years. He had blue eyes and his hair was white and almost to his shoulders but well-tended. He gave the impression of a man of some strength, and the way he had handled his staff to disarm his attacker showed that he had not only strength but dexterity.
‘An abbot? No, although some address me as Magister Ado as a token of respect for my scholarship and advancing years.’ He glanced quickly around. ‘However, I would advise that we do not tarry here in case our friends return. My destination is not far away. Come, let me offer you some hospitality for your timely assistance against those … er, robbers.’
Fidelma felt that the elderly man had been going to use another word to describe his attackers, but she did not press him. Here was some distraction from the boredom she had been faced with just moments ago. She fell in step with him as they continued across the narrow street and, after her new companion asked a few prompting questions, she explained how she had come to be in Genua.
Magister Ado eventually came to a halt before a door.
‘Here we are,’ he said, raising his staff and knocking on it in a curious pattern which indicated a code. Almost at once, the door was opened by a young man with an anxious look on his dark, handsome features. He was also dressed in religious robes but seemed alert and muscular, as though designed to be a warrior rather than a man of the cloth. His expression became one of dismay as he saw the drying blood on the old man’s forehead.
‘Magister Ado! Are you hurt?’
Again the elderly religieux smiled and shook his head.
‘Nothing serious,’ he replied. ‘But my companion and I will be the better for a cup of wine, Brother Faro.’
The young man looked curiously from Magister Ado to Fidelma. Then he forced a smile.
‘I am sorry for my hesitation. Please enter; come in quickly.’
He held the door wide open and Fidelma noticed that, once they had passed in, he had gone out into the street and glancedup and down as if to ensure that no one had observed their entrance into the house.
Magister Ado waited until the young man closed the door and led them through the stuffy interior to a small courtyard at the centre of the building. The air was still warm here but seemingly cooled by a tinkling small fountain in the centre. A moment later a young woman emerged from another doorway.
‘Ah, Sister Gisa,’ greeted Magister Ado. ‘My companion and I are in need of wine. This is Sister Fidelma of Hibernia.’
The young woman — she was scarcely more than a girl — was examining the elderly religieux with concern.
‘You have blood on your forehead,
‘I am fine. Do not worry.’ He turned to Fidelma. ‘These are good comrades of mine — Sister Gisa and Brother Faro. They tend to fuss over me. Now, Sister Gisa, fetch that wine.’
The girl, with a quick, worried nod of greeting at Fidelma, moved to a side table and took up a flagon and clay beakers. Brother Faro’s anxious expression did not diminish. ‘What happened?’
‘An attempt at robbery, that is all. Thankfully, Sister Fidelma was near since, without her help, things might have been worse.’
‘You mean that they know you are here?’ demanded Brother Faro.
Fidelma noticed that the older man glanced with a frown at his young companion before resuming his pleasant expression. ‘Hurry with that wine, my child. The dust of the street is still in my throat.’
Sister Gisa glanced shyly at Fidelma, as she poured the wine. She was quite attractive, Fidelma noted. Her eyes were dark, matching the colour of her hair which could be seenat the edges of her headdress. The skin of her face was an olive brown, but not tanned by the sun as Fidelma had noticed others were in this southern clime.
‘How did you come to have a hand in this matter, Sister?’ the girl asked. So far, everyone spoke in impeccable Latin and not the local language.
Fidelma gave a half-shrug. ‘I saw two men sneaking up behind Magister Ado and was able to shout a warning to him. That is all.’
Magister Ado was shaking his head. The smile he had resumed had not left his features. It seemed his permanent expression.
‘All? She did more than that, my friends. One of the brutes turned to attack her and she was able to throw the man to the ground. I have seen such a thing done only once before and that was by one of our Hibernian Brothers.’
Brother Faro seemed overcome with gratitude.
‘Then you have saved the life of our master. I thank you, Sister.’
‘I was Brother Faro’s teacher,’ explained Magister Ado. ‘I still am, if youth will listen to age.’
Youth was a relative term, for Fidelma estimated Brother Faro to be in his twenties.
‘One thing I would like to know is why you were attacked?’ Fidelma asked, sipping slowly at the wine. ‘They were obviously more than mere street robbers who were involved in this matter.’
‘Your senses seem very sharp, Sister.’ Magister Ado frowned slightly and she noticed that a note of suspicion rose in his voice.
‘It is my nature. In my country, I am a trained advocate of our laws.’
‘Sister Fidelma?’ Sister Gisa suddenly turned. ‘Have you recently come from Rome?’ Before Fidelma could confirm it, the young sister said excitedly to Magister Ado, ‘It was a week ago, just before we left the abbey to come to meet you, when one of our brethren returned with gossip from Rome. He spoke of a Sister Fidelma from a place called Cashel in Hibernia. She had solved the mystery of the murder of a Saxon bishop which had taken place there. Even the Holy Father praised her. Are you this Fidelma of Hibernia?’ she added, seeking confirmation.
Fidelma made a slight embarrassed grimace. ‘I do not deny it. My father was Failbe Flann, King of Muman, whose capital lies at Cashel in Hibernia. My brother is now the heir apparent to the kingship. But I am merely an advocate, as I have said, and was on a mission to Rome on behalf of the bishops of my country.’
Sister Gisa was almost clapping her hands in delight. ‘Do you know Brother Ruadán of Eenish Keltrah?’
Fidelma took a moment or so before she realised the young girl meant ‘Inis Celtra’. Her eyes widened in amazement. Memories of her childhood studying at the school run by Brother Ruadán came flooding into her mind.
‘Brother Ruadán of Inis Celtra was my tutor before I reached the age of choice. What do you know of him?’
‘Brother Ruadán serves our abbey,’ smiled Sister Gisa. ‘When your name was mentioned by our Brother from Rome, he said he knew you.’
Fidelma tried to hide her surprise. ‘But Brother Ruadán … he must be very aged. Are you saying that he is dwelling in an abbey somewhere nearby here?’
‘Not exactly near here,’ Brother Faro intervened. ‘He
‘But where is he? In what abbey?’
‘He is at the Abbey of Bobium,’ replied Sister Gisa. ‘He spoke of you with great affection, saying that he had once taught the young daughter of his king. He was certain that the Sister Fidelma mentioned at Rome was the same person that he once knew.’
Magister Ado was regarding her with interest. ‘And is this true? Are you the same person who has won such approbation at the Lateran Palace from the Holy Father himself?’
Fidelma was uncomfortable at the fuss and repeated: ‘I am Fidelma of Cashel. Where is this Abbey of Bobium? I should like to see Brother Ruadán again.’
‘It is up in the mountains, Sister. About three days’ ride on a good horse.’ It was Brother Faro who responded.
Fidelma’s face fell a little with disappointment. Three days on horseback and, doubtless, she would need a guide in this unknown terrain. With little prospect of finding an immediate ship for Massilia, she could possibly afford the time, but where could she find a horse and guide? She still had a long journey before her to reach home.
‘Ah, then time and means prohibit my journey to see him,’ she said. ‘I beg your pardon, Magister Ado. I was letting emotion rule my mind. What was I saying?’
Sister Gisa was refilling the clay goblets. ‘You were saying that you did not think the attack on the
