Behold a Pale Horse

CHAPTER FIVE

Brother Wulfila was waiting in the passage to guide her back to the abbot’s chamber. The steward greeted Fidelma with a sombre expression.

‘I heard him cry out,’ he said moodily. ‘Alas, he tends to think his attackers can still do him harm, even here in the abbey. We are doing our best for him. Brother Ruadán is much respected here. It is very sad.’

‘Indeed,’ Fidelma replied quietly.

‘Was he able to recognise you?’

‘He was, but little else.’

The steward was about to say something more but then changed his mind and guided her back to the abbot’s study.

Abbot Servillius and Magister Ado were still engaged in conversation. They had been joined by another man who seemed older than either the abbot or the magister. He was silver-haired, thin but not gaunt, with tanned features that were quite handsome. He carried himself with the erect posture of a younger man. It was only when one looked carefully into his face that one realised he was well beyond his allotted three-score and ten years. They all looked up as she entered.

‘Ah, Sister Fidelma,’ greeted the abbot. ‘Allow me to present the Venerable Ionas, our greatest scholar.’

The Venerable Ionas grimaced with an almost embarrassed expression. However, she was aware of a close scrutiny from his dark, penetrating eyes. ‘Pax tecum, Sister. I am merely one of many scholars in this community. Magister Ado here has as great a claim as my own.’

‘Abbot Ionas has written the praiseworthy work on the life of our founder,’ added Abbot Servillius.

Venerable Ionas seemed to notice that Sister Fidelma was troubled in spite of her best efforts to remain expressionless. ‘You are anxious about something?’ he asked.

‘I have just been to see Brother Ruadán.’ She could only explain the obvious. ‘He was my teacher when I was little.’

‘I did try to prepare you.’ The abbot was slightly defensive.

‘Poor Brother Ruadán will not be with us long, according to Brother Hnikar,’ the Venerable Ionas sighed. ‘How bad was he when you saw him?’

‘Bad enough,’ she replied as she lowered herself into the chair indicated by the abbot.

‘I shall call in on him later,’ Magister Ado said. ‘I would like to see him before it is too late.’

Fidelma felt an annoyance at what appeared to be their casual acceptance of Brother Ruadán’s imminent death. ‘Perhaps we should not consign him to the grave just yet,’ she protested.

‘I am sure that is not our intention,’ the abbot replied hurriedly. ‘But we must face reality.’

‘And the reality is …?’ queried Fidelma.

‘Outside these walls there is a harsh world at the moment,’ replied the abbot. ‘That is why young Prince Romuald is our guest at the moment.’

Magister Ado looked concerned. ‘You were about to tell us the reason for his coming here,’ he said.

‘He was sent here for protection. The rumours that Perctarit has returned from exile, taking advantage of the King’s absence in the south, are growing daily.’ Abbot Servillius glanced at Fidelma and smiled apologetically. ‘Our King Grimoald sent Perctarit into exile and-’

‘I have been told of your change of kingship,’ she interrupted.

‘Grimoald is in the south. Duke Lupus of Friuli has been left as Regent here in the north during his absence. The King’s son, Romuald, was left in the charge of a nurse and the protection of Lupus.’

‘So why is he here?’ pressed Magister Ado.

‘It seemed that the boy’s nurse, Lady Gunora, began to entertain suspicions as to where Lupus’ loyalties really lay. She took the boy and they left Lupus’ fortress in the dead of night to make their journey here, where she knew the brethren would provide Prince Romuald with sanctuary. The boy has a heavy burden on his young shoulders.’

‘I presume that the absence of the King in the south of the country is the reason why Perctarit is rumoured to have returned from exile?’ mused Magister Ado.

‘I would also presume that is so,’ agreed Abbot Servillius.

Magister Ado was frowning. ‘If this is the case, Father Abbot, do you not think there is a danger to the abbey? If the boy is in danger, then surely the abbey is too?’

The Venerable Ionas leaned forward in his chair. His features were serious as he looked towards the abbot. ‘Magister Ado makes a good observation, my old friend. Who knows outside these walls that Prince Romuald is here?’

The abbot took a moment before responding. ‘Apart fromLord Radoald, no one outside the abbey, for he and his escort arrived under cover of darkness only two nights ago. As the Lord of Trebbia is our friend and protector, he had to be informed.’

‘It is a secret that can scarcely be kept,’ Magister Ado pointed out. ‘Have you given any thought to what we should do if Lupus of Friuli makes a descent against the abbey?’

Abbot Servillius shook his head. ‘We are a house of God, not a military fortress,’ he responded. Suddenly realising that Fidelma had been sitting listening with quiet interest to the conversation, he rose to his feet. ‘But where are my manners? I have not afforded our friend, Fidelma of Hibernia, the hospitality that is the custom of our people. I shall instruct Brother Wulfila, our steward, to have a chamber prepared for you in the guest-house and water for washing as is your custom. The guest-house is a separate section of chambers above the apothecary and the cubicula for the sick. Indeed, it is situated on the floor above where you went to visit Brother Ruadán. It overlooks our herbarium, our herb garden of which we are justly proud and where you may wander freely on your own.

‘As you are a special guest, I am making a dispensation of certain of our rules so that you may stay here and not go to the house of the religieuses in the township. The same dispensation I have given to the Lady Gunora, for she must reside close by Prince Romuald. But I must ask you to abide by our rules that segregate the brethren from our guests. Never venture far without permission or the attendance of one of the brethren appointed to guide you. I am sure that you will respect this rule.’

Abbot Servillius reached forward and took up the handbell once again. At its jangle, the door opened and the steward entered. Brother Wulfila listened in silence to the abbot’sinstructions, trying to hide his disapproval. Then the abbot turned to Fidelma.

‘Go, refresh yourself and rest. A bell will be sounded when it is time for the evening meal. Someone will be at the doorway of the guest-house to guide you to the refectorium.’

Fidelma had no choice but to accept her dismissal. She could not help the thought that the concern for her rest, after the journey, was merely an excuse to be rid of her presence during the discussion of the political situation.

She followed Brother Wulfila, who now took her on a different route along the darkened corridors before halting before a door. She could smell what was behind the door even before the steward pointed silently to the sign in Latin. It said: cloaca. She knew it came from the root cluo, ‘I cleanse’, so she could guess the intention of the room that lay beyond even had she been unable to smell it. Her companion felt he did not have to explain further and turned and led her up a flight of stone steps to an upper level where he halted before another door, which he bent to open. Then he stood aside and motioned her in. She stepped inside.

There was a window which looked out on gardens rising up the hillside. There was a chair, a chest and hooks to hang clothing on. A tub for water — but empty — stood in one corner, with cloths of white linen to use as towels.

‘I shall have your baggage sent up immediately and also hot water for your ablutions,’ Brother Wulfila announced. Before she had time to reply, the door gave a soft thud as it closed behind him. She stood for a moment examining her surroundings before sitting on the edge of the cot. Brother Ruadán had cried out that there was evil in this abbey. Certainly, she had begun to feel uncomfortable ever since she had entered this Valley of the Trebbia and witnessed theattempt to kill Magister Ado. Religious tensions were not unknown to her. After all, she had attended the great Council of Streonshalh, at the Abbey of Hilda, when the Angles had decided to reject the concepts of the churches of her own land and opt for the new rules from Rome. But this conflict between the philosophy of Arius and the concepts made into dogma at the First Council of Nicaea seemed to be resulting in bloodshed, not merely argument. There seemed a dark cloud in the valley. But was that the evil that Brother Ruadán had warned her against — or was there something else?

It was some time later, refreshed by her wash and with a change of clothing, that Fidelma heard the tolling of a bell which she presumed announced the evening meal. She waited a few moments and decided to follow some members of the brethren who passed her chamber. They, in turn, joined groups of hurrying silent members down a flight of stairs into the main courtyard. Here she found a group of a dozen Sisters of the Faith moving towards the doors of the main building. She saw Sister Gisa among the group and went to greet her.

‘Have you see Brother Faro?’ was Sister Gisa’s first question. ‘I hope he is resting his wound.’

Fidelma felt sadness at the girl’s obvious feelings for the young man. She knew that the group of ascetics who were trying persuade Rome to issue an edict in favour of celibacy were a vocal minority but growing stronger. They had obviously made an impact with Abbot Servillius. While there was no overall proscription from the Holy Father, it seemed to depend on the individual abbot as to how they viewed the subject. However, Pope Sircius had abandoned his wife and children after he was elected to the throne of Peter in Rome. He tried to insist that priests and other clergy should no longer sleep with their wives. A century before, the sameidea was proposed at the Council of Tours which recommended that a rule be made that priests sleeping in the same bed as their wives could not perform religious services. The proposition was never agreed.

‘Are you and Brother Faro …?’ Fidelma stopped when she saw the blush come to the girl’s cheeks.

‘We are friends,’ Sister Gisa replied, but the blush gave the lie to her statement. ‘This is not a mixed house, like those I have heard of elsewhere. Abbot Servillius favours those who argue for celibacy among the religious. However, both sexes gather for meals in the refectorium and also for services in the chapel.’

They came to a pair of large double doors made of shiny chestnut wood through which the brethren were hurrying. At one side, the steward, Brother Wulfila, appeared to be waiting for Fidelma with a frown of annoyance.

‘I sent someone to your chamber to escort you here,’ he greeted her in a tone of rebuke. ‘You should not wander the abbey without an escort.’ Without waiting for a reply, he requested her to follow him while Sister Gisa disappeared to one side of the hall with the other females, who seemed to share a single table in a corner discreetly sheltered from the brethren. Brother Wulfila led the way through rows of tables and benches. She passed Brother Faro at one table and recognised Brother Hnikar at another. She saw several of the brethren staring at her with varying expressions of surprise or interest. At the far end of the hall, facing these rows was a long table where she recognised Abbot Servillius with Magister Ado seated at his left side and Venerable Ionas on his right. To the left of Magister Ado sat a young boy, perhaps not more than ten or eleven years old, and next to him a woman of matronly appearance.

The abbot rose as Brother Wulfila approached and waved Fidelma forward with a small gesture of his hand.

‘I would introduce you to our special guest. This is Prince Romuald of the Longobards, lady.’ Then he turned to the boy. ‘Highness, I would present Fidelma of Hibernia, who is the daughter of a king of her country.’

The small boy rose and bowed solemnly from his waist. Fidelma found herself hiding a smile at his manner, which seemed so incongruous for his age.

‘I welcome you to this land, lady. My people and my own family have long held your countrymen in high esteem for their knowledge and teaching. Do you intend to remain in this abbey?’

‘I am here to see my old mentor, who has now made this abbey his home. Soon I must depart back to my own land,’ Fidelma replied politely.

The abbot then introduced the woman at the boy’s side as the Lady Gunora, companion to the young prince. The woman smiled shyly and bowed her head in acknowledgement.

The introductions being over, they resumed their seats while Brother Wulfila guided Fidelma to a seat on Venerable Ionas’ right hand before taking the seat next to her. At the sound of a single bell, the abbot stood up and intoned a prayer of thanks. he sat down and another single chime on a bell allowed the occupants of the refectorium to commence the evening meal. Fidelma was surprised as the noise of conversation permeated the great room. During the last weeks in Rome, when she had eaten in the religious refectories, she had noticed that most maintained the custom of consuming the meal in strict silence. In some abbeys, one of the brethren, a recitator, read aloud from the scriptures or the Psalms while the others ate.

She turned as Venerable Ionas had been speaking to her. ‘I am sorry, you were saying?’

‘I was merely asking about Columbanus,’ the scholar said apologetically. ‘I always ask any newcomer from Hibernia in case they have some knowledge which I could add to my work on the life of our founder.’

‘I am afraid I know little. He was from the Kingdom of Laighin and went north to study,’ replied Fidelma. ‘My own kingdom is Muman which is in the south-west of Hibernia.’

‘Hibernia is not one kingdom then?’

‘There are five kingdoms but the fifth kingdom is called Midhe — the Middle Kingdom — and it is there that our High King lives. He has nominal jurisdiction over all the kingdoms. The High King is chosen from one of the main ruling families. These days it is the Uí Néill of the north who dominate the succession.’

Venerable Ionas grimaced. ‘I have heard of this from other of your compatriots. I cannot understand it. But tell me, what little is it that you know of Columbanus?’

‘In our language his name is Colm Bán and it means “white dove”. All I know is that he became Abbot of Beannchar, a famous abbey in the north of Hibernia. It is told that he decided to leave the abbey to journey across the seas in order to set up centres of the Faith among the Franks and Burgundians. That is all. I had no knowledge of this place.’

The Venerable Ionas was nodding slowly, with a faint smile on his lips.

‘Indeed, my daughter,’ he said. ‘He made enemies among the Frankish nobles and there came a time when they ordered Columbanus and all his Hibernian monks to be deported back to their own land. Instead of returning to Hibernia, however, Columbanus came south, crossing the great mountains, andeventually brought his followers to the land of the Longobards. The King at that time, Agilulf, gave Columbanus this land. And here, in Bobium, he set up our community. Soon the religious of many lands joined him. He stuck firm to his old Hibernian ways and even argued with the Holy Father, Gregory the Great, that it was the Hibernians who maintained the true date of the Pascal Festival. He was a great man, a great teacher.’

‘Did you know him?’

‘I came here as a young man three years after he had died,’ replied the old scholar, with a shake of his head. ‘But I knew many who had known him and they helped me with my work on his life. When the time came for me to take a religious name, I chose the Greek form of the Hebrew name Jonah, which also means a dove. And you say that was the meaning of Columbanus’ own name?’

There was a sudden commotion at the doors of the refectorium and they swung open. Heads turned and there came gasps of surprise. One of the brethren came running up the aisle to the table where Abbot Servillius had half-risen, anger on his face. The young red-faced Brother stopped and was gasping for breath.

‘Father Abbot … Father Abbot, I could not stop them …’

‘You forget yourself, Brother Bladulf,’ thundered the abbot. ‘Have you not been gatekeeper long enough to know your proprieties and rules of this abbey? During the evening meal-’

But the young man was glancing over his shoulder. Two men had entered the refectorium and were striding almost arrogantly up the aisle between the now astonished and silent brethren towards the top table. Fidelma examined them with curiosity. There was no doubt that the leading figure was a bishop, his robes and crozier proclaimed it.The man a little behind him was also clad in religious robes, but not of rank.

Abbot Servillius sat back in his chair in shock at the sight of the newcomers.

‘Pax vobiscum,’ said the bishop in greeting, halting before their table with his belligerent gaze sweeping their astonished faces.

Abbot Servillius did not answer the traditional salutation. He simply breathed the name, ‘Britmund.’

There was an uncomfortable silence.

The bishop was short and stocky, florid of feature with greying hair but dark eyebrows, and eyes that seemed like shiny black pebbles. His lips were thin and bloodless, and twisted in a cruel smile. His eyes narrowed as they glanced at Magister Ado at the abbot’s side and moved on to the young boy seated next to him.

‘So it is true.’ He gave a half-bow towards the prince. ‘My greetings and blessings on you, Prince Romuald. Your friends at the fortress of Friuli are missing you.’

A soft breath hissed from the mouth of Lady Gunora, who seemed to draw the boy protectively towards her.

‘His friends are here,’ she said defensively.

Bishop Britmund shook his head with an irritating smile on his features.

‘I fear that is not the case.’ His glance fell on Sister Fidelma. ‘It is interesting to see that this abbey of heretics now accepts females dining at the abbot’s side,’ he sneered. ‘Is it not enough you actually allow them to dine in the same hall as the brethren?’

Abbot Servillius now leaned forward, his voice one of scarcely controlled anger.

‘Sister Fidelma is our guest, a visitor from Hibernia, and daughter of a king of that country.’

‘It is a pity that you do not show respect to all your guests.’ The bishop was sardonic. ‘Brother Godomar and I have spent long days coming to this abbey. Our greeting scarcely merits the conventions of hospitality.’

‘A pity that you did not observe the conventions of entry,’ Abbot Servillius replied, ‘and allow the gatekeeper to escort you to my study where I could have greeted you as custom prescribes. If you prefer to march into this refectorium unannounced with belligerence in your voice, then you will find it takes a while for us to remember our manners.’

‘Why should I wait when I knew this was the hour of your evening meal and when my companion and I are famished?’

‘If it is hospitality that you are requesting, Britmund of Placentia, then we are not heretics enough to deny it to you. You will find space at that table,’ the abbot indicated a table on the right-hand side of the hall. ‘Sit yourselves there and one of the brethren will provide you and your companion with food and drink.’

For a moment Bishop Britmund stood defiantly before the abbot, having expected to be invited to sit at his table by virtue of his rank. But the abbot had still not risen nor given the conventional greeting to a cleric of rank; a matter that intrigued as well as surprised Fidelma. Clearly, no love was lost between the abbot and the bishop.

‘You seek something else, Britmund?’ the abbot inquired mildly. ‘Perhaps you came to ask after the health of Brother Ruadán?’

‘That old fool!’ replied the bishop harshly. ‘Does he still live?’

For a moment, Fidelma could not believe what the bishop had said. She found her hands clenching under the table, a flush coming to her cheeks.

The abbot was speaking before her anger broke out. ‘Deo favente, he lives — no thanks to those whom you stirred up with your fanatical zeal to attack him.’ Abbot Servillius’ voice was studied and calm, but it was clear that there was hatred behind his words.

‘I speak as I find,’ replied the bishop indifferently. ‘The old man provoked the attack himself by preaching those ideas which we find repugnant in Placentia. He should have kept out of our city.’

‘If you find his preaching so repugnant, Britmund, why do you enter here, into this abbey which you call heretical?’

‘I am here, reluctantly, at the invitation of the Lord Radoald.’

There was a collective gasp among the brethren in the hall.

‘An invitation from Lord Radoald of Trebbia?’ asked Magister Ado sharply.

Bishop Britmund smiled thinly at him. ‘I know of no other lord of this valley … yet.’

‘And why would Lord Radoald ask you to come here?’ demanded the abbot.

‘We left him only this morning, having enjoyed his hospitality last night,’ intervened the Magister Ado. ‘He made no mention of such a request to me.’

‘I am not privy to Lord Radoald’s thoughts as to why he should not mention the matter to you, Ado,’ replied Bishop Britmund. ‘Perhaps he is aware of your facility to use all means in your power to attack those of my faith. However, being lord of this valley, he says he desires peace between those of your creed and those of mine. He asked me to come here so that you, Servillius, and I may discuss a common ground under him as mediator. I am told that he should be at the abbey at first light tomorrow to facilitate these discussions.’

‘It would have been better had he informed us of your impending arrival,’ muttered Abbot Servillius, ‘and the subject of your coming.’

A look of triumph seemed to flit across his features as Bishop Britmund regarded the abbot. ‘Perhaps he thought that you might absent yourself from any discussion had you had warning of it?’

Abbot Servillius’ jaw tightened. ‘I would never absent myself from any debate on the true Faith,’ he grunted.

‘Then I and my companion shall expect the hospitality of this abbey for as long as these discussions take.’

Abbot Servillius looked towards Brother Wulfila, seated on the other side of Fidelma, before he answered. ‘Our evening meal is in progress. You are welcome to join us. Afterwards, we may make the necessary arrangements.’

Bishop Britmund bowed ironically towards the abbot, as if he had enjoyed the verbal duel. Then he moved away with Brother Godomar to the empty seats which had been indicated. It was at this moment that Fidelma became aware that Sister Gisa had risen from her place and was trying to attract the attention of the steward. There were some sharp exchanges and she saw the girl press a paper into Brother Wulfila’s hand. The steward examined it and muttered something before rising and going to the abbot’s side. Abbot Servillius glanced at the paper and his face grew grim. There was a further exchange and the steward returned and seemed to instruct Sister Gisa to sit back down in her place.

As the abbot was whispering intently to Magister Ado, Fidelma turned to the Venerable Ionas. ‘Who is this Bishop Britmund?’ She knew she had heard the name before and was trying to recall when.

‘He is an Arian, a follower of Arius, and an enemy to ourabbey,’ answered the old scholar, who was clearly troubled. ‘He is Bishop of Placentia, a town which lies beyond the mouth of the valley by the great River Padus. He and our abbot are almost sworn enemies. Many of our brethren have been attacked when trying to preach in Placentia.’

‘Including Brother Ruadán?’ she asked.

‘Including Brother Ruadán,’ he replied quietly.

Abbot Servillius then turned to Venerable Ionas and spoke swiftly to him. The abbot was looking worried. Having ended his conversation with the Venerable Ionas, he rose and went to have a whispered exchange with Lady Gunora. Next he came to Brother Wulfila, who respectfully rose from his seat. Fidelma could hear their whispers behind her.

‘You will have to find somewhere for the bishop and his companion to stay. Anywhere but in the guest-house.’

‘Not the guest-house?’

‘It would be wise to keep the bishop and his companion as far apart from Lady Gunora and her charge as possible.’

‘Of course, Father Abbot. I will arrange accommodation in the west tower.’ It seemed that the steward was no longer interested in his food because he left the refectorium to fulfil his task. Fidelma had observed that these movements were not lost on the dark eyes of Bishop Britmund, who had followed the abbot with an expression almost of derision on his features. Fidelma leaned towards the Venerable Ionas.

‘Did this Bishop Britmund have a hand in the injuries suffered by Brother Ruadán?’

‘Not personally,’ the elderly scholar assured her. ‘Britmund is a man who preaches with the violence of words against those who hold to the Nicene Creed. He lights a fire in the mind and lets the people do the rest.’

‘The abbot obviously fears he might intend harm to the young prince.’

‘It is possible,’ admitted the Venerable Ionas reluctantly.

‘But the boy is the son of his own king!’ She found the idea incredible.

‘There is rumour that Bishop Britmund is a supporter of Perctarit, the enemy of Grimoald.’

‘Then you believe he is here for a purpose other than discussing matters of Faith?’

The scholar smiled sadly. ‘That is exactly what I do believe. I think he came here to learn if the prince had truly been given sanctuary here.’

‘The logic would be that Lord Radoald has some hand in this.’ Fidelma was recalling the exchange she had witnessed during the night at Radoald’s fortress. ‘It is strange that the abbot was not informed of this meeting to which Bishop Britmund has been summoned.’

Venerable Ionas nodded. ‘We should have been. It seems that Lord Radoald had written him a note which was entrusted to Sister Gisa to deliver. She neglected to do so — until Britmund’s arrival reminded her. Doubtless, she will be reprimanded. But Radoald is trustworthy. His family have always been strong supporters of Grimoald and this abbey. Radoald has only been Lord of Trebbia for a few years. He went off to fight with his father, Lord Billo, in Grimoald’s wars. The father did not return and thus Radoald became Lord. Billo was a great loss. He was a very cultured man, well read and with a good musical ability. However, Lord Radoald aspires to rule the valley as his father would have done.’

Fidelma reflected for a moment and then said, ‘The bishop was curiously satisfied to see Magister Ado in the abbey.’

‘Magister Ado is no friend of his,’ replied Venerable Ionas.‘Therefore, like others in this abbey, we have to be careful of this wolf in bishop’s clothing.’

Abbot Servillius overheard the last part of the conversation and now entered it with a serious smile. ‘There are many things that I would not put past Britmund. He is a fanatic. However, it is his words that beget violence — he would not use physical violence himself. At least we are warned and shall keep a close watch on our unwelcome guests.’

Fidelma glanced across to where Bishop Britmund and his companion were eating with apparent unconcern at the furore they had created. There being nothing else to do, Fidelma continued to finish her meal and, as it came to an end, Brother Wulfila reappeared. He approached the abbot and she could hear him say softly, ‘It has all been arranged, Father Abbot. A chamber has been prepared for the bishop while his companion may sleep in the main dormitory.’

‘And …?’ prompted the abbot, glancing up at him.

‘I have ensured that the bishop and his companion are placed far away from Lady Gunora and the prince. Brother Bladulf and I will take it in turns to be outside their chamber during the night and keep watch.’

‘That is good. A blessing on you,’ muttered the abbot.

Fidelma watched Brother Wulfila hurry away. Venerable Ionas saw the frown on her face. ‘Brother Wulfila is a good man, even though he has been with us but a short time. He is a former military man who still thinks in such terms, but perhaps that is what is needed in being steward of an abbey.’

‘It seems dramatic,’ replied Fidelma.

‘You are a stranger here, lady,’ Venerable Ionas pointed out. ‘Abbot Servillius is answerable for the boy’s safety to his father, the King.’

‘You take this threat that seriously?’ she pressed.

‘We must be prepared,’ the old scholar answered.

Without further ado, the abbot rose and raised his hand. A silence fell among the brethren. Then Abbot Servillius intoned the words of the dismissal and the meal ended with two chimes on the bell.

Fidelma was expected to accompany the brethren to the chapel for the last service of the day. She hesitated at first, wondering whether it might not be the ideal moment to seize the opportunity to speak again to Brother Ruadán without the presence of Brother Hnikar. She was curious to find out what he had meant by his warning of evil and his insistence that she leave the abbey at once. But then she realised that her absence would be immediately noticed and commented on. In fact, Sister Gisa made a point of joining her so that she could accompany her to the section of the chapel set aside for the Sisters of the community. The girl was obviously upset at her lapse of memory.

‘I had the note in my marsupium,’ she confided in Fidelma. ‘I meant to hand it over straight way, but Brother Wulfila annoyed me by dismissing me at the gates and I forgot all about the note until this evening.’

Fidelma distracted her by seeking information about the chapel. Once settled in the building, Fidelma realised that Lady Gunora and her charge were not in attendance. She caught sight of Bishop Britmund also peering around as if trying to identify them.

Fidelma found the rituals curious in that she had expected the famous abbey to manifest some of the rules and practices with which she was familiar. After all, Columbanus had established the abbey and she had presumed he had done so on the rules he had brought from the Five Kingdoms. Then she recalled that he seemed to favour the Penitentials. Anyresemblances to the rules and laws of her own land were no longer recognisable. She also remembered that Magister Ado had told her that the abbey had adopted the Rule of Benedict.

She noticed other differences too, such as the abbot conducting the service from the front of the altar and not from behind it, and the language of the liturgy being the Latin of the day and not the original Greek of the Gospels. After the service, she found out from Sister Gisa that many years ago, Pope Theodore had recognised the abbots of Bobium as bishops, and made them powerful among the church leaders. It was no wonder that Abbot Servillius scorned the anger of Bishop Britmund. When the abbot came to conduct the service, Fidelma saw that he wore a mitre, a ceremonial headdress named from the Greek word, which was not used in the churches of Hibernia. Abbots and bishops wore crowns instead of mitres, although they did carry a pastoral stick known as the cambutta.

In most churches and abbeys of her land, the Mass was not a daily occurrence but usually conducted only on a Sunday, and then at daybreak rather than at any other time. It was as she was considering these matters that Fidelma realised that she truly felt what she was — a stranger in a strange land. She had a sense of not belonging which she had never felt with such depth before, even when she was in the kingdom of the Angles or during the time she had spent in Rome. She knew that it was logical to feel homesick, yet there was something else that made her mood black and created a longing to be elsewhere.

She realised, suddenly and with some surprise, that she was missing the companionship of Brother Eadulf. She felt uncomfortable, for she did not want to admit that she missed the company of the Saxon monk, his sense of humour andthe pertinence of his comments. She smiled as she acknowledged that he would protest that he was an Angle, not a Saxon, coming from the land of the South Folk at Seaxmund’s Ham. To her eyes, whether people were Angle or Saxon, they were both Saxon, both Sasanach. To Eadulf there was always a difference and he pointed out that the various kingdoms carved out on the island of Britain were divided by such differences, and Angle and Saxon were often at war with one another.

Fidelma found herself sighing, unable to shake the curious feeling of isolation. She was roused from her reverie on hearing the abbot intoning the words: ‘Ite, missa est’ which announced the end of the service.

As she was leaving the chapel with Sister Gisa, they passed Bishop Britmund and his companion, Brother Godomar. The bishop’s black pebble eyes seemed to fasten on them. Then she realised that the man’s gaze was fixed on her companion rather than herself. Fidelma felt Sister Gisa shiver slightly at her side. She said quickly: ‘You will forgive me, Sister Fidelma. I have duties to fulfil. I will bid you a good night.’ So saying, she turned and hurried off across the courtyard and out of the abbey gates. Puzzled, Fidelma turned back and saw that the bishop and his companion had waylaid the Venerable Ionas and their voices were tinged with barely controlled anger. She presumed it was a continuance of the argument of their different theologies.

Now she began to realise that ever since she had reached the abbey, there had been this underlying sense of evil; a menacing atmosphere which she could not analyse exactly. She had never known that brooding feeling before, even though she had come across evil many times in her career as a dálaigh, an advocate in the courts of the Five Kingdoms.Since she had qualified to the level of anruth, one degree below the second highest that the secular and ecclesiastical colleges of Ireland could bestow, she had come across bizarre murders and crimes which she had been able to resolve, sometimes under threat of her own life. It had taken her eight years of study at the school of the Brehon Morann at Tara and she had never felt happier than when faced with a mystery to resolve. But now — now she was unsure what the mystery was. It seemed to simply be the threat of violence between two sects who could not agree whether God existed as one entity or as three.

If she was honest, she was not passionate about the matter; not even passionate about religion. For Fidelma, her passion was law and the principles of justice. Why, then, had she become a religieuse? She might have been the daughter of Failbe Flann, the King of Muman, but her father had died when she was hardly more than a baby, and the kingship had passed to her cousin. Kingship in her land was just as much an electoral system as it was hereditary from the bloodline of the last legal King. That was why her brother, Colgú, was the heir apparent to the kingship and not King. It meant that she had determined to make her own way, using her gifts in law, rather than beg some office from her cousin.

It had been an elderly cousin, Laisran, Abbot of Darú, who had suggested that she join the Abbey of Cill Dara — the Abbey of the Blessed Brigit — as many professionals often did. They had need of someone with legal qualifications. She did so, with almost immediate regret, and soon after left the abbey to accept commissions to represent the prelates of the Five Kingdoms who sought the use of her talents. The last commission had entailed a pilgrimage to Rome to present an abbey Rule for the Holy Father’s approval. And thus she had foundherself here in Bobium. The only positive development in her journeying had been to attend the Council at Streonshalh, among the Angles, where a debate had taken place between those who favoured the Rule of Rome and those who wanted to maintain the Rule of Colm Cille. That was when she had first met Eadulf.

She compressed her lips for a moment, wondering why she kept thinking about Eadulf. He believed in the Rule of Rome. Not that it bothered her, but it was not what she had been raised to believe. She was confused. She did not really care either way. There were those who believed in one God, Who begat the Son and the Holy Spirit, and those who believed that God was Three in One. Surely, there was no need to kill one another over that?

She suddenly shivered. The hour was growing late and she had been sitting on a stone bench in the courtyard, absorbed in her reflections. She glanced around almost with guilt. A few torches had been lit to illuminate the courtyard but there was no one about. She realised that she had been interrupted in her intention to see Brother Ruadán. Now she tried to remember the way to his sick-chamber, but found that she only knew the way to it from her own chamber.

She went swiftly along the passages and stairs that led to her quarters in the guest-hostel, paused before her door, then took a deep breath and moved on. She was halfway down the dark stone passageway when a door opened right beside her. There was no hiding as the light shone out into the gloom of the passage, directly on to her.

Almost at once, a voice called from further along the passage: ‘Who is it? Is aught amiss?’

She recognised Brother Wulfila, as the steward came hurrying forward, holding a lamp in his hand. She had forgottenthat he had said that he and the gatekeeper would stand watch outside Lady Gunora’s chamber.

‘It is all right,’ Lady Gunora’s voice echoed across her shoulder. Fidelma glanced up. The Lady Gunora was standing in the doorway. The steward had turned and gone back to his position at the end of the passage. Fidelma almost sighed with relief, for had she passed to the end of the corridor it would have been difficult for her to explain herself to Brother Wulfila.

‘Sister Fidelma — or should I say Lady Fidelma? I would speak with you.’

Fidelma inclined her head to the Longobard noblewoman. ‘I have no preference other than Fidelma,’ she smiled.

The woman glanced up and down the corridor and then said, ‘Come in for a moment in case we disturb Brother Wulfila again. The abbot recommends him highly. He was a warrior in the war against Perctarit, so takes his job as a guard seriously.’

Fidelma had no option but to step inside the chamber. Young Prince Romuald lay on a bed in a corner, fast asleep. Another bed, presumably for the use of Lady Gunora, stood in the other corner but it showed no sign of having been disturbed.

‘How may I help you, lady?’ asked Fidelma, keeping her voice low.

Lady Gunora paused for a moment as if trying to think of the correct way of expressing her thoughts. ‘I just wanted to warn you, Fidelma. You are the daughter of a king and we of noble blood have a duty to one another.’

Fidelma stared at her in surprise. ‘To warn me?’ she repeated.

‘You do not belong here, lady. It is best that you leave this valley as soon as possible.’

‘I do not understand. As for belonging, my countrymen established this abbey. My good friend and mentor, Brother Ruadán, is the reason that I came here in the first place. He is old and, I am told, is not much longer for this world. I intend to leave in my own time.’

Lady Gunora clasped her hands in front of her and looked sad. ‘I meant no insult. But I fear the coming storm, lady, which might sweep all things from its path — this abbey, this valley … everything.’

‘I still don’t understand.’

‘These years have seen much bloodshed across these mountains and valleys. His father,’ she nodded to the sleeping Romuald, ‘is not a bad king, but he had to fight his way to power at the cost of much blood. Even at this moment he is in the south of this land keeping our enemies there at bay. Now we hear that the former joint king Perctarit has recrossed the great mountains from Frankia and is coming to seek vengeance.’

‘I have heard these stories from Magister Ado and others,’ Fidelma confirmed.

Lady Gunora gave a brief smile. ‘Magister Ado? Many good things are said of him. But do not trust anyone. Not the abbot, nor Ado, nor Ionas. There is evil here, lady. That is what I wanted to warn you of and to entreat you to leave at once.’

Fidelma was quiet for a moment or so. What the woman was saying was more or less what poor old Brother Ruadán had said. Now she was really intrigued.

‘Do you know Brother Ruadán?’ she asked suddenly.

Lady Gunora nodded quickly. ‘Most people from here to Placentia know of him, for in spite of his age, he has travelled many a road bringing the true Faith.’

‘So you are no follower of Arius?’

‘You know of this conflict?’ Once again she looked to the sleeping boy. ‘His father, Grimoald, believes in the teachings of Arius of Alexandria. But he married a woman who upholds the Creed of Nicaea and the authority of the Holy Father in Rome. Grimoald rules with a liberal hand. So far as his rule is concerned, it is left to individuals to follow the Faith in whatever way they wish. But it will be better if the boy does not fall into the hands of Perctarit.’

‘And you think that if the followers of Arius get hold of the boy, they will betray him to this Perctarit? That sounds illogical, if his father is of their faith.’

‘I know it, lady. Religion has nothing to do with it. Power is everything. Britmund and his lackey Godomar would do anything in the hope they can persuade Perctarit to grant favours. Grimoald has already made clear he will not support one side over another in this theological argument. Beware of Bishop Britmund, lady. He is an ambitious man.’

‘Yet he is a man of the Faith, sworn to follow the path of Christ, which is peace.’

Lady Gunora uttered an ugly laugh that surprised Fidelma.

‘Peace? I often wonder why we have cast out the old gods and goddesses. Did not the Christ say, according to the words of Matthew, “I am not come to send peace on earth; I come not to send peace but a sword … to set man at variance with his father and daughter against mother, and daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. He that loves his father and mother more than me is not worthy of me, and he that loves his son and daughter more than me is not worthy of me.” Peace? Are those the words of a peace-maker? Are those the words that men such as Britmund roar to entice people to take arms against one another?’

Fidelma hesitated; she was astonished by the words and, not having heard them before, decided she must look up this text.

‘Do you not feel safe here?’ she asked.

‘I am afraid for the Prince. He is the responsibility that his mother gave to me before she left to join Grimoald in the south. I fear for his safety, just as I fear there is a storm of blood approaching. I just wanted to warn you, Fidelma of Hibernia, to leave this place as soon as you can.’

Fidelma found herself outside the door in a black mood. It seemed everyone was warning her. But she had a purpose to fulfil and, perhaps, that would provide her with the answer to it. She looked along the corridor. Sitting on a stool at the end of it, with the fluttering lamp at his feet, sat Brother Wulfila. His hands were folded across his stomach and he seemed to be nodding sleepily. Even if he were sound asleep, there was no way of getting past him without disturbance. She stood for a moment, her lips compressed in annoyance. Well, there was no question of pursuing her intention. She would wait until the morning and hope that Brother Wulfila would leave his sentinel’s post early.