Behold a Pale Horse

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!’

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.’