The man sniffed and bent back to his task. ‘Then you have found him. You are the guest of the abbot who came to see Brother Ruadán, aren’t you? Sorry to hear that he died. He was a good man.’
‘Actually, I came to ask you about another death. The death of the boy, Wamba.’
Brother Waldipert stopped and gazed at her in surprise. ‘Wamba the goatherd? Why do you ask about him?’
‘I was interested by the name on the memorial stone, the fact that someone who was not a member of the brethren was buried there.’
The fat face of Brother Waldipert was sad. ‘He was one of the community to all intents and purposes. Poor little devil. He came every day to sell us fresh milk. He was good on the pipes, too.’
‘When I asked Sister Gisa how one so young was buried in the necropolis of the abbey, she told me a few details as far as she knew them. That was not much. Can you tell me about him?’
Brother Waldipert sighed. ‘Indeed, he was eleven years of age or thereabouts. A happy-go-lucky lad who, as I say, came daily to the abbey to give us milk from his goats in return for vegetables and herbs that we grow here.’
‘He was surely very young to have his own herd of goats.’
‘Oh, goodness me, no — he did not own the goats. It was his mother, Hawisa, who owned them. He herded them for her on the upper slopes of the Pénas, that is the mountain behind us.’ He waved his hand towards the window, where the slopes of the hill rose up behind the abbey.
‘I am told that he fell from some rocks on the mountain and killed himself.’
‘That is true. He was found lying beneath them,’ confirmed the cook.
‘Is it known how the boy came to fall and break his neck?’ Fidelma asked. ‘It seems an unusual occurrence for a mountain goatherd to fall in such a manner.’
Brother Waldipert stared at her suspiciously for a moment before responding. ‘Alas, he was alone on the mountain. Who knows how it happened? Accidents can and do happen. Why are you so interested?’
‘It is just that in my experience, goatherds are usually as sure-footed as their goats.’
The cook shrugged. ‘Wamba was certainly raised on the upper slopes. Perhaps he was just too sure of himself. When I last saw him, and that was a few days before he was found, he was very confident. He came here so happy, not just with the milk for sale but saying that he had found some old coin that he thought would bring his mother great fortune.’
Fidelma tried to control her interest. ‘He found a coin? One coin?’
‘Yes. He gave it to me,’ confirmed the cook. ‘He was pleasedwith his find and very boastful. He said that if he found more he would be rich enough to rule the valley. I nearly boxed his ears. Vanitas vanitatum, omnia vanitas!’ the cook intoned. Then he added: ‘Imagine the vanity of a goatherd saying he could rule in the place of the Lord of Trebbia!’
‘Even a goatherd can dream,’ Fidelma replied solemnly. ‘Did he say where he had found the coin?’
‘I think he just said that he had found it,’ Brother Waldipert said reflectively. ‘He asked me if I would exchange goods for it as I had for the milk.’
‘And did you?’
The fat man’s jowls shook as he gave a negative gesture. ‘No. I knew the coin was worth a lot for its gold weight alone. I do not even know what coin it was. An ancient one, that is all. So I told him that I would take it to the abbot and see what could be arranged. The boy trusted me and was happy to part with the coin. He went off, quite satisfied that some agreement would be reached. Then, a few days later, I was told he had been found dead.’
‘Who told you?’ Fidelma asked sharply.
‘It was the warrior who found him, Wulfoald. Do you know him? He had been coming across the mountain when he found the body of the boy at the foot of some rocks. In fact, I believe he brought the body straight here with the abbot, who announced his intention to bury him in the necropolis.’
‘That was unusual.’
‘The abbot felt it appropriate.’
‘And did you give the coin that Wamba found to the abbot?’
‘I promised the boy and so I kept that promise.’
‘And what did the abbot do with it?’
‘He gave Hawisa some goods in exchange. It was an old coin but not that valuable. Anyway, Hawisa was pleased tohave something, for she had lost her only son. I think that Hawisa gave her goats to a nephew, another goatherd, and he now supplies us as Wamba once did. A sad story. But I can’t understand why you are asking all these question about the boy.’
Fidelma forced a smile of assurance. ‘Call it idle curiosity. I was merely interested.’
Once again the words of Brother Ruadán echoed in her mind. ‘He did not deserve to die because he found the coins.’ The coins? Why not ‘a coin’? Suddenly she was confused. She was sure Brother Ruadán had said ‘had the coins’ not ‘found the coins’. Perhaps, after all, Brother Ruadán was not thinking clearly. There was a difference there, but did it mean something? Or was she reading too much into simple words?
She thanked Brother Waldipert and went out into the herbarium. There was still no sign of Brother Lonán so she sat down on a wooden seat in a corner to consider what she knew of the facts.
She had no doubt that Brother Ruadán had been deliberately killed — suffocated, most probably to prevent him saying anything further to her. But no one had known about her visit early on the morning he was killed. No one knew that he had mentioned the coins or the boy, Wamba. According to Sister Gisa, the boy was killed about the same time that Brother Ruadán was severely beaten. What was the link? There must be one. But if the boy had been killed for the value of the coin, it was the abbot himself who had been its ultimate recipient. He had compensated the boy’s mother for it. If the abbot had been part of this affair, would he have done so? Fidelma did not even know what affair she was talking about, except that Brother Ruadán called it ‘evil’. She could hardly go to the abbot for information. What couldshe say? What excuse could she give without revealing what Brother Ruadán had said?
There was a mystery here which centred around the death of the boy Wamba and an ancient coin. But how could she set about resolving it without bringing attention upon herself?
CHAPTER TEN
What would Brehon Morann, in whose famous college Fidelma had studied law, have advised her to do? Consult all the witnesses. But who were the witnesses? Wulfoald had found the boy’s body. The coin had been given to Abbot Servillius. Who else? What was the name of the boy’s mother? Hawisa. She might be worth speaking with. But Fidelma was faced with two problems. The first was finding out where the woman lived. The second was that, even if she did find her, Fidelma did not have any knowledge of the language of the Longobards. She doubted that a goatherd’s mother could speak Latin. She was going to be restricted in what she did unless she could trust someone to be her interpreter.
She considered all her limited choices. Brother Eolann was one of the few in the abbey with whom she had been able to establish an immediate rapport. Moreover, he was of Muman. Belonging to the same country was a bond. If the ascent of the mountain proved difficult, at least he was young and physically fit. With her mind made up, she left the herbarium and made her way back to the scriptorium. She encountered no one before she reached the oak door in the tower. Brother Eolann was once more at his desk.
‘Do you know Hawisa, the mother of the goatherd Wamba who was found dead a week or so ago?’ she asked without preamble.
‘I know of her,’ he said guardedly. ‘But I would think that Brother Waldipert would be able to help you more than I can. Wamba used to supply the abbey with goat’s milk. All I know is that Hawisa lives on the middle reaches of the mountain behind us.’