Behold a Pale Horse sf-22

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘You give me the impression that he was very young when he died.’

  ‘God be merciful to him, he was barely eleven years old.’

  ‘And he died recently?’

  ‘Just before Faro and I set out for Genua. It was the day after poor Brother Ruadán was found outside the abbey gates.’

  ‘Do you know how the boy died?’

  ‘We were told that his body was found, having fallen from some rocks. The poor boy broke his neck. He was discovered and his body taken to the abbey.’

  ‘Isn’t it unusual for a goatherd to be buried in the abbey’s necropolis?’

  ‘The abbot gave special permission that he be commemorated here in view of his service to the abbey. You seem very interested in him, Sister Fidelma.’

  ‘Call it my natural curiosity.’

  ‘Well, Brother Waldipert had far more to do with him than most of us. He is in charge of the abbey kitchens and used to buy the goats’ milk from Wamba.’

  ‘Surely the abbey has its own goats and cows to supply it?’ Fidelma asked. Self-sufficiency was usually a key element in any of the abbeys she had known.

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Sister Gisa. ‘But it was a custom from the days of Columbanus to help the local people. From each according to their ability, to each according to their needs. It is a good system of community living.’

  Fidelma realised she could not press further without being forced to compromise herself or trying to invent reasons for her questions. Moving away from the headstone, she said, ‘It is sad that this Wamba died so young when he was so talented.’

  Already her mind was turning over those last words of Brother Ruadán. The boy had been killed for coins. But Sister Gisa said that he had fallen from some rocks and broke his neck. That was surely an unusual end for a goatherd on a mountain? Now she had to be rid of the company of Sister Gisa and try to find Brother Waldipert. The answer to the first problem came almost immediately. They had emerged from the gates of the graveyard when Brother Faro came into sight. At once Sister Gisa’s face lit up, causing Fidelma to suppressa smile. How could the abbot be so blind as not to notice the intimacy between them?

  ‘How is your wound progressing, Brother Faro?’ she greeted him.

  The young man glanced at Sister Gisa with a quick nervous smile before turning back to Fidelma.

  ‘It is almost normal, thanks be to God. I feel no discomfort and I can use the arm freely.’

  ‘Well, I am sure the administrations of Sister Gisa had much to do with it,’ Fidelma said gravely. ‘I shall remember the garlic compress that you used,’ she added to the girl.

  ‘I was taught by my father,’ Gisa said. ‘He is … was a good physician.’

  ‘Anyway,’ interrupted Brother Faro, ‘this is nothing, compared to some wounds.’ He stopped, a slight flush on his face.

  ‘You have been hurt before?’

  ‘But not by an arrow. It was before I came here.’

  ‘At another abbey?’

  ‘I was not a religieux then.’

  ‘I thought you looked more like a warrior than a religieux,’ replied Fidelma.

  There was a slight uncomfortable pause before Brother Faro said, ‘I was, but I saw the futility of the wars and came here looking for peace and seclusion.’

  Fidelma glanced around the calm scenery of the valley and mountains and nodded slowly. ‘I can see why,’ she said. Then she excused herself and went back to the abbey. As she left, Sister Gisa and Brother Faro were already deep in conversation.

  The door to the abbey kitchens actually led on to the herbarium, Fidelma discovered, and that made it easier forher to find them without anyone wondering why she needed to be in the kitchens. She entered the herb garden and uttered a prayer of thanks that Brother Lonán was not about. Then she made for the doorway whence the pleasant odours of cooking emanated.

  Someone shouted a question at her in a harsh voice as she entered. A large man with an apron covering his robes was bent over a table gutting a fish, which he then threw into a simmering cauldron. He had glanced up as she entered and repeated his question in Latin when she did not answer.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I am Fidelma of Hibernia,’ she replied. ‘I am looking for Brother Waldipert.’

  The man sniffed and bent back to his task. ‘Then you have found him. You are the guest of the abbot who came to see Brother Ruadán, aren’t you? Sorry to hear that he died. He was a good man.’

  ‘Actually, I came to ask you about another death. The death of the boy, Wamba.’

  Brother Waldipert stopped and gazed at her in surprise. ‘Wamba the goatherd? Why do you ask about him?’

  ‘I was interested by the name on the memorial stone, the fact that someone who was not a member of the brethren was buried there.’

  The fat face of Brother Waldipert was sad. ‘He was one of the community to all intents and purposes. Poor little devil. He came every day to sell us fresh milk. He was good on the pipes, too.’

  ‘When I asked Sister Gisa how one so young was buried in the necropolis of the abbey, she told me a few details as far as she knew them. That was not much. Can you tell me about him?’

  Brother Waldipert sighed. ‘Indeed, he was eleven years of age or thereabouts. A happy-go-lucky lad who, as I say, came daily to the abbey to give us milk from his goats in return for vegetables and herbs that we grow here.’

  ‘He was surely very young to have his own herd of goats.’

  ‘Oh, goodness me, no — he did not own the goats. It was his mother, Hawisa, who owned them. He herded them for her on the upper slopes of the Pénas, that is the mountain behind us.’ He waved his hand towards the window, where the slopes of the hill rose up behind the abbey.

  ‘I am told that he fell from some rocks on the mountain and killed himself.’

  ‘That is true. He was found lying beneath them,’ confirmed the cook.

  ‘Is it known how the boy came to fall and break his neck?’ Fidelma asked. ‘It seems an unusual occurrence for a mountain goatherd to fall in such a manner.’

  Brother Waldipert stared at her suspiciously for a moment before responding. ‘Alas, he was alone on the mountain. Who knows how it happened? Accidents can and do happen. Why are you so interested?’

  ‘It is just that in my experience, goatherds are usually as sure-footed as their goats.’

  The cook shrugged. ‘Wamba was certainly raised on the upper slopes. Perhaps he was just too sure of himself. When I last saw him, and that was a few days before he was found, he was very confident. He came here so happy, not just with the milk for sale but saying that he had found some old coin that he thought would bring his mother great fortune.’

  Fidelma tried to control her interest. ‘He found a coin? One coin?’

  ‘Yes. He gave it to me,’ confirmed the cook. ‘He was pleasedwith his find and very boastful. He said that if he found more he would be rich enough to rule the valley. I nearly boxed his ears. Vanitas vanitatum, omnia vanitas!’ the cook intoned. Then he added: ‘Imagine the vanity of a goatherd saying he could rule in the place of the Lord of Trebbia!’

  ‘Even a goatherd can dream,’ Fidelma replied solemnly. ‘Did he say where he had found the coin?’

  ‘I think he just said that he had found it,’ Brother Waldipert said reflectively. ‘He asked me if I would exchange goods for it as I had for the milk.’

  ‘And did you?’

  The fat man’s jowls shook as he gave a negative gesture. ‘No. I knew the coin was worth a lot for its gold weight alone. I do not even know what coin it was. An ancient one, that is all. So I told him that I would take it to the abbot and see what could be arranged. The boy trusted me and was happy to part with the coin. He went off, quite satisfied that some agreement would be reached. Then, a few days later, I was told he had been found dead.’

  ‘Who told you?’ Fidelma asked sharply.

  ‘It was the warrior who found him, Wulfoald. Do you know him? He had been
coming across the mountain when he found the body of the boy at the foot of some rocks. In fact, I believe he brought the body straight here with the abbot, who announced his intention to bury him in the necropolis.’

  ‘That was unusual.’

  ‘The abbot felt it appropriate.’

  ‘And did you give the coin that Wamba found to the abbot?’

  ‘I promised the boy and so I kept that promise.’

  ‘And what did the abbot do with it?’

  ‘He gave Hawisa some goods in exchange. It was an old coin but not that valuable. Anyway, Hawisa was pleased tohave something, for she had lost her only son. I think that Hawisa gave her goats to a nephew, another goatherd, and he now supplies us as Wamba once did. A sad story. But I can’t understand why you are asking all these question about the boy.’

  Fidelma forced a smile of assurance. ‘Call it idle curiosity. I was merely interested.’

  Once again the words of Brother Ruadán echoed in her mind. ‘He did not deserve to die because he found the coins.’ The coins? Why not ‘a coin’? Suddenly she was confused. She was sure Brother Ruadán had said ‘had the coins’ not ‘found the coins’. Perhaps, after all, Brother Ruadán was not thinking clearly. There was a difference there, but did it mean something? Or was she reading too much into simple words?

  She thanked Brother Waldipert and went out into the herbarium. There was still no sign of Brother Lonán so she sat down on a wooden seat in a corner to consider what she knew of the facts.

  She had no doubt that Brother Ruadán had been deliberately killed — suffocated, most probably to prevent him saying anything further to her. But no one had known about her visit early on the morning he was killed. No one knew that he had mentioned the coins or the boy, Wamba. According to Sister Gisa, the boy was killed about the same time that Brother Ruadán was severely beaten. What was the link? There must be one. But if the boy had been killed for the value of the coin, it was the abbot himself who had been its ultimate recipient. He had compensated the boy’s mother for it. If the abbot had been part of this affair, would he have done so? Fidelma did not even know what affair she was talking about, except that Brother Ruadán called it ‘evil’. She could hardly go to the abbot for information. What couldshe say? What excuse could she give without revealing what Brother Ruadán had said?

  There was a mystery here which centred around the death of the boy Wamba and an ancient coin. But how could she set about resolving it without bringing attention upon herself?

  CHAPTER TEN

  What would Brehon Morann, in whose famous college Fidelma had studied law, have advised her to do? Consult all the witnesses. But who were the witnesses? Wulfoald had found the boy’s body. The coin had been given to Abbot Servillius. Who else? What was the name of the boy’s mother? Hawisa. She might be worth speaking with. But Fidelma was faced with two problems. The first was finding out where the woman lived. The second was that, even if she did find her, Fidelma did not have any knowledge of the language of the Longobards. She doubted that a goatherd’s mother could speak Latin. She was going to be restricted in what she did unless she could trust someone to be her interpreter.

  She considered all her limited choices. Brother Eolann was one of the few in the abbey with whom she had been able to establish an immediate rapport. Moreover, he was of Muman. Belonging to the same country was a bond. If the ascent of the mountain proved difficult, at least he was young and physically fit. With her mind made up, she left the herbarium and made her way back to the scriptorium. She encountered no one before she reached the oak door in the tower. Brother Eolann was once more at his desk.

  ‘Do you know Hawisa, the mother of the goatherd Wamba who was found dead a week or so ago?’ she asked without preamble.

  ‘I know of her,’ he said guardedly. ‘But I would think that Brother Waldipert would be able to help you more than I can. Wamba used to supply the abbey with goat’s milk. All I know is that Hawisa lives on the middle reaches of the mountain behind us.’

  ‘I have spoken with Brother Waldipert, but I need someone to help me. I would rather that no one knew the extent of my interest in this matter.’ Fidelma spoke softly, confidentially. ‘I want to find Hawisa and have a word with her about her son. Presuming that she would speak only the local language, I need someone to act as my interpreter.’

  Brother Eolann was astonished. ‘Are you suggesting that I take you to her cabin and translate for you?’

  ‘That is precisely what I am asking.’

  ‘There are difficulties.’

  ‘Which are?’ demanded Fidelma.

  ‘Getting permission for me to leave the abbey. Aside from the Rule of the community, the abbot would be more strict after what happened to Brother Ruadán and with the stories of rebellion in the land.’

  Fidelma thought carefully. ‘You think that he would refuse?’

  Brother Eolann chuckled sourly. ‘I am sure he would.’

  ‘If his permission could be obtained, would you be willing to accompany me?’

  ‘I think, with all due respect, that I would need to know more. What is the purpose behind this? What is your interest in Hawisa? And why do you approach me, of all the brethren here?’

  ‘I ask you because you are from Muman. You know thefunction of a dálaigh and the rules connected to that function. And, while I shall tell you that which you ask, before I share that knowledge with you, I must place you under a géis that you must take oath on.’

  The young scriptor’s expression was one of surprise. ‘A géis?’ he echoed in astonishment.

  Anyone from Hibernia knew the importance of the oath well. It was an ancient sacred bond which, when placed on someone, compelled them to obey the instruction. Any person transgressing or ignoring the géis was exposed to the rejection of society and brought to shame and outlawry.

  ‘I do not ask this lightly,’ Fidelma assured him.

  Brother Eolann was quiet for a while and then slowly nodded his agreement. The words of the ritual were spoken softly and with solemn intent. Afterwards, Fidelma sat back on a stool opposite the scriptor.

  ‘I will tell you now why I am interested in Wamba’s death, Eolann of Faithleann’s Island, and then you will understand. You see, I believe that Brother Ruadán was murdered …’

  Ignoring his shocked expression, Fidelma told Brother Eolann what had transpired when she had seen Brother Ruadán and the nature of the observation which caused her to believe that his death had not been natural.

  ‘In telling you this, and not keeping my own counsel, I open myself to your trust, for you might argue that the géis has no validity in this land of the Longobards where I am just a stranger.’

  Brother Eolann considered what she had said in silence. Then he shrugged in acceptance. ‘I accept the géis in honour and sincerity. If there is murder abroad in this abbey, then it must be stopped.’

  ‘I need to find this woman, Hawisa, and ask her some questions. You can help me by being my mouth and my ears as to my questions and her responses.’

  The door suddenly opened and Brother Wulfila entered, paused and began to back out with an embarrassed look at Fidelma.

  ‘I am sorry,’ the steward mumbled. ‘I came to collect a book for the abbot and-’

  Brother Eolann rose hurriedly. ‘I have it in the copying room, Brother Wulfila,’ he said, in annoyance. ‘Excuse me, Sister, while I deal with this.’

  He went through the side door, followed by the steward. Eventually they returned with Brother Wulfila carrying a book, the steward giving a slight bow of acknowledgement to Fidelma as he left.

  ‘Now.’ Brother Eolann settled himself back on his stool. ‘We would still need an excuse to go up into the mountains and Abbot Servillius’ permission to leave the abbey.’ He contemplated the matter for a few moments. Then a broad smile spread across his features. ‘An excuse is more easy than at first I thought.’

  ‘How so?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘You may tell the abbot that you hav
e been told of the sanctuary which Colm Bán built on top of this mountain. You express a desire to visit it so that you can tell the people at home all about it. You may say that I have offered to guide you there. On our way up the mountain, we shall pass by Hawisa’s cabin.’

  Fidelma went to the window behind Brother Eolann and peered up the steep slopes of the mountain. ‘Is it high?’ she asked.

  ‘It is, but not a difficult climb.’

  ‘And what is this sanctuary?’

  ‘Well, it was originally a pagan temple built by the Gauls, a people called the Boii, who once dwelled in this area. Colm Bán had promised the Longobard, Queen Theodolinda, that he would build a sanctuary dedicated to Our Lady where she would be venerated for all the ages to come. So when he settled here and began to build the abbey, he took some of his followers to the top of the mountain — Mount Pénas, it is called — and they reconsecrated the temple on the top into a chapel of the Faith and dedicated it to Mary the Mother of Christ.’

  ‘Who was this Queen Theodolinda?’

  ‘She was wife to Agilulfo who gave Colm Bán this land to build his abbey on.’

  ‘The sanctuary would certainly be worth seeing for its own sake. An excellent excuse to ask for permission to leave the abbey to see it. How long would we need to be away?’

  Brother Eolann glanced at the position of the sun through the window. ‘If it were just to see Hawisa, we could reach her cabin and be back within the day. But to go on to the sanctuary, we would have to stay overnight on the mountain. If we left immediately we could be back by tomorrow afternoon. If the abbot gives permission, we have a reasonable excuse for being away overnight.’

  ‘I shall speak with Abbot Servillius immediately. If I get his blessing, can we set off straight away?’

  Brother Eolann seemed amused at her eagerness. ‘If there are no objections from the abbot. Stout shoes are necessary, for there are some places where the ascent is steep and rocky. A bag and a blanket are also advisable, for it can be cold on the summit.’