Behold a Pale Horse

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 have 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.’

‘But we will definitely have time to speak with Hawisa and get to the sanctuary?’

‘Of course. I have climbed the mountain before.’

Abbot Servillius looked up from his desk in mild surprise when Fidelma had told him her intention.

‘I did tell you that I wanted to see one or two places in this vicinity associated with Colm Bán that I might take news of this abbey back to the land of his birth,’ she reminded him. ‘Having come all this way, I could not return to Hibernia without seeing this sanctuary.’

The abbot was less than enthusiastic. ‘Of course, I understand that you would want to see the sites connected with our blessed founder, your illustrious countryman,’ he said. ‘But this might not be the best of times to wander the mountains.’

‘But I have no other time, Father Abbot.’ She gave an impression of a tearful pout. ‘I shall be leaving soon, and not to have seen this little sanctuary that Brother Eolann told me so much about … that would be shameful. Perhaps you should have told me about it sooner.’ She thought an implied criticism might help strengthen her argument.

Abbot Servillius blinked. ‘I should have mentioned it,’ he admitted, on reflection. ‘A group of us from the abbey ascend the mountain to the sanctuary every year in order to celebrate the Pascal festival and the martyrdom of the Christ. It was at the sanctuary that Columbanus died during one of his retreats.’

She felt him weakening so she pressed again. ‘I learned of its existence from your scriptor, Brother Eolann, who has offered to show me the sanctuary if we can obtain your permission. He comes from my father’s kingdom and wants me to take good stories of this place back to his brethren.’

‘I knew that the scriptor came from Hibernia,’ agreed Abbot Servillius. He had conceded defeat. ‘I suppose that he would be best qualified to show you the sanctuary. Very well, Sister Fidelma. You have my permission. At least the days are still warm, but you had best take ample clothing, for the weather can change rapidly in the high places. Be warned of any bands of armed strangers. We must all be vigilant if the rumours are true that Perctarit has returned.’ He shrugged. ‘Send Brother Eolann to me and I will give him instructions.’

It seemed that it was only a short time later that Fidelma and Brother Eolann were looking down on the abbey below them and climbing upwards on an easy track in the midday sunshine. Brother Eolann had suggested that they make the journey on foot as, although he believed they could reach Hawisa’s cabin on horseback, they would not be able to continue on to the sanctuary by those means. As the scriptor had advised, Fidelma wore her strongest leather sandals while slung on her back was a sack in which she had a blanket and her toiletries, together with some basic items to eat.

The ascending slopes were covered with thick woods and rocky outcrops, and even naturally hollowed-out areas where water was trapped on the mountainside, forming little pools. Now and then they encountered a local shepherd or goatherd and exchanged greetings. Hawisa’s home turned out not to be very far at all. They eventually found a small cabin built under the shelter of some trees by the side of a stream that tumbled down the hillside. As they approached, a dog started to bark a warning. A heavily built woman with coarse black hair and weatherbeaten skin, tanned a rich chestnut-brown, came forward to greet them.

Her words were spoken in the gutturals of the Longobards,which Fidelma was beginning to generally identify, although still unable to understand it. Brother Eolann replied and Fidelma heard the name ‘Hawisa’, at which the woman frowned and nodded.

Fidelma turned and, using Brother Eolann as her interpreter, said: ‘Tell her that I would like to ask a few questions about her son, Wamba.’

The woman’s eyes narrowed at once. ‘He’s dead,’ she said flatly.

Fidelma continued speaking through the scriptor.

‘We know, and we are so sorry for your loss. I am told that he fell from some rocks while tending his goats.’

The woman made a sound like a snort. ‘Wamba was not the sort of clumsy boy who would fall. Ask Wulfoald for the truth.’

‘The warrior? I thought he was the one who found Wamba and took his body to the abbey.’

Brother Eolann seemed to be searching for the right words.

‘And why did not Wulfoald bring the body home to me?’ the woman demanded.

‘Did he know where Wamba lived?’

‘Ha!’ It was almost a bark of laughter. ‘And when word was finally brought to me that my son was dead, and I went down to the abbey, my boy had been buried, so that I could not see him. How do I know now what injuries he had, or even the cause of them?’

‘Have you reason to suspect that things did not transpire as you were told?’

‘Speak to your abbot and leave me in peace with my suspicions.’

Fidelma pursed her lips for a moment. ‘What are your suspicions, then, Hawisa?’

‘I say nothing but there are questions to be answered. They must be answered by Abbot Servillius and Wulfoald. He knew well enough where my cabin is. Why did he proceed to the abbey?’

‘But what purpose would he have for conspiring to keep news of your son’s death from you until he was buried?’

The woman stood with arms folded and lips compressed. It was clear that she had had her say and was not going to release any more. Fidelma suppressed a sigh.

‘I wanted to ask you whether Wamba ever spoke of a Brother Ruadán, an old Hibernian Brother in the abbey.’

The woman slowly shook her head. ‘Wamba used to sell our milk to Brother Waldipert at the abbey’s kitchens,’ she told Fidelma through Brother Eolann. ‘My nephew, Odo, has now taken over my herd of goats and continues to sell milk to the abbey. Apart from Brother Waldipert, I do not think my lad knew anyone else among the brethren.’

Fidelma felt disappointed at not being able to form an immediate link between Brother Ruadán and Wamba. ‘I am told that Wamba found something on the mountain a few days before he died.’

The woman blinked. A suspicious expression crossed her features and she said defensively, ‘There is a saying that what is found on the mountain and not claimed immediately belongs to the finder and cannot be reclaimed later.’

‘Do not worry,’ Fidelma assured her. ‘I am not here to claim anything. I just want to know the circumstances of that find and what happened to it.’

The woman looked from her to Brother Eolann, who had been translating this, and back again to Fidelma.

‘Sit you down,’ she said heavily, indicating a wooden bench by the trees. ‘I will fetch cider for you. The day is hot, andthough I am not enamoured of your abbot, there is no need for you to suffer in his stead.’

Fidelma had noticed some long pauses in between the translations and so took the opportunity to ask Brother Eolann if he found the task difficult.

‘The woman speaks with an accent of the peasantry. Sometimes it is hard to understand.’

A few moments passed before Hawisa returned with an earthenware jug, which had been standing in the stream, and some mugs. She poured a rich, dark golden liquid into them, and they sipped gratefully at the chilled liquid. Hawisa now seated herself nearby and stared into her own drink for a moment or two and then spoke with sad reflection, pausing every so often for the Brother to translate for the lady.

‘Wamba came back from herding the goats one day and told me that we would soon be rich.’ She grimaced fleetingly at the memory. ‘He told me that he had found a little gold coin. Alas, he did not know the value for it did not make us rich, but the abbot gave me sufficient goods in exchange that lasted for a while.’

‘I am sorry, but I do not understand.’ Fidelma glanced at Brother Eolann, wondering if he had misinterpreted what she was saying. ‘I understood the boy took the coin to Brother Waldipert and he promised the boy a valuation of the coin. Wamba died before he could go back to the abbey to conclude the deal.’

Brother Eolann had a hesitant exchange with the woman.

‘She confirms what you said,’ the young man responded at last. ‘She saw Abbot Servillius, who told her that the coin was old but not valuable. He arranged for her to be provided with some produce in compensation for the coin. She saysthat it was a pity. Wamba had hoped to increase their little herd by purchasing another goat or two.’

Fidelma turned back to Hawisa.

‘So it was not worth very much. What sort of coin was it?’

The woman shrugged. ‘Coins are rare in this part of the world. Yet I have seen gold before.’

‘So the abbot kept this coin?’

‘He did.’

‘And you are sure that it was an old coin?’

The woman nodded and set down her empty earthenware mug beside her.

‘I have been robbed of those I loved. First my fine husband was taken to serve in Grimoald’s army three years ago. He never returned and others told me he had been slain. Now my only child is dead. I have nothing to lose now so I care not what you report to your abbot. Wamba was killed because he found a piece of gold. That was why he was buried hurriedly, so that I should not see the wounds.’

She leaned forward suddenly and, using two forefingers, sharply tapped Fidelma’s chest. She repeated a short sentence three times, but the only word Fidelma could make out was Odo. She glanced at Brother Eolann. ‘What does she say about Odo — that’s the nephew, isn’t it?’

‘She says Odo will confirm her story,’ replied Brother Eolann. ‘I don’t think there is a need for that. I have translated all she has said.’

‘We can accept her account of what happened,’ agreed Fidelma. Yet there is something illogical here,’ she went on. ‘Even if the coin was gold, it could not be so valuable that it would need several to be involved in the conspiracy to kill the boy. There wouldn’t be enough for anyone to take a profit from the deed.’

Brother Eolann regarded her uncertainly. ‘What do you mean?’

‘First, we must include Brother Waldipert in this affair. Then we must include Abbot Servillius himself, as he valued the coin. Then we must include the warrior Wulfoald. The implication is that he might have killed the boy. He certainly found the body and took it to the abbey. We might even add Brother Hnikar who, as apothecary, would have washed and laid out the body for burial. He would have noticed if the body carried any marks to indicate an unnatural death — for I think Hawisa is arguing that the boy was buried before she could see the body and be aware that her son had been murdered.’

Brother Eolann shrugged. ‘I have not your clever tongue nor way of thought.’

Hawisa had been watching them very carefully during this exchange and suddenly spoke vehemently.

‘She says that all she knows is that she saw the gold coin. Wamba took it to the abbey and he was dead the next day. And now he lies in the graveyard of the abbey where she cannot pray daily, for the journey is too much. She contents herself by praying at the spot where he was found.’

The woman suddenly snapped out something in a harsh voice.

‘Report me to your abbot. I have no fear,’ translated Brother Eolann.

‘Neither do you need to fear,’ Fidelma assured her. ‘We are not here to report to Abbot Servillius. He does not know that we are here anyway, and we would prefer it that you did not tell anyone of our visit.’

Hawisa looked puzzled.

‘Tell her that I am just a visitor from Hibernia. I camehere because I am cursed with a curiosity about all things. And I heard about the story of her son, Wamba.’

Hawisa was still puzzled but seemed to accept that this was some sort of explanation. Once more Brother Eolann began to translate as she spoke. ‘The founder of the abbey was from Hibernia. I am told several of your countrymen come to visit the abbey in his memory.’

‘Exactly so.’ There was a silence and then Fidelma added: ‘Before we leave, we would say a prayer at the spot where Wamba fell, where you now go to say your daily prayer. Would you tell us the way there?’

Once again Hawisa was regarding Fidelma suspiciously. ‘Why would you want to see where my son fell to his death?’

‘It is not to see where but merely to say a prayer for his soul.’ Fidelma knew she was lying and hoped that Brother Eolann could translate her words with more sincerity. Hopefully, she would be forgiven for the lie as it was in the cause of seeking the truth.

Hawisa did not answer at once. She seemed to think carefully before telling them, ‘If you follow that path,’ she indicated a track through the trees just beyond the cabin, ‘follow it to the north-east, you’ll eventually come to two large rocks that divide the pathway. Do not take the descending path but follow on and you’ll emerge along a series of high rock formations. There is a small cairn which I raised to mark the spot. It was said that is the point from where he fell.’

Fidelma reached forward and placed a hand on the woman’s arm.

‘We are most grateful for your help, Hawisa.’

‘I ask you not to damage the little cairn. Someone did so between yesterday and this morning when I went to pray.’

‘We will not damage it,’ Fidelma promised, then she frowned. ‘What sort of damage?’ she asked.

‘The stones were knocked aside,’ replied Hawisa.

‘Oh. Perhaps it was some animal then?’

‘Not so. I built the cairn around a small wooden box in which poor Wamba used to keep a few things he prized. Coloured beads, stones and his favourite pipe.’

‘Pipe?’ queried Fidelma.

‘Most lads play pipes on the mountain. Simple things. It was only a rough box that he had made himself. Someone has taken it, and a curse on their soul for doing so. They are a disgrace to their cloth.’

Fidelma stared at the woman. ‘Their cloth? What makes you say that?’

Brother Eolann seemed to have some difficulty with translating. ‘A neighbour saw a man in religious robes taking the box and climbing down to his horse.’

‘It was taken by a religieux?’

‘Someone looking like a religieux,’ added Brother Eolann hurriedly.

‘Did this neighbour describe him or his horse?’ Fidelma waited impatiently for Brother Eolann to pose the question.

‘The neighbour could see no more,’ said Eolann, after a further exchange. ‘I asked where this neighbour was and she says that he has gone to the market of Travo and will be gone for some days.’

Fidelma thought for a moment and then rose slowly. ‘We will not damage the cairn. Be assured.’

‘Then I would be grateful for your blessing and your prayers before you leave. Forgive a grieving mother for my sharpness.’

It was Brother Eolann who intoned the prayers in the locallanguage before they bade farewell to the woman and followed the path indicated by her.

Although they were high on the mountain, they were still within the treeline, where tall beech trees interspersed with rowan were still dominant. Here and there were other trees which reminded Fidelma of oak, but were different. She had noticed these curious oaks before. She took the opportunity to ask Brother Eolann if he knew what they were. He told her that they were called turkey-oak and were native to the area. Here and there, birds flitted from branch to branch and she caught sight of white and yellow wagtails and sparrow-hawks.

Brother Eolann cast a glance at the sky, saying, ‘We mustn’t delay in reaching the sanctuary at the top. It will not be very long before twilight is upon us.’

‘Are there dangerous animals on the mountain if we do not make it and have to encamp for the night?’

‘In terms of big animals, I have seen foxes and wolves. But the one thing I hate is something that is not seen in our land.’

‘Which is?’ asked Fidelma curiously.

‘There is a snake called a vipera; its bite can be dangerous, for it injects a poison.’

Fidelma shivered a moment and glanced around her feet. ‘I have heard of the like but never encountered one.’

‘I have only once seen one,’ confided Brother Eolann. ‘Brother Lonán found it in the herbarium last autumn. It was curled up basking in the sun. He tried to pick it up, thinking it was a slow-worm, and it bit him and he was in pain for several days. Thankfully, Brother Hnikar had some potion and told Lonán to go and lie down and not to exert himself, for the action would carry the venom through his body. He recovered but it took many days.’

‘Then you must warn me if you see such a creature in my path,’ Fidelma said fervently. ‘Wolves and foxes do not worry me, but the idea of such creatures as snakes …’ She shuddered again.

They moved out of the shaded pathway on to an open rocky path on the mountainside. To their left the hillside rose steeply and was studded with boulders and dark grey rocks. To their right, the hillside fell equally steeply.

‘Ah!’ Fidelma exclaimed and pointed to a small pile of stones that lay a little way ahead of them. ‘That must be Hawisa’s cairn.’

There was nothing remarkable about the cairn, which Hawisa had raised in memory of her son.

Fidelma looked about with a critical eye. Then she moved to the edge of the path, to where the hillside fell away steeply. Some twenty metres or so below them was a broad track which was obviously used frequently.

‘What track is that?’ she asked.

‘It is a track that leads across the mountains from the north and, if one continues down into the valley, it comes to the abbey,’ confirmed Brother Eolann.

Fidelma peered over the edge. ‘It’s quite a fall, but easy to climb down. That is doubtless where this person who took the box left his horse, climbed up and then returned with the box.’

‘It is also where the boy must have fallen, to be found by Wulfoald as he rode by.’

‘How would a sure-footed lad who had tended goats on these mountain slopes all his life manage to fall from this place? The edge is so clear and the dangers obvious.’

‘Maybe one of the goats had wandered too near the edge and in trying to rescue it, he slipped?’ suggested Brother Eolann. ‘I think we should consider that.’

‘Perhaps,’ Fidelma admitted, albeit with reluctance. ‘However, speculation is not going to reveal any secrets to us. I shall climb down.’

Brother Eolann protested at once but she waved his concerns aside. ‘There are more difficult descents among the high peaks in Muman,’ she said.

‘But what are you seeking?’

‘I won’t know until I see it,’ she replied, and then she walked to the edge, examining the rockface carefully.

‘Careful!’ called Brother Eolann nervously.

‘If you are going to shout like that,’ admonished Fidelma, ‘you will cause me to start and fall. Ah, I see a way …’ She climbed over the edge and began to move down the rockface. As a child, she and her brother, Colgú, had scrambled over the hills of Cnoc an Stanna and Sliabh Eibhlinne. Such climbs held no fears for her. Her descent was as nimble as one of Wampa’s goats, and in a short time, she stood on the rocky path below.

‘Stay there,’ she called up. ‘If there is anything to be seen, I shall see it.’

She walked along the base of the rockface, her eyes searching the ground but unable to see anything that seemed out of place. Not that she really expected to see anything. If the boy had been killed or, if he had fallen, there would be no traces left, so long after his death. As she walked up and down the stony area below the rocks, the only thing that caught her eye was what appeared to be a small piece of smashed twig among some pieces of coloured pottery and glass beads. There was something odd about the twig. She picked it up and turned it over in her hands before suddenly realising what it was. It was less than a finger-length and about as thick. It had been smashed at both ends but washollow, like a piece of cane. Halfway along were two neatly cut holes. At one end were markings which showed something had been attached there. A mouthpiece?

‘Are you all right?’ came Brother Eolann’s anxious voice from above.

She glanced up and realised that he could not see her because of the overhang.

‘All is well,’ she called up. Standing away from the cliff face so that she could see Brother Eolann, she added, ‘I won’t be long.’

‘Have you found something?’

‘Nothing yet,’ she replied. She moved back to where she had found the items and peered around before gazing up the rockface. There was a shelf of rock a little way above the spot where she stood. It was just above the level of her head, but she was able to find some holds so that she could scramble to head height.

A crude box lay on its side on the shelf, its lid open. It was made of rough wood and no more than twenty centimetres in length and ten in width, and not very deep. Fidelma lifted it carefully so that the few things still in it did not spill out as she climbed down again. The box was of very unskilled workmanship indeed. The two hinges were of metal but it was obvious that the hand that had made them had not made the box. Letters had been burned on the underside of the lid. They were badly formed and probably made with the point of a hot poker. WAMBA.

It was obviously the box stolen from the cairn. But the thief must have dropped it as he scrambled down to his horse. It must have caught on the rock shelf when the thief had dropped it, having taken flight when he saw himself observed. The observer had not seen where the box had fallen,however, since it had not been recovered. Inside were some curious little knick-knacks of no particular value, the mouthpiece that went with the pipes and some cheap ceramic jewellery and clay items.

Why would a thief desecrate a memorial? She began examining the items in the box — then she noticed something. Emptying out the contents, she shook the box. It rattled as if something was still loose. She began to run her fingers over the bottom of the inside. It did not fit tightly and she was able, with care, to prise it free. Underneath it lay a small object. She lifted it out between thumb and forefinger. It was a gold coin.

She replaced the false bottom and the other items, but put the coin into her marsupium.

‘What’s happening?’ called Brother Eolann from above.

‘I’ve found Wamba’s box,’ she replied. ‘I’m coming up. Can you let me have your cincture?’

‘What?’ Brother Eolann sounded puzzled. The word she used in their own language was criós, for the cincture was a ropelike cord encircling the waist which most religious wore.

‘Throw it down, so that I can carry the box up with me.’

The task to secure it did not take long. ‘I’m coming up,’ she called.

She began to climb carefully up again, refusing Brother Eolann’s offer of a helping hand as she scrambled over the edge back to the path they had come by.

‘You had me concerned, lady. Imagine if you had fallen. How would I have been able to report such a matter to the abbot?’

Fidelma pouted. ‘I would have been in no position to have imagined that,’ she replied dryly. ‘And I could not have advisedyou anyway.’ She gazed around before letting her eyes settle back on the cairn. Then she untied the box and returned the cincture to her companion.

‘Well, at least we can replace the box in the cairn. The thief must have dropped it.’

‘Was there anything in it?’ queried Brother Eolann.

She reached into her marsupium and showed him the coin.

‘But Wamba gave the gold piece to Brother Waldipert,’ pointed out Brother Eolann, perplexed. ‘And didn’t Waldipert give it to Abbot Servillius?’

‘This is certainly a very old gold coin, the like of which I have not seen before,’ Fidelma said, while turning it over in her hands. She paused, remembering the words of Brother Ruadán. He had used ‘coins’ in the plural. ‘I wonder …’

‘You wonder?’ prompted Brother Eolann expectantly.

‘Perhaps young Wamba found two coins and decided to keep one hidden until he found out the value of the other. He may have thought they would be taken away from him if he offered both. His mother could not have known of its existence otherwise she would have removed it before she placed the box in the cairn.’

‘That seems logical,’ Brother Eolann agreed.

‘But did the would-be thief know it was there?’

Fidelma examined the gold coin again. It was small, definitely of gold and not a mixture made with any baser metal. It carried the image of a chariot drawn by two horses with a charioteer guiding it, while the small symbols around it seemed to represent stars in the sky.

‘I believe I have seen similar coins before,’ she commented thoughtfully.

‘Venerable Ionas has knowledge about such coins.’

‘I wonder if Abbot Servillius consulted him about the coinWamba brought to the abbey? This is a mystery that I must resolve,’ Fidelma said firmly, trying to recall the last gasping words of Brother Ruadán.

‘Should we not return this to Hawisa?’ protested the scriptor.

‘Eventually. If Brother Ruadán was right, that the boy was killed for the first gold coin, the warrior Wulfoald and Abbot Servillius have some questions to answer.’

She realised, as she said it, that she was in no position to pose those questions. She might be an advocate of the law in her own land, and she might have been invited by King Oswiu of Northumbria to solve the murders at Streonshalh and by Venerable Gelasius to solve the crime in the Lateran Palace, but here — who was she? Just a passing stranger of no local rank. A foreigner without standing. Lord Radoald was the only power in the land and he was hardly likely to grant her any authority to investigate this matter.

She placed the gold coin carefully in her marsupium again.

‘This is turning out to be frustrating. Perhaps I was expecting too much.’

‘How could Brother Ruadán know about the coin?’ demanded Brother Eolann. ‘I do not understand this matter at all.’

‘Those are the questions that I came here seeking the answers to. But it looks as though I will not find them. It is always irritating when one encounters a blank wall.’ She glanced up at the sky. They would not have a great deal of time until the darkening eastern skies were upon them. ‘Perhaps we should continue our climb to this sanctuary?’

‘If we go back to Hawisa’s cabin and continue up the track from there, it will put extra time on the journey, although that is easier and safer,’ mused the scriptor.

‘What do you suggest?’

Brother Eolann thought for a moment. ‘If you don’t mind heights, lady, there is a small footpath along here, where people may pass only in single file. It becomes very steep in places. But after passing a rocky outcrop, it joins the main path, and it is an easy journey to the summit. It would save us considerable time in reaching the sanctuary. Having witnessed your abilities just now, I think you should be able to make the passage with ease.’

‘In that case, let us try this quicker path.’

He led the way, turning up what appeared to be a goat’s track that Fidelma would have missed altogether. Inconspicuous and overgrown, it inclined rapidly, scarcely the width of a foot wide.

‘You seem to know these mountain tracks very well, for a stranger and a scriptor,’ Fidelma said. She had made the remark automatically, but when she began to think about it, it was curious. The suspicious thought had barely crossed her mind when Brother Eolann paused and turned back to her.

‘As you said to Hawisa, I am cursed with a curiosity,’ he said seriously. ‘Confined to a library, one is likely to be without exercise, to grow weak and idle. Now and then I seek permission from the abbot to climb the hills here in order to maintain myself in fitness. Juvenal, in his Satires, exhorted one to maintain mens sana in corpore sano — a sound mind in a sound body. I believe that to keep the mind sound you also need to keep the body sound. Hence, in the two years I have been here, I have come to know many byways and tracks.’

‘Then your knowledge is lucky for me,’ Fidelma replied.

They continued to climb upwards and, at times, Fidelmahad to pause and close her eyes to stop herself becoming dizzy on the often precipitous slopes. But finally, as Brother Eolann had forewarned, they came to a rocky outcrop which seemed to block their path. Next to it was a sheer drop. Brother Eolann turned with an encouraging smile.

‘This is the difficult part,’ he said. ‘There are handholds on the rock and you have to lean almost backwards and rely on the handholds to keep you balanced. Are you happy about this?’

Fidelma glanced down at the fall, shivered slightly as she realised the dangers of the height, and nodded swiftly. ‘Let’s get on with it,’ she muttered. It was better to do this quickly than to stand talking about it.

‘I’ll go first and show the way. Make sure your bag is firmly fixed to your back and that you are balanced.’

He adjusted his own bag on his back and waited while she did the same. Then he set off crawling under the overhang where she could not see a path and yet somehow there must have been. He seemed to be finding handholds to steady him and then … then he had vanished on the other side of the rock.

‘Can you hear me?’ she called anxiously.

A moment passed. Then: ‘Sorry, I was just catching my breath.’ His voice came from a short distance away. ‘Now, can you remember how I crawled under the overhang?’

‘I think so.’

‘You’ll see some places where your hands can take a good hold. You’ll find yourself leaning backwards as if you are going to fall. Keep a good hold with one hand before you move to the next hold.’

Fidelma took a deep breath and began to move slowly forward, almost crouching at first as she came under theoverhang. She saw what he meant almost immediately and found she was in a position to move forward. There were little ledges where she could secure a grasp. Slowly, hand by hand she moved forward. She tried not to think what was behind her, the emptiness and the fall to the rocks below. The worst moment was when she found herself leaning backwards into that frightening space with only her hands clasping at the rocks to prevent her falling.

‘You are nearly there,’ cried Brother Eolann’s voice in encouragement.

She reached forward to grasp the next handhold, missed it and felt herself swinging out. The full weight of her body was hanging on one hand while her other hand was grasping at nothing.

‘Help me!’ she cried in panic.

It seemed an eternity before a strong hand seized her wrist and pulled. For a moment she was suspended in space — one hand clinging desperately to the rock and the other caught by the wrist in the hand of Brother Eolann. For a curious moment, their faces were separated by inches, her fiery green eyes staring into his light blue ones. It seemed as if time had stood still and all she was aware of was the void below her. Then she was lying on a sloping bank, gasping for breath. She realised she was on the other side of the overhang. Brother Eolann was still clutching her wrist.

‘Are you hurt?’ he asked anxiously.

Fidelma shuddered and shook her head. She felt the pressure on her wrist relax as he released it and automatically she reached with her other hand to massage it. ‘You caught hold of me in time.’ She knew she was stating the obvious.

Brother Eolann was still anxious. ‘I trust I did not hurt you.’

‘You saved my life,’ she said solemnly. ‘I can stand a bruise or two for that.’

‘I warned you that it was a difficult point to cross. But see along there … we are a short way from joining the main track to the top and,’ he glanced again at the sky, ‘we would not have made it before dark had we gone any other way.’

‘Then let us move on. The sooner we are away from this place, the more I shall like it.’

He stood up and led the way forward again. The rest of the journey was simple and without incident. Even so, dusk had already spread over the mountain-top when they reached a hut, built in a little hollow. She could make out no details in the gloom. It was a cloudy night and there was no moonlight to assist them. Nevertheless, Brother Eolann seemed to know his way about and, after a while, with flint and tinder, he had lit a brand torch and then proceeded to get a fire alight outside the small hut. To Fidelma’s amusement he built a large fire that she was sure would be seen on the mountain-top for quite a distance around. He did not smile when she commented that she only wanted to keep warm and not roast to death.

‘It is very cold up here, lady. The temperatures during the night, even in late summer, can be freezing. Besides which … well, there are many animals which wander the slopes at night. The fire will keep them at bay.’

Inside the hut was an oil lamp which he lit. There was, apparently, a water supply nearby and he filled a jug with fresh water. Soon they were sitting eating a frugal meal in silence and watching the dark clouds sweeping low across the mountain-tops, creating a damp, chilling mist in the moments before darkness descended. There were no stars,for the clouds obliterated them. Fidelma felt exhausted at the unexpected exercise. She only vaguely remembered crawling into the hut.

It was bright sunlight when she awoke to the hunting cry of buzzards. The fire was still sending a plume of smoke upwards and Brother Eolann was already building it up again. He had food ready and directed her to the source of water behind the hut where she could wash in private.

She was impressed by the breathtaking view of hilltops that surrounded her.

‘This is one of the highest peaks in these hills,’ Brother Eolann offered, seeing the rapt look on her face as she gazed around the vista. The day was warm and pleasant and the clouds that had obscured the moon on the previous night had dispersed and given way to brilliant sunshine.

They were in a sheltered dip on the peak and she could well understand why it had been chosen by Colm Bán for his sanctuary. A little way off, on the highest part of the bald, rounded hilltop, stood the half-completed building which was clearly dedicated to the Faith and marked by a large cross outside. Brother Eolann accompanied Fidelma to it and they spent a few moments in contemplation inside the darkness of the little chapel.

‘I will be reluctant to leave this spot,’ Fidelma remarked as they came out into the sunshine again. ‘Are those caves I see down there, behind the hut?’

‘They are,’ Brother Eolann confirmed. ‘They are not big ones but it is said that it was one of those that Colm Bán used as his retreat and, sadly, where that great man passed on, into the arms of Christ.’

‘Yet he is buried in the abbey.’

‘The brethren removed his body to the abbey and built a crypt for him under the chapel’s High Altar.’

‘I should pay my respects at the cave before I depart.’

The caves were not big. In fact, in the larger one there was scarcely room enough for two people to crawl in. This one showed signs of having been used recently, while the other held little of note. Fidelma left the caves and returned to examining the countryside around them. A short distance below them, the thick under-bush of ferns and bracken began, and beyond that, looking down the southern slopes, conifers and beeches marked the beginning of the dense forests that spread among these hills. Fidelma gazed once more across the impressive vista unfolding before her. As she was turning back to the hut, something caught her eye amidst the undergrowth.

‘Look!’ She pointed to a splash of colour that was out of keeping with its surroundings. It appeared to be a piece of richly coloured fabric.

She moved quickly down the hill, followed more slowly by Brother Eolann. She was plunging into the undergrowth when the scriptor called out a warning.

‘Be careful, lady. This is the sort of growth that the vipera, the venomous snake, is found in. Let me go first.’

She halted while he picked up a stout stick and began to move forward, hitting the ground and making much noise.

‘The vipera will not attack unless it thinks it is attacked,’ explained the scriptor. ‘If it hears you approaching, it will slither away for shelter. It is only if you approach in stealth and come upon it unexpectedly that it will strike.’

Fidelma was content to let him beat the path to what they thought was the fluttering fabric. But it was not just fabric. It was a body — the body of a woman. She had been dead forsome time, judging from the sickly stench of decomposition that was drawing the attention of several flying insects. The clothing now seemed familiar to Fidelma. Placing a hand across her mouth and nostrils, she crouched down to examine the features. She recognised the corpse at once.

‘It’s the Lady Gunora,’ she gasped.