Behold a Pale Horse sf-22

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘It was, indeed. Our scriptorium now has a copy of the Life of the Blessed Martyr Saturnin.’

  The abbot looked quizzically at Fidelma and Magister Ado introduced his companion.

  ‘Abbot Servillius, this is Fidelma of Hibernia. She has been our travelling companion since Genua.’

  ‘Fidelma of Hibernia?’ The abbot frowned as if searching his memory. He held out his hand for her to kiss his ring of office as was the custom among the Roman clerics. Fidelma merely took his hand and bowed her head from the neck in accordance with the custom of her own people.

  ‘She is the daughter of a king of her own land,’ explained Magister Ado.

  ‘Fidelma?’ mused the abbot. ‘I have heard this name recently … ah! Have you come from Rome?’

  ‘I have,’ Fidelma affirmed, knowing what was to follow.

  ‘Ah, I have it now. One of our brethren, coming from Rome, talked of a young religieuse from Hibernia who astonished even the Holy Father by resolving the mystery involving a Saxon archbishop who was murdered in the Lateran Palace itself. Indeed, her name was Fidelma.’

  ‘She is that very person, Father Abbot,’ affirmed Magister Ado good-naturedly.

  Fidelma gave a quick shrug. ‘I played some small part in the resolution of that mystery,’ she admitted.

  ‘Then you are most welcome here. It is not often we get such distinguished visitors in our lonely valley, although …’ he hesitated and glanced at Magister Ado, ‘although it seems that this week is one for the distinguished and the noble to grace our community. Come.’ The abbot dismissed Brother Wulfila and led them into his study where he indicated that they be seated. It was a small, dark room made darker byoak panels, but there was a small window which cast just enough light for them to see without resorting to lamps.

  ‘You seem to imply that you have another distinguished visitor under the shelter of your roof, my friend Father Abbot,’ Magister Ado remarked as he sat down.

  ‘Indeed, we have. Our guest is young Prince Romuald, son of our gracious King Grimoald, who is even now fighting in the south.’

  ‘Prince Romuald?’ Magister Ado sounded surprised.

  As the question needed no response, the abbot turned to Fidelma. ‘And now, Fidelma of Hibernia, you must tell me why you have graced our poor abbey. I presume the obvious answer would be to do with this abbey’s connection with your country?’

  It was Magister Ado who answered for Fidelma, speaking quickly before she could. ‘It is Brother Ruadán who brings her hither. He was her mentor and teacher when she was younger and, on hearing that he was in this abbey, she determined to come here and see him before she continued her journey back to Hibernia.’

  Abbot Servillius’ pleasant features saddened and he studied Fidelma in sympathy for a moment. ‘A former pupil of dear Brother Ruadán? Then it is God’s will which has guided your footsteps along our valley to this holy place. You have been told of his infirmity? Of course, you must go and see him but, alas, I must warn you that he has deteriorated in recent days.’

  ‘Can you give any exact details of what happened?’ inquired Fidelma.

  ‘Very little. He was found outside the gates of the abbey early one morning with a note proclaiming the word “heretic” pinned to him. We know he tried to preach often to thosefollowers of Arius, trying to persuade them to turn from their foolishness. It is thought that he has suffered the consequence of the anger of some of them. Three weeks ago, he returned from Placentia where he had been preaching. He had been assaulted and barely made it safely back. It did not deter him. He left the abbey again to preach in Travo, down the valley. After that he was found outside the abbey gates and grievously hurt. He took to his bed and has not been able to stir from it since. But perhaps the sight of his young friend,’ he motioned towards Fidelma, ‘might revive his spirit. A link with his homeland might act as a tonic, a balm to his soul.’

  ‘I presume that he is attended by a good physician?’ Fidelma queried.

  ‘Brother Hnikar is one of the best apothecaries in this valley. He attends him daily. But when the flesh is old and weak …’ The abbot gave a half-shrug, as if to indicate that one could not argue with Fate. ‘I have to point out to you that this is not a mixed community and, therefore, your movements are restricted. It would be best to always have a member of the brethren to guide you.’ He suddenly reached forward and rang a small handbell. Brother Wulfila immediately appeared at the door.

  ‘This Sister …’ He stopped, shrugged and began again. ‘Take the lady Fidelma of Hibernia to Brother Hnikar. She is to be allowed to see and speak to her compatriot, Brother Ruadán, without restriction.’

  The steward hid his obvious surprise by inclining his head to his superior before indicating that Fidelma should precede him through the door.

  ‘Afterwards, return here and we will discuss accommodation and rules for your stay here,’ the abbot called after her.

  The apothecary, to whom she was introduced, was a short, plump man, whose cheeks shone with a childlike pinkness. His eyes were blue to the point of paleness. Fidelma was not sure whether his central baldness was natural or the result of a tonsure. It was surrounded by long silver hair, raggedly cut. He greeted her with a benign expression.

  ‘You will find poor Brother Ruadán in a sad condition,’ he said, when he was told the purpose of her coming. ‘As you know, the passing of the years can be unkind, and these last days have enfeebled him beyond measure.’

  ‘His injuries are bad?’

  Brother Hnikar’s lips compressed. ‘It is not so much the hurt that was inflicted on him but, at his age, the shock of the violence. I can heal cuts, bruises and wounds, but when the wounds go deep to the mind and soul …’ He shrugged. ‘Be careful what you say to him, for his mind now wanders and he can imagine all manner of things. Come, I will take you to him.’

  The room in which Brother Ruadán lay was small but with a large opening that was so placed to let in the sunshine as it descended towards the western mountain ridge. There was little in the room save a cot on which the elderly religieux lay with a straw mattress and a thin woollen blanket. A simple wooden cross was affixed to one wall. A small table with a jug of water and beaker on it and a wooden chest placed for any personal items or clothing made up the rest of the furniture.

  Brother Hnikar ushered her inside and whispered, ‘Remember, do not tax the old one. His strength is lessening by the day.’

  Fidelma did not reply but moved forward to the bedside.

  Brother Ruadán lay as if in complete repose on his back,his hands folded in front of him. His eyes were shut, his breathing somewhat stertorous.

  ‘Brother Ruadán,’ Fidelma said quietly, resorting to her own language. ‘Can you hear me?’

  The regular breathing seemed to hesitate and then the eyelids flickered and opened. The pale eyes stared upwards as if unable to focus on her.

  ‘Brother Ruadán, can you hear me?’ repeated Fidelma.

  ‘Who … who speaks?’ gasped the old man in the same language.

  ‘It is I, Fidelma of Cashel.’

  A faint smile seemed to hover on the lips of the old man.

  ‘Fidelma of Cashel? She is a world away from here.’

  Fidelma moved closer and bent over him. ‘Try to focus, Brother Ruadán,’ she said. ‘I am here.’

  The eyes seemed to search here and there before they found and focused on her.

  ‘Remember the days we spent on Inis Celtra?’ went on Fidelma. ‘You once told me that I was your worst pupil, for I asked too many questions about the Faith. You said that I should merely accept it and not question it.’

  A look of uncertainty crossed the old man’s features.

  ‘I knew a princess of Cashel once,’ he muttered. ‘She even questioned God’s omnipotence.’

  ‘I said, if God was omnipotent and created Adam, then He must have known that Adam would disobey Him.’

  ‘God was omnipotent but gave man free will,’ responded the old
man from memory.

  ‘But if God was omnipotent, how was Adam’s will stronger than that of his Creator?’ queried Fidelma.

  ‘God gave Adam his choice.’

  ‘But in our law, a person who knows of a crime before itis committed and could prevent it and does not, is deemed as an accessory before the fact and therefore judged a principal in the crime.’

  The head was almost nodding in agreement, The rheumy eyes widened and a clawlike hand sought Fidelma’s own.

  ‘Fidelma of Cashel — that was her argument as a young girl. Indeed, she went off to study law under Brehon Morann.’

  ‘Now I am here — here in Bobium, my old mentor. I was journeying back to Cashel from Rome and, by chance, heard that you were here. How could I pass by without coming to see you?’

  ‘Fidelma of Cashel?’ The old man gave a long sigh and seemed to sink even deeper back on his pillow. ‘Is it truly you?’

  ‘It is I. It is Fidelma of Cashel.’

  ‘Forgive me. I have grown old and my sight grows weaker. I do not think that I have much longer to dwell here.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ replied Fidelma fiercely. ‘You will outlive us all.’

  The old man gave a wheezy smile. ‘You were ever the optimist, Fidelma of Cashel. I thought Brehon Morann would caution you on an adherence to optimism. You have been to Rome?’

  ‘I have.’

  Suddenly a troubled look crossed the old man’s features. His frail hand closed on Fidelma’s arm with an unexpected pressure, and he struggled as if he would raise himself up on his bed.

  ‘Calm yourself, Ruadán,’ soothed Fidelma anxiously.

  ‘Take care, Fidelma of Cashel. That which was taken from its watery grave must be returned to it. It is cursed!’

  The sick man’s eyes stared into her face with a strange intensity. His features wore an expression of anguish.

  ‘I do not understand you, Brother Ruadán,’ she replied, trying to pacify him.

  Both hands now came up, gripping her arms so tightly that the upper half of his body rose from the bed by the strength of his grip.

  ‘There is evil in this place, Fidelma of Cashel! Evil! Leave now — leave at once, for you will not be safe. Leave …’

  He gave a gasp and fell back exhausted on the bed. Fidelma stared down at him, bemused. She was suddenly aware of Brother Hnikar standing at the door. Now the apothecary hurriedly approached the bed and laid a hand on Brother Ruadán’s forehead.

  ‘I told you that his strength was lessening. He has exhausted himself and fallen back into sleep. Leave him now. He needs all the rest he can get.’

  Fidelma stood hesitantly for a moment and gave a reluctant glance at the old man. The apothecary was gently pushing her to the door.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured her. ‘He must rest now. When he is overtired he tends to hallucinate. I will take care of him. Pay no heed to what he says. His mind is disturbed.’

  She found herself back in the passage, the door shut firmly behind her. Faintly, from beyond it, she heard the frail voice of Brother Ruadán cry out: ‘Tell her to leave … leave this abbey now! There is much evil here!’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Brother Wulfila was waiting in the passage to guide her back to the abbot’s chamber. The steward greeted Fidelma with a sombre expression.

  ‘I heard him cry out,’ he said moodily. ‘Alas, he tends to think his attackers can still do him harm, even here in the abbey. We are doing our best for him. Brother Ruadán is much respected here. It is very sad.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Fidelma replied quietly.

  ‘Was he able to recognise you?’

  ‘He was, but little else.’

  The steward was about to say something more but then changed his mind and guided her back to the abbot’s study.

  Abbot Servillius and Magister Ado were still engaged in conversation. They had been joined by another man who seemed older than either the abbot or the magister. He was silver-haired, thin but not gaunt, with tanned features that were quite handsome. He carried himself with the erect posture of a younger man. It was only when one looked carefully into his face that one realised he was well beyond his allotted three-score and ten years. They all looked up as she entered.

  ‘Ah, Sister Fidelma,’ greeted the abbot. ‘Allow me to present the Venerable Ionas, our greatest scholar.’

  The Venerable Ionas grimaced with an almost embarrassed expression. However, she was aware of a close scrutiny from his dark, penetrating eyes. ‘Pax tecum, Sister. I am merely one of many scholars in this community. Magister Ado here has as great a claim as my own.’

  ‘Abbot Ionas has written the praiseworthy work on the life of our founder,’ added Abbot Servillius.

  Venerable Ionas seemed to notice that Sister Fidelma was troubled in spite of her best efforts to remain expressionless. ‘You are anxious about something?’ he asked.

  ‘I have just been to see Brother Ruadán.’ She could only explain the obvious. ‘He was my teacher when I was little.’

  ‘I did try to prepare you.’ The abbot was slightly defensive.

  ‘Poor Brother Ruadán will not be with us long, according to Brother Hnikar,’ the Venerable Ionas sighed. ‘How bad was he when you saw him?’

  ‘Bad enough,’ she replied as she lowered herself into the chair indicated by the abbot.

  ‘I shall call in on him later,’ Magister Ado said. ‘I would like to see him before it is too late.’

  Fidelma felt an annoyance at what appeared to be their casual acceptance of Brother Ruadán’s imminent death. ‘Perhaps we should not consign him to the grave just yet,’ she protested.

  ‘I am sure that is not our intention,’ the abbot replied hurriedly. ‘But we must face reality.’

  ‘And the reality is …?’ queried Fidelma.

  ‘Outside these walls there is a harsh world at the moment,’ replied the abbot. ‘That is why young Prince Romuald is our guest at the moment.’

  Magister Ado looked concerned. ‘You were about to tell us the reason for his coming here,’ he said.

  ‘He was sent here for protection. The rumours that Perctarit has returned from exile, taking advantage of the King’s absence in the south, are growing daily.’ Abbot Servillius glanced at Fidelma and smiled apologetically. ‘Our King Grimoald sent Perctarit into exile and-’

  ‘I have been told of your change of kingship,’ she interrupted.

  ‘Grimoald is in the south. Duke Lupus of Friuli has been left as Regent here in the north during his absence. The King’s son, Romuald, was left in the charge of a nurse and the protection of Lupus.’

  ‘So why is he here?’ pressed Magister Ado.

  ‘It seemed that the boy’s nurse, Lady Gunora, began to entertain suspicions as to where Lupus’ loyalties really lay. She took the boy and they left Lupus’ fortress in the dead of night to make their journey here, where she knew the brethren would provide Prince Romuald with sanctuary. The boy has a heavy burden on his young shoulders.’

  ‘I presume that the absence of the King in the south of the country is the reason why Perctarit is rumoured to have returned from exile?’ mused Magister Ado.

  ‘I would also presume that is so,’ agreed Abbot Servillius.

  Magister Ado was frowning. ‘If this is the case, Father Abbot, do you not think there is a danger to the abbey? If the boy is in danger, then surely the abbey is too?’

  The Venerable Ionas leaned forward in his chair. His features were serious as he looked towards the abbot. ‘Magister Ado makes a good observation, my old friend. Who knows outside these walls that Prince Romuald is here?’

  The abbot took a moment before responding. ‘Apart fromLord Radoald, no one outside the abbey, for he and his escort arrived under cover of darkness only two nights ago. As the Lord of Trebbia is our friend and protector, he had to be informed.’

  ‘It is a secret that can scarcely be kept,’ Magister Ado pointed out. ‘Have you given any thought to what we should do if Lupus of Friul
i makes a descent against the abbey?’

  Abbot Servillius shook his head. ‘We are a house of God, not a military fortress,’ he responded. Suddenly realising that Fidelma had been sitting listening with quiet interest to the conversation, he rose to his feet. ‘But where are my manners? I have not afforded our friend, Fidelma of Hibernia, the hospitality that is the custom of our people. I shall instruct Brother Wulfila, our steward, to have a chamber prepared for you in the guest-house and water for washing as is your custom. The guest-house is a separate section of chambers above the apothecary and the cubicula for the sick. Indeed, it is situated on the floor above where you went to visit Brother Ruadán. It overlooks our herbarium, our herb garden of which we are justly proud and where you may wander freely on your own.

  ‘As you are a special guest, I am making a dispensation of certain of our rules so that you may stay here and not go to the house of the religieuses in the township. The same dispensation I have given to the Lady Gunora, for she must reside close by Prince Romuald. But I must ask you to abide by our rules that segregate the brethren from our guests. Never venture far without permission or the attendance of one of the brethren appointed to guide you. I am sure that you will respect this rule.’

  Abbot Servillius reached forward and took up the handbell once again. At its jangle, the door opened and the steward entered. Brother Wulfila listened in silence to the abbot’sinstructions, trying to hide his disapproval. Then the abbot turned to Fidelma.

  ‘Go, refresh yourself and rest. A bell will be sounded when it is time for the evening meal. Someone will be at the doorway of the guest-house to guide you to the refectorium.’

  Fidelma had no choice but to accept her dismissal. She could not help the thought that the concern for her rest, after the journey, was merely an excuse to be rid of her presence during the discussion of the political situation.

  She followed Brother Wulfila, who now took her on a different route along the darkened corridors before halting before a door. She could smell what was behind the door even before the steward pointed silently to the sign in Latin. It said: cloaca. She knew it came from the root cluo, ‘I cleanse’, so she could guess the intention of the room that lay beyond even had she been unable to smell it. Her companion felt he did not have to explain further and turned and led her up a flight of stone steps to an upper level where he halted before another door, which he bent to open. Then he stood aside and motioned her in. She stepped inside.