‘The boy … poor little Wamba. He did not deserve to die because he had the coins.’
Those were the very words that he had said that morning. What coins? Why the coins? How did Wamba die? Whom could she ask? Whom could she trust?
By the time she had returned to her chamber in the guest-house, her mind was swimming with so many questions that she knew she would be unable to sleep. But exhaustion caught up with her and suddenly she was waking to the early-morning light.
CHAPTER NINE
At the first meal of the day, Abbot Servillius greeted her with a sad smile. ‘Have you rested well, Sister?’ He seemed unusually concerned.
‘I have,’ she replied.
‘Excellent. A good sleep can be a great healing of emotions.’
The prayers and the single bell proclaimed the ritual of the meal which was eaten this time in a self-imposed silence. Even Magister Ado and the Venerable Ionas seemed engrossed in their own thoughts. It was not until the end of the meal that Abbot Servillius approached her again. He reached into his marsupium, drew out something wrapped in a piece of cloth and handed it to her.
‘As I promised, here is the item that you may take back to Brother Ruadán’s abbey, where he started out on his journey, as a token of the love we bore him.’
Fidelma unwrapped it. It was a silver cross that Brother Ruadán had worn on a small chain around his neck. She remembered it well from the time she was a child when he had been teaching her. Solemnly, she re-wrapped it and put it in her own marsupium.
‘The brethren of Inis Celtra will appreciate this, Abbot Servillius. Thank you for this gesture.’
The abbot waved her thanks aside. ‘I suppose you will be thinking of making your plans to travel back to your own country now?’ he said. ‘The autumn will soon be approaching. I would not delay any longer, for the road between here and Genua becomes very bad. The Trebbia is inclined to flood and make it impassable.’
Fidelma was about to reply when the abbot apparently seemed to catch sight of someone across the refectorium, asked her pardon and hurried off. Then she was aware of Magister Ado at her side, speaking to her.
‘It was my fault, encouraging you to make a journey all this way for nothing,’ he was saying. ‘You could have been halfway across the ocean by now.’
‘I came to see Brother Ruadán,’ she replied reprovingly. ‘At least I was able to do that before his death and am now able to tell his brethren at Inis Celtra how he was gathered to God after serving this abbey. The abbot was kind enough to give me a relic to take to them in remembrance.’
Magister Ado appeared embarrassed. ‘I chose my words in a clumsy manner, for which I sincerely apologise. I am glad to offer you any assistance you require to help you back to Genua. Have you made any plans as to when you will leave?’
It seemed to Fidelma that there were many people suddenly willing to help her leave the abbey and return to Genua: Radoald, Abbot Servillius and now Magister Ado. She wondered why.
‘I have made no plans yet,’ she told him. ‘I am hoping I will have time to study the abbey and the surrounding countryside a little before doing so.’
Magister Ado looked astonished. ‘Why?’ It was almost a demand.
‘So that I am able to report to the scholars of Hibernia how the Blessed Colm Bán chose this place to end his days,’ she replied easily. ‘I have barely seen anything yet. I shall depart when I have gathered sufficient information to satisfy the scholars of Hibernia, and you, as a scholar, should appreciate that above all people.’
She left the refectorium and made her way to the gates of the abbey. Her intention was to examine the gravestone that had caught her eye the previous night. At the gate was Sister Gisa, waiting.
‘How are you this morning, Sister Fidelma?’ the young girl greeted her with apparent concern.
‘Well enough,’ replied Fidelma. It seemed everyone was also solicitous about her welfare.
‘A sad thing it is, to have come all this way to witness the death of your old master.’
‘At least it can be said that I saw him before he died,’ Fidelma replied before changing the subject. ‘Are you waiting for Brother Faro?’ she asked. The girl actually flushed.
‘Why would I be?’ she countered almost aggressively.
‘You and he are greatly attached to one another,’ Fidelma observed gently. ‘That much is obvious.’
‘Oh, I …’ The girl was startled.
‘Do not worry. There is surely nothing wrong in that?’
There was scarlet on the girl’s cheeks. ‘I have not broken the rules of the abbey.’
‘Of course not.’ Fidelma smiled reassuringly. ‘Forgive me if it is something that you do not wish to speak of.’
‘Please,’ the girl was clearly worried, ‘please say nothing. Abbot Servillius is very strict on the rule of segregation and on celibacy.’
‘Then why do you and Brother Faro not move to a mixed-house where married religious are allowed? If you are serious about your feelings for one another, then there is no problem in finding such a sanctuary. Those who advocate celibacy among the religious are still a minority — the ascetics who think denial of life is a way to fulfil life.’
Sister Gisa actually smiled, albeit anxiously.
‘You are discerning, Sister. I hope that there are none here who are as discerning as you.’
‘I believe Magister Ado knows how you feel.’
At once a look of alarm came back to the girl’s features. ‘He knows?’
‘I am sure that he would not betray you but would bless your resolve if you went to find a place that is more congenial to your thoughts.’
‘But Faro is his disciple — he educated him in the Faith. And Faro does not want to leave Bobium.’
‘So you have spoken to him about it?’
Sister Gisa sighed. ‘I have. He wants to finish his studies here before he thinks of moving on. He joined the abbey only two years ago and feels he must study further before he seeks another place.’ Then she changed the subject. ‘Where are you going now?’
‘I am just on my way to the necropolis to lay a flower on Ruadán’s grave as is our custom in my country,’ Fidelma answered.
Sister Gisa fell in step with her. ‘I shall accompany you then,’ she announced. The girl was silent for a moment and then asked: ‘When will you be starting back for Genua to find a ship for your homeland?’
Fidelma suppressed a sigh. She wondered how many more would ask the same question. ‘Within a few days. Perhapsa week. But I would like to see more of the abbey and its surroundings first.’
This time the girl did not ask why but suddenly pointed to a group of bushes not far away. ‘There are some flowers, white ones. They would be suitable, would they not?’
Fidelma followed the girl to the bushes and gathered some of the white lily-looking flowers. There was no one about in the abbey’s necropolis as they climbed the hillside and entered. Once again her attention was drawn to the three curious constructions at the top end of the necropolis. Now, in the daylight, she realised they were sepulchres, burial chambers built in the fashion of tiny palaces that she had seen in Rome. Ornate structures of white stone that resembled the Ancient Roman buildings.
‘To whom are those dedicated?’ she asked.
‘They are the burial chambers of the abbots.’
‘But there are only three.’
‘That is because the community has only started to erect them. The grave of the founder of the abbey, Columbanus, is under the High Altar in the abbey chapel. But the other abbots are placed out here. That one on the end is where Attala rests. He succeeded Columbanus. That next one is the tomb of Bertulf. He went to Rome and accepted the authority of the Pope over the abbey. And the third one, that is where Abbot Bobolen lays. He was the one who accepted the Rule of Benedict and the mitre of a bishop from Pope Theodore just twenty years or so ago.’