Sister Gisa nodded thoughtfully. ‘Magister Ado has only just returned from Aquitània. We came to accompany him back to Bobium.’
Fidelma had the impression that Magister Ado shot Sister Gisa a glance of both disapproval and warning. ‘I had heard that a ship had put in from Massilia today,’ she said, ‘and I was hoping that I would be able to return on it. However, the master of the vessel told me that he was on his way to Ostia. Indeed, you are right to raise the question as to how these people would know you were here and thus able to launch an attack on you.’
Magister Ado shrugged. ‘Our Arian enemies are doubtless well-informed, Sister. Bishop Britmund of Placentia is our most implacable enemy. He could have heard that Brother Faro and Sister Gisa were coming to meet me.’
Brother Faro flushed and said: ‘We were careful not to reveal the purpose of our journey to anyone outside the abbey.’
‘I am not blaming you, my young friend,’ Magister Ado replied. ‘But sometimes an attentive enemy can make logical deductions.’
‘And that being so, we should not tarry long in this place,’ Sister Gisa said nervously.
‘Then you plan to set out for the Abbey of Bobium soon?’ asked Fidelma.
‘Tomorrow at first light,’ Brother Faro affirmed.
Fidelma hesitated. ‘If what you tell me about Brother Ruadán is true, I feel it my duty to try to see him before … before …’
She did not want to finish the thought. Brother Ruadán held a special place in the affections of Fidelma. Her mother had died giving her birth and her father, King Failbe Flann, had died when she and her brother, Colgú, were still very young. When the time came for Fidelma’s schooling, she had been sent to Brother Ruadán’s tiny community on Inis Celtra. From the age of seven until the aimsir togu, the female age of choice, at fourteen years, Brother Ruadán had been charged with the care of her education. He had become almost the father figure she had barely known. It was in him that she had placed her childhood feelings before going to further her education at the law school of Brehon Morann of Tara. Therefore, it was no sense of duty but an emotional need that compelled her wish to see him.
‘You could accompany us, Sister.’ Sister Gisa’s voice was eager.
‘It is a long ride through the mountains,’ pointed out Brother Faro, with a reproving look at the girl.
‘That would not stop me if I could find a horse. But I do not have the means to do so.’
Magister Ado looked thoughtful for a moment or two. Then, as if he had come to a decision, he turned to Brother Faro. ‘Did you bring a mule in case there was extra baggage to be carried?’
Brother Faro looked at him in surprise and then reluctantly nodded. ‘We did. We brought a mule with us for the baggage.’
‘Perhaps …’ began the magister.
Sister Gisa cut him short. ‘There is not much baggage and I can ride a mule.’
‘Can you ride?’ Magister Ado asked Fidelma.
‘I can,’ she answered immediately. She had ridden almost before she could walk.
‘It is a long ride and the terrain may be difficult for you,’ Brother Faro protested.
‘I have travelled long distances over mountain terrain,’ Fidelma assured him.
‘I was impressed that Sister Fidelma was able to see beyond the fact that my attackers were not simply street robbers,’ Magister Ado told the young man. ‘I think she may be useful to us.’
Before Fidelma could ask in what way, Sister Gisa said enthusiastically, ‘Then it is settled. It will be good to have you as our companion on the journey.’
Brother Faro sighed, apparently accepting the inevitable. ‘I think you should collect whatever you need to accompany us, but do not bring more than is essential for your needs, and do not speak to anyone more than you can help. When you return here, ensure that no one follows you. We shall set off into the mountains at first light.’
‘I shall try not to be a burden to you, Brother Faro,’ she told him solemnly, but he did not notice the humour in her voice.
‘After the attack on Magister Ado, there is no need to impress upon you that we should be vigilant.’
‘Very well, Brother Faro,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I shall make my preparations. I can leave anything I do not need in the hostel where I am staying, and will return here before sunup so that darkness will veil me from prying eyes.’
As she rose to her feet, so did Magister Ado.
‘Perhaps it would be best not to mention at the hostel that you are even journeying to Bobium,’ he suggested. ‘It is not an impossibility that my erstwhile attackers could decide to ask questions at any hostel in this port, seeking information about you and, therefore, about me.’
Fidelma did not show her intrigue at her newfound companions’ conspiratorial methods.
‘I shall be back before first light,’ she said. ‘And shall look forward to our journey to Bobium.’
‘It is a difficult route through the mountains, Fidelma,’ Brother Faro repeated, still sceptical. ‘Some three days in the saddle. So I trust you prove as good a horsewoman as you say.’
‘I am good enough,’ replied Fidelma, suppressing her irritation at not being taken at her word.
‘Then we shall make good time to Bobium,’ Magister Ado said soothingly.
CHAPTER TWO
The sun was very low, seeming to balance awhile on the black tops of the mountains behind them before sinking rapidly. It had been a slow but hard ride from the port of Genua, climbing up into the mountains along the winding tracks. Fidelma noticed that the route they followed was broad and well used. Now and then, they encountered little bands of merchants leading pack mules in the opposite direction. They passed with friendly greeting. Fidelma observed them with interest for she had not expected to see so many people on the track.
‘This is part of the old Salt Road,’ offered Magister Ado, who was riding alongside her. Behind them came Brother Faro on a grey, fiery-tempered horse, while Sister Gisa was seated on the pack mule. Fidelma, who was a keen judge of horses, had observed that the horses they rode were of a breed she had not encountered before, with high withers, short back, narrow croup, and tail hung low.
‘The Salt Road?’ she frowned. She had been going to ask about the breed when Master Ado’s statement distracted her.
‘The road leads to Ticinum Papia, a city beyond this mountain range and further to the north. Merchants bring goods,such as wool, wine and olives, to the seaport. Then they pick up salt and transport it back to Ticinum Papia. Hence the name, the Salt Road.’
‘And is it to Ticinum Papia that we are heading?’
He shook his head. ‘We will stop tonight at a little hamlet where the Salt Road turns up through mountains due north. Our route will continue into a valley which is called the Valley of the Trebbia, and that leads to the Abbey of Bobium.’
Fidelma had been observing the countryside through which they were riding. She was fascinated by the fact that it bore certain resemblances to her own land. The mountains were not towering peaks but were of the softer curves and rose to heights with which she was familiar. The lower slopes of the mountains were covered in dense forests. Many of the trees she could recognise as beech, rowan and whitebeam. Even the ferns and bracken gave a familiar look to the countryside. She could almost pretend that she was in her own land, except for some indefinable quality. Perhaps it was the rich, reddish-brown soil.
Now and then, in the sky above, she also recognised wheeling kestrels and sparrow-hawks. Among the trees she could hear snatches of birdsong that she was unable to identify. Perhaps that was what alerted her to the fact that she was in a strange countryside. Then she caught sight of an oak tree. She recognised it as an oak and yet there was something different about the shape of the leaves.