Behold a Pale Horse

leave here, I would take your goats to some new pasture where you might protect yourself for a while.’

Wulfoald was on his feet looking moodily at the horses. ‘I was hoping we could use the merchant’s mule to help carry the old woman’s body back to the abbey. It would be appropriate if she could be buried with her son.’

Fidelma glanced at him in appreciation. ‘You can put it on my horse,’ she offered. ‘I can ride double behind you.’

‘Thank you, lady. I can help you move the body,’ Odo said. ‘It would be the right thing to do.’

It did not take long to carry out the gruesome task, arranging Odo’s blanket to wrap the body in. The youth agreed to come to the abbey before midnight when such burials were carried out, to pay his last respects to his aunt.

‘Nothing further we can do here,’ Wulfoald said, as he stood with the horses. ‘I don’t understand it. If the fire wasdeliberately set, and it seems it was, then are we saying that this was an act of Grasulf and his men?’

‘I am as perplexed as you are, Wulfoald, by what we have seen and heard,’ Fidelma replied quietly.

Wulfoald grimaced almost humorously. ‘I am sure that this has not turned out satisfactory to whatever ideas you had, lady,’ he said to Fidelma. ‘However, I would urge that we return to the abbey as quickly as possible. We ought to have a word with the scriptor, Brother Eolann, to see if he can cast any light on what Hawisa originally said to you and, perhaps, why.’

‘You are right, Wulfoald,’ Fidelma acknowledged. ‘I am sorry. I should have realised long before this that you were telling the truth.’

Wulfoald looked amused but said, ‘Why is that, lady?’

‘When Brother Waldipert, the cook, told me that you had brought Wamba’s body to the abbey, he said quite clearly that you brought the body with the abbot and not to the abbot. That meant that you and the abbot had both escorted the body to the abbey. It was stupid of me to have overlooked it.’

Wulfoald pursed his lips for a moment and then shrugged. ‘A small word, a tiny inflection. Easily missed. Grammatici certant et adhuc sub judice lis est?’

Fidelma smiled wanly. ‘Grammarians discuss, and the case is still before the courts,’ she repeated. ‘But remember, wars hang on such linguistic misunderstandings.’

‘Let us hope no war hangs on this mystery,’ Wulfoald replied as he untethered his horse and mounted, holding out an arm to help Fidelma swing up behind him. Then he bent and took the reins of the beast that carried the corpse of the old woman and began to lead it carefully behind them down the mountain track towards the abbey.

Fidelma felt bewildered as she held on to the back of the warrior. There was something not quite right here, something that made her believe that the answers to all these mysteries still lay in the abbey itself.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Fidelma and Wulfoald left their grisly burden at the gates of the necropolis with one of the brethren, to await instructions on the burial, before continuing into the abbey itself. When Brother Wulfila swung back the gates to allow them to enter the courtyard, he looked nervous, and Fidelma immediately became aware of a tension in the air as they dismounted. One of the brethren took the horses to the stables.

‘Did all go well?’ demanded the steward. ‘Did you find out the cause of the fire?’

‘It seems that the fire was deliberately set,’ Wulfoald replied. ‘It destroyed the cabin of Hawisa and she perished in the flames.’

‘Deliberately set?’ gasped the steward.

‘I have to inform you, as steward, that we brought the body of Hawisa down and left it at the necropolis. We considered it appropriate that the old woman should be buried with her son.’

‘Perhaps it is best, then, if the body is taken to the chapel overnight.’

‘We thought it would be more expedient to leave it at the necropolis,’ Sister Fidelma said. ‘I am afraid the odours would be offensive to the brethren if it was brought into the abbey.’

Brother Wulfila looked undecided. ‘But the body should be given a blessing before burial. It ought to be brought to the chapel for services …’

‘I suggest that the blessing be done at the graveside,’ Wulfoald replied dryly. ‘Death, in such circumstance, does not smell sweet.’

It took the steward a few moments before he understood. ‘Of course, of course,’ he muttered, anxiously peering around as if looking for someone.

‘Is something wrong?’ Fidelma asked. ‘You appear preoccupied, Brother Wulfila.’

‘I am sorry, lady. I have a matter to attend to,’ he said, and then he left them to hurry away.

Wulfoald glanced at Fidelma with a shrug and hailed Brother Hnikar who was passing by.

‘Is Abbot Servillius in his chamber?’

The apothecary halted. ‘He has come back but is not to be disturbed.’

‘Not to be disturbed?’ queried Wulfoald, amazed.

The other man explained: ‘Abbot Servillius returned a short while ago. He has retired immediately to his chamber for he is exhausted. I have never seen him look so worried. He told the steward specifically that he is not to be disturbed until the bell for the evening meal.’

‘And Sister Gisa — where is she?’ Fidelma asked, recalling that they had ridden out together on the previous night.

‘Abbot Servillius says Sister Gisa has remained with Aistulf. It is very curious.’

Wulfoald gave him an encouraging smile. ‘Then I am sure the abbot will explain when he emerges from his rest. Doubtless he is exhausted, having been away all night. If Sister Gisa is with Aistulf, then she will be all right.Meanwhile, Sister Fidelma, we must go in search of Brother Eolann.’

Fidelma agreed. ‘Has he recovered from his er … fall?’ she asked Brother Hnikar.

‘Yes, yes. He is fine and he claims no pain at all from his injury, even though he has a bruise and a bump on his head. I saw him a short time ago, heading for the scriptorium.’

Fidelma led the way to the entrance to the scriptorium through the smaller courtyard and up the tower. The chamber in which Brother Eolann was usually to be found, however, was empty and in gloom. Although it lacked a long time until dusk, every time she had been in the room there was a lamp or tallow candle spluttering with light. There was none now. With a puzzled grimace to Wulfoald, she turned and opened the door into the copyists’ room. Here the lamps blazed as a dozen or so of the brethren were seated at their desks with maulsticks to rest their wrists on as they used their quills to copy texts on to vellum from the skins of goats or sheep. There was an industrious scratching as they painstakingly bent to their various tasks.

One of them looked up and caught sight of Fidelma and Wulfoald. He rose from his stool and came forward with an inquiring glance.

‘I am looking for the scriptor, Brother Eolann,’ she told him.

‘We have not seen him for a while, Sister,’ the scribe replied. ‘We thought he might have left the abbey again.’

‘Left the abbey again?’

‘He was away nearly four nights with you, Sister,’ replied the scribe solemnly but without guile.

She flushed in annoyance. ‘He was here this morning and had an — an accident. A fall. He has not been seen by you today?’

‘He was here some time today,’ offered another of the copyists, glancing up.

‘He may be with Venerable Ionas, Sister,’ said another. ‘He is often in conference with him. Venerable Ionas works in his own chamber through there.’ He pointed to another door.

Fidelma thanked them and, with Wulfoald behind her, followed the direction that the copyist had indicated through a door into a small passage. Even before they began to search for Venerable Ionas’ chamber, they saw the elderly scholar himself walking along the passage as if on his way to the copyists’ room. His expression grew concerned when they told him who they were looking for.