Behold a Pale Horse

entered.

‘I am sorry, lady. I heard that poor Brother Ruadán has passed on. I knew him well during my days here and I am saddened by that loss. He was a great teacher and a scholar, as well as being one of our own. He will be missed among our brethren.’

‘Thank you, Brother Eolann. He was, indeed, a fine teacher,’ she replied gravely.

‘He had a sharp mind.’

‘A sharp mind,’ Fidelma echoed as she seated herself by his desk. ‘Did he ever talk to you about coins? Gold coins?’

Brother Eolann regarded her in silence for a moment. ‘Coins? In what way?’

‘Maybe not coins but missing treasure?’

The scriptor shook his head firmly. ‘I have to say that he did not. Brother Ruadán was interested in many things, as you know, but I never heard him express any inclination to know about coins. Why do you ask?’

‘So he never came here to inquire about such a subject?’ Fidelma ignored his last question by inserting one of her own. ‘He never expressed interest in coins or treasure?’

‘Never.’

‘Could he have come here and found a book on the subject without you knowing?’

Brother Eolann replied with an almost painful smile. ‘There is always that possibility. We try to ensure that anyone who uses the scriptorium is known. Even in such a place as this, we find that not everyone places the same value on books as should be given to them. Sometimes people abuse the books, may they be forgiven. I consider such abuse a crime.’

‘People abuse the books?’ She was distracted by the thought.

‘We had good copies of the histories of Polybius and ofLivinius and I recently found that both these works were damaged.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Some time ago I was checking a reference in Polybius and found that someone had cut some pages out of the book.’

‘It is a sacrilege to treat a book so,’ Fidelma agreed.

‘What is worse, the same thing happened with the history of Livinius — pages cut out with a sharp knife. It took my copyists several days of checking through all our books to ensure that nothing else had been damaged.’

He went to a shelf and took down a book. She noticed that it was entitled Ab Urbae Conditae Libri. It was Livy’s history of Rome from the birth of the city. He turned to a page and pointed.

‘See, this page has been cut out.’

‘I wonder why.’ She glanced at the preceeding one and saw that it was about someone called Marcus entering the Senate in triumphal dress. ‘You say it was recent? What do you intend to do?’

‘I shall report the matter to the abbot. I suspect there is little he can do except preach a sermon to the community and pronounce God’s punishment on those who do not confess this crime.’

‘Can the books be restored?’

‘Only if we find an original copy. I have sent a messenger to the community of the Blessed Fridian at Lucca. They have copies of these books. I hope we can copy or purchase them. It is a stain on my reputation as scriptor that such a thing could happen in my scriptorium.’

‘It is hard to believe that someone could treat books in such a fashion. Perhaps it was someone not of the community?’

‘It had crossed my mind, lady, but who, apart from members of the community, would be able to access such works? Surely it indicates that whoever removed the pages wanted those particular books or those particular pages. If it was just for the sake of any pieces of parchment, why not take them from the nearest books? Look!’ He pointed. ‘Other books were more easy to access than those two, which were placed on different shelves.’

‘Then, if one knew what the passages on the missing pages were, what they related to, it might give a clue as to the interest of the person who cut them out. With such a clue one might be able to track down the culprit.’

Brother Eolann considered this and grew excited at the prospect. ‘You are right, lady. Ah, hopefully, we may secure copies before long. I am already intrigued.’

‘You have no idea of what they might be about?’

‘Alas, I do not.’

‘Well, I am sorry to bother you on the matter of coins. It was of minor interest.’

The abbey bell began to ring to call the brethren to the evening meal, and with a sigh she thanked him and went to join the others in the refectorium. It had been good to have her mind distracted by the problems of the library rather than dwell on the death of Brother Ruadán. But dwell on it, she must. There was a mystery to be solved. A murderer to be caught.

In Fidelma’s culture it was the custom to watch the corpse for a night and a day. She found the custom here slightly different, but it carried the same intent. The body had been watched in the abbey chapel all afternoon and evening. After the evening meal, Fidelma joined the brethren and someof the Sisters in prayers in the chapel, seated before the bier. All the senior clerics were in attendance now, from the abbot to Brother Lonán, the gardener. After a while, Lord Radoald, accompanied by the warrior, Wulfoald, entered the chapel and came straight to her side to sit down.

‘Brother Ruadán was a good man and well respected in this valley,’ whispered the young Lord of Trebbia. ‘I am truly sorry, especially for you, having travelled to this place to see him and then to find him dead.’

‘I saw him …’ Fidelma began, then saw that Brother Hnikar, seated just in front of her, was leaning backwards in an attitude of apparent unconcern, in order to eavesdrop. ‘I saw him when I arrived,’ she said, ‘but his mind was wandering for he made no sense.’

‘Sad, indeed. I presume this means you will shortly start on your journey back to your own land?’

Fidelma frowned, wondering if there was a hidden eagerness in his voice. Was he anxious to get rid of her?

‘I shall commence my journey back to Genua soon.’

‘Then when you are ready, it would be my pleasure to send an escort with you as far as Genua, for we would not like a repeat of the unpleasantness that attended your journey hither.’

‘You may rest assured that I would not like it either,’ Fidelma replied solemnly. ‘I will inform you when I am ready.’

The young Lord of Trebbia rose, with Wulfoald at his side, then went to make his obeisance before the altar and the bier of Brother Ruadán.

In a custom that she was familiar with in her own land, at midnight the corpse of Brother Ruadán was carried on its bier from the chapel and out of the abbey. The necropolis wasnot far away. It was an area on the slope of the hill behind the abbey, surrounded by a small wall and entered by a stone arched gateway.

In front of the bier strode one of the brethren bearing a cross on a pole, flanked by two others bearing brand torches. Behind the bier, which was carried by six brothers, came Abbot Servillius, Venerable Ionas and Magister Ado. After them, came Fidelma side by side with Brother Eolann. Others of the brethren, like Brother Lonán, Brother Faro and Brother Wulfila, followed, along with several women of the sisterhood, including Sister Gisa. Others had joined the torchlit procession outside the gates of the abbey. With them came the Lord Radoald and Wulfoald and some of the local townsfolk. It seemed that Ruadán had been well respected. The column of mourners moved under the archway into the necropolis, progressing slowly up the hill towards a spot where Fidelma could see several other torches burning.

There were an assortment of grave markers on either side which she could just make out in the flickering light of the torches. Yet, at the top of the rise, which marked the back of the necropolis, stood three small houses, though they were not houses that she had ever seen before. It was hard to make them out in the darkness.

As the brethren had entered the necropolis, they had begun a chant in Latin which Fidelma had not heard