‘I am unable to imply anything for I am a stranger here. I am merely an observer. Magister Ado at first wanted me to believe we were attacked by bandits, quickly confirmed by Wulfoald, and then you ascribed the attack to bandits.However, you did point out that it was unusual for bandits to operate in this valley when the richer merchants do not pass this way. Those are facts. I would not imply anything from them.’
‘You have a sharp mind, lady.’ Then Radoald fell silent for the rest of their journey as if in brooding thought.
The fortress of Radoald dominated a bend of the river, strategically placed on the southern bank where it turned almost at a forty-five-degree angle. From the northern bank a tributary of a smaller stream joined it. Behind that rose a great peak among the mountains which bordered the length of the valley on both banks. It was obvious that no army could attack in strength over the mountains or along the valley in either direction without having to reduce the fortress before they could proceed. It had been built initially, so Fidelma was to learn later, by the Romans when their legions invaded the territories of the peoples of Cisalpine Gaul. At first glance, it seemed dark and ominous, a brooding complex of buildings, its lower walls were covered by creeping moss-like plants which she could not identify. There were two or three farm dwellings set outside the walls and the fortress dominated the area. As they approached, one of Radoald’s men placed a hunting horn to his lips and let forth a series of blasts. Fidelma saw several warriors patrolling the walls and realised that their approach had already been observed.
She could not help but ask quietly: ‘For a peaceful valley, your warriors seem well prepared?’
Radoald actually grinned. ‘Si vis pacem para bellum,’ he replied. If you want peace, prepare for war. ‘I have found much wisdom in the Epitoma Rei Militaris of Vegetius, an old Roman military philosopher.’
They entered an inner courtyard where servants camehurrying forward to take their horses and Sister Gisa’s mule to the stables, to remove the carcass of the deer and presumably transport it to the kitchens.
As Radoald dismounted he called to Sister Gisa, ‘Take Brother Faro to Suidur’s apothecary so that he may be looked after.’ It was obvious that she knew the fortress for she took her companion by the arm and assisted him across the stoneflagged courtyard.
Radoald himself conducted Magister Ado and Fidelma to what appeared to be the main building, and led them into a great hall. There were fires alight at both ends of the hall while tapestries hung the full length of the high walls. Several men and women rose respectfully as he entered. An elderly man, who proved to be Radoald’s steward, came forward and bowed. The young lord shot a series of instructions at him before turning to them with a smile.
‘I have asked for rooms to be made ready for all of you. Baths will be prepared and this evening you will feast and rest with us. And tomorrow you will journey on to Bobium in comfort.’ He turned to the rest of the company and said, ‘Magister Ado has come back to join us and this is Fidelma of Hibernia, a princess of her country, who travels to Bobium.’
The names of his family and his entourage passed over Fidelma’s head. Several of them spoke colloquial Latin but it seemed the main language was the more guttural tongue of the Longobards. As she was passed from one group to another with polite meaningless words, she was suddenly confronted by an ornate, carved wood chair on a dais. She presumed it was Radoald’s chair of office. But it was not that which struck her. Above the chair hung a shield. It had a black background with what appeared to be a flaming sword and a laurel wreath painted on it.
A hand jerked on her sleeve and a high-pitched voice asked, ‘Do you eat human flesh?’
Shocked, she turned to look down into the ancient face of a woman, bent over, with grey hair and leaning on a stick.
‘I do not,’ she replied, wondering if she was about to be offered some horrendous dish of the valley.
‘But you must,’ the old woman insisted sharply. ‘People from Hibernia are cannibals. I have read the Blessed Jerome and was he not of the Faith? In Adversus Jovinianum he writes that he witnessed, as a young man, the Irish cutting the buttocks off shepherds and their wives and eating them.’
‘I have never heard that Jerome was ever in Hibernia,’ Fidelma replied, trying not to let her temper rise. ‘So no credence can be given to such a ridiculous, malicious and false statement.’
‘But he wrote it.’
‘People write many things and they are not all true.’
‘But he wrote it,’ the old woman repeated as if it were a mantra.
Radoald appeared at her side and took Fidelma’s arm. He spoke to the old woman roughly in the local language and then guided Fidelma away. ‘Let me show you some of the treasures of my fortress,’ he smiled. Out of earshot of the old woman, he added, ‘She was my mother’s nurse. I keep her here as a retainer, for there is nowhere else for her to go.’
Fidelma was about to open her mouth when he shook his head and placed a finger against his lips. ‘She reads to occupy her time. Sadly, she believes that if something is written then it must be true. There is no reasoning with her on this matter.’
‘Then she must have difficulties when she comes across two accounts that are opposed.’ Fidelma smiled thinly.
‘An interesting proposition. Sadly, it seems that eventuality has not yet presented itself.’
‘I was looking at your chair when she spoke to me. Is it your chair of office?’
Radoald nodded assent.
‘I noticed the design on the shield above it. Is that your crest?’
‘It is one which serves many of the Longobard nobles, for it is the insignia of the Archangel Michael who has become our patron. It is said that he appeared to our armies at Sipontum three years ago when we drove back the armies of the Byzantines. It is Michael’s name which is now our war cry, for he is captain of battle and defender of Heaven.’
‘So any one of your people would bear that crest?’
‘Only the warriors of our King Grimoald,’ confirmed the young noble. ‘Indeed, my sword arm is at the disposal of Grimoald. Why do you ask?’
‘Tell me something of this Grimoald,’ invited Fidelma, ignoring the question. ‘When did he become your King?’
‘After he seized the throne from King Godepert and married his sister, Theodota. That was four years ago.’
‘I thought you said he succeeded Perctarit …?’
‘Ah, you have a sharp memory. Perctarit was a joint king with his brother, Godepert. But the two brothers were at war with each other. Both were as bad as one another. Grimoald was then Duke of Benevento. He assassinated Godepert and eventually drove Perctarit into exile. It is Grimoald who hails Michael as the warrior-protector of our nation. We need that protection for we have many enemies. Even now Grimoald is campaigning against the Byzantines in the south. In his absence, Lupus the Wolf, the Duke of Friuli, is Regent. Friuli is a city far to the east of here.’
‘You seem to live in turbulent times,’ Fidelma observed.
‘It is the nature of my people,’ Radoald replied grimly. ‘Centuries ago we were forced from our homelands far to the north and, each time we tried to settle, we were driven further south and west by those who came behind us. We had to carve new territories, new homelands with the help of our swords.’
‘And yet you also fight each other over matters of kingship?’ Her comment was posed as a question.
‘Strength must be the catchword of a ruler.’
‘Have you no laws of succession? Laws by which your judges can challenge an unjust ruler?’
Radoald stared at her in surprise for a moment and then he smiled, shaking his head in amusement.
‘Do not tell me that in your land there are such laws?’
‘A king must obey the law as willingly as a cowherd,’ pointed out Fidelma.
‘We believe a king is the lawgiver. We obey his law.’
Radoald then took Fidelma on a tour of his fortress and, she had to confess, sh
e was surprised at the wealth of tapestries and paintings, which she learned were from Byzantium. There were statuettes from Ancient Rome and many other decorative items. Radoald took a pride as he showed her these treasures. It seemed to her that the young man was going out of his way to impress her that he was a man of refinement and appreciative of the arts. Indeed, after a little while, he said, ‘When our people, the Longobards, came into this land about a hundred years ago, we were pagans, not having heard the word of Christ. All we knew was conquest and how to govern by the sword. Thankfully, times change.’
The conversation was suddenly interrupted by the entranceof a tall man of striking appearance. His age was almost impossible to discern, since although his hair was snow-white, his features seemed young. His eyes were dark, almost without pupils; his lips thin and unusually red; his nose prominent and thin. From neck to feet he was clad in robes of black, the sleeves wide and loose so that they hid his hands. There was no jewellery as relief to the blackness of his dress.
‘Suidur, this is Fidelma of Hibernia, not only of the Sisterhood but a princess of that land,’ introduced Radoald. ‘This is Suidur, my physician.’
The dark eyes examined Fidelma without emotion. Then the physician raised his left hand and placed it over his heart, making a short bow.
‘Hibernia? You are welcome in our valley, lady. Gisa has told me of your meeting and journey here.’ His voice was dry, without feeling. ‘She tells me that you were once a pupil of old Ruadán of Bobium?’
‘She tells you correctly,’ Fidelma confirmed. ‘I trust Brother Faro is recovering?’
‘Faro is well enough, my lady,’ answered the physician. ‘Thankfully, the wound is clean and there are no signs of infection. Gisa is a good student. I have also treated the wound with herbs and bound it. Apart from soreness, he has no ill effects. Therefore, he may continue his journey to Bobium tomorrow and make a good recovery. But he must move slowly and easily.’
‘Then that is a good outcome.’ Radoald spoke with satisfaction.
The physician was looking around at the people in the hall, as if seeking someone. ‘I heard that Magister Ado is of your party? I do not see him here.’
Radoald answered: ‘Magister Ado begged to be excused for he says he is tired from the journey. He will take some refreshment in his chamber.’
Suidur the Wise turned his dark eyes back to Fidelma. ‘Have you known him long then?’
Fidelma wondered why Suidur asked her exactly the same question that Radoald had asked.
‘I encountered him in Genua and he told me of Bobium and it was mentioned Brother Ruadán was here. I could not leave your country without seeing my old mentor, especially when I heard he was ailing.’
‘You did not know Magister Ado before you met him in Genua?’ Suidur continued to gaze at her thoughtfully.
She was about to respond when the young noble interrupted hurriedly. ‘Apparently she did not know about the magister nor of Bobium until she met Magister Ado by chance at the seaport. She was on her way back to Hibernia from Rome. You will forgive us, lady, but we are always curious about visitors in our small community.’ A horn was suddenly blown and Radoald appeared relieved. ‘The meal is prepared. Come, sit with us.’
Only Magister Ado was absent from the meal. Sister Gisa with Brother Faro alongside came to take their places. Fidelma was seated between Radoald and Suidur. The conversation veered between questions about Hibernia and information on the Valley of the Trebbia and the Abbey of Bobium. Radoald seemed intent on keeping the topics light, about the different customs of his people to those of Hibernia; about the local food, the wine and other subjects. Fidelma was not sorry when, at long last, she could excuse herself for the night. Radoald ordered one of his servants to conduct her to a guest chamber.
She was led into the main courtyard by the servant holding high an oil lamp. Only one or two people were still about, and they acknowledged her with a look or a few words of greeting as she walked across the cold flagstones. They ascended stairs into a squat building of several storeys high. Her chamber was small, with one window that gave on to a balcony overlooking an inner courtyard lit by the bright light of a waxing moon. The chamber was furnished with a bed and a table with tallow candles in holders, one of which had already been lit. In a corner was another table with a bowl of water to wash in and a linen cloth. There was also a pitcher of fresh water to drink from with a cup. Her escort left and Fidelma yawned with exhaustion and went to the window. The moon cast an eerie twilight over the Trebbia Valley and a chill wind was rustling its way along the valley trees and undergrowth. It was almost with relief that Fidelma climbed on to the bed and closed her eyes.
Fidelma was not asleep. She had not been able to settle at all in spite of her exhaustion. She had started to turn over in her mind the events of the last few days and began to wonder if she had been right in making the decision to accompany Magister Ado and his companions to Bobium. Perhaps she should have remained in the port of Genua, seeking another ship to continue her journey instead of setting off into the alien countryside.
Even when she had been in Rome she had experienced feelings of longing for Cashel, for the rich green plains, the mountains and dense verdant forests of her homeland. Now, she realised, she felt another longing. She felt a sadness when she had parted from the Saxon monk Eadulf who had been her companion and helper in resolving mysteries at theAbbey of Hilda and later in the Lateran Palace in Rome. She wished he was here now. She wanted someone she could trust, in whom to confide her ideas about the incidents that she had witnessed.
Such were the thoughts that filled her mind as she twisted and turned. It was only the prospect of seeing old Brother Ruadán again that convinced her to go on. How much more isolated must Brother Ruadán feel, being so elderly and so far from home? She felt that she owed a duty to her ageing mentor and teacher. She could bring him some cheer of his native land and friends now that he was nearing the end of his life.
As she lay there, she began to hear the distant sound of people whispering. It encroached on her thoughts. She sat up with a frown of annoyance. It was coming from outside, beyond the open window and balcony that overlooked the small courtyard below. The balcony was only shielded from her room by a thick curtain to keep out the swarming insects, especially the little flies that could bite one during the sultry nights and cause illness.
Fidelma swung off the bed and moved to the curtain, pausing to listen. The sounds made no sense at all and she would have been prepared to ignore things altogether, had she not wondered why people should stand whispering in the middle of the night.
Carefully, she eased the curtain aside and stepped on to the balcony. The night was now dark, for clouds had spread across the sky obscuring the moon. She peered down. The courtyard was in shadows, and it was not until her eyesight grew used to the darkness that she could discern a group of five figures. Three of them were tall, one with white hair, while the other two were short. Of the two shorter figures, one wasslight, obviously a woman, and the other, a man, seemed elderly, for he too had white hair, just discernible in the darkness. They were whispering together in a language Fidelma guessed was that of the Longobards. The conversation seemed intense, and as if the man of short stature with white hair was scolding the others. One of the taller men seemed to be protesting.
Well, it was none of her business. She was about to turn back into her chamber and try once more to get some rest before the onward journey when the clouds parted briefly and the bright moon pierced the gloom. It was only for a moment but Fidelma saw the white hair of the tall physician, Suidur. The shorter elderly man and the woman remained in the darkness. She did not see the faces of the others, but their long black robes seemed familiar. Then the woman turned her face so that the moonlight caught it for an instant. Her voice was clear and she suddenly lapsed into Latin.
‘The gold must already be here. That means it will happen soon.’
The short, elderly man snapped something
at her.
Fidelma gave a gasp and drew back behind the curtain. Whether it was the sound of her withdrawn breath or just a reaction to the sudden moment of moonlight, there was a pause in the conversation. She waited behind the curtain, unable to breathe for a moment, until she heard the talk resume.
Another voice said something sharply and the conversation continued as before in the Longobard language. She waited until the whispering ceased. The voice she had recognised was that of Sister Gisa. She did not know who the short, elderly man was — but was it just her imagination that they,with Suidur, were in conversation with the same two men who had attacked Magister Ado in Genua? Indeed, the same warriors who had attacked them and wounded Brother Faro as they entered the valley?
CHAPTER FOUR
It was well after first light when Fidelma joined her companions in the hall of the fortress at the first meal of the day. She had finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep and awoken feeling tired and irritable. There was no sign of Suidur but Radoald was there presiding over the meal and indulging in a friendly exchange with Magister Ado. Sister Gisa was seated by Brother Faro who still had his arm in a sling but looked none the worse for his experience. Fidelma wondered whether she should relate her experience of the night to Magister Ado as, after all, he had been the subject of the attacks. She decided that she should do so only when a suitable opportunity arose, for if Suidur and Sister Gisa were part of some plot against him, he should be told. Then she began to have doubts. What exactly was the plot against him? Who was involved and why? Surely she should find out more before becoming involved … Perhaps Brother Ruadán would be able to enlighten her.
‘It seems that we shall have company for the rest of our journey,’ Sister Gisa whispered to her as they were finishing their meal.
‘Oh?’ Fidelma inquired politely.
‘Two farmers are taking goods to trade at the abbey.’
‘Our local hill farmers often take goods to the abbey,’ Radoald intervened, overhearing. ‘You arrived here at a convenient moment. The merchants are already outside. But, after what happened to your party yesterday, I’ll send two of my own men to accompany you.’
Behold a Pale Horse sf-22 Page 5
