As the others followed his example, Fidelma added: ‘I am now certain that Grasulf will have been informed that the gold is at the abbey and he is on the way to seize it. We must ride back and warn the brethren.’
‘It will take me a while to gather sufficient warriors,’ Radoald said with a frown.
‘We have Grimoald’s two warriors and four of my men who are good bowmen. I could take them and accompany Fidelma,’ Wulfoald suggested. ‘The abbey can be defended. We might be able to hold off any attempt to take the gold until you gather the rest of the men.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Aistulf announced with enthusiasm. ‘
‘I thought you had renounced warfare?’ Radoald said to his father.
‘There comes a time when one cannot stand by with indifference. This is as much my valley and my people that Grasulf is attacking,’ replied Aistulf. ‘Have no fear, my son, you remain Lord of Trebbia. I am merely a hermit but I have a right to fight for the peace of this valley as much as anyone.’
Sister Gisa also insisted on accompanying them in spite of her distressed state. Wulfoald, with Grimoald’s two black-cloaked warriors, rode ahead with Fidelma and Sister Gisa followed, then four more warriors came behind them with Aistulf at their head. They rode purposefully, without talking. Fidelma was worried. Her mind was still running over all the evidence, since in spite of her assurance of Faro’s guilt and Brother Eolann’s complicity, there was a nagging in her mind about the identity of the third conspirator. She suspectedwho it was but could not be sure. There was something that she was missing.
It was late afternoon when they finally crossed the hump-back bridge. Another of Wulfoald’s warriors had appeared, riding towards them from the direction of Travo. He met them by the bridge. The exchange was rapid and brief.
‘Grasulf and his warriors have already crossed into the valley downstream and are heading in this direction,’ Wulfoald shouted to Fidelma. ‘We have little time to alert the abbey and township.’
The party did not delay but crossed the bridge and galloped up to the gates of the abbey. Brother Bladulf had apparently returned from Mount Pénas, for it was he who opened the gates. Venerable Ionas and Magister Ado were already in the courtyard and came hurrying across to greet them.
‘You are about to be attacked by Grasulf’s men in the name of Perctarit,’ shouted Wulfoald, as he swung down from his horse. ‘I would gather as many people into the abbey as you can for safety, then shut the gates and be ready to receive them.’
Venerable Ionas was about to ask a question when his eyes alighted on Aistulf. He was shocked.
‘My lord Billo,’ he began. ‘What-?’
Aistulf brushed him aside. ‘Explanations can come later. You have no time before Grasulf attacks.’
‘It is so,’ Fidelma said. ‘Brother Faro is behind this conspiracy. Is he here?’
‘He has not returned since this morning,’ gasped Magister Ado. ‘I cannot believe it.’
‘There is no time to debate the matter,’ Fidelma snapped. ‘You must prepare.’
Wulfoald was already ordering his warriors to take positions on the walls above the gates of the abbey.
‘We cannot fight against Grasulf,’ Magister Ado protested. ‘This is a House of God, of peace. Our brethren are sworn to peace.’
‘We will do the fighting for you,’ Wulfoald said tersely. ‘Just pray for us.’
Venerable Ionas stared at them in dismay. ‘How can we defend ourselves with just these few warriors?’ he demanded.
‘Lord Radoald is coming with a larger force,’ replied Wulfoald. ‘They should be here soon. Please, sound the alarm bell of the abbey before it is too late.’
Brother Bladulf was waiting nervously, but when the order was relayed to him, he went to the watch-tower and, untying a rope, began the warning peal on the abbey bell. The courtyard became a sea of confused figures, with members of the brethren running this way and that. Sister Gisa had ridden off to the house of women in the township to rouse the Sisters who, with others, began flooding towards the abbey gates, some of them even herding their livestock with them. Magister Ado had become galvanised into action as he saw the panic of the brethren and the people. He was shouting instructions, trying to make himself heard, commanding, explaining, and trying to create some order in the confusion.
Fidelma now turned towards the pale, anxious figure of Venerable Ionas.
‘Did you do as I asked?’ she said.
He was distracted and she had to ask again before he confirmed it.
‘It is all moved and the lock secured again?’ she pressed.
‘It was done exactly as you suggested.’
‘And no one else has been informed?’
‘No one saw us and I swore those who helped to silence, as you told me.’
The panicking townsfolk, including members of the female community, were now pushing in through the gates. Above the cacophony they heard the discordant sounds of war horns blasting, harsh and angry, further down the valley.
‘The attack!’ cried Venerable Ionas. ‘We are lost!’
‘We are not!’ came the sharp tones of Wulfoald. ‘We must hold here until Radoald arrives. The gates must be shut at once.’
Venerable Ionas stared at him for a moment. There were still people struggling to get through the gates, some with squawking chickens, others dragging goats or hauling reluctant pigs. For a moment Fidelma thought the elderly scholar would refuse the order, but then it seemed he realised there was no other choice. With his mouth drawn into a grim line he seized a passing member of the brethren. It was the fat cook, Brother Waldipert.
‘Shut the gates. Go, get others and help Brother Bladulf. Tell those who cannot get into the abbey to run and hide as best they can. We can’t shelter everyone. The gates must be shut now!’ While the cook hurried off on his errand, calling on some of the passing brethren to follow him to the gate, Venerable Ionas joined Magister Ado in trying to organise the brethren, getting the horses into the stable.
Fidelma followed Wulfoald up the short flight of stone steps leading to the walkway above the gate. Aistulf had already organised the warriors into position, with their bows strung and arrows at the ready. Fidelma realised that the few bowmen would not keep any serious attack back for very long.
By this time, Brother Bladulf and Brother Waldipert, with the help of others of the brethren, had pressed the gates home against the unfortunate people left outside. They were nowdispersing in all directions, wailing and crying in fright. Inside the abbey courtyard was a small crowd of townsfolk adding to the panic of the brethren. Fidelma, with a sigh of relief, saw that Sister Gisa had returned safely among them. She felt a moment of sorrow for the girl who had to face the terrible truth about the man she obviously loved. A few moments later, Sister Gisa with Magister Ado and Venerable Ionas joined them on the walkway overlooking the gates.
As they looked anxiously across the Trebbia, the sound of the war horns came again, and this time from much nearer. Now they could hear the advance of horses, crunching on the stony path and splashing in the shallows. The war band came suddenly into sight with banners waving. They rode up the lower slopes, coming to a halt outside the abbey walls. The people from the settlement who had remained outside the abbey walls had now miraculously disappeared into the undergrowth and forests.
‘Not as large a party as I feared,’ muttered Wulfoald with some satisfaction, examining the opposing force.
‘Large enough to break in and destroy us,’ Venerable Ionas replied pessimistically.
Fidelma viewed the enemy warriors below them. They had drawn up before the abbey gates, waiting for the order of their leader. Fidelma had already recognised the black-bearded Lord of Vars. Next to him she could see the large form of his steward Kakko, a battle-axe in his hand, carried as if it weighed no more than a hazel wand.
‘Oh, look!’ the cry came from Sister Gisa. ‘Look!’
A warrior of youthful appearance had ridden forward from Grasulf’s side. There was something familiar about his manner although not his clothing, with its burnished breastplate and warrior’s accoutrement and helmet. He halted hispale grey horse, removed his helmet and stared up arrogantly at them.
‘Brother Faro!’ Magister Ado breathed through clenched teeth.
Fidelma nodded slowly. ‘There is the leader of this evil conspiracy that has caused all these deaths. “Behold a pale horse: and the name that sat on him was Death”.’
Magister Ado was still shocked. ‘But Brother Faro was my pupil! How came he to this treachery and
