Behold a Pale Horse

danger. Be advised, return to Genua as soon as you can. Continue your journey home and forget this place.’

‘And desert you to this evil without help? Come, tell me what this is all about and I will see if I can help you.’

‘There is no help for me,’ the sick man whispered. ‘I shall soon be at rest. I have one thing to ask of you …’

‘Whatever I can do for my old master, I shall do,’ replied Fidelma firmly.

‘When you return home, light a candle in the little chapel on Inis Celtra and pray for the repose of my soul.’

‘You are not dead yet,’ she averred in a strong tone, trying to fight back the tears that were welling in her eyes.

‘By the time you reach Genua, I shall be so,’ he sighed.

There was a sound from the corridor outside, the slap of leather sandals on stone as one of the brethren passed by. Fidelma felt the old hand gain a sudden strength as it caught on her own.

‘You must believe me, Fidelma.’ The voice was a hoarse whisper. ‘For the love I bore your late father, King Failbe Flann, believe me. I fear you will be in danger. They tried to kill me. They have already killed the boy to maintain his silence. They will not think twice about killing you. They know I have seen the gold. They know I suspect them — that is why I shall soon be dead.’

‘The boy?’ Fidelma was suddenly aghast. ‘Do you mean Prince Romuald?’

The old man shook his head with a vehemence of which Fidelma had not thought him capable.

‘No, no, no. I mean the goatherd.’

Fidelma was confused. ‘The goatherd? Who are “they” and why should a goatherd be killed? Tell me what you mean.’

The figure again gave a deep wheezy sigh. ‘I grow tired and weak. I am confused. The less you know, the better. Just leave this place as soon as you can.’

‘Are you saying that you expect to be killed by whoever it is you speak of?’ she insisted.

‘Killed?’ muttered Brother Ruadán in an absent-minded tone. ‘The boy … poor little Wamba. He did not deserve to die because he had the coins. Dead. Ancient gold — I saw it. What evil can be disguised in a mausoleum.’

‘I don’t understand.’

There was another noise in the corridor and this time she heard the voice of Brother Hnikar speaking loudly to someone. It was obvious that it would be better if the apothecary did not find her in the cubiculum of Brother Ruadán. She leaned over her former tutor.

‘I will come back later when there is less likelihood of being interrupted. Then we will talk more of this, Brother Ruadán,’ she whispered in his ear. She placed his hand back by his side and moved silently towards the door, pausing and listening at it without opening it.

The voice of Brother Hnikar had grown faint but she could still hear it not far away. She carefully opened the door a fraction and peered through the crack. There was no one in her range of vision so she opened it wider and glanced out. Some short distance along the passage a door was open and it was from there she could hear the voice of the apothecary. She slid into the corridor and gently closed the door behind her and then moved quickly along to where another corridor branched off at a right angle. Only when she turned into it and was thus obscured from the vision ofBrother Hnikar, if he returned to the main corridor, did she relax a little.

She paused for a moment, frowning. Instead of resolving her original questions, she was now filled with many more and she felt frustrated. A bell started to sound and members of the brethren were now moving about. Two of them passed her, glancing down at her feet with some degree of amusement. It was only then that she noticed that she was still holding her sandals in one hand and that her feet were bare. Embarrassed, she slipped the sandals on before realising that the tolling of the bell announced the first meal of the day. She followed the brethren, knowing they would lead her to the refectorium.

She saw Brother Bladulf, the gatekeeper, coming towards her. He stopped and bowed his head in salutation.

‘I was coming to make sure you knew your way, Sister.’ He turned, guiding her to the hall. She was led to the abbot’s table. It was deserted apart from the Venerable Ionas. She glanced quickly around the refectorium. Sister Gisa was with her fellow Sisters in their corner and Brother Faro was in his place. Of Bishop Britmund and his companion there was no sign. She exchanged a greeting with Venerable Ionas and sat down. The old scholar rose and, in the absence of the abbot, intoned the gratias or grace. Then he sat down and there was a single chime of the bell and the meal began.

‘Is it unusual that so many senior clerics are missing from the first meal of the day?’ she asked.

Venerable Ionas smiled. ‘It is unusual,’ he agreed. ‘A rider has brought word that Lord Radoald is expected soon and Abbot Servillius is making preparations for the meeting. Personally, I do not think there can be any satisfactory outcome.’

Fidelma had heard enough of the problems between the factions and concentrated on her meal. She was leaving the hall when there came the unexpected sound of a trumpet. She had emerged at the top of steps leading to the courtyard just in time to see Brother Wulfila hurrying to the gates of the abbey. As she stood watching, Abbot Servillius with Venerable Ionas beside him appeared on the steps.

Four horsemen entered through the gates and halted in the courtyard. Their leader was immediately recognisable as Radoald, Lord of Trebbia, and behind him, on his pale-grey steed, was the warrior Wulfoald. They all dismounted, and while Lord Radoald and Wulfoald came forward, the others took charge of the horses. The abbot hurried down to greet the newcomers. Fidelma remained at the head of the steps. She observed that Bishop Britmund and his companion had also emerged to greet the Lord of Trebbia and Wulfoald. The abbot was leading the newcomers back and Radoald, catching sight of Fidelma, raised a hand in greeting but passed on without speaking. Wulfoald merely glanced distantly at her. Greetings were being exchanged with Bishop Britmund and Brother Godomar and then they all moved inside.

Fidelma stood uncertainly, wondering what to do next. Brother Faro had been speaking with another of the brethren and, ending his conversation, came towards her. She noticed that he was still wearing his arm in a sling.

‘How is your wound today, Brother?’ Fidelma smiled in greeting.

‘God be praised, Sister, it is much, much better. A little sore but healing exactly as Brother Hnikar foretold.’

‘I am pleased to hear it.’

Magister Ado had appeared and, looking about, came directlytowards them. Immediately, Brother Faro said nervously: ‘If you will both excuse me, I am reminded that I have to meet with-that I have to see someone.’

Fidelma watched him hurrying away with some surprise but Magister Ado came to a halt beside her and gave a soft chuckle.

‘The boy is in love,’ he explained softly.

‘Sister Gisa?’

‘It is obvious,’ affirmed the elderly religieux. ‘While there is no restriction about consorting, Abbot Servillius, as you know, is of the school that favours the segregation of the sexes in the religious life. Poor Gisa and Faro, they try hard to maintain their secret. Thankfully, Abbot Servillius is not so perceptive in that field.’

‘I understand.’

‘It is a good day, Sister Fidelma,’ Magister Ado said, changing the subject and glancing at the bright blue canopy of the sky. ‘I would have suggested that you might like to take the opportunity to see the abbey’s herbarium. We are very proud of our herb garden. It is tended by one of the Hibernian brethren that are still among us — Brother Lonán. Better to be out on a day like this than inside in gloom.’

‘This might not be the best time to absent oneself in the gardens,’ observed Fidelma. ‘However, you used a conditional form. You would have suggested it but for what?’

Magister Ado was amused. ‘You do have a sharp ear. But I think I shall be called to take part in this meeting, which will be a waste of time.’

‘You seem sure of that. I mean, that it will be a waste of time.’