Behold a Pale Horse

mixed together. Let us hope there are no other deaths.’

Brother Wulfila interrupted sharply. ‘I must remind you that it is the custom of the abbey to bury the dead at midnight. Now we have the bodies of Abbot Servillius, Hawisa and Brother Eolann to consign to the earth.’

‘Then I suggest we put an end to these speculations and prepare ourselves for the burial of these bodies, unless there are any strong objections?’ The Venerable Ionas glanced toward Magister Ado.

Magister Ado inclined his head. ‘I concur, Venerable Ionas. Since you are senior here and we will be asked by the brethren to make a choice of a new abbot and bishop, as is custom, let me make clear now, that I intend to nominate you.’

Venerable Ionas was uncomfortable. ‘While I thank you for your confidence in me, magister, the choice may be left to the wishes of the brethren. But for now we have these bodies to take to the necropolis. It is, indeed, a dreadful day for the abbey.’

They were moving back across the courtyard, lit by brand torches, and it was clear to Fidelma there was much on the mind of the Venerable Ionas. It was as if he were trying to ask her a question. The others had dispersed and she waited expectantly. He halted and turned to her.

‘You said there have been six murders. I count three. Those are bad enough but who else?’

‘I count Wamba.’

‘Because of the coin? Who else?’

‘His mother, Hawisa. The fire was purposely set.’

‘And the third? Ah, Brother Ruadán. But Brother Ruadán died from the injuries inflicted on him by a mob of Arians. He died over a week later in his bed — you saw him.’

Fidelma shook her head slowly. ‘He was smothered in his bed by the same hand that is responsible for all these killings.’

‘But why?’

She smiled uneasily. ‘Cui bono?’

‘I do not understand.’

‘Did not Cicero attribute those words to a Roman judge: who benefits? When we find out who stands to gain from the deaths, then we will know the identity of the killer.’

Fidelma sat alone in her chamber deep in thought. She had been a fool. Perhaps she was still a fool. Why didn’t she simply head back to Genua and find a ship to Massilia before this valley erupted into the war that was threatening? She had nothing to do with the ambitions of the exiled King Perctarit nor those of Grimoald. She cared nothing about them. She longed to be back in her own land, among her own people. She had only come here to see her old master, Brother Ruadán and, in remembering him, she understood why she was staying. She owed it to him to discover his killer.

And Brother Eolann? What was the proverb? Superbum sequitur humilitas: arrogance will bring your downfall. It was her arrogance and pride that had allowed her to be led along the false trail of the Aurum Tolosa — a fool’s treasure, indeed! She heaved a sigh and once more began to think that she was stupid to stay here and be arrogant enough to believe that she could solve this puzzle. It had been Paul, in his advice to the Philippians, who exhorted them to do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit but to always act with humility.

Humility. What did she know when it came to simple facts? Brother Ruadán had given the young boy Wamba two ancient gold coins. Why? The boy had brought one to the abbey and the next day he was dead, said to have fallen from some rocks. Shortly afterwards, Brother Ruadán was found beaten almost to death outside the gates of the abbey. Brother Ruadán, on his deathbed, believed Wamba had been killed because of the coins. Her old mentor would have eventually died from his injuries, but someone had to make sure that he did not talk to her first. Had it not been for her determination, going in stealth to his chamber before anyone was stirring, she would not have heard of the coins or the boy, Wamba. Then she had shared that knowledge with Brother Eolann.

As soon as she had mentioned the coins and Wamba to Brother Eolann, she found that she was being led into a fantasy about an ancient treasure. Aurum Tolosa. Or was it a fantasy? She had been misdirected about the name Servillius. Now Brother Eolann was dead. She had thought that he was the culprit. She realised that she was overlooking something, but she could not remember what it was. She was too tired. It had been a long day and there were still the obsequies for the dead to go through.

Finally she gave up trying to find a coherent train of thought about the matter and decided to prepare herself for the midnight ceremony. Down in the chapel, the brethren had already gathered to pay their respects to the abbot and the scriptor.

As she entered, Brother Faro seemed to be waiting for her.

‘I have not been able to find Sister Gisa,’ he opened immediately. ‘I suppose you have no idea where she might be?’

‘None at all,’ replied Fidelma, surprised at his question and the agitation in his voice. ‘I am told that you went out to look for her.’

‘I thought I had a vague idea of the whereabouts of the caves used by the hermit Aistulf.’

‘But you found no sign?’

‘Not of her, nor of the hermit. I was returning when I met Magister Ado on the way. And now there are more deaths to contend with. I heard that Venerable Ionas believes that you are capable of solving these murders. But you do not even speak the language of the Longobards. With respect, for I know both Venerable Ionas and my own master, Magister Ado, have much respect for you, I would advise you to start back to Genua tomorrow. There is much danger here.’

Fidelma gazed at the intense young man thoughtfully.

‘How do you interpret this danger then, Brother Faro? Why are you afraid of my staying here?’

‘I do not understand.’

‘I am a stranger here, true. But you are scarcely more. You told me so. You said you came here two years ago looking for a peaceful sanctuary. Why do you urge me to leave but stay yourself?’

Brother Faro seemed embarrassed. ‘I think you know why else I stay.’

‘Then you will continue your search for Sister Gisa tomorrow?’

He nodded quickly. ‘As soon as it is light. But if it happens that you see her before I do, I would advise you both to leave this valley, for I believe there is a storm coming.’

‘Tell me about Gisa,’ Fidelma said. ‘Does she know this area well? Would it be easy for her to get lost in this valley?’

‘She was raised in this valley. Many people here seem to know her well.’

‘Do you know any of her family?’

‘She has never told me about them. There are rumours that the hermit Aistulf is related. She has a good knowledge of healing plants and herbs. She has said her father was a physician. But that is all I know.’

‘Well, I will bear in mind your advice, Brother Faro. Tomorrow, perhaps, there will be others who will help in your search.’

He stared thoughtfully at her. ‘You are staying?’

‘I am staying,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘It would be an insult to the memory of my old master, Brother Ruadán, if not to the others, for me to flee from this valley without resolving this situation.’

‘I trust you will not regret that decision. I am sure that the storm is upon us.’

It was approaching midnight when the torchlit procession wound from the abbey gates up the hill to the necropolis. It was very different to the procession that had accompanied the body of Brother Ruadán only a few days before. The fear and tension of the brethren was almost a tangible reality. Only a few had obeyed the Venerable Ionas’ call to attend and these were mainly the pallbearers. The only outsider that Fidelma recognised was the youth, Odo. Hawisa had already beencovered in winding sheets and laid by the now open grave of Wamba, which had been dug by the stronger members of the brethren. There was an air of dread, of horror combined with a nervousness which caused people to start at the smallest and most insignificant sounds.

Venerable Ionas and Magister Ado led the procession behind the biers of the abbot and scriptor, followed by the steward, the apothecary, and then Fidelma with Brother Faro. Firstly the body of Hawisa was lowered into the same grave as her son, Wamba, with a simple blessing. Then the