area. As they approached, one of Radoald’s men placed a hunting horn to his lips and let forth a series of blasts. Fidelma saw several warriors patrolling the walls and realised that their approach had already been observed.
She could not help but ask quietly: ‘For a peaceful valley, your warriors seem well prepared?’
Radoald actually grinned. ‘
They entered an inner courtyard where servants camehurrying forward to take their horses and Sister Gisa’s mule to the stables, to remove the carcass of the deer and presumably transport it to the kitchens.
As Radoald dismounted he called to Sister Gisa, ‘Take Brother Faro to Suidur’s apothecary so that he may be looked after.’ It was obvious that she knew the fortress for she took her companion by the arm and assisted him across the stoneflagged courtyard.
Radoald himself conducted Magister Ado and Fidelma to what appeared to be the main building, and led them into a great hall. There were fires alight at both ends of the hall while tapestries hung the full length of the high walls. Several men and women rose respectfully as he entered. An elderly man, who proved to be Radoald’s steward, came forward and bowed. The young lord shot a series of instructions at him before turning to them with a smile.
‘I have asked for rooms to be made ready for all of you. Baths will be prepared and this evening you will feast and rest with us. And tomorrow you will journey on to Bobium in comfort.’ He turned to the rest of the company and said, ‘Magister Ado has come back to join us and this is Fidelma of Hibernia, a princess of her country, who travels to Bobium.’
The names of his family and his entourage passed over Fidelma’s head. Several of them spoke colloquial Latin but it seemed the main language was the more guttural tongue of the Longobards. As she was passed from one group to another with polite meaningless words, she was suddenly confronted by an ornate, carved wood chair on a dais. She presumed it was Radoald’s chair of office. But it was not that which struck her. Above the chair hung a shield. It had a black background with what appeared to be a flaming sword and a laurel wreath painted on it.
A hand jerked on her sleeve and a high-pitched voice asked, ‘Do you eat human flesh?’
Shocked, she turned to look down into the ancient face of a woman, bent over, with grey hair and leaning on a stick.
‘I do not,’ she replied, wondering if she was about to be offered some horrendous dish of the valley.
‘But you must,’ the old woman insisted sharply. ‘People from Hibernia are cannibals. I have read the Blessed Jerome and was he not of the Faith? In
‘I have never heard that Jerome was ever in Hibernia,’ Fidelma replied, trying not to let her temper rise. ‘So no credence can be given to such a ridiculous, malicious and false statement.’
‘But he wrote it.’
‘People write many things and they are not all true.’
‘But he wrote it,’ the old woman repeated as if it were a mantra.
Radoald appeared at her side and took Fidelma’s arm. He spoke to the old woman roughly in the local language and then guided Fidelma away. ‘Let me show you some of the treasures of my fortress,’ he smiled. Out of earshot of the old woman, he added, ‘She was my mother’s nurse. I keep her here as a retainer, for there is nowhere else for her to go.’
Fidelma was about to open her mouth when he shook his head and placed a finger against his lips. ‘She reads to occupy her time. Sadly, she believes that if something is written then it must be true. There is no reasoning with her on this matter.’
‘Then she must have difficulties when she comes across two accounts that are opposed.’ Fidelma smiled thinly.
‘An interesting proposition. Sadly, it seems that eventuality has not yet presented itself.’
‘I was looking at your chair when she spoke to me. Is it your chair of office?’
Radoald nodded assent.
‘I noticed the design on the shield above it. Is that your crest?’
‘It is one which serves many of the Longobard nobles, for it is the insignia of the Archangel Michael who has become our patron. It is said that he appeared to our armies at Sipontum three years ago when we drove back the armies of the Byzantines. It is Michael’s name which is now our war cry, for he is captain of battle and defender of Heaven.’
‘So any one of your people would bear that crest?’
‘Only the warriors of our King Grimoald,’ confirmed the young noble. ‘Indeed, my sword arm is at the disposal of Grimoald. Why do you ask?’
‘Tell me something of this Grimoald,’ invited Fidelma, ignoring the question. ‘When did he become your King?’
‘After he seized the throne from King Godepert and married his sister, Theodota. That was four years ago.’
‘I thought you said he succeeded Perctarit …?’
‘Ah, you have a sharp memory. Perctarit was a joint king with his brother, Godepert. But the two brothers were at war with each other. Both were as bad as one another. Grimoald was then Duke of Benevento. He assassinated Godepert and eventually drove Perctarit into exile. It is Grimoald who hails Michael as the warrior- protector of our nation. We need that protection for we have many enemies. Even now Grimoald is campaigning against the Byzantines in the south. In his absence, Lupus the Wolf, the Duke of Friuli, is Regent. Friuli is a city far to the east of here.’
‘You seem to live in turbulent times,’ Fidelma observed.
‘It is the nature of my people,’ Radoald replied grimly. ‘Centuries ago we were forced from our homelands far to the north and, each time we tried to settle, we were driven further south and west by those who came behind us. We had to carve new territories, new homelands with the help of our swords.’
‘And yet you also fight each other over matters of kingship?’ Her comment was posed as a question.
‘Strength must be the catchword of a ruler.’
‘Have you no laws of succession? Laws by which your judges can challenge an unjust ruler?’
Radoald stared at her in surprise for a moment and then he smiled, shaking his head in amusement.
‘Do not tell me that in your land there are such laws?’
‘A king must obey the law as willingly as a cowherd,’ pointed out Fidelma.
‘We believe a king is the lawgiver. We obey
Radoald then took Fidelma on a tour of his fortress and, she had to confess, she was surprised at the wealth of tapestries and paintings, which she learned were from Byzantium. There were statuettes from Ancient Rome and many other decorative items. Radoald took a pride as he showed her these treasures. It seemed to her that the young man was going out of his way to impress her that he was a man of refinement and appreciative of the arts. Indeed, after a little while, he said, ‘When our people, the Longobards, came into this land about a hundred years ago, we were pagans, not having heard the word of Christ. All we knew was conquest and how to govern by the sword. Thankfully, times change.’
The conversation was suddenly interrupted by the entranceof a tall man of striking appearance. His age was almost impossible to discern, since although his hair was snow-white, his features seemed young. His eyes were dark, almost without pupils; his lips thin and unusually red; his nose prominent and thin. From neck to feet he was clad in robes of black, the sleeves wide and loose so that they hid his hands. There was no jewellery as relief to the blackness of his dress.
‘Suidur, this is Fidelma of Hibernia, not only of the Sisterhood but a princess of that land,’ introduced Radoald. ‘This is Suidur, my physician.’
The dark eyes examined Fidelma without emotion. Then the physician raised his left hand and placed it over his heart, making a short bow.
‘Hibernia? You are welcome in our valley, lady. Gisa has told me of your meeting and journey here.’ His voice was dry, without feeling. ‘She tells me that you were once a pupil of old Ruadán of Bobium?’
‘She tells you correctly,’ Fidelma confirmed. ‘I trust Brother Faro is recovering?’
‘Faro is well enough, my lady,’ answered the physician. ‘Thankfully, the wound is clean and there are no signs
