Behold a Pale Horse

CHAPTER THREE

‘Well, Magister Ado, you must tell us something of your journey to Tolosa,’ Radoald invited after he had finished quenching his thirst from a goatskin water bag that one of his warriors had filled from the river.

Fidelma had been standing by him and noticed an oddly suspicious look come into the elderly scholar’s eyes.

‘How did you know I had been to Tolosa?’ His voice was unnaturally sharp.

Radoald did not appear to notice his tone. ‘You should know that we are a small community in the valley. News travels quickly.’

Magister Ado was frowning. ‘Then you will know that I went to the Abbey of the Blessed Martyr Saturnin to view a manuscript. It was a boring journey but, Deo gratias, it was a short one.’

‘Ah, I wondered at its shortness. It was surely a long way to go, just to return immediately. You could have barely been there for more than a few days.’

‘You are well informed, Lord Radoald.’

‘I try to be, my friend, especially in these days. However, did you see anything untoward on your travels?’

Fidelma listened to the exchange with interest, although she tried to keep her features expressionless.

‘Untoward?’

‘There are constant rumours that the Franks are plotting against us. Even more rumours of their army crossing into our lands in support of Perctarit.’

‘I saw nothing.’

‘Yet I hear that Tolosa is now a city bathed in darkness, stricken by plague, the flight of its population, and even the great basilica fallen into decay.’

‘That is not so, for I stayed several days there and was able to secure the very book I went there to see, the Life of the Blessed Martyr Saturnin, and thus was able to bring it back with me for our great library at Bobium.’

‘Well, then, that is good news.’ Radoald glanced round to check that his men had finished watering their horses, as if his questions had been no more than a passing interest. But Fidelma thought that something lay behind his queries.

‘Who is Perctarit?’ she decided to inquire.

Radoald turned to answer her. ‘He used to be King of the Longobards, a cruel and despotic man who was eventually overthrown and fled for protection to the land of the Franks.’ His tone was serious and he seemed to be fighting some angry emotion. Then he relaxed again and said, ‘We shall not delay here any longer.’

‘Is your fortress far?’ she asked.

‘We will reach it well before sundown.’

‘And is Bobium nearby?’

‘Less than half a day’s ride further on, not much more. Bobium is a beacon of the true faith in these mountains. I am sure you will have many questions to ask about this land, Fidelma of Hibernia, but let us move on to where we canenjoy the fruits of our hunt, sample our local wine and talk of these matters. And, of course, the sooner we are there, the sooner my physician can attend to Brother Faro, although I think little Gisa’s attentions have been enough.’

She followed his nod to where Sister Gisa was sitting next to Brother Faro deep in conversation. From the intimacy of his reference, Fidelma had gathered the impression that Radoald knew Gisa well. How? She supposed that it was a small valley community. Perhaps in that lay the answer.

The young Lord of Trebbia clapped his hands and called for everyone to mount, and it was not long before the party set off. Radoald invited Fidelma to ride alongside him. She soon realised that it was an excuse for him to interrogate her without anyone overhearing.

‘Have you known Magister Ado for long?’ was his opening question.

‘For a few days on this journey, if that is knowing anyone,’ she replied. ‘We met in Genua.’

She felt rather than saw the young lord glance at her before he said: ‘But you knew of him before?’

‘I am a stranger here,’ she said evenly. ‘As Sister Gisa said, I was returning from Rome to my own land when my ship was wrecked. I was some days in Genua looking for a vessel when I met Magister Ado.’ Something made her decide not to offer any details of the meeting. ‘He told me of the Abbey of Bobium and mentioned that Brother Ruadán was a member of the community there. Brother Ruadán was once my tutor and mentor in my own land. So I accepted an offer to accompany Magister Ado and his companions to Bobium in order that I could see my mentor one last time.’

‘Brother Ruadán?’ Radoald was interested. ‘Were you one of his pupils?’

‘I was. I was very young and then went on to study law.’

‘Brother Ruadán has been outspoken against some of the bishops who live to the east of this valley.’

‘In what context?’

‘He criticises their interpretation of the Faith, their support for the profligate nobles there and their way of life, their drinking, wenching … all manner of their lives he condemned, and that will not bring him friends.’

‘Perhaps he feels that he does not need such friends,’ she said dryly.

‘Have you been told that Brother Ruadán was attacked and badly beaten?’

‘It was that which prompted me to leave Genua and journey here with my new companions from Bobium. Do you have more recent news on his condition?’

‘He still lives but his condition is bad.’

‘And do you know how this happened?’

‘I am told that he used to travel to Placentia, a city to the north of here, and preach in the basilica of Antoninus … I am afraid Brother Ruadán created riots by his preaching. He called the Bishop of Placentia, Bishop Britmund, an ass.’

Fidelma raised an eyebrow. ‘An ass?’

‘He said that an illiterate bishop is only an ass with a mitre. A cleric, he said, is of himself not someone to admire unless he possess virtue and knowledge.’

Fidelma chuckled. ‘Poor Ruadán. He is merely stating the old adage that we know so well. There’s nothing revolutionary in that view.’

Radoald snorted indignantly. ‘Those views have landed him in trouble. To call the Bishop of Placentia illiterate and an ass is flirting with death. Besides which there are other tensions among the religious here.’

‘I have been told about the conflict between those who uphold the Nicene Creed and those who support the views of Arius.’

‘Then be warned, Fidelma of Hibernia. Brother Ruadán barely escaped with his life from Placentia. Bobium is an island surrounded by powerful nobles who support the teachings of Arius. It is wise not to be so forthright in declaring one’s beliefs at this time. Remember that a scholar’s ink lasts longer than a martyr’s blood.’

Fidelma considered the young man’s words seriously. ‘I appreciate your advice to a stranger from a strange land, Radoald. Out of interest, as you are lord in this valley, are you one of these nobles that you speak of?’

Radoald chuckled and shook his head. ‘I am not that powerful, Fidelma of Hibernia. However, I do try to protect this valley — and that includes Bobium. This is a small valley with few people. The influence of the Abbey at Bobium is strong here and we live in comfort with one another. Beyond the valley, it is different. Have you heard one of the old sayings of this country — cuius regio eius religio?’

Fidelma smiled and inclined her head in confirmation. An easy translation, for the saying was — who rules the country, dictates the religion.

‘Then let me tell you, outside the protection of the valley you must have circumspection. Brother Ruadán should have learned diplomacy. But, from the few people from Hibernia that I have encountered, I have gathered that you do not treat rank and privilege with the same respect that Longobards are used to.’

‘We have a saying,’ Fidelma replied. ‘“No one is better than I am, but I am no better than anyone else.” That means everyone should be treated with the same respect.’

Radoald grimaced in amusement. ‘Treated with respect according to their station in life — for everyone is allotted his or her place by the Creator and it would be blasphemy to Him should they be dissatisfied with their lot.’

‘That is a curious philosophy,’ remarked Fidelma.

‘Not for us,’ replied Radoald. ‘Why, think of the chaos if it were otherwise. Wulfoald, who commands my guard, might one day come to believe that he is equal to me. Being dissatisfied, he could attempt to overthrow my rule and take my place. I was born to protect my people, to rule the weak and guide them when they seek my help.’

‘In my land we say that the people are stronger than a lord, for it is the people who ordain their chief and not the chief who ordains the people.’

‘How can the people be allowed to choose their lord?’ The young man sounded astonished by the idea. ‘A lord is chosen by the Creator Who ordains him with power to rule.’

‘In my land, it is the best among the family, the most intelligent and strongest, who is chosen to rule by his family and his people. I know in this land it is merely the eldest son; whether he be an idiot or a great philosopher makes no matter. So how can you say the Creator has ordained him?’

Radoald smiled quickly. ‘If the ruler was an idiot, he would not last long as ruler.’

‘So he would be removed?’

‘Of course.’

‘And often with violence either within the family or by the people?’

Radoald suddenly saw the point she was going to make but shrugged, allowing her to accept it as confirmation.

‘Would it not be better to choose him in the way we do,rather than let nature choose the course and then have to correct nature?’

‘But to give people choice … If they had choice to choose their ruler, why — they would think they had choice in all things.’

‘Why not? People live in each other’s shelter.’

Radoald took a moment to understand the old proverb. Then he laughed sharply.

‘I do not think we shall agree on this, Fidelma of Hibernia. But at least I begin to see why your people have a reputation in my land as stubborn and irreverent towards their superiors. But be careful what you say and to whom, as these are difficult times and I strive hard to keep the peace between this valley and its neighbours.’

Fidelma nodded. ‘I shall remember your advice, Radoald of Trebbia. But there is a saying among my people that you cannot have peace longer than your neighbours choose peace.’

‘I can see that you are truly a King’s daughter, Fidelma of Hibernia,’ replied Radoald with grudging admiration. ‘But, so far, the neighbouring nobles have not troubled the people of this valley since Grimoald became King.’

‘Presumably he was the successor to Perctarit of whom you spoke?’

‘He was, and since then there has been peace in this valley.’

‘So it is unusual for bandits to make attacks in it?’

He was silent for a few moments as he regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Do you imply there was something unusual about the attack?’

‘I am unable to imply anything for I am a stranger here. I am merely an observer. Magister Ado at first wanted me to believe we were attacked by bandits, quickly confirmed by Wulfoald, and then you ascribed the attack to bandits.However, you did point out that it was unusual for bandits to operate in this valley when the richer merchants do not pass this way. Those are facts. I would not imply anything from them.’

‘You have a sharp mind, lady.’ Then Radoald fell silent for the rest of their journey as if in brooding thought.

The fortress of Radoald dominated a bend of the river, strategically placed on the southern bank where it turned almost at a forty-five-degree angle. From the northern bank a tributary of a smaller stream joined it. Behind that rose a great peak among the mountains which bordered the length of the valley on both banks. It was obvious that no army could attack in strength over the mountains or along the valley in either direction without having to reduce the fortress before they could proceed. It had been built initially, so Fidelma was to learn later, by the Romans when their legions invaded the territories of the peoples of Cisalpine Gaul. At first glance, it seemed dark and ominous, a brooding complex of buildings, its lower walls were covered by creeping moss-like plants which she could not identify. There were two or three farm dwellings set outside the walls and the fortress dominated the area. As they approached, one of Radoald’s men placed a hunting horn to his lips and let forth a series of blasts. Fidelma saw several warriors patrolling the walls and realised that their approach had already been observed.

She could not help but ask quietly: ‘For a peaceful valley, your warriors seem well prepared?’

Radoald actually grinned. ‘Si vis pacem para bellum,’ he replied. If you want peace, prepare for war. ‘I have found much wisdom in the Epitoma Rei Militaris of Vegetius, an old Roman military philosopher.’

They entered an inner courtyard where servants camehurrying forward to take their horses and Sister Gisa’s mule to the stables, to remove the carcass of the deer and presumably transport it to the kitchens.

As Radoald dismounted he called to Sister Gisa, ‘Take Brother Faro to Suidur’s apothecary so that he may be looked after.’ It was obvious that she knew the fortress for she took her companion by the arm and assisted him across the stoneflagged courtyard.

Radoald himself conducted Magister Ado and Fidelma to what appeared to be the main building, and led them into a great hall. There were fires alight at both ends of the hall while tapestries hung the full length of the high walls. Several men and women rose respectfully as he entered. An elderly man, who proved to be Radoald’s steward, came forward and bowed. The young lord shot a series of instructions at him before turning to them with a smile.

‘I have asked for rooms to be made ready for all of you. Baths will be prepared and this evening you will feast and rest with us. And tomorrow you will journey on to Bobium in comfort.’ He turned to the rest of the company and said, ‘Magister Ado has come back to join us and this is Fidelma of Hibernia, a princess of her country, who travels to Bobium.’

The names of his family and his entourage passed over Fidelma’s head. Several of them spoke colloquial Latin but it seemed the main language was the more guttural tongue of the Longobards. As she was passed from one group to another with polite meaningless words, she was suddenly confronted by an ornate, carved wood chair on a dais. She presumed it was Radoald’s chair of office. But it was not that which struck her. Above the chair hung a shield. It had a black background with what appeared to be a flaming sword and a laurel wreath painted on it.

A hand jerked on her sleeve and a high-pitched voice asked, ‘Do you eat human flesh?’

Shocked, she turned to look down into the ancient face of a woman, bent over, with grey hair and leaning on a stick.

‘I do not,’ she replied, wondering if she was about to be offered some horrendous dish of the valley.

‘But you must,’ the old woman insisted sharply. ‘People from Hibernia are cannibals. I have read the Blessed Jerome and was he not of the Faith? In Adversus Jovinianum he writes that he witnessed, as a young man, the Irish cutting the buttocks off shepherds and their wives and eating them.’

‘I have never heard that Jerome was ever in Hibernia,’ Fidelma replied, trying not to let her temper rise. ‘So no credence can be given to such a ridiculous, malicious and false statement.’

‘But he wrote it.’

‘People write many things and they are not all true.’

‘But he wrote it,’ the old woman repeated as if it were a mantra.

Radoald appeared at her side and took Fidelma’s arm. He spoke to the old woman roughly in the local language and then guided Fidelma away. ‘Let me show you some of the treasures of my fortress,’ he smiled. Out of earshot of the old woman, he added, ‘She was my mother’s nurse. I keep her here as a retainer, for there is nowhere else for her to go.’

Fidelma was about to open her mouth when he shook his head and placed a finger against his lips. ‘She reads to occupy her time. Sadly, she believes that if something is written then it must be true. There is no reasoning with her on this matter.’

‘Then she must have difficulties when she comes across two accounts that are opposed.’ Fidelma smiled thinly.

‘An interesting proposition. Sadly, it seems that eventuality has not yet presented itself.’

‘I was looking at your chair when she spoke to me. Is it your chair of office?’

Radoald nodded assent.

‘I noticed the design on the shield above it. Is that your crest?’

‘It is one which serves many of the Longobard nobles, for it is the insignia of the Archangel Michael who has become our patron. It is said that he appeared to our armies at Sipontum three years ago when we drove back the armies of the Byzantines. It is Michael’s name which is now our war cry, for he is captain of battle and defender of Heaven.’

‘So any one of your people would bear that crest?’

‘Only the warriors of our King Grimoald,’ confirmed the young noble. ‘Indeed, my sword arm is at the disposal of Grimoald. Why do you ask?’

‘Tell me something of this Grimoald,’ invited Fidelma, ignoring the question. ‘When did he become your King?’

‘After he seized the throne from King Godepert and married his sister, Theodota. That was four years ago.’

‘I thought you said he succeeded Perctarit …?’

‘Ah, you have a sharp memory. Perctarit was a joint king with his brother, Godepert. But the two brothers were at war with each other. Both were as bad as one another. Grimoald was then Duke of Benevento. He assassinated Godepert and eventually drove Perctarit into exile. It is Grimoald who hails Michael as the warrior-protector of our nation. We need that protection for we have many enemies. Even now Grimoald is campaigning against the Byzantines in the south. In his absence, Lupus the Wolf, the Duke of Friuli, is Regent. Friuli is a city far to the east of here.’

‘You seem to live in turbulent times,’ Fidelma observed.

‘It is the nature of my people,’ Radoald replied grimly. ‘Centuries ago we were forced from our homelands far to the north and, each time we tried to settle, we were driven further south and west by those who came behind us. We had to carve new territories, new homelands with the help of our swords.’

‘And yet you also fight each other over matters of kingship?’ Her comment was posed as a question.

‘Strength must be the catchword of a ruler.’

‘Have you no laws of succession? Laws by which your judges can challenge an unjust ruler?’

Radoald stared at her in surprise for a moment and then he smiled, shaking his head in amusement.

‘Do not tell me that in your land there are such laws?’

‘A king must obey the law as willingly as a cowherd,’ pointed out Fidelma.

‘We believe a king is the lawgiver. We obey his law.’

Radoald then took Fidelma on a tour of his fortress and, she had to confess, she was surprised at the wealth of tapestries and paintings, which she learned were from Byzantium. There were statuettes from Ancient Rome and many other decorative items. Radoald took a pride as he showed her these treasures. It seemed to her that the young man was going out of his way to impress her that he was a man of refinement and appreciative of the arts. Indeed, after a little while, he said, ‘When our people, the Longobards, came into this land about a hundred years ago, we were pagans, not having heard the word of Christ. All we knew was conquest and how to govern by the sword. Thankfully, times change.’

The conversation was suddenly interrupted by the entranceof a tall man of striking appearance. His age was almost impossible to discern, since although his hair was snow-white, his features seemed young. His eyes were dark, almost without pupils; his lips thin and unusually red; his nose prominent and thin. From neck to feet he was clad in robes of black, the sleeves wide and loose so that they hid his hands. There was no jewellery as relief to the blackness of his dress.

‘Suidur, this is Fidelma of Hibernia, not only of the Sisterhood but a princess of that land,’ introduced Radoald. ‘This is Suidur, my physician.’

The dark eyes examined Fidelma without emotion. Then the physician raised his left hand and placed it over his heart, making a short bow.

‘Hibernia? You are welcome in our valley, lady. Gisa has told me of your meeting and journey here.’ His voice was dry, without feeling. ‘She tells me that you were once a pupil of old Ruadán of Bobium?’

‘She tells you correctly,’ Fidelma confirmed. ‘I trust Brother Faro is recovering?’

‘Faro is well enough, my lady,’ answered the physician. ‘Thankfully, the wound is clean and there are no signs of infection. Gisa is a good student. I have also treated the wound with herbs and bound it. Apart from soreness, he has no ill effects. Therefore, he may continue his journey to Bobium tomorrow and make a good recovery. But he must move slowly and easily.’

‘Then that is a good outcome.’ Radoald spoke with satisfaction.

The physician was looking around at the people in the hall, as if seeking someone. ‘I heard that Magister Ado is of your party? I do not see him here.’

Radoald answered: ‘Magister Ado begged to be excused for he says he is tired from the journey. He will take some refreshment in his chamber.’

Suidur the Wise turned his dark eyes back to Fidelma. ‘Have you known him long then?’

Fidelma wondered why Suidur asked her exactly the same question that Radoald had asked.

‘I encountered him in Genua and he told me of Bobium and it was mentioned Brother Ruadán was here. I could not leave your country without seeing my old mentor, especially when I heard he was ailing.’

‘You did not know Magister Ado before you met him in Genua?’ Suidur continued to gaze at her thoughtfully.

She was about to respond when the young noble interrupted hurriedly. ‘Apparently she did not know about the magister nor of Bobium until she met Magister Ado by chance at the seaport. She was on her way back to Hibernia from Rome. You will forgive us, lady, but we are always curious about visitors in our small community.’ A horn was suddenly blown and Radoald appeared relieved. ‘The meal is prepared. Come, sit with us.’

Only Magister Ado was absent from the meal. Sister Gisa with Brother Faro alongside came to take their places. Fidelma was seated between Radoald and Suidur. The conversation veered between questions about Hibernia and information on the Valley of the Trebbia and the Abbey of Bobium. Radoald seemed intent on keeping the topics light, about the different customs of his people to those of Hibernia; about the local food, the wine and other subjects. Fidelma was not sorry when, at long last, she could excuse herself for the night. Radoald ordered one of his servants to conduct her to a guest chamber.

She was led into the main courtyard by the servant holding high an oil lamp. Only one or two people were still about, and they acknowledged her with a look or a few words of greeting as she walked across the cold flagstones. They ascended stairs into a squat building of several storeys high. Her chamber was small, with one window that gave on to a balcony overlooking an inner courtyard lit by the bright light of a waxing moon. The chamber was furnished with a bed and a table with tallow candles in holders, one of which had already been lit. In a corner was another table with a bowl of water to wash in and a linen cloth. There was also a pitcher of fresh water to drink from with a cup. Her escort left and Fidelma yawned with exhaustion and went to the window. The moon cast an eerie twilight over the Trebbia Valley and a chill wind was rustling its way along the valley trees and undergrowth. It was almost with relief that Fidelma climbed on to the bed and closed her eyes.

Fidelma was not asleep. She had not been able to settle at all in spite of her exhaustion. She had started to turn over in her mind the events of the last few days and began to wonder if she had been right in making the decision to accompany Magister Ado and his companions to Bobium. Perhaps she should have remained in the port of Genua, seeking another ship to continue her journey instead of setting off into the alien countryside.

Even when she had been in Rome she had experienced feelings of longing for Cashel, for the rich green plains, the mountains and dense verdant forests of her homeland. Now, she realised, she felt another longing. She felt a sadness when she had parted from the Saxon monk Eadulf who had been her companion and helper in resolving mysteries at theAbbey of Hilda and later in the Lateran Palace in Rome. She wished he was here now. She wanted someone she could trust, in whom to confide her ideas about the incidents that she had witnessed.

Such were the thoughts that filled her mind as she twisted and turned. It was only the prospect of seeing old Brother Ruadán again that convinced her to go on. How much more isolated must Brother Ruadán feel, being so elderly and so far from home? She felt that she owed a duty to her ageing mentor and teacher. She could bring him some cheer of his native land and friends now that he was nearing the end of his life.

As she lay there, she began to hear the distant sound of people whispering. It encroached on her thoughts. She sat up with a frown of annoyance. It was coming from outside, beyond the open window and balcony that overlooked the small courtyard below. The balcony was only shielded from her room by a thick curtain to keep out the swarming insects, especially the little flies that could bite one during the sultry nights and cause illness.

Fidelma swung off the bed and moved to the curtain, pausing to listen. The sounds made no sense at all and she would have been prepared to ignore things altogether, had she not wondered why people should stand whispering in the middle of the night.

Carefully, she eased the curtain aside and stepped on to the balcony. The night was now dark, for clouds had spread across the sky obscuring the moon. She peered down. The courtyard was in shadows, and it was not until her eyesight grew used to the darkness that she could discern a group of five figures. Three of them were tall, one with white hair, while the other two were short. Of the two shorter figures, one wasslight, obviously a woman, and the other, a man, seemed elderly, for he too had white hair, just discernible in the darkness. They were whispering together in a language Fidelma guessed was that of the Longobards. The conversation seemed intense, and as if the man of short stature with white hair was scolding the others. One of the taller men seemed to be protesting.

Well, it was none of her business. She was about to turn back into her chamber and try once more to get some rest before the onward journey when the clouds parted briefly and the bright moon pierced the gloom. It was only for a moment but Fidelma saw the white hair of the tall physician, Suidur. The shorter elderly man and the woman remained in the darkness. She did not see the faces of the others, but their long black robes seemed familiar. Then the woman turned her face so that the moonlight caught it for an instant. Her voice was clear and she suddenly lapsed into Latin.

‘The gold must already be here. That means it will happen soon.’

The short, elderly man snapped something at her.

Fidelma gave a gasp and drew back behind the curtain. Whether it was the sound of her withdrawn breath or just a reaction to the sudden moment of moonlight, there was a pause in the conversation. She waited behind the curtain, unable to breathe for a moment, until she heard the talk resume.

Another voice said something sharply and the conversation continued as before in the Longobard language. She waited until the whispering ceased. The voice she had recognised was that of Sister Gisa. She did not know who the short, elderly man was — but was it just her imagination that they,with Suidur, were in conversation with the same two men who had attacked Magister Ado in Genua? Indeed, the same warriors who had attacked them and wounded Brother Faro as they entered the valley?