Behold a Pale Horse

The elderly man smiled softly. ‘You may trust me, my child. We will go together and put these matters directly to Abbot Servillius.’

‘He could simply deny them,’ pointed out Fidelma.

‘Perhaps he will. But in his explanation of certain aspects of this story we may be led to uncovering the truth.’

‘I have no authority here to question an abbot.’

‘That I know. From writing the life of Columbanus and mixing with many of your compatriots of Hibernia, I have learned about the role of the Brehons of your land. The Venerable Gelasius, nomenclator to the Holy Father, asked you to investigate the death of Archbishop Wighard of Canterbury. He did this, I am informed, over the heads of the law officers of the Lateran Palace, even over the head of the Superista of the Lateran Guard.’

‘That was due to politics,’ Fidelma explained, ‘because of the nationality of the archbishop and the nationality of the one accused of his murder, one of the Hibernian brethren. And it was done with the knowledge and approval of the Superista, Marinus, the Military Governor of the Lateran Palace, rather than over his head, as you express it.’

‘You are precise as befits your profession, Fidelma,’ noted Venerable Ionas. ‘Precision is what is needed here. But the point I am making is that what is good for the Venerable Gelasius and the Holy Father should be good enough for us in this abbey.’

‘You are kind. But the only authority in the abbey is Abbot Servillius himself. His authority cannot be questioned, especially since you have adopted the Rule of Benedict here. So are you saying that you might work a miracle to persuade him to give me permission to question him, having accused him of being central to crimes of murder? To question him about a crime in which he is the only suspect?’

Venerable Ionas sat back and chuckled deeply. ‘That is not what I am suggesting, Fidelma.’

‘What then?’ she demanded. ‘The Rule of Benedict demands the renunciation of one’s own will and calls upon every member of the brethren to have prompt, ungrudging and absolute obedience to their superiors, in this case, to the abbot, for unhesitating obedience is called the first step to humility.’

Venerable Ionas was shaking his head good-naturedly. ‘I know what the Hibernian brethren think of unquestioned obedience but, as your brethren say, do not break your shinbone on a stool that is not in the way.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘It is simple enough. The Blessed Columbanus used to say that there are two kinds of fool. Those who will not obey and those who obey without question. He therefore thought the time might come when the abbey abandoned his Rule, so he left instructions for a separate governance here which our abbots have never altered. That is, the two senior clerics can call the abbot to account if there is a decision to be questioned.’

‘You mean yourself and Magister Ado?’

‘We are currently the two senior clerics here.’

‘Therefore you and Magister Ado could force the abbot to answer my questions?’

‘We can. So now we shall talk with Abbot Servillius. I shall designate you to act in the role of my interlocutor. If he does not agree to answer the questions we will await Magister Ado’s return — but answer them he must.’

‘Will it work?’

‘Are you sure that you have clear questions to put?’ He ignored her question and posed his own.

‘I am sure enough.’

They walked from Venerable Ionas’ study, passing the scriptorium door, down the stairs to the main hallway and across to the abbot’s chamber. They had not reached it when they realised someone was standing in the doorway, which was open. The figure turned. It was the rotund cook Brother Waldipert. He stood staring at them with wide terrified eyes; his skin had a sickly pale tinge. He took a step forward. For a moment they thought he was going to collapse. He swayed, his mouth open, lips moving but making no sound at all.

‘What is it, Brother Waldipert?’ demanded Venerable Ionas.

Still the man could not speak but just stared as if he was not focusing on either of them.

With an exhalation of exasperation, the Venerable Ionas moved past him and halted on the threshold of the abbot’s chamber. He moved no further, frozen for the moment. Then slowly he turned back to the fat cook. The man still stood shaking. Some brethren were passing through the hall. Venerable Ionas called to one of them. ‘Ask Brother Hnikar to come to the abbot’s study immediately. He — there has … has been an accident.’

One of them scurried off on his errand.

‘What is it?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Abbot Servillius is dead,’ intoned Venerable Ionas.

Fidelma pushed by him, even though he tried to hold herback. But she, too, halted on the threshold. It was obvious why Venerable Ionas had no need to enter further.

Abbot Servillius lay sprawled on the floor just inside the door. His skull was a bloody mess, beaten to a pulp by some heavy object. Only his robes and crucifix on its silver chain provided a means of identification. Near the body she saw a large brass candlestick. It did not need any clever deduction to see the bloodstains on it and realise that this was the murder weapon. This was no accident but murder, plain and simple.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Fidelma stepped back into the hall. ‘What happened?’ she asked the cook.

The man had still not recovered, was still staring and trying to utter words. To Fidelma’s surprise, Venerable Ionas stepped forward and struck the cook sharply across the cheek. The man staggered back, blinking; a hand went to his reddening cheek.

‘Ignosce mihi — forgive me, Brother Waldipert,’ the elderly religieux said. ‘There was no time to bring you from your shock in any other way, and each moment is precious.’

Brother Waldipert stood rubbing his cheek and gazing dumbly at Venerable Ionas.

‘How came you here?’ continued the elderly cleric.

‘I … I came with some accounts for the Father Abbot to approve.’ The words emerged slowly.

‘How long ago?’

‘A moment or two only. I knocked on the door and then opened it and saw … saw … I don’t know what happened. You hit me. You hit me on the cheek.’

‘Brother Waldipert,’ Fidelma intervened. ‘You opened the door and saw the abbot on the floor. Did you see anyone elsein the room, someone leaving the room by other means — the window, for example?’

The cook shook his head. ‘There are no other means. The window is too small for anyone to leave by.’

There was a noise across the hall and Brother Hnikar appeared. He glanced at them as he hurried into the abbot’s chamber. They saw him go down on his knees beside the body. It was a cursory examination.

‘Dead,’ he said. ‘He has had his skull smashed in.’

Fidelma had the urge to say they did not need his opinion to tell them the obvious, but restrained herself.

‘I presume that brass candle-holder would be the weapon.’ She pointed to it.

Brother Hnikar followed the direction of her hand. ‘I would imagine it was.’

‘How long ago did this happen?’

‘It is hard to say,’ replied the physician. ‘The blood has dried and the body has stiffened. Perhaps half a day has gone by.’

‘Half a day?’ Fidelma was surprised. ‘Are you sure?’

The man did not deign to answer her but merely responded, ‘Who found him? You?’

‘It was Brother Waldipert who discovered the body.’

Brother Hnikar rose to his feet and regarded the cook for a moment.

‘This is a bad business,’ he said, now speaking directly to Venerable Ionas.