Behold a Pale Horse by Peter Tremayne Page B

her.
    ‘His friends are here ,’ she said defensively.
    Bishop Britmund shook his head with an irritating smile on his features.
    ‘I fear that is not the case.’ His glance fell on Sister Fidelma. ‘It is interesting to see that this abbey of heretics now accepts females dining at the abbot’s side,’ he sneered. ‘Is it not enough you actually allow them to dine in the same hall as the brethren?’
    Abbot Servillius now leaned forward, his voice one of scarcely controlled anger.
    ‘Sister Fidelma is our guest, a visitor from Hibernia, and daughter of a king of that country.’
    ‘It is a pity that you do not show respect to all your guests.’ The bishop was sardonic. ‘Brother Godomar and I have spent long days coming to this abbey. Our greeting scarcely merits the conventions of hospitality.’
    ‘A pity that you did not observe the conventions of entry,’ Abbot Servillius replied, ‘and allow the gatekeeper to escort you to my study where I could have greeted you as custom prescribes. If you prefer to march into this refectorium unannounced with belligerence in your voice, then you will find it takes a while for us to remember our manners.’
    ‘Why should I wait when I knew this was the hour of your evening meal and when my companion and I are famished?’
    ‘If it is hospitality that you are requesting, Britmund of Placentia, then we are not heretics enough to deny it to you. You will find space at that table,’ the abbot indicated a table on the right-hand side of the hall. ‘Sit yourselves there and one of the brethren will provide you and your companion with food and drink.’
    For a moment Bishop Britmund stood defiantly before the abbot, having expected to be invited to sit at his table by virtue of his rank. But the abbot had still not risen nor given the conventional greeting to a cleric of rank; a matter that intrigued as well as surprised Fidelma. Clearly, no love was lost between the abbot and the bishop.
    ‘You seek something else, Britmund?’ the abbot inquired mildly. ‘Perhaps you came to ask after the health of Brother Ruadán?’
    ‘That old fool!’ replied the bishop harshly. ‘Does he still live?’
    For a moment, Fidelma could not believe what the bishop had said. She found her hands clenching under the table, a flush coming to her cheeks.
    The abbot was speaking before her anger broke out. ‘ Deo favente , he lives – no thanks to those whom you stirred up with your fanatical zeal to attack him.’ Abbot Servillius’ voice was studied and calm, but it was clear that there was hatred behind his words.
    ‘I speak as I find,’ replied the bishop indifferently. ‘The old man provoked the attack himself by preaching those ideas which we find repugnant in Placentia. He should have kept out of our city.’
    ‘If you find his preaching so repugnant, Britmund, why do you enter here, into this abbey which you call heretical?’
    ‘I am here, reluctantly, at the invitation of the Lord Radoald.’
    There was a collective gasp among the brethren in the hall.
    ‘An invitation from Lord Radoald of Trebbia?’ asked Magister Ado sharply.
    Bishop Britmund smiled thinly at him. ‘I know of no other lord of this valley … yet.’
    ‘And why would Lord Radoald ask you to come here?’ demanded the abbot.
    ‘We left him only this morning, having enjoyed his hospitality last night,’ intervened the Magister Ado. ‘He made no mention of such a request to me.’
    ‘I am not privy to Lord Radoald’s thoughts as to why he should not mention the matter to you, Ado,’ replied Bishop Britmund. ‘Perhaps he is aware of your facility to use all means in your power to attack those of my faith. However, being lord of this valley, he says he desires peace between those of your creed and those of mine. He asked me to come here so that you, Servillius, and I may discuss a common ground under him as mediator. I am told that he should be at the abbey at first light tomorrow to facilitate these