Behold a Pale Horse

Kakko told her.

Finally, Brother Eolann was stung into speaking. ‘When has the Valley of Trebbia been in your lord’s domains? It is Lord Radoald of Trebbia who governs there.’

‘You were on Mount Pénas,’ pointed out the steward.

‘On the Trebbia side of the mountain. We were at the sanctuary of Colm Bán when your men captured us,’ he protested.

The steward was unmoved. ‘You may present your complaint to Lord Grasulf on his return.’

‘What is this Lord Grasulf afraid of?’ Fidelma suddenly said.

This drew a frown from Kakko. ‘Who says my lord is afraid of anything?’ he hissed.

‘He is afraid of something, otherwise why would he give orders that strangers be seized and brought here for questioning, even when they are not found in his domain?’

‘You are a stubborn person, little sister,’ Kakko mused, still retaining his good humour. He gestured to the food on the table. ‘You have not eaten. You are the guests of my lord Grasulf, and he would be displeased if you were not treated well.’

‘Then your lord will be disappointed, for we have not been treated well at all, starting with our abduction,’ Fidelma replied coldly. ‘Then we have had our bags taken from us. If we are kept prisoners overnight, I demand the return of them.’

Kakko spread his hands in a gesture almost of resignation.

‘I will ensure that they are returned. We needed to be certain that you carried no weapons or secret messages.’ Fidelma’s look was enough to quell him.

‘As soon as this Grasulf returns, I demand to see him at once — do you understand?’

Kakko turned, shaking his head. ‘You are more than a mere religieuse, Sister,’ he said quietly. ‘Your manner betrays you.’ Then he was gone, shutting the door. They heard the wooden bar being set in place.

‘I don’t think you were wise, lady,’ Brother Eolann muttered through a mouthful of bread and cheese. ‘I told you not to reveal your rank.’

‘I did not,’ replied Fidelma.

‘As the man said, your manner did. An ordinary Sister of the Faith would not be asserting herself in such a fashion.’

‘Did you say that you had never heard of this person Grasulf?’

‘I hadn’t, but I have heard of the Lord of Vars. I said that I thought we might be in his territory.’

‘Do you have any idea of the manner of man he is?’

‘I know only that there is much enmity between him and Trebbia.’

‘Do you think that this story of watching out for spies and informers is true then?’

‘I can only repeat that there is much tension in this land. Isn’t that why the Lady Gunora fled to the abbey with the little prince, because she did not believe that Grimoald’s Regent, Lupus of Friuli, was to be trusted? Everything fits into a pattern. There is much fear in the land.’

‘Indeed. And what if these people are the ones who killed Lady Gunora? If so, what have they done with the boy?’

‘Let us pray that we will be enlightened tomorrow,’ replied Brother Eolann.

‘Tomorrow?’

‘When you see Grasulf. That is,’ Brother Eolann said with a thin smile, ‘if the Lord of Vars accedes to your demand to see him on his return from his boar hunt.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

It was nearly midday before they heard the wooden bar being lifted once more from its position securing the door. Kakko, the steward, stood framed against the sunlit courtyard beyond.

‘You will come with me, little brother,’ he boomed. Then, glancing at Fidelma, he added: ‘You will stay.’

Hesitantly, Brother Eolann rose and moved to the door.

‘Why him,’ Fidelma demanded, ‘and not me?’

Kakko’s permanent smile seemed to broaden. ‘Again, a question? Always questions,’ he said. Then: ‘My lord Grasulf might spare you the time to meet with him later. At the moment, he only wants this one.’ He jerked his head to Brother Eolann.

Fidelma would have preferred that they kept together, but there was no alternative. As time passed, she began to pace the chamber in frustration. Eventually, the big steward returned. The scriptor was not with him.

‘And now, little sister, you will come and meet Grasulf,’ he announced.

‘Where is Brother Eolann?’ she asked.

‘He is happy enough, little sister. This way.’

She was clearly not going to get any further information from the steward and so she suppressed her feelings of apprehension and followed Kakko. She felt the immediate heat of the day as she moved from the cool of her prison into the small courtyard. The open space with the sun shining directly overhead was hot. Kakko led the way across the paved yard at a surprising pace for one so large. Once again Fidelma observed that the big man was not fat but well-muscled.

A door on the far side led into another courtyard, at one end of which were two large doors, half-open, with warriors lounging outside. They stared curiously at Fidelma as she and Kakko passed them and went into a small chamber. This, however, proved to be an antechamber, leading into a large hall. Fidelma had seen such halls before and always associated them with the traditional feasting places of chiefs and princes. She was right, for at one end, on a slightly raised dais, stood an ornately carved chair. On the back of the chair, on either side, were carved two birds of prey: she saw that they were ravens. In her own land, ravens were birds of ill-omen, symbolic of the goddess of death and battles. Smaller chairs and a table stood nearby. Colourful tapestries showing scenes of warfare and various weapons hung from the brick walls of the hall. Fidelma had noticed that most of the buildings in this land were constructed of red baked bricks which seemed to be a favourite material of Roman buildings. It was so unlike the stone blocks and the wood of her own land. The hall was well lit through a series of tall windows but it was cool after the blast of hot air she had been met with on her brief walk here.

At first glance it seemed the hall was empty. Then she heard a soft growling and became aware of two hunting dogs lying at either side of the ornate chair. They lay upright,forepaws stretched before them; heads up, alert with eyes watching them as they entered. Kakko took a pace forward and halted.

From an open doorway a man emerged, walked to the ornate chair and slumped into it. He was thickly built. Like the steward Kakko, he was muscled, showing he was more a warrior than one used to an easy life. He was not tall, more of average height, and certainly not handsome or, at least, not so far as Fidelma was concerned. He wore his fair hair long and with a full beard. So far as she could see, his eyes were pale and his features ruddy. She estimated that he was in his middle years. His expression was unfriendly. He waved a beckoning hand — a curt, impatient gesture.

Kakko strode forward until he was near the dais and then he halted and bowed, glancing at Fidelma to ensure she followed his example. She did not. She merely halted at Kakko’s side and stared defiantly at the man.

‘This is the one called Fidelma, my lord,’ Kakko announced.

The pale eyes studied Fidelma.

‘I am told that you are a religieuse from Hibernia,’ the man said in Latin, speaking as if it was his first language.

‘And you are …?’ countered Fidelma. She was angered by the arrogant manner of her captor.

Kakko gasped at what he saw as her lack of humility in front of his lord. The man’s eyes widened slightly and then he held up a languid hand to his steward as if instructing him to respond.

‘You stand in the presence of Grasulf son of Gisulf, Lord of Vars,’ Kakko announced. ‘It is an insult not to bow before him, even if you are a foreigner.’

‘Lord of Vars?’ Fidelma echoed Kakko as if considering the title. Then she spoke coldly and deliberately.