Behold a Pale Horse by Peter Tremayne Page B

observed.
    ‘It is the nature of my people,’ Radoald replied grimly. ‘Centuries ago we were forced from our homelands far to the north and, each time we tried to settle, we were driven further south and west by those who came behind us. We had to carve new territories, new homelands with the help of our swords.’
    ‘And yet you also fight each other over matters of kingship?’ Her comment was posed as a question.
    ‘Strength must be the catchword of a ruler.’
    ‘Have you no laws of succession? Laws by which your judges can challenge an unjust ruler?’
    Radoald stared at her in surprise for a moment and then he smiled, shaking his head in amusement.
    ‘Do not tell me that in your land there are such laws?’
    ‘A king must obey the law as willingly as a cowherd,’ pointed out Fidelma.
    ‘We believe a king is the lawgiver. We obey his law.’
    Radoald then took Fidelma on a tour of his fortress and, she had to confess, she was surprised at the wealth of tapestries and paintings, which she learned were from Byzantium. There were statuettes from Ancient Rome and many other decorative items. Radoald took a pride as he showed her these treasures. It seemed to her that the young man was going out of his way to impress her that he was a man of refinement and appreciative of the arts. Indeed, after a little while, he said, ‘When our people, the Longobards, came into this land about a hundred years ago, we were pagans, not having heard the word of Christ. All we knew was conquest and how to govern by the sword. Thankfully, times change.’
    The conversation was suddenly interrupted by the entrance of a tall man of striking appearance. His age was almost impossible to discern, since although his hair was snow-white, his features seemed young. His eyes were dark, almost without pupils; his lips thin and unusually red; his nose prominent and thin. From neck to feet he was clad in robes of black, the sleeves wide and loose so that they hid his hands. There was no jewellery as relief to the blackness of his dress.
    ‘Suidur, this is Fidelma of Hibernia, not only of the Sisterhood but a princess of that land,’ introduced Radoald. ‘This is Suidur, my physician.’
    The dark eyes examined Fidelma without emotion. Then the physician raised his left hand and placed it over his heart, making a short bow.
    ‘Hibernia? You are welcome in our valley, lady. Gisa has told me of your meeting and journey here.’ His voice was dry, without feeling. ‘She tells me that you were once a pupil of old Ruadán of Bobium?’
    ‘She tells you correctly,’ Fidelma confirmed. ‘I trust Brother Faro is recovering?’
    ‘Faro is well enough, my lady,’ answered the physician. ‘Thankfully, the wound is clean and there are no signs of infection. Gisa is a good student. I have also treated the wound with herbs and bound it. Apart from soreness, he has no ill effects. Therefore, he may continue his journey to Bobium tomorrow and make a good recovery. But he must move slowly and easily.’
    ‘Then that is a good outcome.’ Radoald spoke with satisfaction.
    The physician was looking around at the people in the hall, as if seeking someone. ‘I heard that Magister Ado is of your party? I do not see him here.’
    Radoald answered: ‘Magister Ado begged to be excused for he says he is tired from the journey. He will take some refreshment in his chamber.’
    Suidur the Wise turned his dark eyes back to Fidelma. ‘Have you known him long then?’
    Fidelma wondered why Suidur asked her exactly the same question that Radoald had asked.
    ‘I encountered him in Genua and he told me of Bobium and it was mentioned Brother Ruadán was here. I could not leave your country without seeing my old mentor, especially when I heard he was ailing.’
    ‘You did not know Magister Ado before you met him in Genua?’ Suidur continued to gaze at her thoughtfully.
    She was about to respond when the young noble interrupted hurriedly. ‘Apparently she did not