Behold a Pale Horse sf-22 Page 9

  ‘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 caree
r 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, an
d 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.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Fidelma was up, washed and dressed before first light. She left her room silently, pausing to glance up and down the corridor. She hoped that Brother Wulfila had decided, with dawn approaching, that there was no need to keep guard in the corridor outside Lady Gunora’s chamber. There was no sign of anyone. She took her leather-soled sandals from her feet, so that their sound would not alert anyone, shivering for a moment as she felt the cold stone of the flags on her soles. She could hear the faint movements of the abbey stirring to life and moved cautiously forward, still holding her sandals in one hand.