The Council of the Cursed (6 page)

‘Was Dabhóc concerned in this fight?’

‘He had intervened in the debate as peacemaker, no more. Many others did as well.’

‘Is it felt that Dabhóc was slain because of his attempt to act as peacemaker between the two?’ asked Eadulf.

‘No one knows what to think. Both Ordgar and Cadfan are confined to their chambers while Bishop Leodegar has been contemplating what to do. In a few days’ time the ruler of this kingdom, Clotaire, is due to arrive to give his approval to the findings of this council, but there has been no formal meeting, let alone debate on the motions that Rome has sent for consideration. As I say, many of the delegates are talking about returning to their lands.’

‘Leodegar has a tough decision to make,’ Fidelma observed.

‘He must either pronounce the guilt of one or the innocence of both,’ agreed the abbot. ‘Both men have proclaimed their innocence and both have proclaimed their hatred of one another–and so accusations are made with venomous conviction.’

‘And what do you say? You are the senior representative of Éireann.’

The abbot raised his shoulders and let them fall in a hopeless gesture.

‘That is my dilemma, Fidelma. You know the rivalry between my own abbey of Imleach and that of Ard Macha. In recent years Ard Macha has been claiming to be the senior bishopric of the five kingdoms, and now claims authority even over Imleach–yet Imleach existed before Ard Macha was established.’

‘How does this affect your thoughts on this matter?’ asked Fidelma, a little impatiently.

‘I am, as you say, now the senior representative. If I do not demand that a pronouncement of guilt and reparation be made following Dabhóc’s death, Ségéne, the abbot and bishop of Ard Macha, could accuse me and Imleach of not caring because Dabhóc was representing Ard Macha. If I do make the demand, then I am demanding that Bishop Leodegar make a decision that is a choice between the guilt of Ordgar or Cadfan. If nothing at all is done, then the council disbands and Leodegar has to answer to the Bishop of Rome.’

‘In other words, there is a political decision that weighs on your mind over and above the moral decision of what is right, what is truthful?’ Fidelma summed up.

Abbot Ségdae smiled tiredly. ‘I wish I saw it as so clear cut, Fidelma. But just consider this–the conflict between Ard Macha and Imleach and the conflict between the Britons and the Saxons balance on this matter. Whatever decision is made will result in resentment and conflict. I need advice in making that decision.’

Fidelma pursed her lips, as if in a soundless whistle, and glanced at Eadulf.

Abbot Ségdae meanwhile had suddenly noticed the lateness of the day. He rose.

‘Bishop Leodegar will be waiting for us. Let us not keep him further.’

Bishop Leodegar settled himself in his chair and regarded both Fidelma and Eadulf with a searching scrutiny. He was elderly; his black hair was streaked with grey and his eyes were dark and fathomless. His features were pale and lean, the skin tightly stretched across the bones, the Adam’s apple prominent. The way he sat, tensed and leaning slightly forward, put Fidelma in mind of a hungry wolf waiting to pounce.

‘You are both very welcome at the Abbey of Autun,’ he said finally, as if making up his mind about something. ‘Abbot Ségdae’, he glanced to where the abbot was seated alongside Brother Chilperic at the side of the chamber, ‘has told me much about you both, and it is good that you have arrived safely in this place.’

They were seated before him in chairs provided by Brother Chilperic.

Bishop Leodegar hesitated a moment, before continuing, ‘I understand that you have been told that this abbey consists of a house for the males and one for the females. We are not a mixed house, although both sexes come together in the abbey chapel for the morning and evening prayers. Here, we follow the idea that celibacy should be the Rule–and in celibacy we come closer to the divinity.’

Fidelma and Eadulf remained silent.

‘I realise that you follow those who do not agree with this Rule,’ went on Leodegar. ‘For the sake of the matter before us, we are prepared to overlook some of our Rule. The only condition I must stipulate is that you proceed with circumspection in this abbey.’ He paused, and when neither
Fidelma nor Eadulf commented, he went on: ‘From what Abbot Ségdae has told me, it seems that you both have a talent for considering puzzles and finding solutions to problems. We stand in great need of such talent at this moment.’

Fidelma stirred slightly. ‘Abbot Ségdae has told us briefly of the facts,’ she said.

Bishop Leodegar nodded quickly. ‘Much hangs on the success of this council. The future of the western churches will be decided here.’

Eadulf raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘The future?’ he queried. ‘Surely that is an excessive claim?’

‘I do not speak such words lightly,’ Bishop Leodegar replied defensively. ‘The Holy Father has decreed that we should consider two matters very carefully and our decision on them will affect the churches here, in the west. The first and fundamental matter is the central doctrine of our Faith: which declaration of our beliefs are we to adhere to? Do we declare for the Credo of Hippolytus, or do we declare for the
Quicunque
–the faith of the Blessed Athanasius–or, indeed, should we keep to the words as expressed at the Council of Nicea? It is fundamental. We must ask ourselves what is our belief as followers of the Christ.’

‘
Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem; Creatorem coeli et terrae…
’ muttered Eadulf.

‘Indeed, Brother,’ responded Bishop Leodegar, ‘but should we not say
ut unum Deum in Trinitate, et Trinitatem un unitate veneremur
?’

Eadulf smiled briefly at the exchange. Was there much difference in expressing a belief in God as Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and a belief in one God in Trinity, and Trinity in unity? Different words that meant the same thing.

‘And is that what this council is about? Simply the form of the words of the Creed, our declaration of Faith?’

Bishop Leodegar’s brows drew together. ‘You should be aware, Brother Eadulf, that among the churches of Gaul, and even among the Franks, the teaching of monothelitism has been developing, contrary to the orthodox interpretation of the Faith. It is therefore important that we have a universal creed, the Rule of our belief.’

‘Monothelitism?’ Fidelma tried to analyse the word from its roots.

‘The teaching of how the divine and human relate in the person of the Christ,’ explained Eadulf. ‘It teaches that Christ had two natures–divine and human–but only one will.’

Bishop Leodegar nodded approvingly. ‘The orthodox interpretation is that Christ had two wills, human and divine, which corresponded to His two natures. But monothelitism has gained favour both in the east and in the west. Honorius, the first of his name to be Holy Father in Rome, has favoured it and so it has spread.’

‘And the council is just to condemn that and agree on a creed?’ Fidelma realised that her knowledge was lacking in the constant arguments and decisions of the various councils of bishops that frequently met to decide what their flocks should or should not believe. She was more concerned with the law of her own country, and she had often questioned her entry into the religious life. It had only been a means to an end for it was the fashion of the five kingdoms for most of those following the professions to enter the religious.

‘It is also for the purpose of agreeing that there should be one Rule for all the religious houses in western Christendom,’ the bishop told her. ‘One set of laws as to how each community should conduct themselves.’

‘One Rule for all communities?’ queried Fidelma, with surprise. ‘But all our religious houses draw up their own Rule according to their individual needs and purposes.’

‘The Holy Father believes such matters should be made uniform through the Faith.’

‘And what standard does he suggest?’ she asked dubiously.

‘It has been suggested that the Rule of the Blessed Benedict, composed over one hundred years ago, should come to define how those in the abbeys and religious houses should govern themselves in their everyday life.’

‘I have heard of the Rule,’ Eadulf said, ‘but Benedict was from a place called Latina. His Rule was fitted for those of the community that he founded there, and it was shaped by his views and culture. Why should his Rule be applied to communities of other lands whose manner of living and culture are so very different?’

‘That is precisely the point of this council, my young Brother in Christ.
I am well aware that the Gauls, Armoricans, Britons and the people of Hibernia have their own particular rituals and manners. Indeed, until a few years ago, those rites were also practised among the majority of the Saxons and the Franks. But now we must strive for some uniformity in our beliefs and practices. This, therefore, is an important council. Yet it now stands in danger of disbanding before it has even commenced its deliberations.’

Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘So what is it that you are proposing?’

Bishop Leodegar looked uncomfortable and then he tried to smile.

‘You are direct, Sister,’ he said.

‘It saves time,’ she replied gravely.

‘Very well. What I propose is that you and Brother Eadulf, not being here when the murder was committed and therefore not involved, will have the confidence of the council to investigate this matter and make recommendations as to who is responsible.’

‘How will that save the council?’ Fidelma asked.

‘You, Fidelma, are of the land from where the murdered abbot comes and therefore a good advocate for his rights. Eadulf is a Saxon and as such will not ignore the rights of Bishop Ordgar. You are acceptable to the Hibernians, and Eadulf is acceptable to the Angles and Saxons.’

‘And what about the Britons who are also involved?’ Fidelma queried.

‘I am told that your reputation is known even among them due to some service you performed for the King of Dyfed and the church of the Britons. I am sure that they, too, will accept you as a just advocate.’

Fidelma glanced across to Abbot Ségdae who had remained silent during this time.

‘And this is what you also wish?’ she asked him.

Abbot Ségdae bowed his head in agreement.

‘It is the only just way that I can think of in order to end the dissension which has held up the council during this last week. I think that your brother, the King, would support me in this for, as you know, the matter has repercussions between his kingdom and that of the north.’

Eadulf did not look happy.

‘There are many uncertainties in this matter,’ he pointed out.

‘Which are?’ demanded Bishop Leodegar.

‘Firstly, this matter is over a week old. Doubtless, Abbot Dabhóc has been buried…?’

‘Of course, as is custom,’ replied the bishop.

‘So we are unable to see for ourselves what the wound was, how it could have been delivered, how the body lay on the floor and so on.’

Bishop Leodegar looked surprised. ‘Why is that necessary?’

‘Perhaps not necessary but helpful,’ interposed Fidelma. ‘What we are hearing is that, when everything is pared away and we get down to the basic facts, you have two men, bitter enemies to one another, and we must judge which one of them is telling the truth.’

‘Or which one is telling the lies,’ added Eadulf.

Bishop Leodegar sat back, eyes narrowed. ‘Are you saying that this is impossible to judge?’

‘
Impossibilium nulla obligatio est
,’ Fidelma replied philosophically. ‘If I thought it impossible I would not even be discussing it. We are merely pointing out the difficulties.’

‘So you will undertake it?’ pressed Bishop Leodegar.

‘We will do so,’ she replied after a slight pause.

The man seemed to relax in relief. ‘Then it is agreed?’

‘Do we have freedom to question all those whom we deem it necessary to question?’ asked Fidelma. ‘Do I have that authority from you?’

The bishop looked puzzled. ‘But you only need to question Ordgar and Cadfan.’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘You sound as though you have prejudged matters, Bishop Leodegar. We will not prejudge–not even when it appears a simple choice between one or another. If you want us to proceed then it will be under the conditions that I stipulate or not at all.’

A slight look of annoyance crossed the bishop’s face.

Abbot Ségdae cleared his throat noisily.

‘We realise that you do things differently here, Bishop Leodegar,’ he said hastily. ‘However, in our lands we have a legal system which allows our advocates certain freedoms when they investigate.’

Bishop Leodegar regarded him thoughtfully for a few moments.

‘I have already said that I am prepared to waive the Rule of this abbey to allow Fidelma access to where no women are allowed.’

‘And I have agreed to be circumspect,’ replied Fidelma firmly, ‘but it is the authority to investigate as I would do in my own country under my own law system that I need. I know no other way of undertaking this task.’

‘I have heard of your laws and methods from travelling religious from your lands,’ the bishop said after some thought. Then, as if making up his mind, he squared his shoulders and said, ‘Very well. I see no reason to restrain you in this matter. I give you those freedoms.’

‘
And
to Brother Eadulf,’ added Fidelma brightly. ‘Remember, Eadulf is a
gerefa
of his own people, a magistrate of the Saxon laws.’

‘That I understand, which is why I said that Eadulf will be seen as unbiased in the matter of Bishop Ordgar. These facts should be made known to the community because it will enforce the authority of your findings. I give you full and free permission to question whom you wish on this matter. I will announce this at evening prayers. I only ask that your resolution be quick so that the delegates may be satisfied. Clotaire, who is our King, will be arriving here soon to give this council his royal approval. It would benefit all of us if the matter were resolved by the time of his arrival.’

‘There are no guarantees in life, save only one–that we are all going to die at some time,’ responded Fidelma. ‘We will do our best to solve this matter, but we cannot guarantee a resolution by a certain time. Is it agreed?’