Behold a Pale Horse (28 page)

‘Colm Bán?’ Grasulf was asking, puzzled.

‘You call him Columbanus. He that founded the Abbey at Bobium.’

‘Ah, so,’ sighed the Lord of Vars. ‘I have heard of him and he is long dead. So who were you visiting at Bobium if not this
scriptor
?’

‘Brother Ruadán, who died recently.’

Kakko stirred slightly. ‘I met this Brother Ruadán once, my lord,’ he said. ‘He was very elderly. He used to wander the territory up to Placentia preaching against the Christian belief of the Arians.’

Lord Grasulf took a goblet of wine from Kakko and swallowed eagerly before speaking.

‘You say that he is now dead?’

‘He is,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘Now I demand to be released with my comrade, Brother Eolann, and to be allowed to return to Bobium so that I may continue my journey back to my own land.’

‘Released?’ Grasulf sat back in his chair and stared moodily at her for a moment. ‘Life is not as simple as that, lady. These are troubled times and people do not always tell the truth. Who knows why you and your companion were really on the summit of the Pénas overlooking this valley. Perhaps you were spying?’

Fidelma thrust out her chin. ‘The truth is as I have told you. There is nothing else.’

‘We will see.’

‘I protest—’

‘To whom, lady? I am Lord of Vars and any authority you have does not exist here either by birth, by law or by your religion.’

‘Not by religion? Then I perceive you are all followers of Arius here?’

For the first time Grasulf’s features broadened into a smile while Kakko gave one of his great guffaws of laughter. Grasulf took another large swallow of his wine before responding. Fidelma deduced that he was a man fond of his drink.

‘Lady, we are true Longobards,’ replied Grasulf. ‘We hold to our own beliefs. We worship only Godan, Father of the Gods, King of Asgard, ruler of the Aesir. Lord of War, Death and Knowledge. He is our true god and protector.’

Fidelma gasped involuntarily. ‘Then you are pagans?’

‘We are only those who follow a different god to you.’

‘How long do you propose to keep us prisoner?’ she demanded, having absorbed this information. ‘And where is Brother Eolann? Has he been harmed?’

‘Do not distress yourself, lady,’ boomed Kakko humorously. ‘My lord has a small
scriptorium
to which your companion has been taken. My lord’s
scriptor
died several moons ago, since when the books have been abandoned.’

Grasulf added: ‘I have decided that while you and Brother Eolann are here you may make yourselves useful in sorting out my books.’

‘So,’ she said finally, ‘you propose to keep us here indefinitely?’

‘Until I ascertain that you are no threat.’

‘Threat to whom?’

‘Threat to the peace and well-being of my people.’

‘Who do you fear, Grasulf, apart from a wandering woman of Hibernia and a
scriptor
?’ she sneered. ‘Maybe it is this Perctarit or maybe Grimoald, who are fighting over this kingdom.’

‘Why should I fear either?’ replied the Lord of Vars indifferently. ‘Who pays me well, has my allegiance.’ He was helping himself to more wine when he realised that Fidelma had scarcely touched her goblet. ‘You do not drink your wine, lady. Can it be that you have no love for the juice of the grape?’

‘I love freedom even more,’ she replied. ‘If my companion and I are to be kept as prisoners here, I would make a plea to your chivalry that we are not continually confined to the same stuffy cell.’

Grasulf almost chuckled. ‘What do you suggest? That I let you wander freely outside the walls of my fortress?’

‘We will respect the confines of your fortress. But there must be a place where we may rest our minds and bodies – an
herbarium
, a place of greenery, a place where we could relax yet keep our minds active. Let us have some freedom from the confines of cells and libraries. I ask this as the daughter of a king in my own land, for does not the saying exist in your land that a king may grant respect to others if he is strong and secure in his own kingdom? You tell me that you are strong and secure in your territory: you may now prove it to me.’

‘The saying is that an excess of caution does no harm for it is better to have eggs today than only the promise of chickens tomorrow,’ replied Grasulf. Then he turned to Kakko and spoke rapidly in the language of the Longobards, before he gestured a dismissal with his hand and turned to refill his goblet from the pitcher.

Fidelma wondered if it would be politic to ask whether his men had killed Lady Gunora and if the young prince was a prisoner in the fortress. Then she decided she must find out more first. If the Lord of Vars
had
killed Lady Gunora and kidnapped the boy, then he would have no compunction in killing her and Brother Eolann. And the thought also struck her that if the two men she had seen the previous day with the flaming sword and laurel wreath emblem, were the same ones who had attacked Magister Ado – what were they doing in a fortress of pagans? Many thoughts ran through her mind.

Kakko did not lead her back to the chamber where she had been a prisoner but took her on a different route. As they crossed the smaller courtyard he was still chuckling.

‘You have impressed my lord Grasulf, little sister. You will be released from your chamber in the mornings and returned to it at night. During daylight you will be taken to the library. Next to that you will also find a small open area where you may take exercise. There is a door on the far side which gives access to the
necessarium
.’ He glanced at her and added, ‘Do not have any false hopes, little sister. The area is enclosed on three sides by the fortress walls and on the fourth … well, if you had wings to fly, like Huginn and Muninn, you might fly away.’

‘Like who?’

‘You saw the ravens carved on my lord’s chair? They are Huginn and Muninn, the ravens who guard our great god, Godan.’

Fidelma did not bother to reply. Her mind was busy thinking that if they were not confined to the claustrophobic chamber in which they had been held, there might be a better chance of escape. They were crossing the main courtyard again, though not in the same direction. A thought suddenly struck her.

‘You promised to return our travelling bags. There are personal items in them that we might use to make ourselves comfortable during our stay here – for however long that may be.’

Kakko grinned. ‘No harm in that. They will be returned to you.’

He opened a door at the base of a tower in a corner of the courtyard. Once through the tower door they turned immediately to the left, where dark wooden doors gave access into a large chamber with a long central table. All around the walls was shelving, with books piled everywhere. Fidelma gazed round the library. She had certainly seen larger ones in her own land, where the books were usually hung on pegs in book-satchels rather than stacked on shelves. Brother Eolann was there with his head already buried in one of the scroll books. He looked up, his face smiling and eager.

‘This is truly amazing, lady,’ he greeted her. He remained seated at the table and was tapping a thick scroll before him.

‘I would not call it amazing,’ she replied, her eyes travelling to the high windows which let in a certain amount of light but not sufficient to read by. There were candles and an oil lamp and disused writing materials scattered about. Apart from the door which she had come in by, there was another one at the far end of the room.

‘Through that door you will find a large space which is often used for exercise,’ Kakko said, pointing. ‘I should warn you not to go too near the edge as it is a long way down into the valley below.’ He grinned at them and left, and she heard a key turn in the lock.

‘By amazing, I meant this, lady.’ Ignoring the interruption, Brother Eolann was again tapping the book before him.

‘Why, what is it?’ Fidelma was not particularly interested as she surveyed the confines of the library.

‘Origio Gentis Longobardotum.’

‘The Origin of the Longobards?’ translated Fidelma.

‘Exactly so, lady. I have heard of this book but never seen it before. It tells how their gods Godan and Frea set the Longobards free from their unjust rulers to move south to take over these lands.’

‘It’s an old book then?’ she asked absently.

‘I doubt more than twenty years old. It is said to have been drawn up by King Rothari, who was grandfather of Godepert and Perctarit.’

‘Perctarit again?’

‘The same Perctarit who is trying to regain his throne here. Rothari died twelve years ago and he ordered this book to be written and also the
Edictum Rothari
which is the first codification of the laws of the Longobards.’

Fidelma sighed impatiently. ‘In truth, Brother Eolann, my head is swimming with all these strange, unpronounceable names. I am longing to return to the sweet sounds of our own language in Muman. Now, first things first. How did they treat you? You weren’t hurt during your questioning?’

‘Hurt? Oh, you mean by Grasulf. No, he did not hurt me. He just asked me questions about what we were doing, and then told me to come here.’ He glanced at the scroll and confided, ‘This was the first book I saw. I have to say, my first thought was whether our abbey library had a copy.’

Fidelma was still walking about the room. ‘Let us take a look at the extent of our prison,’ she said, turning to the door that Kakko had indicated. ‘Have you examined the outside yet?’

Brother Eolann looked embarrassed and shook his head. So she opened it and stepped through. Beyond was a terrace; on three sides, the walls of the fortress towered above it, while the fourth side was opened to a distant vista of mountains and skies beyond. A small protective wall ran along this side as a barrier from the sheer drop. Tubs of earth with plants were placed here and there to relieve the grey paved surface of the terrace.

There was only one other door giving access to the area apart from the one from the
scriptorium
. There were no handles on the outside of this door. Fidelma strode across to it and gave it a push. It was as solid as the wall around it, bolted or barred from the inside. Fidelma gazed up. There were a few high windows but it was clear that the area was enclosed and hardly overlooked at all – if anyone could, in fact, peer down from above.

Fidelma then walked across to the small parapet with Brother Eolann following. She halted and gazed down. At first glance it appeared to be a sheer drop down a rockface to the valley below. She was used to mountains and heights but this view made her dizzy. She took a deep breath and stood back.

‘It is estimated to be one hundred and fifty metres to the valley floor,’ came a familiar voice, speaking Latin.

She swung round to see that Grasulf, Lord of Vars, had stepped out through the mysterious door in the central wall.

‘An impressive view,’ conceded Fidelma.

Grasulf’s features were solemn. ‘It is not the recommended path out of this fortress. At least, not for our guests. It has other usages. Those we find attempting to betray us, or those who commit crimes against us, thieves and murderers, come to know it as a ready means of crossing the Ormet into the arms of our goddess Hel.’

Fidelma was puzzled. ‘It is used as a method of execution,’ explained Brother Eolann. ‘Hel is the goddess who presides over their underworld, Helheim.’

‘I am impressed with your knowledge, Brother Eolann,’ the Lord of Vars said with a smile. ‘That is precisely what I mean. Ormet is the river that separates life from death. And now, how do you like my little library? I have been looking for someone who would appreciate the books here ever since my own
scriptor
died. Perhaps it was the Fates who brought you hither?’

‘Yes – if the Fates are what you call the warriors who abducted us,’ replied Fidelma dryly. ‘But I doubt we shall be here long enough to appreciate your books, Grasulf.’

The Lord of Vars nodded in appreciation. ‘It is a long while since I have met with a person of wit. You shall feast with me this evening. Yes, Brother Eolann as well. You will tell me about your world beyond these valleys. I will send Kakko to escort you. In the meantime, continue to enjoy the
scriptorium
.’

He turned and exited as he had come. They heard the door being secured on the inside.

Fidelma walked back to the parapet.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Brother Eolann nervously.

‘Just checking to see what the way to the infernal regions looks like,’ she replied without humour.

She spent a few minutes gazing down at the dizzy descent to the valley floor. Then she turned back into the library where Brother Eolann was once again examining the scroll book that he had found so amazing. Fidelma, whose thoughts were on escape, regarded him with disapproval. Then she turned to the shelves and a new thought struck her as she recalled the mystery of the library at Bobium.

‘Do you recall telling me that some of the books in your library had been vandalised?’

‘I do.’ The
scriptor
looked up with sudden interest. ‘Why?’