‘Perctarit again?’
‘The same Perctarit who is trying to regain his throne here. Rothari died twelve years ago and he ordered this book to be written and also the Edictum Rothari which is the first codification of the laws of the Longobards.’
Fidelma sighed impatiently. ‘In truth, Brother Eolann, my head is swimming with all these strange, unpronounceable names. I am longing to return to the sweet sounds of our own language in Muman. Now, first things first. How did they treat you? You weren’t hurt during your questioning?’
‘Hurt? Oh, you mean by Grasulf. No, he did not hurt me. He just asked me questions about what we were doing, and then told me to come here.’ He glanced at the scroll and confided, ‘This was the first book I saw. I have to say, my first thought was whether our abbey library had a copy.’
Fidelma was still walking about the room. ‘Let us take a look at the extent of our prison,’ she said, turning to the door that Kakko had indicated. ‘Have you examined the outside yet?’
Brother Eolann looked embarrassed and shook his head. So she opened it and stepped through. Beyond was a terrace; on three sides, the walls of the fortress towered above it, while the fourth side was opened to a distant vista of mountains and skies beyond. A small protective wall ran along this side as a barrier from the sheer drop. Tubs of earth with plants were placed here and there to relieve the grey paved surface of the terrace.
There was only one other door giving access to the areaapart from the one from the scriptorium. There were no handles on the outside of this door. Fidelma strode across to it and gave it a push. It was as solid as the wall around it, bolted or barred from the inside. Fidelma gazed up. There were a few high windows but it was clear that the area was enclosed and hardly overlooked at all — if anyone could, in fact, peer down from above.
Fidelma then walked across to the small parapet with Brother Eolann following. She halted and gazed down. At first glance it appeared to be a sheer drop down a rockface to the valley below. She was used to mountains and heights but this view made her dizzy. She took a deep breath and stood back.
‘It is estimated to be one hundred and fifty metres to the valley floor,’ came a familiar voice, speaking Latin.
She swung round to see that Grasulf, Lord of Vars, had stepped out through the mysterious door in the central wall.
‘An impressive view,’ conceded Fidelma.
Grasulf ’s features were solemn. ‘It is not the recommended path out of this fortress. At least, not for our guests. It has other usages. Those we find attempting to betray us, or those who commit crimes against us, thieves and murderers, come to know it as a ready means of crossing the Ormet into the arms of our goddess Hel.’
Fidelma was puzzled. ‘It is used as a method of execution,’ explained Brother Eolann. ‘Hel is the goddess who presides over their underworld, Helheim.’
‘I am impressed with your knowledge, Brother Eolann,’ the Lord of Vars said with a smile. ‘That is precisely what I mean. Ormet is the river that separates life from death. And now, how do you like my little library? I have been looking for someone who would appreciate the books here ever sincemy own scriptor died. Perhaps it was the Fates who brought you hither?’
‘Yes — if the Fates are what you call the warriors who abducted us,’ replied Fidelma dryly. ‘But I doubt we shall be here long enough to appreciate your books, Grasulf.’
The Lord of Vars nodded in appreciation. ‘It is a long while since I have met with a person of wit. You shall feast with me this evening. Yes, Brother Eolann as well. You will tell me about your world beyond these valleys. I will send Kakko to escort you. In the meantime, continue to enjoy the scriptorium.’
He turned and exited as he had come. They heard the door being secured on the inside.
Fidelma walked back to the parapet.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Brother Eolann nervously.
‘Just checking to see what the way to the infernal regions looks like,’ she replied without humour.
She spent a few minutes gazing down at the dizzy descent to the valley floor. Then she turned back into the library where Brother Eolann was once again examining the scroll book that he had found so amazing. Fidelma, whose thoughts were on escape, regarded him with disapproval. Then she turned to the shelves and a new thought struck her as she recalled the mystery of the library at Bobium.
‘Do you recall telling me that some of the books in your library had been vandalised?’
‘I do.’ The scriptor looked up with sudden interest. ‘Why?’
‘Do you recall the titles?’
‘Yes, for as I told you, I had to send to other libraries seeking copies to replace the ones whose pages were cut out.’
Fidelma was blessed with a good memory. It was part ofa dálaigh’s training. ‘One of them was Livy’s history, Ab Urbe Condita Libri, as I recall.’
‘It was. Why?’
‘Because I see a copy of it.’ Fidelma pointed to the book. ‘It occurs to me that you might wish to know what was on the pages that were cut out.’
Brother Eolann took the book from the shelf and placed it on the table. ‘This volume appears to be an exact copy. I recall how the next page started after the deleted one.’
‘I don’t suppose you can recall the pages that had been cut out?’
‘I have a pride in my task in life, lady,’ he protested. ‘I would be a poor librarian if I did not know what had been damaged in my own library.’ Brother Eolann began to turn the thick vellum pages. Then he paused and looked carefully at one particular page before reading, ‘Marcus triumphali veste in senatum venit … That is on the page after the one cut out.’
Fidelma translated. ‘Marcus entered the senate in triumphal dress. So what is on the page that was cut out?’
He turned back to the page: ‘Ah, it starts: Caepionis cuis tementate clades accepta erat damnnati bona publicata sunt. Caepio, who had caused the defeat by his rashness, was convicted and his possessions confiscated.’
‘It sounds as if it is an account of some battle, and someone called Caepio’s role in it.’ Fidelma was curious. ‘Why would anyone want to deface a book for that extract?’
Brother Eolann shrugged. ‘Ancient battles are not a particular interest of mine, lady.’
She took the book from him and scanned the text. It was of little interest so far as she was concerned. ‘This seems to recount that a Roman Proconsul called Caepio commandedpart of an army at a battle that took place at Aurasio. The senior General, Gnaeus Mallius Maximus, commanded the major part of the army. It seems Caepio was a patrician. Because his superior, Mallius Maximus, was not an aristocrat, he refused to cooperate with him or obey his commands. He thought it beneath his dignity.
‘The passage goes on to say that when the General succeeded in brokering a peace with the enemy’s army, Caepio attacked on his own. The result was that his army was wiped out before the enemy turned on Mallius’ army and wiped that out as well. Some one hundred and twenty thousand were slaughtered. Caepio managed to escape back to Rome but Rome was in an uproar at the news. They tried Caepio and found him guilty of misconduct. He was saved from death only by his aristocratic position, but was sent into exile, while all his wealth, goods and property were confiscated.’ She glanced at the scriptor. ‘I wonder when this happened. Can you tell from the text?’
Brother Eolann leaned over her shoulder and pointed to some tiny figures in the margin: ‘According to the dates,’ he replied, peering at the text, ‘Anno Urbis Conditae six hundred and forty-eight … that means what we calculated as roughly a hundred years before the birth of Christ.’
‘Well, it teaches us nothing as to the reason why the passage should be cut from the book.’ Fidelma grimaced in resignation. ‘Maybe we should search for the Polybius and see if that is related to the same battle and this man Caepio. But it doesn’t seem significant. Maybe it was just wilful vandalism.’