Behold a Pale Horse

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

For the first time in her life, that night as she retired to bed, Fidelma pulled some heavier items of furniture as quietly as she could across her door before lying down and falling into a fitful, dream-ridden sleep. It was halfway through the night that she suddenly sat up in the darkness, a sweat on her forehead and a coldness on the back of her neck. ‘Of course,’ she muttered as her thoughts cleared. ‘Of course! How stupid of me. How very stupid!’ She managed to doze again but felt exhausted on waking the next morning.

She rose, washed and, in spite of her exhaustion, there was something coursing through her that excited her into activity. She went to join the brethren for the first meal of the day but found she was unable to concentrate on it. Venerable Ionas led the prayers while Magister Ado sat brooding and picking at his meal. Fidelma glanced around the refectorium. She could see no sign of Brother Faro and when the meal was finished, she asked Brother Wulfila where he was.

‘He has already left the abbey again in search of Sister Gisa,’ the steward responded disapprovingly.

The bell had rung and everyone was dispersing to their daily tasks. Fidelma went hurrying after the Venerable Ionas.

‘I need to speak to you,’ she began without preamble. ‘It is a matter that, for the moment, needs to be kept strictly between us.’

‘It is not our custom to keep secrets from one another, Sister Fidelma,’ reproved the old scholar.

‘Certain members of this community have already broken that custom. When I say that the abbey is in imminent danger, then I think secrecy is expedient.’

The Venerable Ionas regarded her with a troubled expression. ‘With the deaths that have recently occurred, Fidelma of Hibernia, I think I might have arrived at that decision myself. Last night I supported you in the proposition that you should investigate these deaths. Are you now saying that you have come to some conclusion?’

‘Not a complete one,’ she admitted, ‘although by the time this day is over, I think I will have most, if not all, of the answers.’

‘So what is this secret that you must share with me?’

They were standing on the steps of the hall overlooking the courtyard. Fidelma glanced round. ‘Is there a way that we might proceed to the necropolis without being seen?’

Venerable Ionas frowned. ‘And what would be found there?’

‘I hope to show you. But we must not be observed.’

‘You cannot tell me more?’

‘Only that before he died, Brother Ruadán asked me a question. I thought his mind was wandering. I now realise he was speaking rhetorically. He said: “What evil can be disguised in a mausoleum.” It has taken me a long time to realise what he meant, because I had been following a false trail.’

Venerable Ionas motioned her to follow him. They went back into the hall and through a passage that led beyond the kitchens. They did not go through them or into theherbarium but along another passage and into what looked like a disused storeroom. Venerable Ionas set about removing some boxes in one corner, to reveal the iron handle of a trap door.

The old scholar smiled wryly at Fidelma. ‘When I was young and first came to the abbey, I was shown this way out should we younger religious want to escape the attentions of the gatekeeper. He was a tougher man than Brother Bladulf, and the rules were far stricter in those days. Sometimes it was just necessary to get away to the mountains and walk in the silence, soft winds and sunshine.’

He opened the trap door and descended some stone steps into a short passage, not more than three strides in length, that seemed to be cast in a shadowy green light caused by the light infiltrating through creepers that hung over the entrance. Fidelma followed him.

They were suddenly outside the abbey in a wooded area, and Venerable Ionas led the way, surefooted through the trees, upwards and then along a level area until, to Fidelma’s surprise, they came out at the top end of the necropolis, at the back of the curious mausoleum buildings.

‘So, what now?’ Venerable Ionas asked.

‘I think we shall find what I am looking for in the third mausoleum.’

‘Abbot Bobolen’s mausoleum? You don’t mean that we should open it? That is sacrilege. It has only recently been finished and sealed.’

‘Sacrilege has already been committed, if my suspicion is correct, and to prove it we must examine the interior.’

Venerable Ionas was unhappy as they moved cautiously towards the marble edifice. There seemed no one in the necropolis nor on the surrounding hillside; they were unobserved.Fidelma halted at the doorway of the tomb. The doors were extremely wide, as befitted the massive building, and they were made of iron. Venerable Ionas was frowning at the locking device.

‘That is curious. It does not seem very secure — more of a temporary fixing. This lock should have been made stronger.’

‘I assure you, therefore, that it is important to look inside,’ insisted Fidelma. ‘We must do it and do it now.’

‘But why?’

‘The answer to all the deaths that have happened and may happen will be found in this mausoleum. I ask you to trust me.’

Venerable Ionas stared at her in amazement, but he could feel her sincerity. He hesitated a moment more and finally agreed. ‘Very well. Thankfully, it is easy enough to replace such fittings as these.’ He bent down, picked up a piece of rock and banged it against the iron lock. It fell away with only three sharp blows. Together, they drew back one of the doors. Whatever Venerable Ionas was expecting to see inside, it was not a wagon piled with leather sacks. This occupied most of the interior and there was no sign of any sarcophagus.

Fidelma’s expression did not change as she stepped forward and began to tug open one of the sacks. She held it for Venerable Ionas to see. Inside it was stuffed with golden coins.

‘Is this the Aurum Tolosa?’ breathed the old scholar, staring at it. ‘Does it truly exist?’

Fidelma gave a shake of her head, saying, ‘It might well be from Tolosa, but it is not the fabled gold of Caepio.’

‘Then what …?’

‘It is meant as payment to the Lord of Vars for his services,and I think he will be coming for it soon. We had best try to fix the lock and return to your chamber to discuss this matter.’

When they were back in his chamber, they sat for a while in silence.

‘How long have you known?’ Venerable Ionas finally asked.

‘Only since last night,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I was too busy chasing the mythological gold to come to a solution earlier.’

‘The Aurum Tolosa?’ asked Venerable Ionas, bewildered. ‘But where does this gold come from? You say it is payment for the Lord of Vars — but for what, and why?’

‘From Perctarit to Grasulf to persuade him to join him in an uprising against Grimoald. One thing I learned at Vars was that Grasulf was expecting such payment. When Perctarit was ready, he would tell Grasulf where it had been placed by his agent.’

‘His agent? Who placed it there, in the mausoleum of Bobolen?’

‘I think I know, but I need to confirm things. I am sure the wagon has been hidden there for some time. I don’t know how, but I believe poor Brother Ruadán discovered the secret. He found some coins and, presumably out of charity, gave two of them to Wamba.’

Venerable Ionas was shaking his head in bewilderment.

‘I still cannot understand. Was it something to do with Brother Eolann?’

‘He had a hand in it yet he was not the central person involved.’

‘There are many questions to be answered, Fidelma.’

‘I know,’ she agreed grimly. ‘That is why I cannot reveal who I think is the instigator of this plot.’ She rose and added: ‘Matters will soon come to fruition. I leave you for a while.’

‘Where do you intend to go?’

‘To seek out Lord Radoald. I believe that he can supply some answers to this mystery.’

‘You must be careful,’ insisted Venerable Ionas. ‘If it is known that you have discovered this gold, even the fact that you are a woman — indeed, a princess from Hibernia — will not protect you.’

Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘I never thought it would,’ she replied. Then she asked: ‘Are there any men of strength in the abbey? A blacksmith and his assistant?’

Venerable Ionas pursed his lips for a moment in thought. ‘We have three or four such men.’

‘Then they must be men that you totally trust. Only you are to communicate with them and let them take an oath of silence about what you will ask them to do. No word of what I want you to ask them must be revealed to anyone else in the abbey. Nor must you mention it to anyone yourself, not even to those whom you trust, like Magister Ado, Brother Bladulf or Brother Wulfila or even Brother Lonán.’

‘I do not understand but I shall trust you, Fidelma. I will make the men take such an oath and bind them to silence.’

She outlined her instructions. ‘This must be done in secret. If I am right, it should buy some time, at least. I hope to return to the abbey well before the end of the day, and by that time all will be clear.’

‘I pray that it is, for you are saying that I cannot trust some who are my closest associates … even friends.’

‘I would also ask you to request the brethren to stay close to the abbey today,’ she added.

‘Are you some soothsayer that you are sure of this impending danger?’ queried the elderly scholar in resignation.

‘Ah, had I eyes that foresee the future, I would never have left the port of Genua.’

‘Well, there are no footsteps backwards in life, my child. Once the die is thrown, we must accept the outcome and make of it what we will.’

Fidelma paused at the door. ‘You are right, Venerable Ionas. Sometimes I give way to a selfishness of spirit, of which I should be ashamed. I have learned much from the mistake of putting trust in Brother Eolann.’

‘God made you as you are, Fidelma, and for that this abbey is grateful. Stay safe and hurry back to us.’

She left the abbey soon afterwards and only the Venerable Ionas saw her leading a horse out of the stables. He had contrived to send those brethren in the courtyard on some errands and he, himself, opened the gates for her. He followed her with a worried eye as she mounted the animal and trotted it down towards the river.

The way to Radoald’s fortress was easy as Fidelma was beginning to know it well. She crossed the hump-back bridge and turned to follow the turbulent waters of the Trebbia upstream beside the thick woods that spread along its banks. It was still early and the day tranquil with sunny blue skies. The various forest noises were so soporific that Fidelma had difficulty in accepting the grim reality of the deaths that had taken place in this pleasant countryside; in accepting the threat of warfare that would tear this peaceful valley apart.

She was concentrating so hard that a sudden shout caused her to look up in dismay. Two warriors had emerged from the trees, long black cloaks streaming, but without weapons in their hands. They were upon her before she could react. One of them grabbed at her horse’s bridle and, withoutslowing, began to canter along the side of the river. The other rider followed behind.

She could do nothing but feel anger with herself that she had been daydreaming, unaware of them lying in wait. The anger was enhanced by the fact that she now recognised the men. She did not need to examine the flaming sword and laurel wreath emblem on their jerkins nor look closely at the manner of their dress. They were the same men who had attacked Venerable Ado in Genua, the same men who, she believed, had shot an arrow at Magister Ado and hit Brother Faro by mistake when they had first arrived in the Valley of Trebbia.

They said nothing to her. One was leaning slightly forward, still holding her horse’s reins so that she had no control over the animal; the other man rode behind. She had no choice but to hang on, for the momentum of the horses made it difficult to do anything else.

She knew that they were heading upstream still, the Trebbia gushing along by the track, and she was not entirely surprised when they turned off and headed up the slope towards the fortress of Radoald, which had been her very destination.

The gates of the fortress swung open and her escorts cantered into the courtyard. Her jaw tightened. Fidelma realised that there were still several questions to be answered, but she felt confident that she had the outline, if not the detail, of the mystery.

No one said anything, no one made any move, as the dust settled around them. Then, from the main door to the great hall, a figure with white hair emerged — a tall, smiling figure. It was that of the physician, Suidur the Wise.

‘Well, Sister Fidelma — or should I call you Lady Fidelma? I am never quite sure of the correct usage for a princess whohas become a religieuse.’ He bowed with a touch of irony. ‘You are most welcome here. Get you down and come inside and take some refreshment. The dust of travel causes the throat to dry.’