidelma had only time to realise that the haft of an arrow was protruding from his shoulder and there was blood spurting from the wound. When she glanced back, Magister Ado had straightened up. It seemed that he had seen the archer loosening his bow and ducked. The arrow had passed over him and hit Brother Faro instead. Sister Gisa was screaming.

  Fidelma turned back to the trees. Two men, bows ready, had emerged from cover and were moving deliberately towards them. She was undecided for a moment. If they fled,they would have to leave Brother Faro, wounded as he was, to the mercy of the attackers, for there was no time to dismount and put his unconscious body on horseback again. But if they stayed it would surely mean their own death.

  It seemed, however, that Magister Ado had decided upon his own salvation and was urging his horse forward, passing her. He had gone but a short distance when another sound ahead of them caused him to halt. It was a blast on a hunter’s horn, followed by a series of short warning blasts. It was all happening so fast that Fidelma could not keep up with events and sat undecided on her horse. Along the valley track around a bend ahead of them, emerged half a dozen mounted and armed men at the gallop. She now saw the two archers turning and heading rapidly into the cover of the trees.

  The leader of the newcomers shouted orders and three of the riders detached themselves, dismounted and were scrambling up into the dense forests after the fleeing attackers.

  Sister Gisa had swung down from the mule and was kneeling by the prone form of Brother Faro. Fidelma dismounted and went to help her. Brother Faro’s eyes were opening and he groaned a little. She saw that the arrow had stuck into fatty tissue and missed the important muscles. Nevertheless, she knew that it had to be extracted immediately and the wound treated. It could still cause poisoning, and he could die of the result.

  ‘Hold him,’ she instructed Sister Gisa, then turning to Brother Faro added: ‘I am afraid this will hurt a little.’

  He nodded that he understood. She peered closely at the arrow which, without bone or muscle to block it, had penetrated the flesh so that the point stuck out the other side. The arrowhead itself was thankfully smooth and not barbed. She reached forward and snapped off the feathered end asclose to the wound as possible. Then, taking hold of the head, she pulled the shaft rapidly through the flesh. Brother Faro gave a sharp cry and fainted.

  ‘Quickly, Sister, some water to wash the wound,’ Fidelma ordered.

  Sister Gisa brought the water from the river and something from her saddlebag. As Fidelma washed the young man’s wound, Sister Gisa said: ‘This is a paste of crushed garlic. I have often seen my father use it. In these parts it is spread on wounds and has healing qualities and will prevent infections.’

  Fidelma nodded silently and allowed the girl to apply the paste before she bound the wound tightly with strips of linen. By the time she had finished, Brother Faro had recovered consciousness again. They sat him up, back against a tree trunk, and he took a little wine which Sister Gisa also provided.

  Fidelma finally rose and walked to where Magister Ado was talking earnestly to the leader of the horsemen, who was now
standing by his horse. He was a tall warrior with long fair hair and bright blue eyes that were almost a violet shade. Magister Ado performed the introduction.

  ‘This is Sister Fidelma of Hibernia who travels to Bobium with us.’

  ‘I am Wulfoald, Sister. I am in the service of Radoald, son of Billo, Lord of Trebbia. You are welcome in our country.’ He spoke to her in faultless Latin.

  ‘It does not seem that everyone would share your welcome.’ Fidelma could not help the cynical response.

  Wulfoald’s left eyebrow rose a little disdainfully. He gestured towards the woodland where the attackers had disappeared. ‘Bandits, Sister. They will be caught and punished.’

  She was about to make a further remark when Magister Ado seemed eager to intervene.

  ‘We were lucky that you and your men came along, Wulfoald.’

  The young warrior gave a brief shrug. ‘We were on our way to pick up some goods that my lord was expecting from merchants at the junction of the Salt Road. We heard the warning of the birds and a cry, and so I ordered the horn to be sounded to let it be known that Radoald’s men approached. How is your companion?’

  ‘Brother Faro?’ Magister Ado seemed to realise for the first time that his young companion had been hurt. He swung round but saw that Brother Faro was sitting up and being well attended by Sister Gisa.

  There came a call from the hillside and the three warriors who had chased after the attackers were returning empty-handed.

  ‘They escaped, Wulfoald,’ their spokesman said at once. ‘They had horses further up the hill and were away before we could close on them.’

  ‘Did you recognise them?’ demanded Wulfoald.

  ‘We did not. They wore black cloaks and hoods and we could not discern their features.’

  Sister Fidelma glanced at Magister Ado. ‘Black cloaks and hoods?’ She made the comment into a question.

  Magister Ado gave an almost indiscernible shake of his head, a warning in his eyes.

  ‘Bandits,’ Wulfoald said again, with emphasis. ‘Have no fear, Sister. They will put much distance between here and their lair. They will know that my lord Radoald’s reach is long and his vengeance is swift. They will not be back. As guarantee, I shall instruct two of my men to see you safe to the walls of Bobium itself. Indeed, I suggest that this nightyou accept the hospitality of my lord, Radoald, at his fortress. Our physician, Suidur the Wise, will be pleased to attend to your young disciple there.’

  Magister Ado was profuse in his thanks. And while Wulfoald went to instruct his men, he and Fidelma made their way to where Brother Faro was now sitting up. The young man smiled ruefully.

  ‘It stings a little but is not too painful,’ he admitted when asked how his wound felt. ‘I have had worse.’

  ‘Will you be able to ride as far as Radoald’s fortress?’ asked Magister Ado.

  ‘I am sure of it,’ Brother Faro replied at once.

  ‘Then we will seek the hospitality of Lord Radoald.’ Magister Ado glanced around quickly at the hillside forest, as if to assure himself that the attackers had truly gone, and added: ‘As soon as you are ready, I suggest we move on.’

  ‘Black cloaks and hoods?’ Fidelma commented again in a low voice. ‘Do you not think that the same men who attacked you in Genua are the same who tried to kill you just now?’

  Magister Ado was defensive. ‘That does not necessarily follow. Lots of people wear black cloaks with hoods.’

  ‘Not many during the heat of summer,’ Fidelma replied dryly, glancing up at the cloudless blue sky.

  ‘But the nights are cold,’ he responded, almost sarcastically, before turning back to where Wulfoald and his men were waiting.

  ‘I have ordered two of my warriors to escort you to the fortress of Radoald,’ he called, indicating two of his men. ‘And now we must be off, to meet with the merchants on the Salt Road.’

  ‘Then there is nothing more than to thank you again foryour timely help.’ Magister Ado bowed his head. ‘Our thanks and blessings.’

  Wulfoald remounted his horse. For a moment Fidelma thought the warrior had mistaken his mount, for his pale grey looked the image of the steed ridden by Brother Faro. Then she realised that it was of the same breed. At a sign from him, the band of warriors soon disappeared along the track.

  Brother Faro had risen cautiously to his feet, aided by the concerned-looking Sister Gisa. ‘I am ready to move when you are, Magister,’ he said.

  Once mounted again, Fidelma joined Magister Ado while Sister Gisa rode anxiously alongside Brother Faro. Behind them came the two silent warriors. They were professional and now and then, when Fidelma glanced back at them, they seemed to be surveying the surrounding woodlands with eyes that were alert and never still.

  Magister Ado was not forthcoming with any further thoughts about the attack and Fidelma only once again broached the subject of the identity of the attackers.

  ‘You must have deeply offended these followers of Arius, for them to make such attempts on your life,’ she said.

  ‘You seem sure that this attack was by the same men as in Genua,’ he replied stiffly. ‘There are enough bandits in this country, especially so close to the merchant routes, to give me pause before I would make such accusations.’

  She knew it was useless to press him further. For some reason he did not want to acknowledge the obvious logic. Instead she tried a more oblique approach.

  ‘How is it that people here are so adamant in their adherence to the teachings of Arius?’ she asked.

  Magister Ado glanced at her suspiciously. Then he shrugged.

  ‘When the philosophies of Arius were flourishing inConstantinople, a Goth named Ulfilias, who had converted to Christianity but through the teachings of Arius, went as missionary to the Germanic peoples. His teachings spread among the Goths, Vandals, Visigoths, Burgundians and Longobards. Most accepted this form of the Faith and fought those who, like us, declared for the Nicene beliefs.’

  ‘And they have clung to the argument of Arius in spite of attempts to dissuade them?’

  Magister Ado sighed — a deep, sad sigh. ‘My people, the Longobards, have been followers of Arius for centuries.’ He paused. ‘Let me explain. Over three centuries ago, Arius was denounced in Alexandria for his teachings. Emperor Constantine called an assembly in Nicaea to argue the matter. Arius, as I have said, argued that while Christ was divine, He was sent to us for the salvation of mankind, but He and the Holy Spirit were not equal to God the Father, Who must have created them, for God created all things. The debate at Nicaea was long and fierce, and finally Arius and his teachings were condemned. A creed, a set of orthodox beliefs, was agreed by the assembly of bishops, and its central teaching was that the Father, the Son and Holy Spirit were of the same substance; that they were One, being Three in One. Christ is no less than God.’

  ‘So once the Council at Nicaea had agreed on this, what was the outcome?’

  ‘Constantine, the Emperor, exiled all those who refused to abide by the decision and all those who refused to condemn Arius and his supporters. He ordered all copies of the Thalia to be burned.’

  ‘Thalia — what is that?’ queried Fidelma.

  ‘It is the book in which Arius explained his teachings. It means “Festivity”.’

  ‘So that should have ended the argument.’

  ‘It did not. Another Emperor, Constantius, the second Emperor of his name, became an adherent of Arius and used his authority to exile the Nicene bishops, even exiling Pope Liberius and installing the Arian, Felix, in his place.

  ‘When Constantius died, Emperor Julian went back to pagan idolatry, but declared everyone had a right to believe whatever they wanted. So every sect in the Faith returned to follow their own philosophies. Finally, after many years, the Emperor Theodosius and his wife, Flacilla, came to power supporting the Nicene Creed. They exiled all Arian bishops and published an edict that every subject of the Roman Empire should profess and swear allegiance to the Nicene Creed of the bishops of Rom
e and Alexandria or be handed over for punishment for not doing so.’

  Fidelma was shocked. ‘It sounds more like the Faith developed as a matter of political power than an appeal to the spirituality, morals and logic of the people.’

  Magister Ado sniffed in disapproval. ‘Sometimes people have to be shown the way.’

  ‘But not by force, surely?’

  ‘Oh, come.’ Magister Ado smiled broadly. ‘You are a lawyer in your own land. What is law but telling people how they should behave? And if they do not, aren’t they punished? Isn’t that forcing them to proceed on a moral path in their lives? You cannot appeal to spirituality and morals with those who are greedy and will let nothing stand in their way.’

  Fidelma acknowledged that the scholar had a point — although she would argue it was a point that was not without its own moral concerns. However, she decided that it was wise not to pursue the matter further. After all, the man had been attacked twice — apparently because of his adherenceto his beliefs. He had a right to them. It was best to avoid being embroiled in theological argument. She was, after all, a stranger in a strange land. Her main desire was simply to see her former mentor, Brother Ruadán, and to bring comfort to the old man in his illness.

  Privately, she felt that she could understand why Arius argued that if there was one God Who was everlasting, and Christ was His only begotten son, then Christ, being begotten, must have been created by God. And didn’t the Gospel of John quote Christ as saying that His Father was ‘greater than I’? She was confused. Her own culture had always viewed the ancient gods and goddesses as being triune deities, each having three personalities and three outward appearances. So the Nicene Creed sat more comfortably in her people’s theology than monotheism. She wondered if she could find a copy of Arius’ book, the Thalia, to understand its philosophy more. She rode on, silently musing on the subject.