Behold a Pale Horse

‘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