A Prayer for the Damned sf-17

by Peter Tremayne

  Even from where he stood, Eadulf could see the saturnine abbot’s brows drawing together in anger. Beside Eadulf, Brother Conchobhar was stifling a chuckle.

  ‘Now,’ Caol was continuing, ‘should you wish to be received by Colgú before the ceremonies commence, I will convey your greetings to him. But he is, at this time, welcoming the High King, the provincial kings and the princes of these lands in his private chambers.’

  He nodded to Dego to continue and began to turn away again.

  ‘Young man!’

  Abbot Ultán’s sharp tones cut through the courtyard, halting Caol, who again turned questioningly to the newcomer.

  ‘You are insolent, young man. Know you that I am. .’

  ‘An arrogant messenger from an arrogant abbot,’ snapped a new voice.

  Eadulf saw another religieux enter the courtyard from one of the buildings and come striding over to stand by Caol. He was broad-shouldered and looked more like a warrior than a leading member of the church, for as such his clothes and accoutrements proclaimed him.

  ‘That is Augaire, the abbot of Conga,’ whispered Brother Conchobhar. ‘He’s also one of the chief bishops to the king of Connacht.’

  Abbot Ultán had turned a venomous gaze on the newcomer.

  ‘So? You are here too?’ He almost hissed the words.

  Abbot Augaire smiled but it was a smile without humour.

  ‘Oh yes. Everyone who matters is here,’ he replied softly. ‘Even some who do not matter are here.’

  ‘Including the jumped-up Uí Fiachracha whom some call a king in Connacht?’ sneered Abbot Ultán.

  ‘Including Muirchertach Nár,’ affirmed the other, calmly. ‘Several of your old friends are gathered here.’

  The way the abbot pronounced ‘old friends’ made it clear to Eadulf that the people referred to were anything but friends of Abbot Ultán. He wondered what this exchange really meant.

  ‘Do not think that they will intimidate me. I shall speak the truth,’ snapped Abbot Ultán.

  Abbot Augaire’s smile broadened but it was still without warmth.

  ‘They would not wish to stop you if ever you decided to speak the truth,’ he replied with acid in his voice.

  Abbot Ultán blinked. His expression was suddenly dangerous. He was about to say something but then seemed to change his mind and turned back to Caol.

  ‘Young man, tell your king that I demand to see him. In the meantime, I also demand that you send a warrior to stand guard at my chamber door to protect me from. .’ he glanced at Abbot Augaire, ‘from anyone who might wish to harm a truth servant of the true Faith.’

  Caol looked bewildered for a moment and then he shrugged.

  ‘As I have said, Dego will take you to your quarters. I will convey your request to Colgú,’ he said, and left.

  Dego moved forward to oversee the unloading of the luggage from the wagon and to conduct the abbot to his quarters, while another attendant went to see to the rest of the party.

  For a few moments, Abbot Augaire stood in the courtyard looking thoughtfully after Abbot Ultán even when he had vanished through one of the entrances to the main building. He was unaware that Eadulf and Brother Conchobhar were still watching him. The expression on the abbot’s face was not a pleasant one. Then, with a shake of his head, he was gone.

  Eadulf turned to Brother Conchobhar. ‘Well, what is to be made of that?’

  Brother Conchobhar pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘Have you not heard of Abbot Ultán?’

  ‘I seem to have heard his name recently.’ Eadulf frowned. ‘Ah, he was coming to protest against our wedding.’

  ‘I have never seen him before but I have heard many stories about him, none of them to his credit. He is not a man whom I would pronounce as fit for the company of saints.’ For once Brother Conchobhar looked serious. ‘Beware of Abbot Ultán. He is full of ambition, and pays homage to nothing save power.’

  ‘Ultán? Who speaks of Ultán?’

  Eadulf swung round and found Brother Berrihert on the steps behind them. He smiled in warm greeting.

  ‘So you have come to join us? That is good. This is Brother Conchobhar.’

  Brother Berrihert nodded curtly at the old man but his eyes did not leave Eadulf’s face. ‘The name of Ultán was spoken. Abbot Ultán of Cill Ria?’

  ‘The same,’ agreed Eadulf, worried at the intensity in the young Saxon’s voice. Then he remembered that it was Berrihert who had first mentioned the name of the abbot to him.

  ‘Is he here?’

  ‘He is. I am told that he has come here to protest against my wedding.’

  Berrihert drew in a deep breath as if facing some momentous decision. Then he let it out slowly.

  ‘Then I give fair warning, Eadulf. Make sure that his path does not cross mine or that of my brothers, for I fear the worst.’

  ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘I fear that one of us might kill him,’ replied the young man sharply. He turned and strode off, leaving Eadulf staring in surprise.

  Brother Conchobhar stood looking thoughtfully after him.

  ‘Alas, it seems that Bishop Ultán’s circle of acquaintances ever widens,’ he said.

  ‘I do not understand it,’ Eadulf replied with a shake of his head. ‘While yesterday Brother Berrihert told me of how this Abbot Ultán split the community in which he and his brothers served on Inis Bó Finne, and how they came south for independence and peace, he mentioned nothing that would give rise to some mortal hatred of Ultán. Certainly he gave no indication of animosity to the extent that his death might be encompassed.’

  ‘The emotions of mankind are strange, my Saxon friend. You should know that above all people. You have seen enough violence in your investigations with our lady Fidelma. What angers one person, amuses another. What causes harm to one, causes benefit to someone else. Whatever slight your friend believes he has suffered might not seem much to you but will mean the world to him.’ Brother Conchobhar clapped Eadulf on the shoulder and chuckled. ‘At least you may give thanks to the arrival of Abbot Ultán for one thing.’

  Eadulf did not understand.

  ‘His arrival has caused you to forget your personal concerns about your fitness to go through with the ceremony tomorrow. You will be too preoccupied with watching Abbot Ultán and waiting for the trouble that he will undoubtedly cause.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was a sombre group that gathered that evening in the private chamber of Colgú, king of Muman. The handsome, red-haired king sprawled moodily in his carved oak chair before the fire. Fidelma sat upright opposite him with Eadulf standing behind her, one hand resting on the back of her chair. Caol, the commander of the bodyguard, stood discreetly with his back to the door, as if on guard, while a chair had been brought for Abbot Ségdae, newly arrived from the abbey of Imleach, and another for Baithen, the brehon of Muman.

  ‘It is upsetting, I know, lady,’ Baithen finally said, voicing the consensus of the group.

  Fidelma returned his concerned gaze with a smile. ‘I had a premonition that the arrival of Abbot Ultán would not bring happiness to this place. Yet we have heard these arguments so many times before. Is that not so, Eadulf?’

  The Saxon inclined his head in agreement.

  ‘You will remember the violent opposition of the old Bishop Petrán to our trial marriage?’ he said. ‘So violent was the argument that when he died a natural death soon after, I was even accused of his murder.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence. It had been the prejudice and incompetence of Dathal, the former brehon of Muman, that had caused the mistake that had almost convinced everyone at Cashel that Eadulf was to blame for the old bishop’s death. The discovery of the truth had led to Dathal’s enforced retirement from office and the appointment of Baithen as brehon in his place.

  ‘We have weathered these objections before and doubtless will do so again,’ observed Fidelma.

  Abbot Ségdae sighed, and not for the first time during the conversatio
n. ‘Nevertheless, it is upsetting that Abbot Ultán arrives on the eve of your wedding to seize the opportunity to voice his arguments before the assembled kings of Éireann. It is obviously done deliberately because the opportunity to address such an audience at one time comes infrequently.’

  ‘A pity that this agitator did not meet with some accident on his journey here,’ muttered Colgú darkly. Then, seeing the look of disapproval from his legal and spiritual advisers, he shrugged apologetically. ‘Quod avertat Deus — which may God avert,’ he added without conviction. ‘However, the abbot tells me he is an envoy from the abbot and bishop Ségéne of Ard Macha. At least he has no authority here.’

  ‘He has no authority,’ agreed Brehon Baithen. ‘Neither in the law of this land nor, so far as I know them, in the rules of the Faith. Not even Rome enforces celibacy among its religious.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Fidelma agreed emphatically. ‘If we can ignore Ultán’s prejudice then surely our guests can?’

  Colgú glanced at Caol. ‘And our guests have all arrived and are secure in their accommodations?’

  The young warrior took a step forward.

  ‘As you know, Sechnassach, the High King, and his retinue were the last to arrive, at midday,’ he replied. ‘Before him, there arrived Fianamail of Laigin, Blathmac of Ulaidh, and the king of Connacht, Muirchertach Nár. They, with their ladies, and their tánaiste and nobles, are all settled in their quarters.’

  ‘I see Muirchertach Nár of Connacht is accompanied by Abbot Augaire of Conga.’ Abbot Ségdae smiled grimly. ‘Caol tells me that Abbot Augaire has already engaged in an angry discourse with Abbot Ultán.’

  Colgú looked surprised and troubled. ‘Arguments already? About his protest over Fidelma? Caol, what happened?’

  ‘Not exactly an argument over anything, so far as I witnessed. It seemed that there was an underlying tension. Abbot Augaire’s words were spoken in a civil tone though they were bitter. He did call Ultán an arrogant messenger from an arrogant bishop. But no voice was raised, no specific argument made. It seemed that they had met in the past and that there was still bitterness between them.’

  Abbot Ségdae’s features were sorrowful. ‘I presume that the tension arises from the same argument that he had with me at Imleach. It is the claim of Ard Macha to be the primatial seat of the Faith in all the five kingdoms. Abbot Augaire of Conga is one of the many abbots and bishops who reject that claim.’

  The king turned his worried gaze towards his brehon. ‘Is there any way that we can exclude Abbot Ultán from the ceremony tomorrow? I fear that there are enough problems without Ultán making public protests.’

  Brehon Baithen exchanged a quick glance with the Abbot Ségdae.

  ‘There is no legal excuse,’ he said. ‘He is entitled to stand up and voice his objections to the marriage. We all acknowledge that he is, after all, the emissary from Ard Macha, which is very influential. Any discourtesy to Abbot Ultán may be interpreted as an insult to Blathmac, the king of Ulaidh, in whose kingdom Ard Macha is the chief religious house.’

  Colgú drummed his fingers for a moment on the arm of his chair.

  ‘This was to have been an occasion of unity and serenity,’ he said, half to himself. ‘Kings and nobles and many of distinction have all come as our guests to witness this ceremony. Even the Uí Fidgente. That alone is a great tribute to my sister’s diplomacy in attempting to heal the wounds created at the battle of Cnoc Áine. That dissension sown by a firebrand prelate from outside this kingdom should now threaten the day. .’ He ended with a helpless shake of his head.

  There was a pause before Brehon Baithen cleared his throat.

  ‘I have a suggestion.’

  They turned to him expectantly. The brehon grimaced as if a little undecided whether to continue.

  ‘The objection of this Abbot Ultán is based solely on the fact that the lady Fidelma took vows to serve the Faith. Is that not so?’

  ‘Obviously so,’ agreed Abbot Ségdae. ‘And, as we continually point out, not even Rome lays strictures on the marriage of the religious. The idea that all who serve the Faith must remain celibate is only argued by a particular school of philosophers.’

  ‘It would end all argument if the lady Fidelma simply withdrew from those vows. You, Ségdae, as senior abbot and bishop of the kingdom, could pronounce on it. After all, since she left Cill Dara, Fidelma has not served in any religious house. There is no need for it. She follows her primary calling as an advocate of our laws.’

  Fidelma leaned forward slightly from her chair. Her voice was sharp.

  ‘That would be admitting the validity of Ultán’s protests — that religious should not get married,’ she pointed out. ‘It is true that I only joined the house at Cill Dara at the suggestion of my cousin, Abbot Laisran. I have never been a religieuse in the strict sense. But, having said that, I will not withdraw when there is no need. When there is no rule that would force me to do so, why should I? No,’ she continued decisively, ‘since Abbot Ultán is determined to make an issue of this matter by interrupting the ceremony in the chapel, I think we should face his arguments rather than seek to avoid them.’

  Abbot Ségdae was puzzled. ‘If you would attempt to debate with Abbot Ultán in the middle of a marriage ceremony. . why, that would be most unseemly. And I must point out that no mean scholar advises him. I mean his hawk-faced companion, Brother Drón. Ultán’s fault is that he tends to bombast when his arguments are blocked by counter-arguments.’

  ‘Such a debate must not take place in the middle of the marriage ceremony.’ Colgú’s voice was determined. ‘I forbid it.’

  Brehon Baithen rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Even if we could debate this matter in private, I doubt that any conclusion arrived at would prevent Ultán from standing up during the ceremony and voicing his objections again in public. You cannot forbid his protest.’

  Colgú turned in resignation to Abbot Ségdae. ‘You tell us that this Abbot Ultán is advised by Brother Drón who is no mean scholar. Can you inform us what scholarship he can use to argue his case against my sister’s marriage tomorrow?’

  ‘None that cannot be countered,’ replied the abbot with firmness. ‘As has been said many times, this matter of celibacy among those who serve the Faith is merely a matter of opinion. At the time when our Lord walked upon this earth, his apostles, such as Peter the Rock, on which it was said that the entire church was founded, were married men. All the religions that I have ever heard of contain aesthetes who believe that celibacy, among both male and female, somehow bring them closer to their gods. Our Christian aesthetes had their first victory three centuries ago at a council in Iberia, at a place called Elvira. That council agreed that a priest who slept with his wife the night before Mass could not perform the sacrament. A quarter of a century later, at Nicaea, it was decreed by the council that a priest should not marry after he had been ordained. Nevertheless fifty years later Siricius, the Bishop of Rome, who was married but deserted his wife, ordered that priests should no longer sleep with their wives — clearly demonstrating that they were still marrying.’

  Fidelma gestured impatiently. ‘Most priests and other religious throughout all the kingdoms of the world still marry. I have heard that this inclination towards celibacy seems to be part of a movement emanating from those who seek to denigrate the role of women in the world. We all know that at the Council of Laodicea, three centuries ago, it was agreed that women must no longer be ordained priests. Today there are few women priests to be found.’

  Abbot Ségdae nodded. ‘And it cannot be denied that for the last hundred years the bishops of Rome, who have been accepted by many as the premier bishops of Christendom, have tended to side with those who seek to enforce celibacy. Sons of former bishops and priests no longer take the throne of the Blessed Peter. Homidas, son of the Blessed Silverus, was the last son of a previous bishop of Rome to ascend to his father’s place. Now there are those such as Gregory, who uttered the curious statement that all sexual desi
re is sinful in itself.’

  Colgú was impatient. ‘Arguments! Precedents! It is like chasing a will o’ the wisp. Is there no law written down by which a judgement can be given and adhered to? Is there no rule given in your religious writings, Ségdae?’

  Abbot Ségdae shook his head. ‘I am afraid that the sexual ethics and views on marriage in the Faith have been neither uniform nor static enough to be considered law. The decrees of the various councils have never been universally accepted so far.’

  Eadulf coughed nervously. He was well aware that he was a stranger in the kingdom and, according to the social customs and laws, had no right to speak in the presence of a king unless invited. Colgú, however, immediately understood his hesitation and gestured towards him.

  ‘Do not stand on ceremony here, Eadulf. You have something to contribute to this discussion?’

  Eadulf shot him a look of silent gratitude. ‘My experience of those who put forward the argument for celibacy is that they often rely on the writings of Augustine of Hippo.’

  Abbot Ségdae looked interested. ‘I would not have considered Augustine to have much influence in this land, especially in the kingdom of Ulaidh, for his views are so contrary to our laws and way of life. He considered women inferior to men both in morals as well as in physical being.’

  ‘That is true,’ Eadulf agreed. ‘He once wrote. .’ He shut his eyes to recite from memory. ‘I fail to see what use women can be to man if one excludes the function of bearing children.’ He opened his eyes again. ‘In my estimation, Augustine was a silly, narrow and prejudiced person, and I find it strange others hold him in esteem as a great philosopher.’

  ‘What arguments would Abbot Ultán put forward from this authority, Brother Eadulf?’ asked Brehon Baithen.

  ‘Augustine believed that Adam and Eve were innocent of sexual temptation or feelings when they lived in the Garden of Eden,’ Eadulf began. ‘Augustine wrote that prior to their fall and expulsion, their sexual impulses had been under conscious control. But because they rebelled against God, the genitals of their descendants rebelled against their will. Humans then became incapable of controlling either their sexual desires or the physical reactions of their gonads, so the only way to achieve a holy life and salvation was to abjure all form of dealings with women.’