The panicking townsfolk, including members of the female community, were now pushing in through the gates. Above the cacophony they heard the discordant sounds of war horns blasting, harsh and angry, further down the valley.
‘The attack!’ cried Venerable Ionas. ‘We are lost!’
‘We are not!’ came the sharp tones of Wulfoald. ‘We must hold here until Radoald arrives. The gates must be shut at once.’
Venerable Ionas stared at him for a moment. There were still people struggling to get through the gates, some with squawking chickens, others dragging goats or hauling reluctant pigs. For a moment Fidelma thought the elderly scholar would refuse the order, but then it seemed he realised there was no other choice. With his mouth drawn into a grim line he seized a passing member of the brethren. It was the fat cook, Brother Waldipert.
‘Shut the gates. Go, get others and help Brother Bladulf. Tell those who cannot get into the abbey to run and hide as best they can. We can’t shelter everyone. The gates must be shut now!’ While the cook hurried off on his errand, calling on some of the passing brethren to follow him to the gate, Venerable Ionas joined Magister Ado in trying to organise the brethren, getting the horses into the stable.
Fidelma followed Wulfoald up the short flight of stone steps leading to the walkway above the gate. Aistulf had already organised the warriors into position, with their bows strung and arrows at the ready. Fidelma realised that the few bowmen would not keep any serious attack back for very long.
By this time, Brother Bladulf and Brother Waldipert, with the help of others of the brethren, had pressed the gates home against the unfortunate people left outside. They were nowdispersing in all directions, wailing and crying in fright. Inside the abbey courtyard was a small crowd of townsfolk adding to the panic of the brethren. Fidelma, with a sigh of relief, saw that Sister Gisa had returned safely among them. She felt a moment of sorrow for the girl who had to face the terrible truth about the man she obviously loved. A few moments later, Sister Gisa with Magister Ado and Venerable Ionas joined them on the walkway overlooking the gates.
As they looked anxiously across the Trebbia, the sound of the war horns came again, and this time from much nearer. Now they could hear the advance of horses, crunching on the stony path and splashing in the shallows. The war band came suddenly into sight with banners waving. They rode up the lower slopes, coming to a halt outside the abbey walls. The people from the settlement who had remained outside the abbey walls had now miraculously disappeared into the undergrowth and forests.
‘Not as large a party as I feared,’ muttered Wulfoald with some satisfaction, examining the opposing force.
‘Large enough to break in and destroy us,’ Venerable Ionas replied pessimistically.
Fidelma viewed the enemy warriors below them. They had drawn up before the abbey gates, waiting for the order of their leader. Fidelma had already recognised the black-bearded Lord of Vars. Next to him she could see the large form of his steward Kakko, a battle-axe in his hand, carried as if it weighed no more than a hazel wand.
‘Oh, look!’ the cry came from Sister Gisa. ‘Look!’
A warrior of youthful appearance had ridden forward from Grasulf’s side. There was something familiar about his manner although not his clothing, with its burnished breastplate and warrior’s accoutrement and helmet. He halted hispale grey horse, removed his helmet and stared up arrogantly at them.
‘Brother Faro!’ Magister Ado breathed through clenched teeth.
Fidelma nodded slowly. ‘There is the leader of this evil conspiracy that has caused all these deaths. “Behold a pale horse: and the name that sat on him was Death”.’
Magister Ado was still shocked. ‘But Brother Faro was my pupil! How came he to this treachery and evil?’
Brother Faro had caught sight of them looking down and moved his horse nearer.
‘We are come to take something that belongs to Grasulf, Lord of Vars, and soon to be Lord of Trebbia.’ His face was fixed in a triumphant smile. He turned and pointed to the necropolis. Two of Grasulf’s warriors detached themselves from the rest and rode swiftly into the burial ground, their horses trampling through the graves towards the mausoleums of the abbots. Everyone waited in silence as they heard metal striking on stone. Faro sat relaxed on his horse, still gazing up at them.
‘I suggest that you open the gates. We would sooner take the abbey peacefully than come against it with weapons and fire.’
Venerable Ionas looked nervously at Wulfoald. The warrior said, ‘Stay firm. Radoald will be here soon. He must!’ The old scholar nodded and stared down at Brother Faro with distaste.
‘You know that you come against a House of God, Brother Faro. What has happened to your vows that you betray us and come in arms against your own brethren?’
‘I took a stronger vow to my King long before I disguised myself in rough woollens,’ was the reply. ‘I am Faro, Lord ofTurbigo.’ Then the young man caught sight of Sister Gisa and his features seemed to soften. ‘Gisa, I am sorry that you had to find out this way. Believe me, what passed between us was not false. Now I give you my protection and offer you my companionship. Leave your drab associates and join me.’
She had been standing shivering as one caught in a cold wind. Suddenly she seemed to erupt, her face contorted with anger as she faced the truth. ‘Companionship?’ she cried, though her eyes were swimming with tears. ‘The companionship of a murderer?’
‘The companionship of the Lord of Turbigo, Commander in the army of Perctarit, the rightful King of the Longobards!’ Faro replied.
They heard a cry of rage from the direction of the necropolis and one of the men who had been despatched there came riding back at a swift canter. There was a quick exchange with Faro which those on the wall could not make out. Faro looked up at them.
‘So, you have found that which rightfully belongs to Grasulf? I suggest you hand it over without further delay.’
Grasulf, overhearing this, had edged his horse forward alongside Faro and there was a sneer on his face as he gazed up at them.
‘Have they stolen the gold?’ His voice was loud. ‘Well, we will fire the place in any event,’ he said. Then he caught sight of Fidelma. ‘Well, well, all the little birds are gathered, and among them is the Hibernian princess. Don’t worry — if you are taken alive, a princess ought to be worth a ransom from someone. Especially from slavers.’ Then he glanced at his companion. ‘Come, Faro, we cannot afford to waste words. They have our ultimatum. The gates are to be opened immediately or we start the attack andwill burn this place down with everyone in it if they don’t surrender.’
Faro sat back with a shrug. ‘You hear what the Lord of Vars says?’ he called. ‘You have a choice. Open the gates or we shall fire the abbey.’
‘Open the gates, open the gates!’ a commanding voice began to cry from inside the courtyard. They turned in surprise to see Brother Wulfila, the steward, hurrying towards them. Brother Bladulf, so used to receiving commands from the steward, was already moving, swinging the bar away from the gates.
‘Our third conspirator,’ Fidelma cried. ‘I should have warned you. Stop him!’ But the noise of the voices from those inside the courtyard were rising too loudly for her to be heard. She turned to Venerable Ionas. ‘You must stop him. Wulfila is Perctarit’s man.’
While Venerable Ionas hesitated in bewilderment, it was Wulfoald who almost leaped from the wall and, running towards the gates, threw himself at the steward. Wulfila turned; he already had one of the heavy wooden bars in his hands, and wielded it with ease like a trained warrior. The blow caught Wulfoald on the side of the head and brought him crashing to the ground. Then Wulfila was pushing through the now unsecured gate.
Above the cacophony there came the sound of more war horns, long clear blasts, and a large band of horsemen were galloping across the river, banners flying as they swept towards Grasulf’s war band. Faro turned to face the approaching danger and suddenly his helmet was replaced and his sword was drawn. Grasulf gave out a curse in a great roaring voice.