Just after noon Magister Ado called a halt. The two warriors set about catching some fish, which they were soon lifting with dexterous ease from the river. Sister Gisa went to gather some berries and fruits. A fire was lit over which the fish were cooked and they gathered around to eat and drink on the river bank. It seemed, as Fidelma rested in the sunshine, that they were a million miles from any other human being, least of all from any danger. She felt as if she could just drift — drift off into a relaxing sleep …
The barking of a dog suddenly caused her to sit upright. A squarely built, wiry-coated animal burst through the trees, paused and looked around. It had an almost comical face, with hairy eyebrows and a moustache that almost hid its powerful jaws. It seemed to glance around and then, tail wagging, it trotted towards Sister Gisa, with a faint friendly yelp. Brother Faro started nervously.
‘It is a hunting dog,’ he warned.
The young girl reached out and patted the animal’s head. It seemed to have a docile temperament.
The two warriors had risen to their feet with their hands on their sword hilts. The little dog allowed Sister Gisa to stroke its head before it gave a final yelp, a sniff, and trotted off.
Fidelma seemed to be the only one who realised what made Brother Faro and the warriors nervous about the appearance of the dog.
‘Do you think that there is a hunting party nearby?’ she asked Brother Faro.
Even before he could answer her, the sound of horses andthe cries of men came to their ears. A moment more and the first riders emerged through the trees and halted abruptly as they caught sight of the group. One of the riders led a mule and across its back lay the carcass of a red deer which was, apparently, the fruits of the hunt.
Then one of Wulfoald’s warriors stepped forward and called out in his own language. Words were quickly exchanged and Fidelma noticed her companions were visibly relaxing. One of the riders, a young man richly attired in embroidered hunting clothes and short cloak, slid from his white stallion. He was handsome, fair-faced with carefully trimmed corn-coloured hair, but cleanshaven. His eyes were a light blue. He came forward with a smile of greeting, his hand held out to Magister Ado.
‘You are welcome back from your travels, Magister Ado. It is good to see you back again in our peaceful valley.’
His Latin was colloquial but spoken with the firmness of one educated and used to command.
‘You are kind, Lord Radoald,’ acknowledged the elderly religieux.
The blue eyes swept over Brother Faro and Sister Gisa.
‘Ah, little Sister Gisa … and Brother Faro. You are both more than welcome. And …’ The young man frowned, as he noticed Brother Faro’s bandaged arm and shoulder for the first time. ‘But something is amiss. What has befallen you, my friend?’
Magister Ado quickly explained and the young lord looked troubled.
‘It is rare that bandits haunt this valley,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘They usually lie in wait for rich merchants on the old Salt Road and do not enter the Valley of the Trebbia, for such merchants as they seek are few here and they would have to contend with my warriors.’
Brother Faro assured him that he suffered no more than a flesh wound and that he would soon be well. Fidelma wondered whether Magister Ado would make any further explanation or mention the attack in Genua but he seemed content to let the matter rest. ‘It was lucky that Wulfoald and his men arrived at the moment the bandits attacked us,’ he said. ‘He gave us these two warriors to escort us to your fortress, my lord, where we would beg hospitality for tonight.’
‘Hospitality? Of course.’ The blue eyes alighted on Fidelma. ‘And do we have a newcomer to our valley?’ he asked.
‘This is Sister Fidelma of Hibernia.’ Magister Ado performed the introduction. ‘Fidelma, this is Radoald, Lord of Trebbia.’
‘Fidelma of Hibernia?’ The young lord gave her a close scrutiny. ‘Indeed, you have the same fiery red hair, fair skin and strange green eyes that I have seen on some of those I have known from Hibernia. Many from your land have come to join the community of the abbey here. Do you mean to stay with us in our little valley?’
‘I have come only to visit,’ replied Fidelma.
‘Fidelma is a princess from Hibernia,’ Sister Gisa pressed eagerly. ‘Not only that, but she is famous.’
The young lord turned to Sister Gisa with a smile.
‘A princess, and famous, indeed? In what manner famous?’
‘Sister Gisa exaggerates,’ Fidelma said hurriedly.
‘No, I do not. Sister Fidelma is a lawyer in her own land and was recently praised by the Holy Father and his nomenclator. She solved the mystery of the murder of some foreign archbishop which happened in the Lateran Palace.’
Radoald’s eyes widened and then he turned back to Fidelma.
‘Is this so? Did you accomplish this?’
Fidelma shrugged, feeling embarrassed by the praise ofthe young girl. ‘I will not deny that I was able to help in that matter.’
‘Well, well.’ The young man exchanged a glance with Sister Gisa, who seemed so keen on ensuring that the Lord of Trebbia knew who she was. Fidelma had a feeling that some intimacy passed between them. Then she wondered whether she was being too sensitive. She did not like speaking of her rank or, indeed, her past success as a dálaigh, an advocate of the courts of her own land in which she held the degree of anruth, the second highest degree that the colleges could bestow. The young lord was laughing with good humour. ‘Well, indeed, we have no mysterious deaths here that I could ask your assistance with, lady. But allow me to welcome a Hibernian princess into my poor valley.’
‘I am pleased to be here,’ Fidelma replied as diplomacy dictated.
Radoald swung round to extend his smile of welcome to all of them.
‘My roof is your roof for this night, my friends.’ He spread a hand to encircle his hunting party. His companions had already dismounted and were leading their mounts to the edge of the river to slake their thirst. ‘We were hunting for some meat for this evening’s feasting and, having just brought down a red deer, we came here to the riverside so that we might refresh ourselves before returning home. So now you may join us, and my fortress is yours for this night.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘Well, Magister Ado, you must tell us something of your journey to Tolosa,’ Radoald invited after he had finished quenching his thirst from a goatskin water bag that one of his warriors had filled from the river.
Fidelma had been standing by him and noticed an oddly suspicious look come into the elderly scholar’s eyes.
‘How did you know I had been to Tolosa?’ His voice was unnaturally sharp.
Radoald did not appear to notice his tone. ‘You should know that we are a small community in the valley. News travels quickly.’
Magister Ado was frowning. ‘Then you will know that I went to the Abbey of the Blessed Martyr Saturnin to view a manuscript. It was a boring journey but, Deo gratias, it was a short one.’
‘Ah, I wondered at its shortness. It was surely a long way to go, just to return immediately. You could have barely been there for more than a few days.’
‘You are well informed, Lord Radoald.’
‘I try to be, my friend, especially in these days. However, did you see anything untoward on your travels?’
Fidelma listened to the exchange with interest, although she tried to keep her features expressionless.
‘Untoward?’
‘There are constant rumours that the Franks are plotting against us. Even more rumours of their army crossing into our lands in support of Perctarit.’