The Council of the Cursed (11 page)

‘The body was removed to the mortuary where I later prepared it for burial. There were no other wounds than the blow that had splintered his skull. Obviously, it was a blow that was delivered from behind and with considerable force.’

‘And what about Bishop Ordgar’s chamber?’ asked Fidelma.

The physician looked at her questioningly.

‘I am told that you cleaned it,’ she explained. ‘You also washed the cup in which it was thought the wine had been drugged. Is that so?’

‘Should I have left a cup of drugged wine standing there for anyone to take or contaminate their drink from?’ retorted Brother Gebicca with some irritation. ‘That would have been dangerous.’

Eadulf bent forward quickly. ‘There was still wine in the cup?’

‘It was half full.’

‘Then Bishop Ordgar had not entirely drained it?’

‘Had he done so, he might have been dead.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Fidelma in surprise.

Brother Gebicca looked pained. ‘I would not state anything that I know to be false. Of course I am sure.’

‘You did not keep nor analyse this wine?’

‘I ensured that it was disposed of, both the cup and the amphora. By chance it seemed that the amphora was empty anyway.’

‘So there is no evidence of what this wine was, nor how the drug came to be in the wine? I mean, whether the drug was put in the cup first or into the amphora.’

The physician made a negative gesture with one hand.

‘The fact that it was in the cup was cause enough for me to ensure no one else would drink from it and suffer illness or death,’ he replied.

‘We each have our tasks to fulfil, Brother Gebicca,’ replied Fidelma softly. ‘Your task is to save life but mine is to discover why life is lost.’

Eadulf had been thoughtful for a few moments and now he said: ‘Let me ask you a question, Brother Gebicca. It needs must be a hypothetical one. Would it have been possible for Bishop Ordgar to have killed Abbot Dabhóc, struck Abbot Cadfan and then take the poison himself, swal
lowing only a mouthful or so to give him the effects you saw but not enough to kill himself?’

Brother Gebicca considered. ‘Anything is possible, but Bishop Ordgar would have to be a man with fine judgement to know how much of that noxious brew to swallow in safety.’

‘But he could have done so?’ pressed Eadulf.

The physician spread his arms in a helpless gesture. ‘Yes, he could have done so. But as a physician, I would say it was most unlikely, unless he was practised in the ways of poison.’

‘When you were tending to both Abbot Cadfan and Bishop Ordgar, did you question them about what had taken place?’ Fidelma asked next.

‘In fact, both men, when returning to consciousness, asked me what had happened. They said that they had no memories of it.’

‘They claimed they recalled nothing?’

‘Bishop Ordgar said he remembered taking wine, as was his custom before retiring and falling asleep. Abbot Cadfan said he entered Bishop Ordgar’s chamber, having been summoned there in the middle of the night, and was struck from behind and knew nothing else. I would say that the suspicion is more strongly connected with Ordgar, were it not for the fact that Cadfan claimed he had received a note from Ordgar asking him to attend him. No such note was found.’

‘Let me ask you another question,’ said Eadulf. ‘Speaking as a medical man, could Cadfan’s injury have been self administered?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Then, what you are saying, in fact, is that suspicion rests equally on both men.’

The physician shrugged as Fidelma rose slowly from her seat.

‘I don’t suppose that you knew any of these three clerics before they arrived here at the abbey?’ she added as an afterthought.

‘Most of the learned bishops and abbots who are attending this council are strangers to this city. I have practised my arts only in Divio and here in Autun. I am under the impression that most of those attending the council are unknown to each other.’

‘Thank you for your time, Brother Gebicca,’ Fidelma said.

‘It is of little service, I’m afraid,’ the physician said, standing up and
conducting them back through his apothecary to the door. ‘If I would venture an opinion, I would say that it comes down to which person you believe. Both of them cannot be telling the truth. A man is dead and there were only two others in the room. If the choice were mine, I would toss a coin.’

They left Brother Gebicca in his apothecary and walked slowly across the great courtyard to the main abbey building in silence.

‘It seems the physician agrees with me,’ Eadulf ventured after a while. ‘It does come down to a matter of choice.’

‘I am not prepared to make that judgement at the moment, Eadulf,’ Fidelma said stubbornly. ‘I do not feel that we have enough information.’

‘We have all the information that we are likely to get,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘There are no other witnesses.’

‘Then we need to give this more thought.’

‘If only the cup and amphora had not been destroyed. A good apothecary might have been able to identify any poison and so confirm Ordgar’s story.’

‘The destruction of the cup is regrettable,’ replied Fidelma. ‘The amphora does not matter.’

‘How so?’

‘Because the poison would have been mixed in the cup, not in the amphora, which was empty after the wine was poured. It is logical that it was too late that night to throw the amphora away. It was not the next day but it would have told us nothing so we need not concern ourselves with it. However, the cup…that’s a pity.’

They had not reached the door of the building when Brother Chilperic came out and walked towards them.

‘I am off to our herb garden,’ he greeted them. ‘Are you seeking anything in particular?’

‘For the moment we are just exercising,’ replied Fidelma. ‘The late-afternoon sun is very inviting, Brother Chilperic. Where is your herb garden?’

‘It is a separate one to that which the apothecary cultivates for he has his own needs. It is this way, if you wish to see it.’

They fell in step with him. He guided them alongside the abbey wall and through a small courtyard at the back of the main building into a large open space which surprised them. It was full of aromatic herbs and spices being tended by two elderly members of the brethren.

‘It looks a beautiful garden,’ Fidelma acknowledged.

‘It is, indeed, and I’m afraid that it invites us to be lazy and sit in contemplation when we should be about God’s work in tending the garden. Would you like to see our herbs and spices? We grow a great variety for the consumption of our brethren.’

‘I would not like to encourage indolence, Brother Chilperic, and stop you working.’

‘The sun is encouragement enough. But perhaps you need to get on about your own work. How is the investigation? Do you need anything? Have you made a decision yet?’

Eadulf pursed his lips as he began to say, ‘We are faced with…’

Fidelma knew that he was about to say ‘a blank wall’ and it suddenly gave her an idea.

‘Faced with a small problem,’ she ended quickly for him ‘But you, Brother Chilperic, are the very person who can help us with it.’

‘I am?’

She inclined her head towards the high wall that separated the abbey from what was called the
Domus Femini
.

‘We would like to have a word with the
abbatissa
.’

‘Abbess Audofleda?’ queried the steward in astonishment.

‘That is her name, I believe,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Can you arrange it?’

‘Abbess Audofleda sees no one from the abbey without the bishop’s express permission,’ muttered Brother Chilperic. ‘Anyway, I do not see why your investigation should take you to the
Domus Femini
.’

‘Knowledge of the relevance is surely mine and not to be shared with anyone during an investigation.’

The steward looked worried. ‘In such a matter I must first consult Bishop Leodegar.’

Fidelma was about to protest when she realised that the young man was clearly incapable of making the decision without the approval of Leodegar. She knew she must not underestimate the power of the bishop. Instead she said: ‘Consult him then. We would not wish to upset the bishop. But if you can seek his permission straight away…?’

Brother Chilperic hesitated. ‘The bishop is visiting in the city. He will not return to the abbey until the evening meal.’

Fidelma glanced at the sky. The afternoon was well progressed but there would have been plenty of time to visit the
Domus Femini
. Presumably it would not be until the morning that they would now receive permission to meet Abbess Audofleda. That would be a waste of many hours. Fidelma felt a compulsion to finish this task as soon as possible and set out for home again, for she had felt uncomfortable ever since their arrival at the abbey.

‘I cannot see why you need to visit the
Domus Femini
,’ the steward repeated. ‘The murder was done here, we have the people involved, so why do you need to speak with Abbess Audofleda?’

Eadulf noticed that Fidelma’s eyes had become bright and her jaw muscles were tightening.

‘My friend,’ he said, taking Brother Chilperic by the arm, ‘you must understand that it is our task to conduct our investigation in our own way. Bishop Leodegar gave us full permission to do so. So what we do is our own concern, with due respect to your position as steward of this abbey.’

‘I will still have to seek the permission of Bishop Leodegar,’ the man said mulishly.

Fidelma had recovered her good humour.

‘In that case, we can do no more for this day.’ She turned to Eadulf. ‘While we are here we may as well see something of this city.’

As Eadulf voiced his assent Brother Chiperic looked shocked.

‘Are you intending to leave the abbey?’ he asked in surprise.

Fidelma frowned. ‘Is there an objection to that too?’

The steward gestured helplessly. ‘The bishop left no instructions.’

‘Why would he?’

‘Because the general rule is that no one leaves the abbey without permission of the bishop. If they are strangers, like you, they need someone to guide them. It is a matter of protecting our delegates.’

‘I scarcely think that such rules apply to us. Are not all the delegates free to come and go? After all, there was no concern for our security before we came to the abbey.’

‘I can only abide by the bishop’s Rule.’

Fidelma was astonished and said so.

‘I have no other instructions,’ muttered Brother Chilperic.

‘Are we allowed to return to our own chamber without being accompanied?’ snapped Fidelma.

The young man looked unhappy, torn between his duty to the bishop and Fidelma’s displeasure. However, Fidelma had already turned and walked away, her lips compressed tightly. Eadulf paused only a moment before following her. He fell in step as she stormed across the stone-paved courtyard; the smack of her shoes on the stones created an angry timbre.

‘I hate being restricted,’ she said at last, slowing to a more reasonable pace.

‘I don’t think it is the young man’s fault,’ Eadulf said, referring to Brother Chilperic. ‘He’s scared of making a decision which would displease the bishop.’

‘Of course it is not his fault. It is the bishop who is trying to control what people do and where they go. I wonder what Leodegar is scared of?’

‘Perhaps it is just that he is so used to dictating rules and having them obeyed that everyone is now in a position where they cannot think for themselves,’ offered Eadulf.

Fidelma suddenly halted. ‘Go and find Abbot Ségdae, Eadulf. I am sure
he
is not a man to be bound by the constraints of this abbey. Ask him for permission for us to leave and for his support if we are forbidden.’

Eadulf hesitated and then shrugged, and as he moved away, Fidelma called: ‘I’ll wait in the
hospitia
!’

Eadulf raised a hand without breaking stride to acknowledge her.

Deep in thought, Fidelma returned to the
hospitia
. She hoped that Bishop Leodegar was not going to press her as to why she needed to visit the
Domus Femini
. She wanted to see if Brother Sigeric’s tale connected in any deeper way with the events of Abbot Dabhóc’s death. But she felt
frustrated that she was being so hampered by the segregation that Bishop Leodegar imposed on his brethren. She longed for the logic and attitudes of her own land.

Fidelma entered the chamber, and as she closed the door she heard a slight movement behind her. Heart beating fast, she wheeled round and saw the figure of a man in the shadows.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded, trying to suppress the fear in her voice.

‘I did not mean to frighten you, Sister.’ The voice spoke in her own language. It was that of a nervous young man.

She recognised the young religieux as the one whom she had observed watching her from the end of the table in the refectory.

‘You are Brother Gillucán, aren’t you?’

‘I am–I was–Abbot Dabhóc’s steward and companion on this pilgrimage.’

Fidelma moved across the room and sat on the edge of the bed, gesturing to the chair.

‘You have a strange way of introducing yourself, Brother Gillucán.’

The young man seated himself, saying in a low voice, ‘Everywhere in this abbey, there is a feeling of being watched. One needs to be cautious.’

‘Why would you be watched?’ Fidelma asked.

The young man shuddered. ‘I do not know. I long for my own country.’

‘You are from Ulaidh?’

‘I am of the Uí Nadsluaig although I served at Tulach Óc.’

‘You do not like this place?’

The young man gave a curious gesture with his hands that Fidelma was not sure how to interpret.

‘It is cursed. Souls are in torment–I have heard them.’ He sighed. ‘There is something in this abbey that is evil, Sister. In truth, I am scared.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘You speak with emotion, Brother Gillucán. You had best explain yourself.’

‘I am not sure where to start.’

‘The beginning is the best place to start,’ she encouraged him. ‘You are, or were, steward to the abbot of Tulach Óc?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. I served Abbot Dabhóc for five years as his chief scribe and steward.’

‘So that is why he chose you to accompany him to this council?’

‘It was. It is a great honour to be chosen to travel abroad and come to an important council such as this. We came, of course, in the name of Ségéne, the Bishop of Ard Macha.’

‘Of course. And how long have you been here?’

‘We arrived at this abbey ten days ago. After a few days, when all the major delegates had arrived, the Bishop of Autun opened the council. Only the main delegates were invited to attend that session. All the scribes and advisers were excluded so I did not witness the conflict which I heard about afterwards.’

‘The conflict?’

‘When Abbot Dabhóc returned, he was not happy. He told me that there had been great animosity between Abbot Cadfan of Gwynedd and Bishop Ordgar of Kent. It had even turned to physical violence between them. He lamented that it would be impossible for any agreements to be made while the two of them took such positions.’

Fidelma was frowning. ‘So he told you the details?’

‘I was also his
anam chara
, his soul friend.’

In the Faith of the five kingdoms, each person found an
anam chara
with whom they could discuss their problems. It was an ancient custom going back to the time when the old religion was followed. Elsewhere in Christendom, people had to confess in public or in private to the priests and then accept penance. That was not the purpose of a soul friend, who would discuss and advise on matters of spiritual conflict. There was no guilt and no penance with the
anam chara
, just a way forward when dealing with problems.

‘You said that you were frightened. Was it these animosities that made you so?’

The young man seemed to consider his words carefully before responding, ‘Not exactly. That evening, after that first meeting, Abbot Dahbóc was worried about the situation and resolved to see Bishop Leodegar the next morning. He wanted to find out if there was some way of compromise. Of course, it was the next morning that I learned that he had been killed in Ordgar’s chamber.’ He paused, upset.

‘So you think that he went to Bishop Ordgar’s chamber, that there was
a row and he was killed in the course of that altercation?’ Fidelma asked gently.

‘It is a plausible explanation. Yet Bishop Ordgar says that he was drugged and I hear he did not recover for a full day. And Abbot Cadfan says he was called to Ordgar’s chamber and then knocked out.’ The young man rubbed his brow. ‘There is one thing that I cannot understand, and it is this that creates anxiety in my mind. That morning, when I heard what had happened to Abbot Dabhóc, I went to his chamber to pack his belongings and found that his room had been ransacked.’

‘Ransacked?’ Fidelma leaned forward. ‘Was this not the abbey authorities merely searching for any relevant material related to Abbot Dabhóc’s killing?’

‘It was not,’ asserted Brother Gillucán. ‘The abbey steward, Brother Chilperic, who made some initial enquiries, had not been to Abbot Dabhóc’s chamber by the time I went there. Moreover, all the abbot’s belongings had been removed. In fact, Brother Chilperic accused
me
of removing them, and demanded to see my hands.’

‘Your hands–why?’ Fidelma demanded.

Gillucán shrugged. ‘He said something about the person who had searched the chamber having cut himself while taking things, for there was some blood in evidence. Anyway, Brother Chilperic assured himself that it was not me, but he searched my chamber to ensure that what I said was true.’

Fidelma considered the matter for a moment. Dabhóc’s chamber had been ransacked on the very morning that the chamber in which he had been murdered had also been searched. What was the connection? There must be one.

‘He made no mention of this to me. Where is your chamber in relationship to the abbot’s? Did you hear anything of this search?’

‘I am in the adjoining corridor, Sister. So I heard nothing.’

‘Was anything further said about this matter? Was a search made for the missing belongings? Perhaps some enterprising but misled brother, thinking the abbot had no need for the clothes, had appropriated them?’ She knew there was a custom of sharing the clothes of a dead religious among the poor.

Brother Gillucán shook his head. ‘It was not just clothing that was taken. Everything was gone.’