Behold a Pale Horse

‘Now.’ Brother Eolann settled himself back on his stool. ‘We would still need an excuse to go up into the mountains and Abbot Servillius’ permission to leave the abbey.’ He contemplated the matter for a few moments. Then a broad smile spread across his features. ‘An excuse is more easy than at first I thought.’

‘How so?’ asked Fidelma.

‘You may tell the abbot that you have been told of the sanctuary which Colm Bán built on top of this mountain. You express a desire to visit it so that you can tell the people at home all about it. You may say that I have offered to guide you there. On our way up the mountain, we shall pass by Hawisa’s cabin.’

Fidelma went to the window behind Brother Eolann and peered up the steep slopes of the mountain. ‘Is it high?’ she asked.

‘It is, but not a difficult climb.’

‘And what is this sanctuary?’

‘Well, it was originally a pagan temple built by the Gauls, a people called the Boii, who once dwelled in this area. Colm Bán had promised the Longobard, Queen Theodolinda, that he would build a sanctuary dedicated to Our Lady where she would be venerated for all the ages to come. So when he settled here and began to build the abbey, he took some of his followers to the top of the mountain — Mount Pénas, it is called — and they reconsecrated the temple on the top into a chapel of the Faith and dedicated it to Mary the Mother of Christ.’

‘Who was this Queen Theodolinda?’

‘She was wife to Agilulfo who gave Colm Bán this land to build his abbey on.’

‘The sanctuary would certainly be worth seeing for its own sake. An excellent excuse to ask for permission to leave the abbey to see it. How long would we need to be away?’

Brother Eolann glanced at the position of the sun through the window. ‘If it were just to see Hawisa, we could reach her cabin and be back within the day. But to go on to the sanctuary, we would have to stay overnight on the mountain. If we left immediately we could be back by tomorrow afternoon. If the abbot gives permission, we have a reasonable excuse for being away overnight.’

‘I shall speak with Abbot Servillius immediately. If I get his blessing, can we set off straight away?’

Brother Eolann seemed amused at her eagerness. ‘If there are no objections from the abbot. Stout shoes are necessary, for there are some places where the ascent is steep and rocky. A bag and a blanket are also advisable, for it can be cold on the summit.’

‘But we will definitely have time to speak with Hawisa and get to the sanctuary?’

‘Of course. I have climbed the mountain before.’

Abbot Servillius looked up from his desk in mild surprise when Fidelma had told him her intention.

‘I did tell you that I wanted to see one or two places in this vicinity associated with Colm Bán that I might take news of this abbey back to the land of his birth,’ she reminded him. ‘Having come all this way, I could not return to Hibernia without seeing this sanctuary.’

The abbot was less than enthusiastic. ‘Of course, I understand that you would want to see the sites connected with our blessed founder, your illustrious countryman,’ he said. ‘But this might not be the best of times to wander the mountains.’

‘But I have no other time, Father Abbot.’ She gave an impression of a tearful pout. ‘I shall be leaving soon, and not to have seen this little sanctuary that Brother Eolann told me so much about … that would be shameful. Perhaps you should have told me about it sooner.’ She thought an implied criticism might help strengthen her argument.

Abbot Servillius blinked. ‘I should have mentioned it,’ he admitted, on reflection. ‘A group of us from the abbey ascend the mountain to the sanctuary every year in order to celebrate the Pascal festival and the martyrdom of the Christ. It was at the sanctuary that Columbanus died during one of his retreats.’

She felt him weakening so she pressed again. ‘I learned of its existence from your scriptor, Brother Eolann, who has offered to show me the sanctuary if we can obtain your permission. He comes from my father’s kingdom and wants me to take good stories of this place back to his brethren.’

‘I knew that the scriptor came from Hibernia,’ agreed Abbot Servillius. He had conceded defeat. ‘I suppose that he would be best qualified to show you the sanctuary. Very well, Sister Fidelma. You have my permission. At least the days are still warm, but you had best take ample clothing, for the weather can change rapidly in the high places. Be warned of any bands of armed strangers. We must all be vigilant if the rumours are true that Perctarit has returned.’ He shrugged. ‘Send Brother Eolann to me and I will give him instructions.’

It seemed that it was only a short time later that Fidelma and Brother Eolann were looking down on the abbey below them and climbing upwards on an easy track in the midday sunshine. Brother Eolann had suggested that they make the journey on foot as, although he believed they could reach Hawisa’s cabin on horseback, they would not be able to continue on to the sanctuary by those means. As the scriptor had advised, Fidelma wore her strongest leather sandals while slung on her back was a sack in which she had a blanket and her toiletries, together with some basic items to eat.

The ascending slopes were covered with thick woods and rocky outcrops, and even naturally hollowed-out areas where water was trapped on the mountainside, forming little pools. Now and then they encountered a local shepherd or goatherd and exchanged greetings. Hawisa’s home turned out not to be very far at all. They eventually found a small cabin built under the shelter of some trees by the side of a stream that tumbled down the hillside. As they approached, a dog started to bark a warning. A heavily built woman with coarse black hair and weatherbeaten skin, tanned a rich chestnut-brown, came forward to greet them.

Her words were spoken in the gutturals of the Longobards,which Fidelma was beginning to generally identify, although still unable to understand it. Brother Eolann replied and Fidelma heard the name ‘Hawisa’, at which the woman frowned and nodded.

Fidelma turned and, using Brother Eolann as her interpreter, said: ‘Tell her that I would like to ask a few questions about her son, Wamba.’

The woman’s eyes narrowed at once. ‘He’s dead,’ she said flatly.

Fidelma continued speaking through the scriptor.

‘We know, and we are so sorry for your loss. I am told that he fell from some rocks while tending his goats.’

The woman made a sound like a snort. ‘Wamba was not the sort of clumsy boy who would fall. Ask Wulfoald for the truth.’

‘The warrior? I thought he was the one who found Wamba and took his body to the abbey.’

Brother Eolann seemed to be searching for the right words.

‘And why did not Wulfoald bring the body home to me?’ the woman demanded.

‘Did he know where Wamba lived?’

‘Ha!’ It was almost a bark of laughter. ‘And when word was finally brought to me that my son was dead, and I went down to the abbey, my boy had been buried, so that I could not see him. How do I know now what injuries he had, or even the cause of them?’

‘Have you reason to suspect that things did not transpire as you were told?’

‘Speak to your abbot and leave me in peace with my suspicions.’

Fidelma pursed her lips for a moment. ‘What are your suspicions, then, Hawisa?’

‘I say nothing but there are questions to be answered. They must be answered by Abbot Servillius and Wulfoald. He knew well enough where my cabin is. Why did he proceed to the abbey?’

‘But what purpose would he have for conspiring to keep news of your son’s death from you until he was buried?’

The woman stood with arms folded and lips compressed. It was clear that she had had her say and was not going to release any more. Fidelma suppressed a sigh.

‘I wanted to ask you whether Wamba ever spoke of a Brother Ruadán, an old Hibernian Brother in the abbey.’

The woman slowly shook her head. ‘Wamba used to sell our milk to Brother Waldipert at the abbey’s kitchens,’ she told Fidelma through Brother Eolann. ‘My nephew, Odo, has now taken over my herd of goats and