She was impressed by the breathtaking view of hilltops that surrounded her.
‘This is one of the highest peaks in these hills,’ Brother Eolann offered, seeing the rapt look on her face as she gazed around the vista. The day was warm and pleasant and the clouds that had obscured the moon on the previous night had dispersed and given way to brilliant sunshine.
They were in a sheltered dip on the peak and she could well understand why it had been chosen by Colm Bán for his sanctuary. A little way off, on the highest part of the bald, rounded hilltop, stood the half-completed building which was clearly dedicated to the Faith and marked by a large cross outside. Brother Eolann accompanied Fidelma to it and they spent a few moments in contemplation inside the darkness of the little chapel.
‘I will be reluctant to leave this spot,’ Fidelma remarked as they came out into the sunshine again. ‘Are those caves I see down there, behind the hut?’
‘They are,’ Brother Eolann confirmed. ‘They are not big ones but it is said that it was one of those that Colm Bán used as his retreat and, sadly, where that great man passed on, into the arms of Christ.’
‘Yet he is buried in the abbey.’
‘The brethren removed his body to the abbey and built a crypt for him under the chapel’s High Altar.’
‘I should pay my respects at the cave before I depart.’
The caves were not big. In fact, in the larger one there was scarcely room enough for two people to crawl in. This one showed signs of having been used recently, while the other held little of note. Fidelma left the caves and returned to examining the countryside around them. A short distance below them, the thick under-bush of ferns and bracken began, and beyond that, looking down the southern slopes, conifers and beeches marked the beginning of the dense forests that spread among these hills. Fidelma gazed once more across the impressive vista unfolding before her. As she was turning back to the hut, something caught her eye amidst the undergrowth.
‘Look!’ She pointed to a splash of colour that was out of keeping with its surroundings. It appeared to be a piece of richly coloured fabric.
She moved quickly down the hill, followed more slowly by Brother Eolann. She was plunging into the undergrowth when the scriptor called out a warning.
‘Be careful, lady. This is the sort of growth that the vipera, the venomous snake, is found in. Let me go first.’
She halted while he picked up a stout stick and began to move forward, hitting the ground and making much noise.
‘The vipera will not attack unless it thinks it is attacked,’ explained the scriptor. ‘If it hears you approaching, it will slither away for shelter. It is only if you approach in stealth and come upon it unexpectedly that it will strike.’
Fidelma was content to let him beat the path to what they thought was the fluttering fabric. But it was not just fabric. It was a body — the body of a woman. She had been dead forsome time, judging from the sickly stench of decomposition that was drawing the attention of several flying insects. The clothing now seemed familiar to Fidelma. Placing a hand across her mouth and nostrils, she crouched down to examine the features. She recognised the corpse at once.
‘It’s the Lady Gunora,’ she gasped.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The head of the woman had been almost severed from her body by several blows to the neck from a sharp-edged implement such as a sword.
Fidelma almost retched at the mangled form and she fought for a moment to control herself. At her side Brother Eolann was offering up a prayer in a horrified voice.
Once Fidelma recovered her equilibrium, she glanced intently at the area surrounding the remains.
‘What is it?’ Brother Eolann asked. ‘Do you think that her killers are hiding nearby?’
‘She has been dead for over a day,’ Fidelma replied quietly. ‘They would not delay here so long. But she left the abbey yesterday with the boy, the young Prince Romuald. Do you see any sign of … of his body?’
Brother Eolann, still pale, joined Fidelma in searching the surrounding shrubland. There were no obvious signs of another body nearby, so she returned her attention to the corpse; wrinkling her nose in distaste, she bent down and checked through the clothing, searching for any personal items. Surprisingly, there were none. It seemed that the Lady Gunora had not even been carrying the customary bag fortoilet articles, which most women of her rank carried tied at her waist. Or had she already been searched and the items taken?
‘Do you think this might be the work of Perctarit and his men?’ the scriptor asked, glancing at the corpse. ‘They might have seized the prince when they killed Lady Gunora.’
‘At the moment, Brother Eolann, we do not have sufficient knowledge to think anything. However, we shall learn nothing more here. Is there a spare blanket in the hut here?’
‘I think so,’ Brother Eolann replied, puzzled.
‘Since we cannot do anything here, I suggest that we get a blanket and use it to carry the corpse to the chapel where it will be safe from those,’ she indicated the circling buzzards, ‘or any other wild beast.’
The scriptor did not look happy but he made no demur. It took them quite a while to transport the body to the chapel and place it inside, covered by the blanket.
It had been such a warm, pleasant day when Fidelma had awoken with the vast panorama of the hills. Now the day seemed to have turned cold and unpleasant.
‘Is it time that we started back down?’ she suggested.
‘We have time enough,’ returned Brother Eolann. ‘I’d rather let the fire die down a bit so that it will be safe to leave it.’
‘I thought you had stacked it rather high this morning,’ Fidelma replied and went into the hut to brush herself down. She finished packing her bag, which she slung on her back, and re-emerged into the sunlight.
Facing her were three warriors with swords drawn and glistening threateningly in the sunlight. A fourth man stood by Brother Eolann. His sword was resting lightly with its point against the scriptor’s chest.
No one spoke or moved for a moment until Fidelma recovered from her surprise and demanded: ‘Who are these men?’
Brother Eolann cleared his throat and spoke in the local language to them. One of the men laughed gruffly before responding.
‘He says that we will soon find out. Meanwhile, we are his prisoners and will accompany him.’
‘Can’t you tell him that we are poor religious from the Abbey of Bobium?’ queried Fidelma.
Brother Eolann grimaced. ‘I fear that he knows that already, lady.’
‘You mean these are-’
The warrior who had responded suddenly shouted at her. She did not need Brother Eolann’s translation to interpret what he said. She thought of the corpse of the slain Lady Gunora and was silent.
The leading warrior said no more but turned and led the way. His men fell in around them, using the tips of their swords as prods, and began to push them along. Fidelma saw that the path they were taking led down the opposite side of the mountain from the route back to Bobium. She glanced at her companion but Brother Eolann gave a slight shake of his head, as if trying to warn her not to speak again. These warriors, whoever they were, could not be trifled with.
The country on the north-east side of the mountain seemed just as spectacular as it had been in the Trebbia Valley. Perhaps more so. She could see blue strips of rivers in valleys, surrounded by numerous peaks stretching away in all directions. In the distance were slabs of bare grey rock, which had been worn away by water erosion. Even with her concern that they were prisoners of men who cared little for their lives, Fidelma studied her surroundings carefully in case achance offered itself for escape. She registered that this side of the mountains was the weather side, where there seemed little protection against hill erosion. The usually hard rock and brittle surface often gave way to soft clay and limestone.