Peter Tremayne - Behold a Pale Horse

Magister Ado was regarding her with interest. ‘And is this true? Are you the same person who has won such approbation at the Lateran Palace from the Holy Father himself?’

Fidelma was uncomfortable at the fuss and repeated: ‘I am Fidelma of Cashel. Where is this Abbey of Bobium? I should like to see Brother Ruadán again.’

‘It is up in the mountains, Sister. About three days’ ride on a good horse.’ It was Brother Faro who responded.

Fidelma’s face fell a little with disappointment. Three days on horseback and, doubtless, she would need a guide in this unknown terrain. With little prospect of finding an immediate ship for Massilia, she could possibly afford the time, but where could she find a horse and guide? She still had a long journey before her to reach home.

‘Ah, then time and means prohibit my journey to see him,’ she said. ‘I beg your pardon, Magister Ado. I was letting emotion rule my mind. What was I saying?’

Sister Gisa was refilling the clay goblets. ‘You were saying that you did not think the attack on the magister was just some street robbers taking their chance.’

‘What makes you think so?’ the elderly religieux asked.

‘Your demeanour for a start,’ Fidelma said. ‘Your hesitation about describing the men who attacked you. The way Brother Faro here was anxiously awaiting your coming and the words you exchanged. The fact that he waited while we entered this house before checking to see whether anyone wasobserving … There are many good reasons why this does not appear as some chance attempt at robbery. That is even before we get to the behaviour of the attackers themselves.’

Magister Ado suddenly snorted with amusement.

‘I think that there is little that escapes your eye, Fidelma of Cashel.’

‘Except the explanation for this drama,’ she pressed.

There was a moment of quiet before Magister Ado responded.

‘You say that you only intervened because you saw that I, a religieux, was about to be attacked? You never saw me before that moment in the street?’

‘I am a stranger here. Why should I know you?’

‘Do you know much about this land, Sister? I mean this land of the Longobards?’

‘Very little,’ she confessed, still puzzled.

‘Did you know that our Abbey of Bobium was founded by a great teacher from your country called Columbanus?’

‘Colm Bán?’ She automatically corrected the name to Irish form. ‘I know of him and his works. But I thought his missionary work lay mainly among the Franks of the north. Also, I thought that he had died many years ago.’

‘He did die many years ago — for it was over fifty years ago that he crossed the great mountains and established our abbey. I entered it as a young man to study in the great library that he left us.’

‘The Magister Ado is renowned among our people,’ added Brother Faro in a tone of pride. ‘He wrote the great Vita Cummianus .’

‘Not great, my son,’ reproved the elderly man. ‘I was young. It was a work of poor quality at best. Do you know of Cummianus, Sister?’

‘I only know that Cuimmíne is a common name among my people.’

‘The man I speak of was also a bishop from your land who came to Bobium when he was elderly but lived with us for many years. He was a truly saintly man, worthy of a better hand than mine to transcribe his life and deeds.’

‘My magister is modest,’ insisted the young religieux. ‘He has written several works and is known through the land of the Longobards as a great scholar.’

Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘Yet this still does not explain why you should be attacked.’

‘Quite right. Quite right,’ acknowledged the elderly man. ‘How learned are you, Fidelma of Hibernia?’

‘It depends.’

‘Depends?’ He was surprised at the answer.

‘It depends what subject that you are inquiring about, for is it not said that everyone is ignorant of things that they have yet to learn?’

Magister Ado chuckled. ‘I see that you like precision in your language.’

‘I am a lawyer and taught to be so.’

‘Very well. Let us say that there are many discords among the people here. There are factions, talk of civil wars and intrigues. They manifest themselves not just in the civil life but even among those of the Faith.’

‘So why the attack upon you?’

‘Bobium has stood above these intrigues and recognises the authority of the Holy Father in Rome and the creed of the Faith adopted at Nicaea. For some, that is a position worthy of death.’

Fidelma looked shocked. ‘I do not understand.’

‘We, who declare our creed to be that given by the FirstCouncil of Nicaea, tend to band together for protection in this land.’

‘Protection?’ queried Fidelma. ‘From whom?’

Magister Ado hesitated before he answered her. ‘The majority of the people of this territory either remain devoted to the old gods of their ancestors or they believe in the doctrines of Arius. Some are more fanatical in their belief than others.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Wanton destruction and tumult marks the path of their leaders, and their war bands desecrate this land.’

Fidelma tried to recall something about Arius. She knew that he had been declared a heretic at the First Council of Nicaea. She could not remember exactly why.

‘I would appreciate some elucidation, Magister Ado,’ she finally said.

‘Arius was from Alexandria where he taught the Faith three hundred years ago. While we uphold the Holy Trinity, Arius taught that there could only be one God. While God the Father had existed eternally, God the Son, born as Jesus, did not and was therefore created by, and thus inferior, to God. He even argued that this meant, at one time, Christ did not exist.’

‘But we are taught the Trinity, that God is three in one — God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit.’

‘Indeed,’ Magister Ado solemnly agreed. ‘But Arius and his followers declare there is one God, always existing before time began, and creator of the world. God the Father created His Son, Who was subservient to the Father, Who also created the Holy Spirit, Who was similarly subservient to the Son.’

Fidelma saw a logic to the argument, which she had never heard before, and decided that she must look further into these teachings. However, she kept this thought to herself.

‘I fail to see how such differences in interpretation can lead to bloodshed,’ she finally observed.

Brother Faro shook his head sadly. ‘It already has. An Arian nobleman, visiting Bobium only a short time ago, was so incensed when one of our brethren refused to acknowledge his arguments, that he drew his sword and cut him down.’

‘We must apologise to you, Sister Fidelma,’ Sister Gisa added. ‘I think Brother Faro tried to save you any anguish by saying that Brother Ruadán was sick with ague. In fact, he is confined to his bed having been beaten by these same followers of Arius. It happened the day before we left to come to Genua.’

Before Fidelma could express her shock, Magister Ado turned to Brother Faro. ‘You should have told me this at once.’

‘As Sister Gisa said, it happened the day before we left Bobium to come and meet you,’ admitted Brother Faro. ‘I would have told you sooner but my mind was filled with your safe arrival.’

‘And the details?’ pressed the magister .

‘Brother Ruadán was found outside the gates of the abbey early one morning. There was a piece of papyrus pinned to his bloodstained clothing with the word “heretic” scrawled on it.’

Fidelma was astounded. ‘You say that he is injured and confined to his bed? How badly injured is he?’

Sister Gisa compressed her lips. ‘He is bad, Sister. Our physician did not hold out any great hope. As you know, he is elderly and there is little strength left in him to fight.’