Behold a Pale Horse by Peter Tremayne Page A

five kingdoms but the fifth kingdom is called Midhe – the Middle Kingdom – and it is there that our High King lives. He has nominal jurisdiction over all the kingdoms. The High King is chosen from one of the main ruling families. These days it is the Uí Néill of the north who dominate the succession.’
    Venerable Ionas grimaced. ‘I have heard of this from other of your compatriots. I cannot understand it. But tell me, what little is it that you know of Columbanus?’
    ‘In our language his name is Colm Bán and it means “white dove”. All I know is that he became Abbot of Beannchar, a famous abbey in the north of Hibernia. It is told that he decided to leave the abbey to journey across the seas in order to set up centres of the Faith among the Franks and Burgundians. That is all. I had no knowledge of this place.’
    The Venerable Ionas was nodding slowly, with a faint smile on his lips.
    ‘Indeed, my daughter,’ he said. ‘He made enemies among the Frankish nobles and there came a time when they ordered Columbanus and all his Hibernian monks to be deported back to their own land. Instead of returning to Hibernia, however, Columbanus came south, crossing the great mountains, and eventually brought his followers to the land of the Longobards. The King at that time, Agilulf, gave Columbanus this land. And here, in Bobium, he set up our community. Soon the religious of many lands joined him. He stuck firm to his old Hibernian ways and even argued with the Holy Father, Gregory the Great, that it was the Hibernians who maintained the true date of the Pascal Festival. He was a great man, a great teacher.’
    ‘Did you know him?’
    ‘I came here as a young man three years after he had died,’ replied the old scholar, with a shake of his head. ‘But I knew many who had known him and they helped me with my work on his life. When the time came for me to take a religious name, I chose the Greek form of the Hebrew name Jonah, which also means a dove. And you say that was the meaning of Columbanus’ own name?’
    There was a sudden commotion at the doors of the refectorium and they swung open. Heads turned and there came gasps of surprise. One of the brethren came running up the aisle to the table where Abbot Servillius had half-risen, anger on his face. The young red-faced Brother stopped and was gasping for breath.
    ‘Father Abbot … Father Abbot, I could not stop them …’
    ‘You forget yourself, Brother Bladulf,’ thundered the abbot. ‘Have you not been gatekeeper long enough to know your proprieties and rules of this abbey? During the evening meal—’
    But the young man was glancing over his shoulder. Two men had entered the refectorium and were striding almost arrogantly up the aisle between the now astonished and silent brethren towards the top table. Fidelma examined them with curiosity. There was no doubt that the leading figure was a bishop, his robes and crozier proclaimed it. The man a little behind him was also clad in religious robes, but not of rank.
    Abbot Servillius sat back in his chair in shock at the sight of the newcomers.
    ‘ Pax vobiscum ,’ said the bishop in greeting, halting before their table with his belligerent gaze sweeping their astonished faces.
    Abbot Servillius did not answer the traditional salutation. He simply breathed the name, ‘Britmund.’
    There was an uncomfortable silence.
    The bishop was short and stocky, florid of feature with greying hair but dark eyebrows, and eyes that seemed like shiny black pebbles. His lips were thin and bloodless, and twisted in a cruel smile. His eyes narrowed as they glanced at Magister Ado at the abbot’s side and moved on to the young boy seated next to him.
    ‘So it is true.’ He gave a half-bow towards the prince. ‘My greetings and blessings on you, Prince Romuald. Your friends at the fortress of Friuli are missing you.’
    A soft breath hissed from the mouth of Lady Gunora, who seemed to draw the boy protectively towards