Behold a Pale Horse

her body was hanging on one hand while her other hand was grasping at nothing.

‘Help me!’ she cried in panic.

It seemed an eternity before a strong hand seized her wrist and pulled. For a moment she was suspended in space — one hand clinging desperately to the rock and the other caught by the wrist in the hand of Brother Eolann. For a curious moment, their faces were separated by inches, her fiery green eyes staring into his light blue ones. It seemed as if time had stood still and all she was aware of was the void below her. Then she was lying on a sloping bank, gasping for breath. She realised she was on the other side of the overhang. Brother Eolann was still clutching her wrist.

‘Are you hurt?’ he asked anxiously.

Fidelma shuddered and shook her head. She felt the pressure on her wrist relax as he released it and automatically she reached with her other hand to massage it. ‘You caught hold of me in time.’ She knew she was stating the obvious.

Brother Eolann was still anxious. ‘I trust I did not hurt you.’

‘You saved my life,’ she said solemnly. ‘I can stand a bruise or two for that.’

‘I warned you that it was a difficult point to cross. But see along there … we are a short way from joining the main track to the top and,’ he glanced again at the sky, ‘we would not have made it before dark had we gone any other way.’

‘Then let us move on. The sooner we are away from this place, the more I shall like it.’

He stood up and led the way forward again. The rest of the journey was simple and without incident. Even so, dusk had already spread over the mountain-top when they reached a hut, built in a little hollow. She could make out no details in the gloom. It was a cloudy night and there was no moonlight to assist them. Nevertheless, Brother Eolann seemed to know his way about and, after a while, with flint and tinder, he had lit a brand torch and then proceeded to get a fire alight outside the small hut. To Fidelma’s amusement he built a large fire that she was sure would be seen on the mountain-top for quite a distance around. He did not smile when she commented that she only wanted to keep warm and not roast to death.

‘It is very cold up here, lady. The temperatures during the night, even in late summer, can be freezing. Besides which … well, there are many animals which wander the slopes at night. The fire will keep them at bay.’

Inside the hut was an oil lamp which he lit. There was, apparently, a water supply nearby and he filled a jug with fresh water. Soon they were sitting eating a frugal meal in silence and watching the dark clouds sweeping low across the mountain-tops, creating a damp, chilling mist in the moments before darkness descended. There were no stars,for the clouds obliterated them. Fidelma felt exhausted at the unexpected exercise. She only vaguely remembered crawling into the hut.

It was bright sunlight when she awoke to the hunting cry of buzzards. The fire was still sending a plume of smoke upwards and Brother Eolann was already building it up again. He had food ready and directed her to the source of water behind the hut where she could wash in private.

She was impressed by the breathtaking view of hilltops that surrounded her.

‘This is one of the highest peaks in these hills,’ Brother Eolann offered, seeing the rapt look on her face as she gazed around the vista. The day was warm and pleasant and the clouds that had obscured the moon on the previous night had dispersed and given way to brilliant sunshine.

They were in a sheltered dip on the peak and she could well understand why it had been chosen by Colm Bán for his sanctuary. A little way off, on the highest part of the bald, rounded hilltop, stood the half- completed building which was clearly dedicated to the Faith and marked by a large cross outside. Brother Eolann accompanied Fidelma to it and they spent a few moments in contemplation inside the darkness of the little chapel.

‘I will be reluctant to leave this spot,’ Fidelma remarked as they came out into the sunshine again. ‘Are those caves I see down there, behind the hut?’

‘They are,’ Brother Eolann confirmed. ‘They are not big ones but it is said that it was one of those that Colm Bán used as his retreat and, sadly, where that great man passed on, into the arms of Christ.’

‘Yet he is buried in the abbey.’

‘The brethren removed his body to the abbey and built a crypt for him under the chapel’s High Altar.’

‘I should pay my respects at the cave before I depart.’

The caves were not big. In fact, in the larger one there was scarcely room enough for two people to crawl in. This one showed signs of having been used recently, while the other held little of note. Fidelma left the caves and returned to examining the countryside around them. A short distance below them, the thick under-bush of ferns and bracken began, and beyond that, looking down the southern slopes, conifers and beeches marked the beginning of the dense forests that spread among these hills. Fidelma gazed once more across the impressive vista unfolding before her. As she was turning back to the hut, something caught her eye amidst the undergrowth.

‘Look!’ She pointed to a splash of colour that was out of keeping with its surroundings. It appeared to be a piece of richly coloured fabric.

She moved quickly down the hill, followed more slowly by Brother Eolann. She was plunging into the undergrowth when the scriptor called out a warning.

‘Be careful, lady. This is the sort of growth that the vipera, the venomous snake, is found in. Let me go first.’

She halted while he picked up a stout stick and began to move forward, hitting the ground and making much noise.

‘The vipera will not attack unless it thinks it is attacked,’ explained the scriptor. ‘If it hears you approaching, it will slither away for shelter. It is only if you approach in stealth and come upon it unexpectedly that it will strike.’

Fidelma was content to let him beat the path to what they thought was the fluttering fabric. But it was not just fabric. It was a body — the body of a woman. She had been dead forsome time, judging from the sickly stench of decomposition that was drawing the attention of several flying insects. The clothing now seemed familiar to Fidelma. Placing a hand across her mouth and nostrils, she crouched down to examine the features. She recognised the corpse at once.

‘It’s the Lady Gunora,’ she gasped.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The head of the woman had been almost severed from her body by several blows to the neck from a sharp-edged implement such as a sword.

Fidelma almost retched at the mangled form and she fought for a moment to control herself. At her side Brother Eolann was offering up a prayer in a horrified voice.

Once Fidelma recovered her equilibrium, she glanced intently at the area surrounding the remains.

‘What is it?’ Brother Eolann asked. ‘Do you think that her killers are hiding nearby?’

‘She has been dead for over a day,’ Fidelma replied quietly. ‘They would not delay here so long. But she left the abbey yesterday with the boy, the young Prince Romuald. Do you see any sign of … of his body?’

Brother Eolann, still pale, joined Fidelma in searching the surrounding shrubland. There were no obvious signs of another body nearby, so she returned her attention to the corpse; wrinkling her nose in distaste, she bent down and checked through the clothing, searching for any personal items. Surprisingly, there were none. It seemed that the Lady Gunora had not even been carrying the customary bag fortoilet articles, which most women of her rank carried tied at her waist. Or had she already been searched and the items taken?

‘Do you think this might be the work of Perctarit and his men?’ the scriptor asked, glancing at the corpse. ‘They might have seized the prince when they killed Lady Gunora.’

‘At the moment, Brother Eolann, we do not have sufficient knowledge to think anything. However, we shall learn nothing more here. Is there a spare blanket in the hut here?’

‘I think so,’ Brother Eolann replied, puzzled.