Behold a Pale Horse sf-22 Page 4

  Their journey proceeded without further incident for a while; through the beautiful valley, following the track alongside the river. Now and then they would stop to water the horses and the mule or take a drink themselves from the pure river waters, or taste some fruit recommended by Sister Gisa from the bushes or trees. Sister Gisa would check occasionally on Brother Faro’s wound. Albeit only a flesh wound, Fidelma knew that harm inflicted by an arrow could be dangerous. Fortunately, the young girl seemed to know how to handle injuries.

  It turned out that the two warriors accompanying them were not particularly talkative as they spoke only in the harsh accents of the Longobards and knew very little Latin. But the feeling of danger seemed to have evaporated in the bright warm sunshine, amid the comforting sounds of the splashingof the river and the soft bird calls emanating from the lush green surroundings. It was, Fidelma thought, idyllic as they walked their horses along the river bank.

  Just after noon Magister Ado called a halt. The two warriors set about catching some fish, which they were soon lifting with dexterous ease from the river. Sister Gisa went to gather some berries and fruits. A fire was lit over which the fish were cooked and they gathered around to eat and drink on the river bank. It seemed, as Fidelma rested in the sunshine, that they were a million miles from any other human being, least of all from any danger. She felt as if she could just drift — drift off into a relaxing sleep …

  The barking of a dog suddenly caused her to sit upright. A squarely built, wiry-coated animal burst through the trees, paused and looked around. It had an almost comical face, with hairy eyebrows and a moustache that almost hid its powerful jaws. It seemed to glance around and then, tail wagging, it trotted towards Sister Gisa, with a faint friendly yelp. Brother Faro started nervously.

  ‘It is a hunting dog,’ he warned.

  The young girl reached out and patted the animal’s head. It seemed to have a docile temperament.

  The two warriors had risen to their feet with their hands on their sword hilts. The little dog allowed Sister Gisa to stroke its head before it gave a final yelp, a sniff, and trotted off.

  Fidelma seemed to be the only one who realised what made Brother Faro and the warriors nervous about the appearance of the dog.

  ‘Do you think that there is a hunting party nearby?’ she asked Brother Faro.

  Even before he could answer her, the sound of horses andthe cries of men came to their ears. A moment more and the first riders emerged through the trees and halted abruptly as they caught sight of the group. One of the riders led a mule and across its back lay the carcass of a red deer which was, apparently, the fruits of the hunt.

  Then one of Wulfoald’s warriors stepped forward and called out in his own language. Words were quickly exchanged and Fidelma noticed her companions were visibly relaxing. One of the riders, a young man richly attired in embroidered hunting clothes and short cloak, slid from his white stallion. He was handsome, fair-faced with carefully trimmed corn-coloured hair, but cleanshaven. His eyes were a light blue. He came forward with a smile of greeting, his hand held out to Magister Ado.

  ‘You are welcome back from your travels, Magister Ado. It is good to see you back again in our peaceful valley.’

  His Latin was colloquial but spoken with the firmness of one educated and used to command.

  ‘You are kind, Lord Radoald,’ acknowledged the elderly religieux.

  The blue eyes swept over Brother Faro and Sister Gisa.

  ‘Ah, little Sister Gisa … and Brother Faro. You are both more than welcome. And …’ The young man frowned, as he noticed Brother Faro’s bandaged arm and shoulder for the first time. ‘But something is amiss. What has befallen you, my friend?’

  Magister Ado quickly explained and the young lord looked troubled.

  ‘It is rare that bandits haunt this valley,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘They usually lie in wait for rich merchants on the old Salt Road and do not enter the Valley of the Trebbia, for such merchants as they seek are few here and they would have to contend with my warriors.’

  Brother Faro assured him that he suffered no more than a flesh wound and that he would soon be well. Fidelma wondered whether Magister Ado would make any further explanation or mention the attack in Genua but he seemed content to let the matter rest. ‘It was lucky that Wulfoald and his men arrived at the moment the bandits attacked us,’ he said. ‘He gave us these two warriors to escort us to your fortress, my lord, where we would beg hospitality for tonight.’

  ‘Hospitality? Of course.’ The blue eyes alighted on Fidelma. ‘And do we have a newcomer to our valley?’ he asked.

  ‘This is Sister Fidelma of Hibernia.’ Magister Ado performed the introduction. ‘Fidelma, this is Radoald, Lord of Trebbia.’

  ‘Fidelma of Hibernia?’ The young lord gave her a close scrutiny. ‘Indeed, you have the same fiery red hair, fair skin and strange green eyes that I have seen on some of those I have known from Hibernia. Many from your land have come to join the community of the abbey here. Do you mean to stay with us in our little valley?’

  ‘I have come only to visit,’ replied Fidelma.

  ‘Fidelma is a princess from Hibernia,’ Sister Gisa pressed eagerly. ‘Not only that, but she is famous.’

  The young lord turned to Sister Gisa with a smile.

  ‘A princess, and famous, indeed? In what manner famous?’

  ‘Sister Gisa exaggerates,’ Fidelma said hurriedly.

  ‘No, I do not. Sister Fidelma is a lawyer in her own land and was recently praised by the Holy Father and his nomenclator. She solved the mystery of the murder of some foreign archbishop which happened in the Lateran Palace.’

  Radoald’s eyes widened and then he turned back to Fidelma.

  ‘Is this so? Did you accomplish this?’

  Fidelma shrugged, feeling embarrassed by the praise ofthe young girl. ‘I will not deny that I was able to help in that matter.’

  ‘Well, well.’ The young man exchanged a glance with Sister Gisa, who seemed so keen on ensuring that the Lord of Trebbia knew who she was. Fidelma had a feeling that some intimacy passed between them. Then she wondered whether she was being too sensitive. She did not like speaking of her rank or, indeed, her past success as a dálaigh, an advocate of the courts of her own land in which she held the degree of anruth, the second highest degree that the colleges could bestow. The young lord was laughing with good humour. ‘Well, indeed, we have no mysterious deaths here that I could ask your assistance with, lady. But allow me to welcome a Hibernian princess into my poor valley.’

  ‘I am pleased to be here,’ Fidelma replied as diplomacy dictated.

  Radoald swung round to extend his smile of welcome to all of them.

  ‘My roof is your roof for this night, my friends.’ He spread a hand to encircle his hunting party. His companions had already dismounted and were leading their mounts to the edge of the river to slake their thirst. ‘We were hunting for some meat for this evening’s feasting and, having just brought down a red deer, we came here to the riverside so that we might refresh ourselves before returning home. So now you may join us, and my fortress is yours for this night.’

  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 thi
s 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?’