Behold a Pale Horse

CHAPTER FOUR

It was well after first light when Fidelma joined her companions in the hall of the fortress at the first meal of the day. She had finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep and awoken feeling tired and irritable. There was no sign of Suidur but Radoald was there presiding over the meal and indulging in a friendly exchange with Magister Ado. Sister Gisa was seated by Brother Faro who still had his arm in a sling but looked none the worse for his experience. Fidelma wondered whether she should relate her experience of the night to Magister Ado as, after all, he had been the subject of the attacks. She decided that she should do so only when a suitable opportunity arose, for if Suidur and Sister Gisa were part of some plot against him, he should be told. Then she began to have doubts. What exactly was the plot against him? Who was involved and why? Surely she should find out more before becoming involved … Perhaps Brother Ruadán would be able to enlighten her.

‘It seems that we shall have company for the rest of our journey,’ Sister Gisa whispered to her as they were finishing their meal.

‘Oh?’ Fidelma inquired politely.

‘Two farmers are taking goods to trade at the abbey.’

‘Our local hill farmers often take goods to the abbey,’ Radoald intervened, overhearing. ‘You arrived here at a convenient moment. The merchants are already outside. But, after what happened to your party yesterday, I’ll send two of my own men to accompany you.’

Fidelma’s senses were suddenly alert. How convenient for the would-be assassins to travel with them. She could not get the image of the previous night out of her mind. But then she looked at the young, enthusiastic face of Sister Gisa and wondered how the girl could be involved in a conspiracy to murder.

‘Are you well enough to undertake this journey, Brother Faro?’ she asked. It passed through her mind to use the young religieux as an excuse to delay so that she might find out more about whatever was happening. But the young man nodded vigorously.

‘The wound is healing well. I hardly feel it. And the sooner we get to Bobium, the better.’

‘I have already given orders for your horses to be ready. Alas, other matters need my attention,’ Radoald said, ‘otherwise I would gladly offer you my company on the journey.’

Magister Ado seemed content. ‘We shall be safe from here on. Bobium is not far now, Fidelma. We should be able to reach it before midday.’

Fidelma followed the others out into the courtyard and carefully scrutinised those who were to be their companions for the rest of the journey. There were two men with pack mules, and the two warriors. To her relief, none of them appeared to have any features in common with the erstwhile attackers. The two with the pack mules were small, rotund men, looking as she imagined typical farmers might look. The two warriorswere of average height. She noticed, with interest, that Lord Radoald had provided Sister Gisa with a horse, but she insisted on leading their mule. There was no sign of Suidur when they bade their farewell to the young Lord of Trebbia.

The small caravan set off without fuss. One warrior rode at the head. Magister Ado and Fidelma came next, then Brother Faro and Sister Gisa with their mule. Behind them were the two merchants and their mules. The second warrior brought up the rear.

For a while, Fidelma rode in silence, her eyes watchful on the surrounding countryside.

‘You seem pensive, Sister,’ Magister Ado finally commented after they had ridden in silence for a while.

‘Having been ambushed once, I felt that we should be constantly alert,’ she replied apologetically.

Magister Ado grimaced. ‘So you think those bandits will try again to waylay us?’

‘Why not?’ she asked innocently. She did not explain what she had witnessed in the night.

The elderly religieux shook his head. ‘I do not think we shall be in any danger in Lord Radoald’s territory so near to Bobium.’

‘I bow to your knowledge, Magister Ado,’ she replied. ‘But there is a good saying, however: semper paratus.’

Magister Ado was amused. ‘Always prepared? It seems a good maxim, lady. But by midday, or soon after, you will see the great walls of the Abbey of Bobium and your fears will then be proved unfounded.’

Fidelma inclined her head as though in acquiescence. ‘It is hard to accept that there are those prepared to maim or kill because they disagree with the form of Christian creed another has.’

Fidelma had not meant it to sound so belligerent but Magister Ado only chuckled in good humour.

‘You believe that there is something more to it? Some dark secret that I am not telling you? Wait until you have spoken with Brother Ruadán, and you will see that the disagreement runs deep among our people here. Much blood has been scattered in this argument. From what our young friends tell me,’ he glanced briefly behind to where Sister Gisa and Brother Faro were following, ‘Brother Ruadán has suffered more than I have — suffered for his adherence to the Nicene Creed.’

She did not press the elderly religieux further but rode on in silence. Her anxious eyes wandered constantly over the thickly growing trees that rose up into the mountains on their right. To their left, the turbulent waters of the Trebbia provided a barrier which would have made attack from that quarter difficult. Now and then she glanced back to the plodding farmers behind them.

Then she saw a movement on the hill to their right. It was a man standing on a jutting rock but almost shrouded by the surrounding trees.

‘A man is watching us,’ she whispered urgently, trying not to show she had noticed. ‘To my right by those tall trees on the rock. I can’t see a weapon though.’

Magister Ado looked up quickly, suddenly tense. Then he immediately relaxed — and raised his hand as if to wave it in greeting to the figure high above them.

‘It’s old Aistulf,’ he said to her. ‘Aistulf the Hermit.’

The figure above them had turned abruptly and went scurrying off among the trees. She caught sight of a bent back and white, long hair.

‘He’s not a friendly soul,’ she commented dryly.

Magister Ado chuckled. ‘That is the nature of a hermit.Old Aistulf lives alone in a cave somewhere up in those hills. He came to our valley only a few years ago, at the end of the wars which brought Grimoald to power. He is a friend of our abbot, Abbot Servillius. I have never seen him up close. No one has, except Abbot Servillius and, I think, Sister Gisa. They sometimes go up into the hills and see him. Aistulf wanders these mountains. I know nothing more about him except that he means no harm.’

‘He is elderly,’ Fidelma observed. ‘He needs more than someone keeping check on him now and again. In Hibernia our laws about the care of the elderly are very strict.’

‘Sister Gisa often visits the old man. There is some talk that Aistulf is a member of her family. Gisa was born in this valley.’

Fidelma glanced back towards Sister Gisa. She seemed engrossed with the injured Brother Faro and had obviously not noticed the old man on the hill.

‘Tell me about Tolosa. What is it like?’ she asked, trying to find a subject to speak of rather than not talk at all.

Not for the first time she became aware of a passing look of suspicion in the elderly man’s eyes.

‘Why are you interested?’ he countered.

‘Among my people we have a saying that knowledge comes by asking questions. It is because I have never been to that city that I would know something of it.’

Magister Ado considered for a moment and then said, ‘It is a city in ruins, as Radoald observed, though not as desolate as he believed. The great basilica, the abbey, still stands with its library. However, if it were not for the want of our library, I might never have been persuaded to make the journey.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Our scriptor Brother Eolann heard that the abbey in Tolosa had a copy of the Life of the Blessed Martyr Saturnin, who founded the abbey there. He persuaded me to take a copy of the Life of Columbanus and exchange it for the book on Saturnin. Bobium has one of the greatest libraries in Christendom, and we are justly proud of it. Our wealth is in our books.’

‘Would your enemies know that you had travelled to Tolosa to get this book? Is it as valuable to them as it is to your abbey?’

‘I declare, you are a vexatious young lady, to keep dwelling on this question.’

‘Questions, as I have said, are a path to knowledge.’

‘And sometimes knowledge can be dangerous. Especially when there are people about with evil intent.’

‘Better is knowledge of evil than evil without knowledge,’ countered Fidelma.

Magister Ado began to frown in annoyance, and then, unexpectedly, threw back his head and burst into laughter.

‘Being away from Bobium, I had forgotten the method of argument of my Hibernian brethren. Is this truly the way that you are taught in your land?’

‘By question and answer?’

‘By taking one answer and forming another question from it?’

‘An answer always leads to another question. There is no ultimate answer, for if there was, we would never have progress.’

Magister Ado exhaled with resignation and, somewhat irritably, conceded: ‘It seems all those born in Hibernia are philosophers.’

‘Not all of us,’ Fidelma replied dryly. ‘Though all of us think we are.’

They continued on in silence for a while. Behind them, Brother Faro and Sister Gisa sometimes murmured together while the warriors and the two farmers were generally silent, guiding their pack mules. They passed along the river banks, by the swirling waters, under the shade of the tall trees that lined the track. Once or twice they saw men fishing, who raised a hand in greeting as they passed by.

‘The local folk have the right to fish the river,’ explained Magister Ado. ‘There are many good fish to be caught here, especially loach.’

Apart from the few fishermen, they encountered no one else on the track as it followed the bends and flow of the river.

‘You can now see the top of Mont Pénas behind those trees there!’ Magister Ado exclaimed, pointing. ‘It is the tallest mountain in these parts and Bobium is situated on its lower reaches.’

All the mountains seemed to be far taller than those Fidelma had observed before. As they swung around a bend of the river, and emerged through the trees to a section of open stony land, she could see a large watery confluence which seemed to create a broad headland on the far bank. There were many little rivers apparently rising from the mountains which flowed into the main course of the Trebbia. One such large stream joined the Trebbia from the north-east, and on the resulting right-angled headland rose many small buildings, while further up the hillside was a large complex of structures with a tower, contained within high walls.

‘Bobium!’ The word came from Magister Ado almost as a sigh. He turned to Fidelma and smiled. ‘That is Bobium. This is where your countryman, Colmbanus, came with his disciples to settle.’

Fidelma gazed in appreciation at the surrounding countryside; at the rivers, the tall mountains, the lush green forests. She could see why Columbanus had been enamoured with the spot. There was something reminiscent about the land of Éireann … something, but it was not quite the same.

‘How do we get to the far bank?’ she asked. The waters of the Trebbia that separated them from the abbey were now broad and quite turbulent, rushing over the stony riverbed. Magister Ado merely smiled and pointed ahead of them. She followed his outstretched hand and could make out, not far ahead, a long stone bridge connecting one bank to the other. It was the most curious construction that she had ever seen, since it was built in a series of arches, but the method of construction had resulted in a series of humpbacks.

‘Is it safe?’ she found herself wondering aloud.

Magister Ado chuckled. ‘It is called the Devil’s Bridge,’ he replied. ‘There is a story that Columbanus was trying to construct a stone bridge when the Devil appeared to him. He offered to build the bridge in a single night, but on one condition: that the first living soul to cross the bridge was to be his. Columbanus agreed. The bridge was built by morning, but because of the indiscipline of the imps and goblins that the Devil employed, each section came out in that series of humps you see and not one long level stretch.’

‘And did the Devil claim his soul?’ Fidelma asked sceptically.

‘It is said that Columbanus persuaded a little dog to run across the bridge and thus the Devil had to be satisfied with it rather than take a Christian soul which he had desired.’

Fidelma thought for a moment. ‘The story is hard to believe. In the first place, how could such a saintly man as Colm Bán make a pact with the Devil to achieve such a mundane taskas building a bridge? In the second place, he would not mistreat a poor, innocent animal so callously. And finally, in the third place, why would the Devil take the soul of a dog when the Faith teaches us that only man is possessed of a soul but animals are not?’

Magister Ado was smiling broadly. ‘You are truly of a sceptical and practical mind, Fidelma. I perceive that this must not only be because of your land of origin, but also your training in law? Well, perhaps you will be pleased to know that our scholars tell us that the bridge was first built by the Roman legions when they were conquering this land. So, in spite of local tales, the bridge was here before Columbanus. Therefore, I think it will be safe enough to cross, Devil or no Devil.’

The stone bridge was narrow, scarcely wide enough for two riding abreast, but the party crossed and found themselves on the lower slopes of the mountain which apparently rose in easy stages. Fidelma could no longer see the peak, which seemed to merge with the surrounding hills. The abbey, with its redbrick tiles and soft ochre stucco walls, dominated the area a little way up the hillside. Near it were various buildings, constituting a small township. Around the settlement were arable lands that had been cultivated for agricultural purposes. As they moved up the track closer to the abbey, Fidelma saw that its main buildings were enclosed by high walls from which some of the stuccowork had fallen, revealing blocks of stone. On the walls, near the gates, rose a bell-tower. Someone had observed their approach, and a slow regular chime of the bell sounded, ceasing after the fourth ring. The gates were tall, fitted in the walls, and seemed of a dark wood. She would have guessed they were made of oak. They were swinging open.

The company had reached a point before the gates where the track divided, and here the warriors turned aside after a brief conversation with Magister Ado and a salute of farewell. They moved off towards the township, where the farmers and their pack mules were already heading. Magister Ado led the way up the short incline through the open gates. As they entered, one of the brethren approached with a look of astonishment on his features as he recognised Magister Ado.

‘Magister Ado! Is it truly you?’

‘If not I then it is my shadow,’ replied the elderly religieux, dismounting from his horse. ‘Indeed, Brother Wulfila, I have returned from my journey.’

‘The abbot shall be informed of your safe coming at once.’ His eyes alighted on Brother Faro, then widened in horror. ‘But you are hurt, my-’

‘It is nothing,’ Brother Faro almost snapped at him. Then, aware of his bad manners towards the steward, he dismounted and turned in more conciliatory manner. ‘Forgive me, Brother Wulfila. A slight pain has caused me a distemper. Mea culpa.’

Brother Wulfila dismissed the apology quickly. ‘You must see the apothecary at once.’

‘I can take him there,’ offered Sister Gisa. ‘We have already dressed and bound the wound, but it needs to be checked.’

Brother Wulfila hesitated. ‘You cannot wander the abbey without permission of the abbot. I am told to be strict about the Rule that demands the segregation of the sexes.’ He motioned to the man who had opened the gates for them. ‘Brother Bladulf, take Brother Faro to the apothecary, for he is in need of attention. ’ Then he turned anxiously back to Magister Ado. ‘A fall from his horse?’

Magister Ado shook his head. ‘An arrow from a bandit, I’m afraid.’ Brother Wulfila continued to look worried andwas about to press for more information when Magister Ado presented Fidelma. ‘Sister Fidelma, this is Brother Wulfila, the steward of the abbey. Sister Fidelma’s old mentor is Brother Ruadán and it is to see him that she has come especially to our abbey.’

At once, Brother Wulfila’s features grew solemn. ‘Then I am afraid, Sister Fidelma, that you have arrived only just in time. Poor Brother Ruadán started ailing a week or so ago and now he is not expected to be long in this world. His mind is already wandering.’

‘Yet he still lives?’ she asked anxiously.

‘He was severely beaten and lucky to escape with his life. Age hinders his recovery. Alas, we are told it is merely a matter of time.’

‘Then I would see him at once.’

Brother Wulfila looked scandalised. ‘This is not a conhospitae, Sister. Women are only allowed in here with the abbot’s special dispensation. That is why I could not allow Sister Gisa to accompany Brother Faro to the apothecary. The women’s house is in the township. Women are only allowed within the abbey walls to attend the chapel and share services and to join us in the main evening meal before prayers.’

Magister Ado patted Brother Wulfila on the arm. ‘Then first we must make our presence known to the abbot,’ he insisted gently. ‘It is etiquette. And Fidelma is not just any visitor, she comes from Rome and is the daughter of a king of Hibernia.’

Fidelma had to contain her impatience at the delay in seeing Brother Ruadán because she knew that Magister Ado was correct. It would be bad manners to go against established convention and disrespect the rules of the abbey.

‘I will take you to him,’ the steward said, before turning to Sister Gisa and adding brusquely: ‘There is no need for you to remain.’

For a moment, Sister Gisa looked unwilling to be thus dismissed. Then she said pointedly to Fidelma, ‘I will see you at the evening meal, if not before.’ Then, taking the horse that Radoald had given her, she rode back through the abbey gates. Brother Wulfila had signalled to two more of the brethren who came forward, one to take charge of their horses and pack mule while the other brought a bucket, a ladle and a cloth. Fidelma had almost forgotten the ritual of washing newcomers’ hands and feet on the entering of an abbey for the first time.

Brother Wulfila then led them across the large stoneflagged courtyard towards the main doors. The news of the arrival of Magister Ado, who apparently had distinction in the abbey, had spread rapidly so that many of the brethren had started to spill into the courtyard to greet him. At the top of a short flight of steps which led to the main doors, stood a tall, swarthy man of the same years as Magister Ado. But he was thin with dark hair and eyes. His jowls showed the blue-black of a beard that would need shaving twice daily, had he allowed it to grow. His features were not unpleasant and he wore the symbols that proclaimed him as Abbot. As Magister Ado approached, with Fidelma at his shoulder, the abbot came down the steps. There was an expression on his face which Fidelma could not quite interpret. Then he symbolically embraced the magister.

‘Welcome back, old friend,’ he greeted. ‘I have feared for your safety ever since you set out on your mission on behalf of our scriptorium.’ The abbot spoke in Latin and Fidelma realised that Latin was the language of choice in the abbey. ‘Was your journey blessed with success?’

‘It was, indeed. Our scriptorium now has a copy of the Life of the Blessed Martyr Saturnin.’

The abbot looked quizzically at Fidelma and Magister Ado introduced his companion.

‘Abbot Servillius, this is Fidelma of Hibernia. She has been our travelling companion since Genua.’

‘Fidelma of Hibernia?’ The abbot frowned as if searching his memory. He held out his hand for her to kiss his ring of office as was the custom among the Roman clerics. Fidelma merely took his hand and bowed her head from the neck in accordance with the custom of her own people.

‘She is the daughter of a king of her own land,’ explained Magister Ado.

‘Fidelma?’ mused the abbot. ‘I have heard this name recently … ah! Have you come from Rome?’

‘I have,’ Fidelma affirmed, knowing what was to follow.

‘Ah, I have it now. One of our brethren, coming from Rome, talked of a young religieuse from Hibernia who astonished even the Holy Father by resolving the mystery involving a Saxon archbishop who was murdered in the Lateran Palace itself. Indeed, her name was Fidelma.’

‘She is that very person, Father Abbot,’ affirmed Magister Ado good-naturedly.

Fidelma gave a quick shrug. ‘I played some small part in the resolution of that mystery,’ she admitted.

‘Then you are most welcome here. It is not often we get such distinguished visitors in our lonely valley, although …’ he hesitated and glanced at Magister Ado, ‘although it seems that this week is one for the distinguished and the noble to grace our community. Come.’ The abbot dismissed Brother Wulfila and led them into his study where he indicated that they be seated. It was a small, dark room made darker byoak panels, but there was a small window which cast just enough light for them to see without resorting to lamps.

‘You seem to imply that you have another distinguished visitor under the shelter of your roof, my friend Father Abbot,’ Magister Ado remarked as he sat down.

‘Indeed, we have. Our guest is young Prince Romuald, son of our gracious King Grimoald, who is even now fighting in the south.’

‘Prince Romuald?’ Magister Ado sounded surprised.

As the question needed no response, the abbot turned to Fidelma. ‘And now, Fidelma of Hibernia, you must tell me why you have graced our poor abbey. I presume the obvious answer would be to do with this abbey’s connection with your country?’

It was Magister Ado who answered for Fidelma, speaking quickly before she could. ‘It is Brother Ruadán who brings her hither. He was her mentor and teacher when she was younger and, on hearing that he was in this abbey, she determined to come here and see him before she continued her journey back to Hibernia.’

Abbot Servillius’ pleasant features saddened and he studied Fidelma in sympathy for a moment. ‘A former pupil of dear Brother Ruadán? Then it is God’s will which has guided your footsteps along our valley to this holy place. You have been told of his infirmity? Of course, you must go and see him but, alas, I must warn you that he has deteriorated in recent days.’

‘Can you give any exact details of what happened?’ inquired Fidelma.

‘Very little. He was found outside the gates of the abbey early one morning with a note proclaiming the word “heretic” pinned to him. We know he tried to preach often to thosefollowers of Arius, trying to persuade them to turn from their foolishness. It is thought that he has suffered the consequence of the anger of some of them. Three weeks ago, he returned from Placentia where he had been preaching. He had been assaulted and barely made it safely back. It did not deter him. He left the abbey again to preach in Travo, down the valley. After that he was found outside the abbey gates and grievously hurt. He took to his bed and has not been able to stir from it since. But perhaps the sight of his young friend,’ he motioned towards Fidelma, ‘might revive his spirit. A link with his homeland might act as a tonic, a balm to his soul.’

‘I presume that he is attended by a good physician?’ Fidelma queried.

‘Brother Hnikar is one of the best apothecaries in this valley. He attends him daily. But when the flesh is old and weak …’ The abbot gave a half-shrug, as if to indicate that one could not argue with Fate. ‘I have to point out to you that this is not a mixed community and, therefore, your movements are restricted. It would be best to always have a member of the brethren to guide you.’ He suddenly reached forward and rang a small handbell. Brother Wulfila immediately appeared at the door.

‘This Sister …’ He stopped, shrugged and began again. ‘Take the lady Fidelma of Hibernia to Brother Hnikar. She is to be allowed to see and speak to her compatriot, Brother Ruadán, without restriction.’

The steward hid his obvious surprise by inclining his head to his superior before indicating that Fidelma should precede him through the door.

‘Afterwards, return here and we will discuss accommodation and rules for your stay here,’ the abbot called after her.

The apothecary, to whom she was introduced, was a short, plump man, whose cheeks shone with a childlike pinkness. His eyes were blue to the point of paleness. Fidelma was not sure whether his central baldness was natural or the result of a tonsure. It was surrounded by long silver hair, raggedly cut. He greeted her with a benign expression.

‘You will find poor Brother Ruadán in a sad condition,’ he said, when he was told the purpose of her coming. ‘As you know, the passing of the years can be unkind, and these last days have enfeebled him beyond measure.’

‘His injuries are bad?’

Brother Hnikar’s lips compressed. ‘It is not so much the hurt that was inflicted on him but, at his age, the shock of the violence. I can heal cuts, bruises and wounds, but when the wounds go deep to the mind and soul …’ He shrugged. ‘Be careful what you say to him, for his mind now wanders and he can imagine all manner of things. Come, I will take you to him.’

The room in which Brother Ruadán lay was small but with a large opening that was so placed to let in the sunshine as it descended towards the western mountain ridge. There was little in the room save a cot on which the elderly religieux lay with a straw mattress and a thin woollen blanket. A simple wooden cross was affixed to one wall. A small table with a jug of water and beaker on it and a wooden chest placed for any personal items or clothing made up the rest of the furniture.

Brother Hnikar ushered her inside and whispered, ‘Remember, do not tax the old one. His strength is lessening by the day.’

Fidelma did not reply but moved forward to the bedside.

Brother Ruadán lay as if in complete repose on his back,his hands folded in front of him. His eyes were shut, his breathing somewhat stertorous.

‘Brother Ruadán,’ Fidelma said quietly, resorting to her own language. ‘Can you hear me?’

The regular breathing seemed to hesitate and then the eyelids flickered and opened. The pale eyes stared upwards as if unable to focus on her.

‘Brother Ruadán, can you hear me?’ repeated Fidelma.

‘Who … who speaks?’ gasped the old man in the same language.

‘It is I, Fidelma of Cashel.’

A faint smile seemed to hover on the lips of the old man.

‘Fidelma of Cashel? She is a world away from here.’

Fidelma moved closer and bent over him. ‘Try to focus, Brother Ruadán,’ she said. ‘I am here.’

The eyes seemed to search here and there before they found and focused on her.

‘Remember the days we spent on Inis Celtra?’ went on Fidelma. ‘You once told me that I was your worst pupil, for I asked too many questions about the Faith. You said that I should merely accept it and not question it.’

A look of uncertainty crossed the old man’s features.

‘I knew a princess of Cashel once,’ he muttered. ‘She even questioned God’s omnipotence.’

‘I said, if God was omnipotent and created Adam, then He must have known that Adam would disobey Him.’

‘God was omnipotent but gave man free will,’ responded the old man from memory.

‘But if God was omnipotent, how was Adam’s will stronger than that of his Creator?’ queried Fidelma.

‘God gave Adam his choice.’

‘But in our law, a person who knows of a crime before itis committed and could prevent it and does not, is deemed as an accessory before the fact and therefore judged a principal in the crime.’

The head was almost nodding in agreement, The rheumy eyes widened and a clawlike hand sought Fidelma’s own.

‘Fidelma of Cashel — that was her argument as a young girl. Indeed, she went off to study law under Brehon Morann.’

‘Now I am here — here in Bobium, my old mentor. I was journeying back to Cashel from Rome and, by chance, heard that you were here. How could I pass by without coming to see you?’

‘Fidelma of Cashel?’ The old man gave a long sigh and seemed to sink even deeper back on his pillow. ‘Is it truly you?’

‘It is I. It is Fidelma of Cashel.’

‘Forgive me. I have grown old and my sight grows weaker. I do not think that I have much longer to dwell here.’

‘Nonsense,’ replied Fidelma fiercely. ‘You will outlive us all.’

The old man gave a wheezy smile. ‘You were ever the optimist, Fidelma of Cashel. I thought Brehon Morann would caution you on an adherence to optimism. You have been to Rome?’

‘I have.’

Suddenly a troubled look crossed the old man’s features. His frail hand closed on Fidelma’s arm with an unexpected pressure, and he struggled as if he would raise himself up on his bed.

‘Calm yourself, Ruadán,’ soothed Fidelma anxiously.

‘Take care, Fidelma of Cashel. That which was taken from its watery grave must be returned to it. It is cursed!’

The sick man’s eyes stared into her face with a strange intensity. His features wore an expression of anguish.

‘I do not understand you, Brother Ruadán,’ she replied, trying to pacify him.

Both hands now came up, gripping her arms so tightly that the upper half of his body rose from the bed by the strength of his grip.

‘There is evil in this place, Fidelma of Cashel! Evil! Leave now — leave at once, for you will not be safe. Leave …’

He gave a gasp and fell back exhausted on the bed. Fidelma stared down at him, bemused. She was suddenly aware of Brother Hnikar standing at the door. Now the apothecary hurriedly approached the bed and laid a hand on Brother Ruadán’s forehead.

‘I told you that his strength was lessening. He has exhausted himself and fallen back into sleep. Leave him now. He needs all the rest he can get.’

Fidelma stood hesitantly for a moment and gave a reluctant glance at the old man. The apothecary was gently pushing her to the door.

‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured her. ‘He must rest now. When he is overtired he tends to hallucinate. I will take care of him. Pay no heed to what he says. His mind is disturbed.’

She found herself back in the passage, the door shut firmly behind her. Faintly, from beyond it, she heard the frail voice of Brother Ruadán cry out: ‘Tell her to leave … leave this abbey now! There is much evil here!’