Behold a Pale Horse (32 page)

Seeing Suidur’s mount in daylight, Fidelma realised that her thoughts in the darkness had been right. It was of the same breed and colouring, the same pale grey, that she had seen several times in the valley. She had seen Wulfoald and Brother Faro mounted on this same short-backed animal with the narrow croup and long tail. It had certainly displayed a hardiness and stamina and galloped like a sprinter for all its fiery temperament. It was truly a warrior’s horse.

‘Is that Wulfoald’s horse?’ she asked Suidur, for the beast was so alike.

‘What makes you think that?’ the physician demanded, puzzled. Then he smiled. ‘Oh, I see. This is of the same breed. They were introduced in the valley only a decade ago and have flourished.’

‘I have never seen the breed before. They are light, sturdy animals.’

‘I see that you are a judge of horses, lady. Lord Billo, when he was Lord of Trebbia, bought half a dozen of them from a Byzantine merchant in Genua and bred them. We are not sure where they came from, although it was said that the merchant brought them from the east.’ Suidur paused abruptly and gazed intently towards the north.

‘You see something?’ asked Fidelma, aware of the slight tension in his body.

‘I do,’ replied the physician. ‘If seems that Grasulf was not long in recovering before raising the alarm.’

Fidelma stood and tried to follow his gaze across the valley. ‘What is it?’

‘About twenty-five horsemen following us. Don’t be alarmed, we are in no immediate danger.’

Brother Eolann was straining in the same direction now. ‘How far away?’ he demanded.

‘Oh, it will take them some time before they manage to climb up here,’ Suidur assured him.

Fidelma could now just make out a series of tiny dots at the far end of the valley. They were moving in line like a string of ants.

‘You have good vision, Suidur,’ she said. ‘I can barely see them. Is it Grasulf?’

‘No one else would be riding so hard. You might not be able to discern them well, but I think that is as it should be. We would not wish to see them any closer to us.’

He checked with his warriors that all was ready. Once more Fidelma and Brother Eolann took their bags and hoisted them on their backs, before mounting behind the warriors. They set off at a walking pace, continuing along the track which wound at a steep incline up through the hills.

‘Don’t worry,’ Suidur called back. ‘I think even Grasulf will turn back once we are well inside the territory of Radoald.’

Fidelma realised that, although they continued to move steadily up sharp gradients, they were not actually climbing over the mountains but rather weaving their way through them. The tracks were often wide enough only for one horse to proceed at a time. And now and then the way was so steep that they had to dismount and lead the horses. It was, for her, an extraordinary experience. Once more the conditions meant there was little exchange of conversation. They moved on through the hot afternoon with Fidelma now and then casting an apprehensive glance behind. But they had circled through the mountains so much there was little prospect of seeing any pursuers. They stopped only once at a mountain spring to allow the horses to drink and to refresh themselves. It was not until nearly sunset that they came to a strange little dell, an area that seemed to be carved unnaturally into the hillside. Yet, as she inspected it closer, she saw that it was in fact a natural shelter with overhanging bushes.

‘This will be our last halt,’ Suidur explained. ‘We start down into the Trebbia Valley tomorrow.’

‘Will it be safe to halt here?’ asked a nervous Brother Eolann.

‘Grasulf for all his pagan beliefs does not have wings like his ravens,’ replied Suidur with a smile. ‘I am sure he will have given up the chase a long time ago.’

Before long, a fire was lit and food distributed and they curled themselves up with their blankets. The shelter was not as convenient as the previous one and there was no gushing spring with shower or pool. But a small trickling spring provided water for drinking and enough to splash the face and hands.

That night Fidelma didn’t bother pursuing any conversation but was asleep almost immediately.

At first she thought it just part of a dream. She became aware of whispering. She lay for a moment trying to struggle into full consciousness without opening her eyes or moving. To her amazement the voices were speaking in Latin, and while one of them was Suidur, she could not identify the other one.

‘… dripping moisture hollows out a stone,’ Suidur was saying. ‘Grimoald acts far too quickly and as a result makes rash decisions. He should have waited.’

‘Now the magister is alert and we will never find it.’

‘There is still a chance, my lord. Grasulf will not move before he has the gold in his hand, that is for sure. My men and I went to his fortress pretending to make a counter-offer. He has certainly not been paid yet.’

‘And the foreigner and the
scriptor
? How do they stand in this matter?’

‘They are not involved. They had to be rescued. A pity, I might have found out more if I had stayed, but you know what Grasulf is like. He has no morals and would have used the girl as he thought fit or sold her to slavers. No, she had to be rescued from Vars.’

‘And you are sure that Lady Gunora was not a prisoner there?’

‘If the boy is right, Lady Gunora must be dead.’

Fidelma felt herself go cold listening to the exchange.

‘If Perctarit and his main force are at Mailand, then his men would have to move quickly now,’ said the strange voice. ‘Once Grasulf is paid for his services, he can turn on Radoald, and once Radoald is destroyed, then the routes to Genua are wide open. While Perctarit occupies the entire plain of the Padus, his Frankish allies can land by ship at Genua and march with their supplies and reinforcements all the way to him.’

‘I agree that if anything is to happen, it must happen during the next day or so. We are still no nearer to knowing where the gold is or who will supply it. It may be that we were entirely wrong about the
magister
.’

‘You will be in the mountains?’

‘I will go to see my son first and inform him.’

Hearing receding footsteps, Fidelma allowed her eyes to flick open, but from where she lay she could see nothing. She heard a rustle nearby and closed her eyes again. Her thoughts were confused but while she tried to sort them out, sleep overcame her once again.

She awoke to a glorious dawn. The sky held a brilliant light which spread across the mountain-tops all around them. The air was still and fresh. The men removed themselves a little distance so that she could carry out her toilette, and food was ready when she returned.

‘Well, it will not be long before we reach the Trebbia, just below us,’ Suidur greeted her. ‘It’s a steep descent on this side of the mountains but better than a steep ascent.’

‘And no sign of Grasulf pursuing us?’

‘No sign at all. Didn’t I say that he would give up?’

‘Let us hope you are right.’

‘Are you still worried then?’

‘The Lord of Vars told me that an excess of caution does no harm. In fact, would it not be foolish to refuse caution? I am thinking that Grasulf would reason that we would eventually be heading to Bobium. Surely he could cross the mountains to the north of here and lie in wait for us in the valley somewhere between Radoald’s fortress and Bobium?’

‘I see you have a mind attuned to strategy, lady.’

‘The daughter of a king in Hibernia is taught many things and can even lead her people in war.’

Suidur nodded as if this did not surprise him. ‘Well, if he did backtrack from where we spotted him and his men, he would have to go a considerable distance through the mountains to reach a suitable place to intersect our journey. I swear, lady, you need not worry. We will protect you.’

It was not long before they started down the mountain track on a zigzag path that seemed steeper than those they had ascended by. She could see the blue ribbon of the river she presumed was the Trebbia, snaking its way through the rocky valley below. Here and there were farmsteads and cultivated areas of trees, which she was told were olive trees, while others she knew to be vines. She wished that she could assimilate these new sights, sounds and smells, but her mind was filled with the curious mysteries that beset this valley, its abbey and its people.

The journey today was done more leisurely and as they came to the lower reaches, into the treeline and then through the great forests that edged the river – which they could now hear as a soft roar against the other noises such as the rustling of the leaves, the occasional bark of a fox and the cry of birds – Fidelma began to feel more relaxed than she had been for the last few days.

They emerged into a broad clearing by the river. There was a large farmstead and outbuildings, and beyond, a small group of olive trees and vines. A dog started barking, and a man appeared from the building. Fidelma recognised him at once. It was Radoald’s warrior, Wulfoald, who greeted Suidur with a friendly wave. A rapid-fire conversation was exchanged, in which the name of Grasulf was frequently mentioned. Finally, Wulfoald turned to Fidelma as she slid off the horse and stretched her limbs.

‘Well, lady, it seems that we have much to apologise for.’

‘Apologise?’

‘As I recall, some days back you had no sooner entered this valley than you and your companions were attacked. And now I hear that you were abducted by Grasulf, an evil man if ever there was one.’ He turned and greeted Brother Eolann before saying to Fidelma: ‘We must make up for our inhospitable neighbours.’

Wulfoald’s manner was warm and friendly. Fidelma, however, was thinking about his finding of young Wamba and Hawisa’s accusation against him and her own suspicions. She wished the questions did not continually buzz around in her head like swarming bees. She must stop thinking awhile.

‘I was just about to depart with my men for Bobium. We have spare horses so we could escort you to the gates of the abbey and make sure you reach there in safety. That is, unless you want to remain here and refresh yourselves? There is no need to break the journey at Radoald’s fortress. We could have you at Bobium by mid-afternoon.’

Fidelma considered. In fact, it suited her to return to Bobium as soon as possible, and when the matter was put to Brother Eolann, he agreed at once. Wulfoald gave instructions to his men who brought forward two spare horses.

Fidelma felt awkward when it came to taking a farewell of Suidur and his silent companions. It was true that he had rescued her and Brother Eolann but, once more, her mind was awash with unanswered questions. Perhaps it was because she disliked mysteries that she had become a
dálaigh
. When she could not resolve a problem it gnawed at her like a toothache. Yet she realised that there was nothing else she could do but pretend that she felt all was well, hiding her suspicions and doubts. She therefore thanked Suidur as warmly as she could for his intervention, and told him to translate her thanks to his companions. Brother Eolann responded more emotionally and profusely with his thanks. Finally they mounted up and joined Wulfoald and two warriors as they moved off alongside the track by the river which would lead them back to Bobium.

Brother Wulfila, the steward, came hurrying through the crowd of curious brethren who had assembled to greet them. Willing hands were already helping them down from their horses. The pair ignored the numerous questions shouted at them and asked the steward to take them directly to Abbot Servillius.

The abbot met them in his chamber. Venerable Ionas was at his side but there was no sign of Magister Ado. Brother Wulfila remained in the chamber, shutting the door behind him.