Behold a Pale Horse

fortress.’

‘You are a stranger in this land, Fidelma of Hibernia,’ Suidur said solemnly. ‘There are many things that are going to be unusual and even curious to a stranger’s perception. If I might offer some advice, I would return to your own land as soon as you can. There is an evil spreading through these mountains.’ Suddenly he stood up. ‘Now once more, I plead with you to rest. We shall move off at midday. We will not reach Radoald’s fortress until tomorrow, so we will have to spend tonight on the mountain.’

It was midday when Fidelma awoke. The sun stood high in a cloudless sky. Brother Eolann was also stirring but there was no sign of Suidur, although she could hear movement outside the hut. She rose quickly and looked out. Suidur was talking to the two warriors in the swift, guttural tones of the local language. Fidelma glanced back to the scriptor who was sitting up and blinking.

‘Brother Eolann,’ she whispered urgently, ‘a word of warning. Do not mention finding the body of Lady Gunora, nor anything about the coins or Wamba.’

Brother Eolann frowned. ‘Or anything about the missing prince?’

‘Exactly. Let us be circumspect.’

‘Ah, you are both awake.’ The shadow of Suidur had fallen across the doorway. ‘That is good. We must be on our way soon.’

‘A wash and some food would be appreciated before we set off again, if that is possible,’ Fidelma said.

‘There is a stream and a little waterfall behind this hut, lady,’ Suidur replied. ‘And there is something to eat before we set off.’

Fidelma took her ciorr bholg, her comb bag with her toiletries, and made her way to a sheltered spot at the back of the hut. The cold water was refreshing, splashing down the mountain to form both a pool and a shower. She hurried over her toilet so that Brother Eolann could follow her example. She presumed that Suidur and his men had already washed for they looked refreshed as if they had not ridden through the night. The meal was of goat’s cheese and fruit, washed down by the crystal waters of the mountain stream.

It turned out that the two warriors spoke no Latin and sothe conversation was limited to Suidur. Brother Eolann exchanged a few words with them but they gave the impression of preferring not to engage in conversation.

‘I think Radoald mentioned that his family would suffer if Perctarit returned as King,’ Fidelma commented, as they began to eat. ‘Is that why he is anxious about Grasulf?’

Suidur nodded. ‘Radoald’s father helped Grimoald to overthrow Perctarit, driving him into exile in the lands of the Franks. Radoald fought alongside his father, Lord Billo. His father did not return to Trebbia and Radoald became Lord. I doubt whether Perctarit will feel kindly towards Radoald if he returns to power in this land.’

‘When we were in Grasulf’s fortress a messenger rode in to say that Lupus had turned against Grimoald but had been destroyed with his army after four days of fighting somewhere. Is that bad?’

The physician studied her with keen interest.

‘For a stranger, lady, you have picked up much. We heard about this story too. The answer is that it might be bad for us, for it depends on what the Khagan will do next.’

‘The one who defeated Lupus?’

‘The same. It seems that Grimoald, unable to march north quickly enough to face Lupus, offered an alliance with the leader of the Avars. The Avars threw themselves against Lupus and defeated him. But what will the Khagan demand of Grimoald in return? Will the Avars flood into this land? If so, then God help every one of us. To the Avars we are all sheep ready to be shorn.’

‘I presume the Avars are not followers of the Faith?’

‘So far as I know they will follow any faith they believe helps them — from their chief god, Ts’ob, to various forms of our own Christ. But they are hungry for land and powerand, frankly, the news that Grimoald had formed an alliance with them is not pleasing to our people.’

‘You think these lands are in immediate danger?’ interposed Brother Eolann.

‘What is happening is setting brother against brother and neighbour against neighbour. The Pale Horse will be sweeping through these valleys soon and none will be spared.’

‘Pale Horse?’ queried Fidelma.

‘The rider is Death himself,’ replied Suidur. ‘That is why I offered my advice — leave this land while you can.’

Fidelma turned her gaze across the mountains to the north and the east and sighed. ‘It seems so peaceful and beautiful.’

‘Even from ancient times these valleys have been drenched in blood. The Ligurians, the Gauls, the Romans, the Carthaginians, then the Romans again and then my own people, the Longobards — they have all fertilised these beautiful valleys with their blood. It will be so again.’ Suidur stood up and appeared to be contemplating the prediction for a moment before turning to his men and snapping an order. They began to pack up and prepare the horses.

Seeing Suidur’s mount in daylight, Fidelma realised that her thoughts in the darkness had been right. It was of the same breed and colouring, the same pale grey, that she had seen several times in the valley. She had seen Wulfoald and Brother Faro mounted on this same short-backed animal with the narrow croup and long tail. It had certainly displayed a hardiness and stamina and galloped like a sprinter for all its fiery temperament. It was truly a warrior’s horse.

‘Is that Wulfoald’s horse?’ she asked Suidur, for the beast was so alike.

‘What makes you think that?’ the physician demanded, puzzled. Then he smiled. ‘Oh, I see. This is of the same breed.They were introduced in the valley only a decade ago and have flourished.’

‘I have never seen the breed before. They are light, sturdy animals.’

‘I see that you are a judge of horses, lady. Lord Billo, when he was Lord of Trebbia, bought half a dozen of them from a Byzantine merchant in Genua and bred them. We are not sure where they came from, although it was said that the merchant brought them from the east.’ Suidur paused abruptly and gazed intently towards the north.

‘You see something?’ asked Fidelma, aware of the slight tension in his body.

‘I do,’ replied the physician. ‘If seems that Grasulf was not long in recovering before raising the alarm.’

Fidelma stood and tried to follow his gaze across the valley. ‘What is it?’

‘About twenty-five horsemen following us. Don’t be alarmed, we are in no immediate danger.’

Brother Eolann was straining in the same direction now. ‘How far away?’ he demanded.

‘Oh, it will take them some time before they manage to climb up here,’ Suidur assured him.

Fidelma could now just make out a series of tiny dots at the far end of the valley. They were moving in line like a string of ants.

‘You have good vision, Suidur,’ she said. ‘I can barely see them. Is it Grasulf?’

‘No one else would be riding so hard. You might not be able to discern them well, but I think that is as it should be. We would not wish to see them any closer to us.’

He checked with his warriors that all was ready. Once more Fidelma and Brother Eolann took their bags and hoistedthem on their backs, before mounting behind the warriors. They set off at a walking pace, continuing along the track which wound at a steep incline up through the hills.

‘Don’t worry,’ Suidur called back. ‘I think even Grasulf will turn back once we are well inside the territory of Radoald.’

Fidelma realised that, although they continued to move steadily up sharp gradients, they were not actually climbing over the mountains but rather weaving their way through them. The tracks were often wide enough only for one horse to proceed at a time. And now and then the way was so steep that they had to dismount and lead the horses. It was, for her, an extraordinary experience. Once more the conditions meant there was little exchange of conversation. They moved on through the hot afternoon with Fidelma now and then casting an apprehensive glance behind. But they had circled through the mountains so much there was little prospect of seeing any pursuers. They stopped only once at a mountain spring to allow the horses to drink and to refresh themselves. It was not until nearly sunset that they came to a strange little dell, an area that seemed to be carved unnaturally into the hillside. Yet, as she inspected it closer, she saw that it was in fact a natural shelter with overhanging bushes.

‘This will be our last halt,’ Suidur explained. ‘We start down into the Trebbia Valley tomorrow.’