Behold a Pale Horse (4 page)

‘I am good enough,’ replied Fidelma, suppressing her irritation at not being taken at her word.

‘Then we shall make good time to Bobium,’ Magister Ado said soothingly.

‘This is part of the old Salt Road,’ offered Magister Ado, who was riding alongside her. Behind them came Brother Faro on a grey, fiery-tempered horse, while Sister Gisa was seated on the pack mule. Fidelma, who was a keen judge of horses, had observed that the horses they rode were of a breed she had not encountered before, with high withers, short back, narrow croup, and tail hung low.

‘The Salt Road?’ she frowned. She had been going to ask about the breed when Master Ado’s statement distracted her.

‘The road leads to Ticinum Papia, a city beyond this mountain range and further to the north. Merchants bring goods, such as wool, wine and olives, to the seaport. Then they pick up salt and transport it back to Ticinum Papia. Hence the name, the Salt Road.’

‘And is it to Ticinum Papia that we are heading?’

He shook his head. ‘We will stop tonight at a little hamlet where the Salt Road turns up through mountains due north. Our route will continue into a valley which is called the Valley of the Trebbia, and that leads to the Abbey of Bobium.’

Fidelma had been observing the countryside through which they were riding. She was fascinated by the fact that it bore certain resemblances to her own land. The mountains were not towering peaks but were of the softer curves and rose to heights with which she was familiar. The lower slopes of the mountains were covered in dense forests. Many of the trees she could recognise as beech, rowan and whitebeam. Even the ferns and bracken gave a familiar look to the countryside. She could almost pretend that she was in her own land, except for some indefinable quality. Perhaps it was the rich, reddish-brown soil.

Now and then, in the sky above, she also recognised wheeling kestrels and sparrow-hawks. Among the trees she could hear snatches of birdsong that she was unable to identify. Perhaps that was what alerted her to the fact that she was in a strange countryside. Then she caught sight of an oak tree. She recognised it as an oak and yet there was something different about the shape of the leaves.

Her companions, Magister Ado, Sister Gisa and even Brother Faro, were friendly and helpful whenever she asked a question about the terrain or the flora and fauna as they rode along.

It was Brother Faro who eventually pointed to a hill which began to emerge high above the others a little distance ahead to their left.

‘That is Monte Antola. Tonight, we shall rest this side of it, and then leave the old Salt Road, and tomorrow we move into the Valley of Trebbia to the south of it. Our abbey overlooks the banks of the Trebbia.’

Magister Ado added: ‘It is on that southern peak, called the Prela, that the Trebbia rises as a spring and flows down all the way to a giant river we call the Padus. But that is a long way to the north of Bobium.’

It was now that Fidelma realised that the mountains were rising considerably higher than those she was acquainted with in Ireland.

‘Do we have to climb over those mountains?’ she asked with some apprehension at their forbidding contours.

‘There is a pass,’ Brother Faro assured her. ‘And it is in that pass we shall find shelter for the night.’

That night they shared a small inn with a few merchants heading south. They had a warm corner and sat exchanging information about their background and countries. Magister Ado was full of questions about the land from which Columbanus came. In turn, Fidelma discovered some of the background of her companions.

Sister Gisa was a Longobard and came from the Trebbia Valley. She was, as Fidelma noted before, gifted with good looks and intelligence, and her comments were carefully considered before being uttered. Fidelma put her age as no more than twenty-one or -two. She had gone to Bobium to study computus under Magister Ado. Brother Faro had come to the abbey only two years before but, apart from being told that he came from somewhere to the north, Fidelma learned little about him.

‘Is Bobium a
conhospitae
– a mixed house?’ Fidelma queried after they had told her that several religious from her own land still came to serve in the abbey.

‘No,’ Magister Ado replied immediately. ‘It never was. Until twenty years ago our abbey maintained the Rule as handed down by our founder, Columbanus. Then Abbot Bobolen, with the support of the brethren, decided to adopt the
Regula Benedicti
.’

‘The Rule of Benedict?’ Fidelma knew of the disagreements that this Rule was causing among the abbeys of her own land. ‘You forsook the Rule of your founder?’

‘We have to move with the times,’ replied Magister Ado. ‘Columbanus’ Rule was harsh and compromises had to be made.’ He saw her puzzled expression. ‘You remark on this? Indeed, many could not agree with the heavy discipline and punishment that Columbanus imposed. Even if a member of the abbey found no time to shave and presented himself at Mass in such a manner, he could receive six strokes of the scourge.’

‘But that is not the way of the religious houses in Hibernia,’ Fidelma protested. ‘How can you claim that this was the Rule of Colm Bán?’

‘A Rule that we have now rejected in favour of Benedict.’ He gazed at her thoughtfully and added: ‘Several of the religious who have joined us from Hibernia have also been amazed at being told about the harshness of Columbanus’ Rule.’

‘Indeed, they would. It bears no resemblance to the rules that govern our own abbeys. In fact, it sounds more like the Penitentials which some are trying to impose in our land. Do you mean to tell me that Colm Bán adopted the Penitentials here?’

It was Sister Gisa who proposed an answer. ‘I have heard it said that Columbanus was faced with trying to discipline his Frankish and Longobard followers, who needed a firm hand, and thus he adopted harsher rules than those used in his own land.’

‘You said that the abbey had adopted the
Regula Benedicti
– so that means that the abbey is segregated between the sexes?’

Magister Ado gave an affirmative nod. ‘There is a house for women outside the main abbey, although we have not entirely banned the sexes from coming together in work and in worship, joining us in the evening meal before prayer. Many still argue that we should maintain a
conhospitae
, the mixed houses which are still prevalent in your country.’

‘Does your current abbot support the segregation of the sexes?’

‘He supports the aescetics who believe in celibacy,’ added Sister Gisa, and then compressed her lips after she had spoken as if she regretted her comment.

‘Abbot Servillius is an old friend of mine,’ Magister Ado explained with a disapproving glance at the young Sister. ‘I have known him since a young man. He is of an old patrician family of Rome and very proud of that fact. He is a firm supporter of the concept of celibacy and frequently reminds us that it is an ancient custom even with the priests of Bacchus in Rome, for it brings us nearer to religious fulfilment.’

‘The concept is certainly gaining powerful adherents in Rome,’ Fidelma remarked. ‘Does that cause tension in Bobium?’

‘Not within the abbey, for the brethren are of one mind,’ Magister Ado replied quickly. ‘The cause of tension is mainly from the outside.’

‘You refer again to the followers of Arius?’ Fidelma saw a quick exchange of troubled glances between Brother Faro and Sister Gisa.

‘There is no need to worry,’ Magister Ado returned. ‘If you are thinking of the attack on me, I believe it might be retaliation because I have spoken out against the profligate bishops and nobles of this land who claim to be followers of Arius. They use the banner of Arius as an excuse for their attacks on the religious communities.’

‘Isn’t that a cause for concern? From what you tell me, you had barely stepped ashore at Genua when you were attacked. How long had you been away?’

His look was suddenly keen. ‘You have an inquiring mind, Fidelma.’

‘It is the nature of my training,’ she admitted. ‘I ask pardon if there is anything amiss in my question.’

The elderly religieux seemed to relax and smile. ‘Not at all. I was away but a few weeks. I took the journey only to purchase an ancient text in the
scriptorium
of the abbey at Tolosa. Now we are nearly home. Tomorrow we shall enter the Valley of the Trebbia. There will be nothing to fear there.’

For someone who had so recently been attacked, Fidelma was surprised at the man’s quiet confidence and dismissal of further dangers.

The next morning, leaving the main highway, they followed a smaller track across the hills and soon descended into a long winding valley through which a gushing river now flowed.

‘The Trebbia,’ announced Brother Faro, who was now riding alongside Fidelma. Magister Ado and Sister Gisa were a little way ahead of them. ‘The river flows all the way past Bobium. We will spend one more night on our journey, near Mount Lésima, and then the following morning we shall see the holy place where Columbanus settled with his followers.’

The valley was even more reminiscent of some lush green valleys in parts of Fidelma’s native land. It was little wonder that Colm Bán had felt at ease in choosing this country in which to establish his community. Perhaps it had reminded him of his home. On hills on either side of the river, the brilliant green of beech in full leaf, the elder trees with their massive, many-branched domes, were glorious – but little else grew around them, for the dense leaves threw out a protective canopy during the summer, denying light to the shrubs that needed it. The beeches rose on the high slopes. Lower down, the more compact whitebeams grew, now and then catching a breeze causing them to show silver-white as the thick felt of hairs on the underside of their leaves were suddenly displayed. Again, bracken and fern spread along the lower valley slopes where the trees thinned. From some of these trees she saw the thick, climbing stems of wild clematis with their white and greenish flowers, causing an odour of vanilla to permeate the air.

Brother Faro noticed her interest in her surroundings and unbent further from his usual air of distance.

‘You recall the dish we ate last evening?’ He pointed to some tall trees dominating areas of the lower reaches. ‘That was sweet chestnuts, the fruit of those trees there.’

Fidelma had seen such trees in her journey to the Saxon kingdoms. An old sage had told her that the Romans had brought the tree into the country long ago.

‘They are similar to trees I have seen in the lands of the Saxons, but the nuts there do not ripen for eating like they do here,’ she observed.

Magister Ado and Sister Gisa had halted in order for them to catch up.

‘The nuts on these trees are rich and succulent,’ called Sister Gisa over her shoulder, hearing the end of their conversation. ‘You have merely to bend down and gather the spiky husks, split them open and harvest the nuts. They are often used in the dishes here.’

Magister Ado now dropped back to ride alongside Brother Faro in order that Sister Gisa and Fidelma could continue their conversation on local food. Sister Gisa and Brother Faro rode nearest to the riverbank while Fidelma and Magister Ado rode on the interior side of the path.

Ahead of them, Fidelma had noticed a bird with pointed wings and long tail rising abruptly from where it had been standing by the edge of the river which ran to their left. The bird rose with its strange chirping cry and Fidelma recognised a kestrel. A moment later from the woods came piercing cries and two large, dark birds with broad rounded wings and short necks suddenly soared from the treetops. Buzzards. There came a cacophony of bird noise, causing her to glance at the dark woodlands. She saw a shadow by a tree and turned back with a cry of warning.

Magister Ado had apparently already seen the shadow, for he leaned sharply across his horse’s neck. There was a whistling sound and Brother Faro gave a cry of pain and fell from his horse, sprawling on his back on the track. Fidelma had only time to realise that the haft of an arrow was protruding from his shoulder and there was blood spurting from the wound. When she glanced back, Magister Ado had straightened up. It seemed that he had seen the archer loosening his bow and ducked. The arrow had passed over him and hit Brother Faro instead. Sister Gisa was screaming.