‘Well, there are no footsteps backwards in life, my child. Once the die is thrown, we must accept the outcome and make of it what we will.’
Fidelma paused at the door. ‘You are right, Venerable Ionas. Sometimes I give way to a selfishness of spirit, of which I should be ashamed. I have learned much from the mistake of putting trust in Brother Eolann.’
‘God made you as you are, Fidelma, and for that this abbey is grateful. Stay safe and hurry back to us.’
She left the abbey soon afterwards and only the Venerable Ionas saw her leading a horse out of the stables. He had contrived to send those brethren in the courtyard on some errands and he, himself, opened the gates for her. He followed her with a worried eye as she mounted the animal and trotted it down towards the river.
The way to Radoald’s fortress was easy as Fidelma was beginning to know it well. She crossed the hump-back bridge and turned to follow the turbulent waters of the Trebbia upstream beside the thick woods that spread along its banks. It was still early and the day tranquil with sunny blue skies. The various forest noises were so soporific that Fidelma had difficulty in accepting the grim reality of the deaths that had taken place in this pleasant countryside; in accepting the threat of warfare that would tear this peaceful valley apart.
She was concentrating so hard that a sudden shout caused her to look up in dismay. Two warriors had emerged from the trees, long black cloaks streaming, but without weapons in their hands. They were upon her before she could react. One of them grabbed at her horse’s bridle and, withoutslowing, began to canter along the side of the river. The other rider followed behind.
She could do nothing but feel anger with herself that she had been daydreaming, unaware of them lying in wait. The anger was enhanced by the fact that she now recognised the men. She did not need to examine the flaming sword and laurel wreath emblem on their jerkins nor look closely at the manner of their dress. They were the same men who had attacked Venerable Ado in Genua, the same men who, she believed, had shot an arrow at Magister Ado and hit Brother Faro by mistake when they had first arrived in the Valley of Trebbia.
They said nothing to her. One was leaning slightly forward, still holding her horse’s reins so that she had no control over the animal; the other man rode behind. She had no choice but to hang on, for the momentum of the horses made it difficult to do anything else.
She knew that they were heading upstream still, the Trebbia gushing along by the track, and she was not entirely surprised when they turned off and headed up the slope towards the fortress of Radoald, which had been her very destination.
The gates of the fortress swung open and her escorts cantered into the courtyard. Her jaw tightened. Fidelma realised that there were still several questions to be answered, but she felt confident that she had the outline, if not the detail, of the mystery.
No one said anything, no one made any move, as the dust settled around them. Then, from the main door to the great hall, a figure with white hair emerged — a tall, smiling figure. It was that of the physician, Suidur the Wise.
‘Well, Sister Fidelma — or should I call you Lady Fidelma? I am never quite sure of the correct usage for a princess whohas become a religieuse.’ He bowed with a touch of irony. ‘You are most welcome here. Get you down and come inside and take some refreshment. The dust of travel causes the throat to dry.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘Welcome?’ parried Fidelma, sliding from her horse. ‘A strange welcome, to be sure.’
‘These are warriors from Grimoald,’ Suidur explained when he saw her glance towards her captors. ‘I am afraid they can become a little too enthusiastic, for which I apologise.’
‘I have observed their enthusiasm before; first in Genua and then again when I entered this valley,’ she responded.
Suidur regarded her with a smile. He turned to the warriors and spoke rapidly in their own language. They saluted him and took the horses away. He gestured to her to follow him, saying, ‘I have always thought that you had a sharp eye, lady.’
Inside the great hall, she found Lord Radoald in the company of an older man clad in rough homespun, with long grey hair and a bent figure. They both rose to their feet as Suidur led her in. As the elderly man rose, Fidelma’s quick eye saw that the stoop of his back had been feigned. She studied his features and a smile of satisfaction formed on her lips.
‘Well, Fidelma,’ greeted the young Lord of Trebbia. ‘We have been expecting you.’
‘Expecting me? Oh, I suppose your spies saw me leavingthe abbey and coming this way. Is that why the warriors ambushed me?’
It was the man in rough homespun who replied. ‘We are engaged in a conflict of shadows, lady. We cannot afford to take chances.’
Radoald turned to the man and said, ‘This is-’
‘Aistulf.’ Fidelma smiled. ‘There is no need for you to play the bent, elderly hermit before me. You are a strange hermit, Aistulf. A player of the pipes, but one who speaks Latin and commands warriors. Why is it that you hide in the mountains and let your son rule in your place as Lord of Trebbia?’
It was Aistulf who finally broke the surprised silence that followed her question.
‘I think we have underestimated you, Fidelma of Hibernia,’ he said softly. ‘How did you know? You, a stranger? I have let no one, apart from Servillius and Gisa, see me close enough to identify me as the former Lord of Trebbia. My household has been sworn to secrecy. How have I been betrayed?’
‘You have not been betrayed, Lord Billo. At least, not so far as I am concerned,’ replied Fidelma. ‘It was a matter of logic, confirmed by the fact that I overheard you on the mountain when Suidur was bringing us back into the Trebbia Valley. You thought me asleep. When you said that you would speak to your son, it was obvious. It is known that Lord Billo and his son Radoald went to fight for Grimoald. Radoald came back from the wars and was proclaimed Lord of Trebbia. At the same time, a new person came to the valley, a recluse, Aistulf. It was easy to draw the conclusion.’
‘I came back after the wars against Perctarit seeking peace but knowing there were many things which might prevent it. I gave up my domain to my son, Radoald, changed my name and set out to live in the peace of this valley. I wanted toend my days without seeing another man, woman or child stained with blood, and hearing the cries of the wounded and dying. That is why I lived as I did. My son is now Lord of Trebbia. But unfortunately, death has followed me into this valley and now I must help to repel it. My son remains Lord of Trebbia, and if we bring this matter to a successful conclusion I will go back to being Aistulf the hermit, for that is all I want.’
Radoald signalled a servant to come forward with a flagon and goblets. ‘Be seated and refresh yourself,’ he invited Fidelma.
Fidelma had long practised the philosophy that when one was faced with no alternative it was better to appear to accept the inevitable. She sat down and accepted the goblet but asked for nothing more potent than the rich, cold water from a mountain spring.
‘So why were you expecting me?’ she asked, turning to Aistulf.
‘We were expecting you because my dear friend, Servillius, said he would send you here,’ Aistulf said. ‘Did he not explain that he thought you could be of service?’
‘Abbot Servillius was murdered last night,’ she announced flatly.
The brief silence that followed her statement was ended by a sharp intake of breath. Standing at the doorway was Sister Gisa. Fidelma felt a momentary satisfaction. At least she had not been wrong in her suspicion that she would find the girl at Radoald’s fortress. Sister Gisa had run to Suidur, who was comforting her.
‘I also heard that you found Lady Gunora’s body,’ Aistulf said quietly. ‘I had not realised, when I played the lament, that it was also for my poor friend. I thought it was for Gunora.’