Her companions, Magister Ado, Sister Gisa and even Brother Faro, were friendly and helpful whenever she asked a question about the terrain or the flora and fauna as they rode along.
It was Brother Faro who eventually pointed to a hill which began to emerge high above the others a little distance ahead to their left.
‘That is Monte Antola. Tonight, we shall rest this side of it, and then leave the old Salt Road, and tomorrow we move into the Valley of Trebbia to the south of it. Our abbey overlooks the banks of the Trebbia.’
Magister Ado added: ‘It is on that southern peak, called the Prela, that the Trebbia rises as a spring and flows down all the way to a giant river we call the Padus. But that is a long way to the north of Bobium.’
It was now that Fidelma realised that the mountains were rising considerably higher than those she was acquainted with in Ireland.
‘Do we have to climb over those mountains?’ she asked with some apprehension at their forbidding contours.
‘There is a pass,’ Brother Faro assured her. ‘And it is in that pass we shall find shelter for the night.’
That night they shared a small inn with a few merchants heading south. They had a warm corner and sat exchanging information about their background and countries. Magister Ado was full of questions about the land from which Columbanus came. In turn, Fidelma discovered some of the background of her companions.
Sister Gisa was a Longobard and came from the Trebbia Valley. She was, as Fidelma noted before, gifted with good looks and intelligence, and her comments were carefully considered before being uttered. Fidelma put her age as no more than twenty-one or — two. She had gone to Bobium to study computus under Magister Ado. Brother Faro had come to the abbey only two years before but, apart from being told that he came from somewhere to the north, Fidelma learned little about him.
‘Is Bobium a conhospitae — a mixed house?’ Fidelma queried after they had told her that several religious from her own land still came to serve in the abbey.
‘No,’ Magister Ado replied immediately. ‘It never was. Until twenty years ago our abbey maintained the Rule as handed down by our founder, Columbanus. Then Abbot Bobolen, with the support of the brethren, decided to adopt the Regula Benedicti.’
‘The Rule of Benedict?’ Fidelma knew of the disagreements that this Rule was causing among the abbeys of her own land. ‘You forsook the Rule of your founder?’
‘We have to move with the times,’ replied Magister Ado. ‘Columbanus’ Rule was harsh and compromises had to be made.’ He saw her puzzled expression. ‘You remark on this? Indeed, many could not agree with the heavy discipline and punishment that Columbanus imposed. Even if a member of the abbey found no time to shave and presented himself at Mass in such a manner, he could receive six strokes of the scourge.’
‘But that is not the way of the religious houses in Hibernia,’ Fidelma protested. ‘How can you claim that this was the Rule of Colm Bán?’
‘A Rule that we have now rejected in favour of Benedict.’ He gazed at her thoughtfully and added: ‘Several of the religious who have joined us from Hibernia have also been amazed at being told about the harshness of Columbanus’ Rule.’
‘Indeed, they would. It bears no resemblance to the rules that govern our own abbeys. In fact, it sounds more like the Penitentials which some are trying to impose in our land. Do you mean to tell me that Colm Bán adopted the Penitentials here?’
It was Sister Gisa who proposed an answer. ‘I have heard it said that Columbanus was faced with trying to discipline his Frankish and Longobard followers, who needed a firmhand, and thus he adopted harsher rules than those used in his own land.’
‘You said that the abbey had adopted the Regula Benedicti
— so that means that the abbey is segregated between the sexes?’
Magister Ado gave an affirmative nod. ‘There is a house for women outside the main abbey, although we have not entirely banned the sexes from coming together in work and in worship, joining us in the evening meal before prayer. Many still argue that we should maintain a conhospitae, the mixed houses which are still prevalent in your country.’
‘Does your current abbot support the segregation of the sexes?’
‘He supports the aescetics who believe in celibacy,’ added Sister Gisa, and then compressed her lips after she had spoken as if she regretted her comment.
‘Abbot Servillius is an old friend of mine,’ Magister Ado explained with a disapproving glance at the young Sister. ‘I have known him since a young man. He is of an old patrician family of Rome and very proud of that fact. He is a firm supporter of the concept of celibacy and frequently reminds us that it is an ancient custom even with the priests of Bacchus in Rome, for it brings us nearer to religious fulfilment.’
‘The concept is certainly gaining powerful adherents in Rome,’ Fidelma remarked. ‘Does that cause tension in Bobium?’
‘Not within the abbey, for the brethren are of one mind,’ Magister Ado replied quickly. ‘The cause of tension is mainly from the outside.’
‘You refer again to the followers of Arius?’ Fidelma saw a quick exchange of troubled glances between Brother Faro and Sister Gisa.
‘There is no need to worry,’ Magister Ado returned. ‘If you are thinking of the attack on me, I believe it might be retaliation because I have spoken out against the profligate bishops and nobles of this land who claim to be followers of Arius. They use the banner of Arius as an excuse for their attacks on the religious communities.’
‘Isn’t that a cause for concern? From what you tell me, you had barely stepped ashore at Genua when you were attacked. How long had you been away?’
His look was suddenly keen. ‘You have an inquiring mind, Fidelma.’
‘It is the nature of my training,’ she admitted. ‘I ask pardon if there is anything amiss in my question.’
The elderly religieux seemed to relax and smile. ‘Not at all. I was away but a few weeks. I took the journey only to purchase an ancient text in the scriptorium of the abbey at Tolosa. Now we are nearly home. Tomorrow we shall enter the Valley of the Trebbia. There will be nothing to fear there.’
For someone who had so recently been attacked, Fidelma was surprised at the man’s quiet confidence and dismissal of further dangers.
The next morning, leaving the main highway, they followed a smaller track across the hills and soon descended into a long winding valley through which a gushing river now flowed.
‘The Trebbia,’ announced Brother Faro, who was now riding alongside Fidelma. Magister Ado and Sister Gisa were a little way ahead of them. ‘The river flows all the way past Bobium. We will spend one more night on our journey, near Mount Lésima, and then the following morning we shall see the holy place where Columbanus settled with his followers.’
The valley was even more reminiscent of some lush green valleys in parts of Fidelma’s native land. It was little wonder that Colm Bán had felt at ease in choosing this country in which to establish his community. Perhaps it had reminded him of his home. On hills on either side of the river, the brilliant green of beech in full leaf, the elder trees with their massive, many-branched domes, were glorious — but little else grew around them, for the dense leaves threw out a protective canopy during the summer, denying light to the shrubs that needed it. The beeches rose on the high slopes. Lower down, the more compact whitebeams grew, now and then catching a breeze causing them to show silver-white as the thick felt of hairs on the underside of their leaves were suddenly displayed. Again, bracken and fern spread along the lower valley slopes where the trees thinned. From some of these trees she saw the thick, climbing stems of wild clematis with their white and greenish flowers, causing an odour of vanilla to permeate the air.