The Council of the Cursed (3 page)

Abbot Ségdae swung round. Bishop Ordgar of Canterbury was lying on the bed barely conscious. Bewildered, the abbot turned back to Bishop Leodegar and the second body.

‘I am afraid that it is your colleague, Abbot Dabhóc of Tulach Óc,’ said Bishop Leodegar heavily. ‘That is why I sent for you, brother. Abbot Dabhóc has been murdered.’

‘There it is!’

Clodio, the elderly but muscular boatman, took one hand from the tiller and pointed to the left bank as the craft swung round the bend of the broad river, among trees and short limestone reaches. The two religious seated in the well of the craft turned in their seats towards him and then followed his outstretched arm towards the embankment.

‘Is that Nebirnum?’ asked the female religieuse. Her robes identified her as being from the land of Hibernia. She was tall, well proportioned and her eyes were bright, though Clodio the boatman had difficulty discerning whether they were blue or green. They seemed to change with her moods. Rebellious strands of red hair escaped from her
caille
, or headdress. Not for the first time Clodio reflected that she was attractive. When she conversed with her companion, a Saxon religieux about the same age, a thickset man with dark brown eyes and hair, Clodio had been surprised at the easy intimacy of their relationship. Their names were Fidelma and Eadulf, and it was not long before the boatman realised that they were also man and wife, for he had overheard them speaking of a child they had left behind to come on this journey.

Fidelma was gazing up at the high sloping hill on which the buildings straggled around an imposing structure that proclaimed, by its very features, that it was an abbey of some importance. The boatman nodded. His Latin, the only language that they had in common, was fairly poor but understandable.

‘That is the abbey of Nebirnum,’ Clodio confirmed. ‘There you may acquire horses for the last part of your journey.’

Eadulf, sitting beside Fidelma, winced slightly.

‘A horse ride?’ he asked in a painful tone. ‘How far is it then to Autun from this place?’

Clodio, who worked the boat with his two hardy sons, was regarding Eadulf’s lamentation with undisguised amusement.

‘From Nebirnum to the great city of Autun is but two to three days’ comfortable ride, no more. There is a good road due east.’

They had been in the riverboat for seven days. It seemed an eternity since they had landed at the Armorican port of Naoned and then commenced their journey upriver, along this majestic green waterway called the Liger. It was cramped in the small craft for, although they were the only passengers, the boatman was a trader along the river and transported bulky bales of materials and sometimes even live animals which had to be shipped from town to town along the banks of the winding thoroughfare. All the time, the craft been making its way against the flow of the river which rose, so they were told, over a thousand kilometres away in the mountains. Sometimes its flow was imperceptible and the boatman could even use a sail to progress; sometimes oars were necessary, long poles by which the craft was pushed. And, more often than not, mules were harnessed and pulled the boat, especially where the clear green water ran faster over the shallows through stretches of golden gravel that lined the banks. Fidelma had been duly impressed with the knowledge and skill in which the journey, first east and then south, along the broad waterway, had been conducted by Clodio and his sons. The craft was always on the move, in spite of the mighty strength of the river which occasionally ran around islands in the centre of the water, places of wild desolation. One lasting memory was of the women washing clothes along the banks, sometimes appearing in groups and sometimes as solitary figures, beating the wet clothing on rocks.

Now Fidelma sighed, but not at the prospect of exchanging the comfort of the boat for the saddle of a horse for she was a good horsewoman and had been at ease on a horse almost before she could walk.

‘Where would we find horses? Horses cost money,’ she pointed out.

‘Is there anything in this world that is free?’ Clodio replied philosophically. ‘Ah, but wandering religious expect all things to be given freely
to them, in exchange for a muttered blessing. It would be an ideal life if all were so simple, my friends, but I have a wife and sons to keep.’

Fidelma frowned at the implication that he feared they might not pay for the journey.

‘Boatman,’ she said sternly, ‘did we not negotiate a fee for you to bring us from the port of Naoned to this place? Was it not a fair fee? If so, as we approach this place, now is the time for the fee to be paid.’

‘I did not mean…’ Clodio began, abashed, but Fidelma had already reached into her marsupium and counted out the coins that she thrust towards him.

‘Remember, boatman, that a wandering religious may not always be a beggar; she said stiffly.

Eadulf looked nervously at his companion and hoped that she would not boast of her relationship to the Kings of Muman.

‘
Redime te captium quam minimo
,’ he muttered, using the ancient Latin prescription for soldiers who were captured: if taken prisoner, pay as little as possible to buy your freedom. In other words, make sure you give the enemy as little information as you can. If Clodio thought that they were rich, greed might entice him to consider holding them for ransom. Eadulf had heard plenty of stories of pilgrims travelling in distant lands who were captured and held for ransom and sometimes never heard of again.

Fidelma gave him a look of understanding before turning back to the boatman.

‘We promised to pay you and, even though it makes the rest of our journey difficult, for we cannot afford horses, we will do so,’ she said quietly.

Clodio, who had not understood the Latin saying, merely nodded as his hands closed over the coins and dropped them into the leather purse at his belt.

‘Bishop Arigius, at the abbey, will take care of you,’ he told them. ‘He is a man of good reputation.’

Turning to his two sons, he ordered them to take out the oars while he cried a warning and jerked on a rope to lower the single sail of the craft. Then he moved quickly back to the tiller and, with dextrous smoothness, drew the craft alongside one of the several wooden piers that jutted into
the river at this point. In a few moments they were tied up and the sons of the boatmen helped first Fidelma and Eadulf ashore.

Clodio nodded to them both. ‘Good luck on your travels, my friends,’ he said. ‘Follow that road up to the town and it will bring you to the doors of the abbey. Remember, it is the Bishop Arigius whom you wish to see.’

They said farewell to the man and his sons who now began to offload their goods. Merchants and onlookers were already moving down to the pier to examine what cargo they had brought as Fidelma and Eadulf set off up the road towards the main town. Eadulf had felt the heat of the early summer sun while he was in the boat but now on land it struck on his face and shoulders with a force that caused sweat to form on his brow.

‘I swear, Fidelma,’ began Eadulf, but his sandal struck a stone that stood prouder than the rest and caused him to trip, almost sending him headlong. He just recovered himself at the last moment with a muttered oath. ‘I swear, Fidelma, that I am sick of travelling.’

Fidelma glanced at him without humour. ‘Do you think I am not?’ she said shortly. ‘Since the birth of little Alchú, how much time have I spent with our son? Too little, that is for certain. When we returned from Tara a few months ago, I fully expected that we would be able to remain at Cashel for…well, for the foreseeable future.’

‘We could have refused this journey,’ Eadulf pointed out.

‘Duty must come first,’ Fidelma replied in a heavy tone. ‘If my brother, the King, requests me to come here as aide and adviser to his bishop, Ségdae of Imleach, then this is where I must come. But you were not obliged to accompany me.’

‘My place is wherever you are,’ replied Eadulf simply.

Fidelma laid a free hand on his arm. ‘I make no demands on you, Eadulf,’ she said softly.

‘Did you not say that duty must come first?’ he replied with a raised eyebrow. ‘And what greater duty is there than the moral code of the bonds that are between us? So do not question where my duty lies. It is just that I cannot see why some council of church leaders held in Gaul…’

‘The Gauls are almost gone now,’ corrected Fidelma. ‘The Franks have
overrun and settled this territory and call these lands the kingdoms of Austrasia and Neustria. Two brothers rule them, I am told.’

‘Wherever we are,’ Eadulf went on, ‘I still cannot see why some council of church leaders in this remote spot has any influence on the five kingdoms of Éireann, or even on the Britons or Saxon kingdoms.’

‘Perhaps not now but someday hence the influence of the decisions made here might be felt. That is why, when Vitalian, the Bishop of Rome, called representatives of the western churches to this place, Bishop Ségdae had to attend. You know that the practices we follow in Éireann are under threat from the new ideas springing up in Rome which are alien to our laws and to our way of life.’

‘But Autun is such a long way from Cashel!’

‘Thoughts and ideas travel faster than a man,’ replied Fidelma firmly.

Eadulf sighed and shifted the weight of the bag that he carried on his shoulder. He cast an envious glance at Fidelma’s light linen robes and wished he had something more cooling than the brown woollen homespun he wore as a Brother of the Faith.

But they were moving on easier ground now among the buildings, and the gates of the abbey were within easy access. There were plenty of people about but no one paid them much interest. It was clear that Nebirnum was a busy trading town filled with strangers, and many wagons loaded with goods were moving here and there.

At the gates of the abbey they encountered a Brother who seemed more of a sentinel than a welcoming religieux.

‘
Pax tecum
,’ Fidelma greeted the dark, sun-tanned man.

‘
Pax vobiscum
,’ replied the man indifferently.

‘We have come from the distant land of Hibernia. We are on our way to the Council at Autun and were told that Bishop Arigius might facilitate our journey there.’

The man pointed through the gates. ‘You may enquire for the bishop inside,’ he said carelessly, and turned to continue to gaze at the passers-by.

‘Not exactly an enthusiastic greeting for us
peregrinatio pro Christo
,’ Eadulf muttered wryly.

Fidelma did not reply. A youthful religieux was passing through the quadrangle in which they found themselves, and she hailed him.

‘Where can we find Bishop Arigius?’ she asked.

The young man stopped and frowned. ‘I am his steward. You are strangers in this place.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

‘We are on our way to Autun to attend the council there. We are from the land of Hibernia.’

The young man’s eyes seemed to widen slightly at the latter statement. Then he said: ‘Follow me.’

He led them to a door in a corner of the quadrangle, which gave entrance into a square tower that seemed to be opposite to what was obviously a chapel. They followed him up the dark, oak stairs to a door of similar hue. Here the young steward turned to them and asked them to wait. He knocked upon the door and, without pausing for an answer, opened it and passed inside, closing it behind him. They could hear the mumble of voices and then the door re-opened and the young man beckoned them inside.

Bishop Arigius was a tall thin man with sharp features, piercing dark eyes and thin red lips. His hair was sparse and silver grey. He had risen from a chair and crossed the room to greet them, a smile of welcome revealing yellowing teeth.

‘
Pax vobiscum
.’ He intoned the greeting solemnly. ‘My steward tells me that you are bound for Autun, to the council, and that you come from the land of Hibernia?’

‘He tells you no lie,’ replied Eadulf, shifting the weight of his bag on his shoulder.

The motion was not lost on the bishop.

‘Then come and be seated, put down your bags and join me in refreshment. A glass of white wine cooled in our cellars…?’ He nodded to the steward who hurried away to obtain the beverage.

‘I am Bishop Arigius, the second of that name to hold office here in this ancient abbey.’

‘An impressive building and an impressive town, from the little I have seen,’ Eadulf replied politely after they had introduced themselves.

Bishop Arigius gave a smile of pride.

‘Indeed. When the great Julius Caesar marched the Roman legions into this land, he chose this spot as a military depot for his legions. The Aedui, the Gauls who lived here, had a hill fort on this very spot, which Caesar
refortified; hence the name of this place, which was Noviodunum–
novus
, the Latin for new, and
dunum
, the Gaulish word for a fort. So it was “new fort” and since then, changing accents have brought about its current name. It was one of the earliest places in which the Faith was established in this land, and for a while it became known as Gallia Christiana. The bishops here were renowned.’

‘You have great knowledge of this town,’ Fidelma said solemnly.

‘
Scientia est potentia
,’ smiled the bishop.

‘Knowledge is power,’ repeated Fidelma softly. It was a philosophy she had often expounded.

The young steward returned with a jug and beakers, which he filled with a golden-coloured wine. It was cold and refreshing.

‘We make it from our own vineyards,’ explained the young man in answer to their expressions of praise.

‘Now,’ Bishop Arigius said briskly, ‘I presume that you have heard the news from Autun?’

Fidelma exchanged a puzzled look with Eadulf. ‘The news?’ she repeated.

‘We only heard it ourselves yesterday afternoon.’ The bishop looked from one to another expectantly as if all was explained.

‘We are still at a loss,’ Fidelma said. ‘What news from Autun?’

Bishop Arigius sighed and sat back. ‘Forgive me. Foolishly, my steward thought you might have been on your way to Autun because of the news.’

Fidelma tried to be patient. ‘We have been travelling along the river for many days. We have heard no news for all that time.’

‘One of the abbots from your land of Hibernia was murdered there.’

Fidelma was shocked.

Eadulf immediately asked: ‘Do you know the name of this abbot? It was not Abbot Ségdae?’