Behold a Pale Horse

CHAPTER TWELVE

It was nearly midday before they heard the wooden bar being lifted once more from its position securing the door. Kakko, the steward, stood framed against the sunlit courtyard beyond.

‘You will come with me, little brother,’ he boomed. Then, glancing at Fidelma, he added: ‘You will stay.’

Hesitantly, Brother Eolann rose and moved to the door.

‘Why him,’ Fidelma demanded, ‘and not me?’

Kakko’s permanent smile seemed to broaden. ‘Again, a question? Always questions,’ he said. Then: ‘My lord Grasulf might spare you the time to meet with him later. At the moment, he only wants this one.’ He jerked his head to Brother Eolann.

Fidelma would have preferred that they kept together, but there was no alternative. As time passed, she began to pace the chamber in frustration. Eventually, the big steward returned. The scriptor was not with him.

‘And now, little sister, you will come and meet Grasulf,’ he announced.

‘Where is Brother Eolann?’ she asked.

‘He is happy enough, little sister. This way.’

She was clearly not going to get any further information from the steward and so she suppressed her feelings of apprehension and followed Kakko. She felt the immediate heat of the day as she moved from the cool of her prison into the small courtyard. The open space with the sun shining directly overhead was hot. Kakko led the way across the paved yard at a surprising pace for one so large. Once again Fidelma observed that the big man was not fat but well-muscled.

A door on the far side led into another courtyard, at one end of which were two large doors, half-open, with warriors lounging outside. They stared curiously at Fidelma as she and Kakko passed them and went into a small chamber. This, however, proved to be an antechamber, leading into a large hall. Fidelma had seen such halls before and always associated them with the traditional feasting places of chiefs and princes. She was right, for at one end, on a slightly raised dais, stood an ornately carved chair. On the back of the chair, on either side, were carved two birds of prey: she saw that they were ravens. In her own land, ravens were birds of ill-omen, symbolic of the goddess of death and battles. Smaller chairs and a table stood nearby. Colourful tapestries showing scenes of warfare and various weapons hung from the brick walls of the hall. Fidelma had noticed that most of the buildings in this land were constructed of red baked bricks which seemed to be a favourite material of Roman buildings. It was so unlike the stone blocks and the wood of her own land. The hall was well lit through a series of tall windows but it was cool after the blast of hot air she had been met with on her brief walk here.

At first glance it seemed the hall was empty. Then she heard a soft growling and became aware of two hunting dogs lying at either side of the ornate chair. They lay upright,forepaws stretched before them; heads up, alert with eyes watching them as they entered. Kakko took a pace forward and halted.

From an open doorway a man emerged, walked to the ornate chair and slumped into it. He was thickly built. Like the steward Kakko, he was muscled, showing he was more a warrior than one used to an easy life. He was not tall, more of average height, and certainly not handsome or, at least, not so far as Fidelma was concerned. He wore his fair hair long and with a full beard. So far as she could see, his eyes were pale and his features ruddy. She estimated that he was in his middle years. His expression was unfriendly. He waved a beckoning hand — a curt, impatient gesture.

Kakko strode forward until he was near the dais and then he halted and bowed, glancing at Fidelma to ensure she followed his example. She did not. She merely halted at Kakko’s side and stared defiantly at the man.

‘This is the one called Fidelma, my lord,’ Kakko announced.

The pale eyes studied Fidelma.

‘I am told that you are a religieuse from Hibernia,’ the man said in Latin, speaking as if it was his first language.

‘And you are …?’ countered Fidelma. She was angered by the arrogant manner of her captor.

Kakko gasped at what he saw as her lack of humility in front of his lord. The man’s eyes widened slightly and then he held up a languid hand to his steward as if instructing him to respond.

‘You stand in the presence of Grasulf son of Gisulf, Lord of Vars,’ Kakko announced. ‘It is an insult not to bow before him, even if you are a foreigner.’

‘Lord of Vars?’ Fidelma echoed Kakko as if considering the title. Then she spoke coldly and deliberately. ‘Then, Grasulfson of Gisulf, know that I am Fidelma of Cashel, in the land of Hibernia, daughter of King Failbe Flann of Muman.’

Kakko stared at her for a moment and then smiled grimly. ‘I thought she was more than a mere religieuse by her manners,’ he said with some self-satisfaction.

‘Is a daughter of a king prohibited from being a member of the religious?’ she snapped. Then she tried to translate her title of dálaigh. ‘I am also a procurator in my own land.’

Grasulf leaned forward, his brows drawn together as he examined her with interest. ‘A princess, a religieuse and a lawyer, all these in one? Is that possible?’ His voice was filled with irony.

‘Indeed, all these in one,’ she responded coldly.

‘Bring a chair for Fidelma of Hibernia,’ the Lord of Vars addressed his steward. ‘Then fetch wine.’

Kakko hurried to one side of the hall to fetch the chair.

‘My steward was right to suspect you were of noble rank,’ Grasulf said. ‘Why did you not tell him?’

‘I told him only what he needed to know: that I am a visitor in your land, spending a few days here to see an old mentor of mine at the Abbey of Bobium.’

‘You mean the man whom you travel with, the scriptor of Bobium?’

‘Not Brother Eolann, who was simply showing me the sanctuary of Colm Bán on the top of Mount Pénas when we were kidnapped by your men.’

Kakko had placed the chair by her and Fidelma sat down at her ease. The big steward then went to a side table and took up two earthenware goblets and a large glazed pitcher which appeared to be full of red wine.

‘Colm Bán?’ Grasulf was asking, puzzled.

‘You call him Columbanus. He that founded the Abbey at Bobium.’

‘Ah, so,’ sighed the Lord of Vars. ‘I have heard of him and he is long dead. So who were you visiting at Bobium if not this scriptor?’

‘Brother Ruadán, who died recently.’

Kakko stirred slightly. ‘I met this Brother Ruadán once, my lord,’ he said. ‘He was very elderly. He used to wander the territory up to Placentia preaching against the Christian belief of the Arians.’

Lord Grasulf took a goblet of wine from Kakko and swallowed eagerly before speaking.

‘You say that he is now dead?’

‘He is,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘Now I demand to be released with my comrade, Brother Eolann, and to be allowed to return to Bobium so that I may continue my journey back to my own land.’

‘Released?’ Grasulf sat back in his chair and stared moodily at her for a moment. ‘Life is not as simple as that, lady. These are troubled times and people do not always tell the truth. Who knows why you and your companion were really on the summit of the Pénas overlooking this valley. Perhaps you were spying?’

Fidelma thrust out her chin. ‘The truth is as I have told you. There is nothing else.’

‘We will see.’

‘I protest-’

‘To whom, lady? I am Lord of Vars and any authority you have does not exist here either by birth, by law or by your religion.’

‘Not by religion? Then I perceive you are all followers of Arius here?’

For the first time Grasulf’s features broadened into a smile while Kakko gave one of his great guffaws of laughter. Grasulf took another large swallow of his wine before responding. Fidelma deduced that he was a man fond of his drink.

‘Lady, we are true Longobards,’ replied Grasulf. ‘We hold to our own beliefs. We worship only Godan, Father of the Gods, King of Asgard, ruler of the Aesir. Lord of War, Death and Knowledge. He is our true god and protector.’

Fidelma gasped involuntarily. ‘Then you are pagans?’

‘We are only those who follow a different god to you.’

‘How long do you propose to keep us prisoner?’ she demanded, having absorbed this information. ‘And where is Brother Eolann? Has he been harmed?’

‘Do not distress yourself, lady,’ boomed Kakko humorously. ‘My lord has a small scriptorium to which your companion has been taken. My lord’s scriptor died several moons ago, since when the books have been abandoned.’

Grasulf added: ‘I have decided that while you and Brother Eolann are here you may make yourselves useful in sorting out my books.’

‘So,’ she said finally, ‘you propose to keep us here indefinitely? ’

‘Until I ascertain that you are no threat.’

‘Threat to whom?’

‘Threat to the peace and well-being of my people.’

‘Who do you fear, Grasulf, apart from a wandering woman of Hibernia and a scriptor?’ she sneered. ‘Maybe it is this Perctarit or maybe Grimoald, who are fighting over this kingdom.’

‘Why should I fear either?’ replied the Lord of Vars indifferently. ‘Who pays me well, has my allegiance.’ He was helping himself to more wine when he realised that Fidelma hadscarcely touched her goblet. ‘You do not drink your wine, lady. Can it be that you have no love for the juice of the grape?’

‘I love freedom even more,’ she replied. ‘If my companion and I are to be kept as prisoners here, I would make a plea to your chivalry that we are not continually confined to the same stuffy cell.’

Grasulf almost chuckled. ‘What do you suggest? That I let you wander freely outside the walls of my fortress?’

‘We will respect the confines of your fortress. But there must be a place where we may rest our minds and bodies — an herbarium, a place of greenery, a place where we could relax yet keep our minds active. Let us have some freedom from the confines of cells and libraries. I ask this as the daughter of a king in my own land, for does not the saying exist in your land that a king may grant respect to others if he is strong and secure in his own kingdom? You tell me that you are strong and secure in your territory: you may now prove it to me.’

‘The saying is that an excess of caution does no harm for it is better to have eggs today than only the promise of chickens tomorrow,’ replied Grasulf. Then he turned to Kakko and spoke rapidly in the language of the Longobards, before he gestured a dismissal with his hand and turned to refill his goblet from the pitcher.

Fidelma wondered if it would be politic to ask whether his men had killed Lady Gunora and if the young prince was a prisoner in the fortress. Then she decided she must find out more first. If the Lord of Vars had killed Lady Gunora and kidnapped the boy, then he would have no compunction in killing her and Brother Eolann. And the thought also struck her that if the two men she had seen the previous day with the flaming sword and laurel wreath emblem, were the sameones who had attacked Magister Ado — what were they doing in a fortress of pagans? Many thoughts ran through her mind.

Kakko did not lead her back to the chamber where she had been a prisoner but took her on a different route. As they crossed the smaller courtyard he was still chuckling.

‘You have impressed my lord Grasulf, little sister. You will be released from your chamber in the mornings and returned to it at night. During daylight you will be taken to the library. Next to that you will also find a small open area where you may take exercise. There is a door on the far side which gives access to the necessarium.’ He glanced at her and added, ‘Do not have any false hopes, little sister. The area is enclosed on three sides by the fortress walls and on the fourth … well, if you had wings to fly, like Huginn and Muninn, you might fly away.’

‘Like who?’

‘You saw the ravens carved on my lord’s chair? They are Huginn and Muninn, the ravens who guard our great god, Godan.’

Fidelma did not bother to reply. Her mind was busy thinking that if they were not confined to the claustrophobic chamber in which they had been held, there might be a better chance of escape. They were crossing the main courtyard again, though not in the same direction. A thought suddenly struck her.

‘You promised to return our travelling bags. There are personal items in them that we might use to make ourselves comfortable during our stay here — for however long that may be.’

Kakko grinned. ‘No harm in that. They will be returned to you.’

He opened a door at the base of a tower in a corner of thecourtyard. Once through the tower door they turned immediately to the left, where dark wooden doors gave access into a large chamber with a long central table. All around the walls was shelving, with books piled everywhere. Fidelma gazed round the library. She had certainly seen larger ones in her own land, where the books were usually hung on pegs in book-satchels rather than stacked on shelves. Brother Eolann was there with his head already buried in one of the scroll books. He looked up, his face smiling and eager.

‘This is truly amazing, lady,’ he greeted her. He remained seated at the table and was tapping a thick scroll before him.

‘I would not call it amazing,’ she replied, her eyes travelling to the high windows which let in a certain amount of light but not sufficient to read by. There were candles and an oil lamp and disused writing materials scattered about. Apart from the door which she had come in by, there was another one at the far end of the room.

‘Through that door you will find a large space which is often used for exercise,’ Kakko said, pointing. ‘I should warn you not to go too near the edge as it is a long way down into the valley below.’ He grinned at them and left, and she heard a key turn in the lock.

‘By amazing, I meant this, lady.’ Ignoring the interruption, Brother Eolann was again tapping the book before him.

‘Why, what is it?’ Fidelma was not particularly interested as she surveyed the confines of the library.

‘Origio Gentis Longobardotum.’

‘The Origin of the Longobards?’ translated Fidelma.

‘Exactly so, lady. I have heard of this book but never seen it before. It tells how their gods Godan and Frea set the Longobards free from their unjust rulers to move south to take over these lands.’

‘It’s an old book then?’ she asked absently.

‘I doubt more than twenty years old. It is said to have been drawn up by King Rothari, who was grandfather of Godepert and Perctarit.’

‘Perctarit again?’

‘The same Perctarit who is trying to regain his throne here. Rothari died twelve years ago and he ordered this book to be written and also the Edictum Rothari which is the first codification of the laws of the Longobards.’

Fidelma sighed impatiently. ‘In truth, Brother Eolann, my head is swimming with all these strange, unpronounceable names. I am longing to return to the sweet sounds of our own language in Muman. Now, first things first. How did they treat you? You weren’t hurt during your questioning?’

‘Hurt? Oh, you mean by Grasulf. No, he did not hurt me. He just asked me questions about what we were doing, and then told me to come here.’ He glanced at the scroll and confided, ‘This was the first book I saw. I have to say, my first thought was whether our abbey library had a copy.’

Fidelma was still walking about the room. ‘Let us take a look at the extent of our prison,’ she said, turning to the door that Kakko had indicated. ‘Have you examined the outside yet?’

Brother Eolann looked embarrassed and shook his head. So she opened it and stepped through. Beyond was a terrace; on three sides, the walls of the fortress towered above it, while the fourth side was opened to a distant vista of mountains and skies beyond. A small protective wall ran along this side as a barrier from the sheer drop. Tubs of earth with plants were placed here and there to relieve the grey paved surface of the terrace.

There was only one other door giving access to the areaapart from the one from the scriptorium. There were no handles on the outside of this door. Fidelma strode across to it and gave it a push. It was as solid as the wall around it, bolted or barred from the inside. Fidelma gazed up. There were a few high windows but it was clear that the area was enclosed and hardly overlooked at all — if anyone could, in fact, peer down from above.

Fidelma then walked across to the small parapet with Brother Eolann following. She halted and gazed down. At first glance it appeared to be a sheer drop down a rockface to the valley below. She was used to mountains and heights but this view made her dizzy. She took a deep breath and stood back.

‘It is estimated to be one hundred and fifty metres to the valley floor,’ came a familiar voice, speaking Latin.

She swung round to see that Grasulf, Lord of Vars, had stepped out through the mysterious door in the central wall.

‘An impressive view,’ conceded Fidelma.

Grasulf ’s features were solemn. ‘It is not the recommended path out of this fortress. At least, not for our guests. It has other usages. Those we find attempting to betray us, or those who commit crimes against us, thieves and murderers, come to know it as a ready means of crossing the Ormet into the arms of our goddess Hel.’

Fidelma was puzzled. ‘It is used as a method of execution,’ explained Brother Eolann. ‘Hel is the goddess who presides over their underworld, Helheim.’

‘I am impressed with your knowledge, Brother Eolann,’ the Lord of Vars said with a smile. ‘That is precisely what I mean. Ormet is the river that separates life from death. And now, how do you like my little library? I have been looking for someone who would appreciate the books here ever sincemy own scriptor died. Perhaps it was the Fates who brought you hither?’

‘Yes — if the Fates are what you call the warriors who abducted us,’ replied Fidelma dryly. ‘But I doubt we shall be here long enough to appreciate your books, Grasulf.’

The Lord of Vars nodded in appreciation. ‘It is a long while since I have met with a person of wit. You shall feast with me this evening. Yes, Brother Eolann as well. You will tell me about your world beyond these valleys. I will send Kakko to escort you. In the meantime, continue to enjoy the scriptorium.’

He turned and exited as he had come. They heard the door being secured on the inside.

Fidelma walked back to the parapet.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Brother Eolann nervously.

‘Just checking to see what the way to the infernal regions looks like,’ she replied without humour.

She spent a few minutes gazing down at the dizzy descent to the valley floor. Then she turned back into the library where Brother Eolann was once again examining the scroll book that he had found so amazing. Fidelma, whose thoughts were on escape, regarded him with disapproval. Then she turned to the shelves and a new thought struck her as she recalled the mystery of the library at Bobium.

‘Do you recall telling me that some of the books in your library had been vandalised?’

‘I do.’ The scriptor looked up with sudden interest. ‘Why?’

‘Do you recall the titles?’

‘Yes, for as I told you, I had to send to other libraries seeking copies to replace the ones whose pages were cut out.’

Fidelma was blessed with a good memory. It was part ofa dálaigh’s training. ‘One of them was Livy’s history, Ab Urbe Condita Libri, as I recall.’

‘It was. Why?’

‘Because I see a copy of it.’ Fidelma pointed to the book. ‘It occurs to me that you might wish to know what was on the pages that were cut out.’

Brother Eolann took the book from the shelf and placed it on the table. ‘This volume appears to be an exact copy. I recall how the next page started after the deleted one.’

‘I don’t suppose you can recall the pages that had been cut out?’

‘I have a pride in my task in life, lady,’ he protested. ‘I would be a poor librarian if I did not know what had been damaged in my own library.’ Brother Eolann began to turn the thick vellum pages. Then he paused and looked carefully at one particular page before reading, ‘Marcus triumphali veste in senatum venit … That is on the page after the one cut out.’

Fidelma translated. ‘Marcus entered the senate in triumphal dress. So what is on the page that was cut out?’

He turned back to the page: ‘Ah, it starts: Caepionis cuis tementate clades accepta erat damnnati bona publicata sunt. Caepio, who had caused the defeat by his rashness, was convicted and his possessions confiscated.’

‘It sounds as if it is an account of some battle, and someone called Caepio’s role in it.’ Fidelma was curious. ‘Why would anyone want to deface a book for that extract?’

Brother Eolann shrugged. ‘Ancient battles are not a particular interest of mine, lady.’

She took the book from him and scanned the text. It was of little interest so far as she was concerned. ‘This seems to recount that a Roman Proconsul called Caepio commandedpart of an army at a battle that took place at Aurasio. The senior General, Gnaeus Mallius Maximus, commanded the major part of the army. It seems Caepio was a patrician. Because his superior, Mallius Maximus, was not an aristocrat, he refused to cooperate with him or obey his commands. He thought it beneath his dignity.

‘The passage goes on to say that when the General succeeded in brokering a peace with the enemy’s army, Caepio attacked on his own. The result was that his army was wiped out before the enemy turned on Mallius’ army and wiped that out as well. Some one hundred and twenty thousand were slaughtered. Caepio managed to escape back to Rome but Rome was in an uproar at the news. They tried Caepio and found him guilty of misconduct. He was saved from death only by his aristocratic position, but was sent into exile, while all his wealth, goods and property were confiscated.’ She glanced at the scriptor. ‘I wonder when this happened. Can you tell from the text?’

Brother Eolann leaned over her shoulder and pointed to some tiny figures in the margin: ‘According to the dates,’ he replied, peering at the text, ‘Anno Urbis Conditae six hundred and forty-eight … that means what we calculated as roughly a hundred years before the birth of Christ.’

‘Well, it teaches us nothing as to the reason why the passage should be cut from the book.’ Fidelma grimaced in resignation. ‘Maybe we should search for the Polybius and see if that is related to the same battle and this man Caepio. But it doesn’t seem significant. Maybe it was just wilful vandalism.’

The key in the door suddenly scraped and Kakko appeared.

‘My lord Grasulf has told me that he has invited you to feast with him. I have taken the liberty to prepare baths andchanges of clothing for you, as I have heard of the daily bathing customs of the Hibernians.’

Fidelma had been feeling sticky and awkward in the heat. Now that it was mentioned, she realised she had not bathed properly since they had left Bobium.

‘That is good,’ she commented.

Kakko merely grinned. ‘The Lord of Vars is very sensitive about who joins him at his table and their state of cleanliness.’

‘Our state of uncleanliness was thanks to his warriors who abducted us and brought us hither against our will,’ snapped Fidelma in answer to his jibe. ‘And further to your imprisoning us in a chamber without-’

‘Your bags have been placed in the chamber,’ interrupted Kakko, realising that he was unable to assert verbal domination over her. ‘Perhaps that will make it seem more tolerable. I shall return shortly and conduct you to where you may bathe and change.’

‘It would be even more tolerable if you provided us with separate cells for decency’s sake,’ she asserted. ‘We are not man and wife to be closeted together. There are times when separation is needed. Or do your worries on cleanliness not go as far as that?’

The big man glowered at her for a moment, then decided to say nothing and left, locking the door noisily behind him.

Brother Eolann shook his head. ‘I am sorry about this, lady.’

‘Sorry? For what?’

‘I should not have suggested staying at the sanctuary and delaying there.’

‘As I recall, I insisted on seeing it. Anyway, our delay was due to the finding of Lady Gunora. We must keep silent about that. This Lord of Vars may be the killer. The less he thinks we know, the better.’

She stood up abruptly as another thought came into her mind and she went to the door leading on to the terrace.

‘Where are you going?’ demanded Brother Eolann.

‘Don’t worry, I am just going to have another look at the rockface. See if you can find that volume of Polybius. You might be able to check whether that passage related to — what was his name? Oh yes. Caepio.’

The scriptor began to explore the library half-heartedly, turning over the books stacked around.

When Fidelma returned she had a brightness in her eyes. ‘Any luck?’ she asked.

‘Luck?’ He seemed preoccupied.

‘With finding Polybius?’

‘Oh, no luck.’ He frowned at the suppressed excitement in her features. ‘What is it?’

‘I have an idea …’ she began.

Then the key turned in the lock again and Kakko reappeared. ‘Your baths are ready,’ he announced.

A sullen-looking woman waited to guide Fidelma to the room where she was to bathe. She was relieved when Kakko took Brother Eolann to another room. It was good to slip into the warm waters of the wood tub and relax with perfumes and oils. She took her time while the dour-looking servant, who alas spoke no other language than the Longobard dialect, waited impatiently for her to finish. Finally, feeling refreshed and relaxed and clad in the fresh clothing which had been provided for her, Fidelma followed the woman back across the main courtyard.

As she was proceeding across the flagstones, there was a sudden shouting and the gates were pulled open. A horseman galloped into the courtyard and reined in his steed so abruptly that it reared up, its forelegs kicking viciously at the air.Jumping from the saddle, the rider flung his reins at a nearby attendant and almost ran in the direction of the main hall.

Fidelma’s guide prodded her forward as she looked after him.

Brother Eolann was already in the chamber that had become their prison.

‘I have been told that they will give us separate cells for tonight,’ he said, somewhat embarrassed. ‘It is being arranged now.’

‘That is some progress then,’ Fidelma said absently.

It was not long before Kakko opened the door and indicated that Fidelma and Brother Eolann should follow him back to the great hall. A table had been laid and the steward now assumed the role of organising the servants as they carried in the dishes from the kitchen and prepared wine for the table.

‘It is not often I receive travellers from Hibernia in this valley,’ Grasulf said, as he gestured for them to be seated. It seemed that there were only the three of them at the meal.

‘How often do you abduct travellers?’ Fidelma replied dryly.

Grasulf seemed amused at her retort. ‘I think, in your case, my men did well — for they have provided me with a good foil for my intellect,’ he replied gravely. ‘I find your responses most stimulating. By the way, the boar,’ he pointed to the meat dish that had been set on the table, ‘I killed yesterday.’

There were various dishes brought in while Grasulf made commentaries about them and the wine that was served. Brother Eolann was content to let the conversation flow between Grasulf and Fidelma, concentrating on emptying his plate as each dish appeared. It seemed that the part of the meal preferred by the Lord of Vars came in a pitcher that Kakko kept filled at his side. He did not sip his wine butdevoured it in large swallows like a man whose thirst was unquenchable.

‘Time was that preachers from your abbey came into this valley to convert my people,’ he said reflectively. ‘However, there are still many true Longobards left, though we are a dwindling number. We place our faith in Godan and the power of our swords. We stand above the squabbles between you Christians. Nicene Creed and Arian Creed — what difference? What is the choice between dying by the sword and dying by the dagger?’

‘You see the Faith as a means of death?’ inquired Fidelma with interest.

‘However you perceive your Christ, He is your god, not mine.’ Grasulf dismissed the subject. ‘And how have you passed the time in my little scriptorium? Did you find it interesting?’

‘All knowledge is interesting,’ conceded Fidelma.

‘So, what in particular?’

‘The history of Rome.’ It came automatically to her, although she had little interest in the subject.

‘Ah, Livy?’

‘You have read his history?’ Fidelma was surprised but then realised that there was no reason to be so.

‘Of course,’ replied Grasulf. ‘Livinius was from Patavium so he took an interest in this area. What period did you find interesting?’

‘It was just a passage about someone called Caepio that caught my attention.’

She was not prepared for the effect of the name. A suspicious look came into his eyes and then Grasulf threw back his head and uttered a false-sounding chuckle.

‘Caepio?’ he said. ‘You surely don’t give credence to thatsilly tale! What stories have you been filling your compatriot’s head with, Brother Eolann?’

Fidelma turned quickly to find that Brother Eolann had coloured in embarrassment.

‘What stories would you have been filling my head with?’ she asked quietly in their own language.

The scriptor replied almost violently. ‘I have no idea, lady. Truly, I don’t know what he is talking about.’

Fidelma turned back to Grasulf. ‘I alighted on the page by chance,’ she said cautiously. ‘What story should I have been aware of?’

‘By chance? Why, it has even become part of the Latin language.’

‘I still don’t follow your meaning.’

‘What does one say when one has achieved some ill-gotten wealth — wealth that brings a curse with it?’

Fidelma had not learned a colloquial form of Latin and looked to Brother Eolann for some guidance. The scriptor still seemed embarrassed and shook his head. So she turned back to Grasulf.

‘It is said that the person has the gold of Tolosa — Aurum Tolosa habet,’ explained the Lord of Vars.

‘And how does that relate to this man Caepio?’

‘He was the governor of this very territory in ancient times and marched his army into Gaul. The story is that he seized a fabulous treasure in the town of Tolosa. He sent this wealth of gold back here to his villa in Placentia meaning to keep it, but it disappeared. Some will even tell you that he hid the gold in these very mountains. Every now and then, some fool claims they have found Caepio’s gold.’

‘But the passage in Livinius merely says that his stupidity caused several Roman legions to be annihilated.’

‘The story also says that before that battle, his legions had sacked Tolosa and carried away forty-six wagons of gold and treasure and sent them here.’

‘And these wagons disappeared?’

‘They vanished,’ agreed Grasulf. ‘Anyway, it is not mythical gold we want, eh, Brother Eolann? Many lords in these valleys would bring their men rushing like wolves from the hills down on Grimoald and his supporters for a bag of Frankish gold.’

Brother Eolann was looking uncomfortable. ‘I would not know,’ he muttered.

‘The story of the gold is local gossip,’ said Grasulf, picking up his goblet of wine again. It was clear that he had dismissed the topic.

Fidelma waited a few moments and then raised another topic that had crossed her mind.

‘I saw a rider come into the fortress not so long ago. He had clearly arrived here after a hard and hasty ride. I presume he brings important news about the dangers that beset this country?’

The Lord of Vars looked at her speculatively over the rim of his goblet. ‘You have a sharp eye, lady.’ Was there a dangerous tone in his voice?

‘It is my training to observe.’

‘Well, the news is interesting. Lupus of Friuli, Grimoald’s Regent in these northern lands, and his army have been defeated.’

‘I heard that this Lupus had turned against Grimoald.’

‘That is true. You have a good memory as well as a sharp ear, eh?’

‘I repeat, it is my training to observe and remember.’

‘How was he defeated?’ intervened Brother Eolann. He sounded concerned.

‘Lupus, as you know, had decided to stand against Grimoald. He declared for Perctarit. Grimoald signed a treaty with the Khagan, the Khan Kubrat …’

‘These names mean nothing to me,’ Fidelma pointed out irritably.

‘The Khagan rules the Avars who dwell to the north and east of our lands, in what used to be called Illyria. They attacked into our lands to overthrow Lupus. The rider you saw brought the news that Lupus and his army held out in Friuli for four days against the Avars. Lupus is now dead, his army slaughtered or scattered.’

‘Surely that is good for Grimoald?’ Fidelma commented.

‘Only if the Khan respects the treaty. At the moment the entire Valley of the Padus is open to invasion by the Avars. In that, Grimoald might have made a mistake. Grimoald had marched to the Meridies, south of this land, to fight the Byzantines. So he is still marching back northwards. The other news is that Perctarit and his Frankish allies are already in the lands just north of Mailand not far from here. Blood, fire and pillage sweep across the land. We must be vigilant. That is why strangers are stopped and questioned.’

‘But this has nothing to do with me, nor does it present any reason for holding me or my compatriot as prisoners in your fortress. You should allow us to return in peace and safety to Bobium.’

‘You are persistent in that matter, lady. But I have not yet satisfied myself that you do not present a threat to me or to my people.’

Kakko reappeared with two servants who began to clear away the plates under his supervision.

Grasulf rose to his feet, smiling thinly. ‘It is my hope that we will have many more of these stimulating exchanges.’

‘But it is my hope that this will be the only such exchange,’ replied Fidelma, also rising.

The Lord of Vars chuckled sardonically. ‘I fear your hope will be a vain one. You have a refreshing boldness, lady. We say that there is no sharper blade than the tongue of a woman. But I think you will find that I am a match for you.’

‘We also have a saying among my people. “A cur is bold in the place where he is well known”.’

His face darkened and he turned to Kakko. ‘Our guests may return to their quarters.’

The big steward came forward, led the way to the doors and swung them open.

A tall man, clad in a long black robe, stood outside, about to enter. His hair was snow-white. He had a nose that was prominent and thin bloodless lips, and his eyes were dark, almost without pupils.

He started as he caught sight of Fidelma and stepped back in surprise.

The recognition was mutual.

Kakko was unaware of the recognition that passed between them as he turned to give a gentle shove to Brother Eolann. Fidelma and the scriptor followed him through the door, neither of them speaking to the newcomer; nor did he speak to them.

They passed Suidur the Wise, physician to Radoald, Lord of Trebbia, without a word.