hesitated and shrugged with a smile. ‘Your pardon again. Sometimes I let my fascination for history, especially of this place, carry me away.’
‘May I ask a question?’
They turned to look at Fidelma with interest as she spoke.
‘Proceed,’ invited Abbot Servillius.
‘From what I have been told, your King, Grimoald, is a follower of this Arian Creed. This former King, Perctarit, believes in the Nicene Creed. Am I correct in assuming this?’
‘You are correct,’ agreed Abbot Servillius.
‘Then I am confused. How is it that the Arians, such as Bishop Britmund, would support Perctarit, a Nicenine, should he try to wrest back the throne from which he was deposed? It is not logical.’
Abbot Servillius allowed Radoald to respond.
‘Religion plays no part in this struggle for kingship. What you say is true, except that Grimoald is a very liberal King and allows people to follow their own faith, whether it be one of the Christian sects or, indeed, whether they want to stick with their old gods and goddesses. Perctarit, on the other hand, will promise and do whatever it takes for him to reassert his power … even to permit Britmund to destory all those in his territories who support the Nicene Creed. We hear rumours that Perctarit is negotiating such an aim to secure support.’
Fidelma was sure she saw something in the glance that Wulfoald exchanged with Radoald. Then Wulfoald was speaking. ‘Anyway, if Perctarit crossed into the Valley of the Padus, he would have to march east and deal with Grimoald’s Regent, Lupus of Friuli, who commands a large army there. Perctarit could not leave that army unchallenged behind him if he intended to march south against Grimoald. He would have to bribe or destroy Lupus before unleashing his followers on Grimoald and the abbeys and churches that still follow the Creed of Nicaea.’
Fidelma remained quiet. The politics did seem entirelyconfusing. But it was not her place to intervene in foreign affairs.
Radoald rose abruptly, and they followed suit.
‘Well, we can do no more except watch and hope all our fears are in vain.’ He turned to Fidelma with an apologetic expression. ‘I am sorry that you witnessed this confrontation, lady. I only insisted that you attend in order to draw on your advice from the confrontation you witnessed at the Abbey of Streonshalh.’
Fidelma contrived to shrug. ‘I am only sorry that the positions were so entrenched that my advice would have been superfluous.’
‘Have you seen Brother Ruadán?’ continued the young lord. ‘How is he? I was hoping to speak with him myself but Brother Hnikar says he is too frail.’
‘I saw him last night,’ Fidelma answered truthfully, not mentioning her morning visit. ‘He is, indeed very frail.’
‘But still lucid?’ pressed Radoald, almost eagerly.
‘I find him so,’ countered Fidelma with a frown. ‘But then we spoke in our own language, which may not stress him as much as talking in another tongue. Anyway, I hope to speak with him later.’
‘Brother Hnikar, our physician, expects the worst,’ intervened Brother Wulfila, who had now returned to attend to the needs of the others, catching the last remark.
Radoald shook his head sadly. ‘You must let me know how his condition fares as I would like to speak with him also. A crime was committed and the culprit must be found and punished. Indeed, perhaps I could send my own apothecary Suidur to assist your Brother Hnikar …?’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Abbot Servillius said, almost sharply. ‘We have faith in Brother Hnikar. I suggest we waitfor a while to see if there is an improvement. Brother Hnikar could not even sanction more than one fleeting visit from Sister Fidelma because of Brother Ruadán’s weakening condition.’
‘I did not mean to imply that your apothecary was lacking,’ Radoald replied. ‘Only that two heads are sometimes better than one. I will, however, abide by Brother Hnikar’s ruling.’
‘I do not mean to slight Suidur,’ the abbot said. ‘But from what I hear, Brother Ruadán is beyond the skill of even the best apothecary. All we can do is wait and pray.’
Although she wanted to comment, Fidelma was again silent, feeling that strange alienation from her surroundings, like someone in an unfamiliar bog land who fears that whatever step she might take would be the one that drags her into the mire.
‘We shall stay within the vicinity of Bobium today,’ Radoald replied. ‘If I hear anything definite about the advance of Perctarit, I shall send one of my men to inform you.’
The farewells were taken in the courtyard and Fidelma stood watching Radoald and Wulfoald join their two companions, mount their horses and ride out through the gates. Abbot Servillius had already turned back to his chamber with Magister Ado and Venerable Ionas. Fidelma was surprised to find Brother Faro once again at her side.
‘Well,’ he grinned, ‘I hear that matters almost came to blows in there. You must find all this very curious.’
‘I have grown used to prelates arguing semantics,’ Fidelma replied, after a moment’s reflection. ‘Although, I confess, I have not found the intensity of hatred that I witnessed this morning. I begin to understand why Magister Ado thinks the attacks on him were due to the differences in theological opinion.’
Brother Faro grimaced indifferently. ‘At least you are among friends here,’ he replied. ‘But, if you will excuse me, I have to speak with the steward.’
‘Magister Ado had intended to show me the herb gardens when we were called to witness Bishop Britmund’s display of bad manners.’ Fidelma held him back for a moment. She wanted to take a breath of fresh air after the stuffy atmosphere. ‘He seems to have forgotten. Perhaps you can show me the way to it?’
‘If you proceed through that archway,’ he indicated across the courtyard, ‘and follow the path, it will bring you into the herb garden. One of your compatriots, Brother Lonán, tends the garden and will doubtless be better able to explain about it.’
Fidelma had almost forgotten that, as an Irish foundation, there would be others from the Five Kingdoms, apart from Brother Ruadán, in the abbey. As Brother Faro hurried off in search of Brother Wulfila, she crossed the courtyard with a feeling of relief at the idea of seeing and speaking to some of her countrymen again. She was so filled with the thought that she had entirely forgotten about the disappearance of Lady Gunora and her charge, Prince Romuald.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Brother Lonán turned out to be a disappointment. He was an excitable little man whose sole interest appeared to be in the herbs that he grew in a walled garden at the back of the abbey complex. With careful questioning, Fidelma managed to extract the fact that he had originally studied at Cluain Eidnech, the Ivy Meadow, a territory whose chiefs gave nominal allegiance to the King of Muman but, because of its position on the eastern borders, next to the Kingdom of Laighin, that allegiance often vacillated depending on what gain was offered.
‘How many of the brethren here are from Hibernia?’ she asked as he turned his attention to some shrubs she did not recognise.
‘At the moment there are twelve of our compatriots among the brethren,’ he replied absently. ‘I suppose I have been here the longest now. Of course, all of the original founders have passed on.’
‘Do many of our people pass through here on their way to Rome or elsewhere in the south? I am told that many of our
The question met with a shrug that indicated he was either uninterested or unconcerned. In fact, all of her questions about life at the abbey and personalities were met with similar indifference, while questions about herbs and other plants were greeted with little bursts of enthusiasm, albeit coupled with longwinded responses. Within half an hour, Fidelma had grown bored and decided to end her visit.
It was while she was making up her mind what excuse she could offer to cut the examination of the herb garden short that another member of the brethren passed by and greeted Brother Lonán in his own language. She turned to examine him. He was a young man with thin pale features, light blue eyes and flaming red hair,
