The Council of the Cursed

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘There have been no debates.’

  ‘I was told there was an opening session at which acrimonious remarks were passed.’

  ‘It was not a debate but an assembly where delegates could meet before the start of the working sessions. My quarrel was with Cadfan the Briton,’ asserted the bishop.

  ‘So you have no idea why Abbot Dabhóc would call at your chamber in the middle of the night?’

  ‘None whatsoever, unless he was inveigled there by the Welisc who killed him, to lay the blame on me. That is my belief.’

  ‘You dislike Abbot Cadfan very much, I hear?’

  ‘They are all the same, these Welisc. They are enemies of my blood. Whining and ungrateful.’

  ‘Isn’t that understandable?’ asked Fidelma.

  Bishop Ordgar jerked his head towards her and his eyes narrowed angrily.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It is not so many years ago that your people crossed the seas and began to drive out the Britons, whom you call “foreigners”–Welisc in your language–from their lands and began to settle on the farms and the villages from which they had been dispossessed. Even now you continue to drive them westward. Do you expect gratitude and kindness from them?’

  Bishop Ordgar’s lip curled arrogantly. ‘God showed us the way to the island of the Britons and gave it to us to inhabit.’

  ‘But it was inhabited already.’

  ‘Inhabited only by sheep. God would not have made the Welisc sheep if He did not expect them to be shorn.’

  ‘They have not been shorn so easily,’ Fidelma observed. ‘They still fight for the possession of their lands.’ It was clear that she had no liking for the bishop. ‘If it was God Who showed your people the way, Ordgar of Kent,’ she continued, ‘then He came in a strange disguise. At the time, it was Woden, Tyr, Thurnor and Freya whom you worshipped. You see, I know of your gods, for many of your people worship them still. A generation or two ago, none of the Angles and Saxons knew or cared of the Christ until the missionaries from my people raised you from your idols. Do not blame God nor Christ as the reason why you continue to persecute and dispossess the Christian Britons.’

  Brother Ordgar swallowed hard. He was trying to think of some suitable retort when Fidelma turned to Eadulf. Out of courtesy she continued to speak in Latin.

  ‘We need not trouble Bishop Ordgar nor Brother Benevolentia further…at this time.’

  Eadulf was confused. His mind was actually turning over the truth of what Fidelma had said because he himself had worshipped Woden into his teenage years before a wandering missionary from the land of Hibernia converted him to the New Faith. He realised Fidelma was turning for the door and glanced quickly back.

  ‘We have finished for the moment,’ he said hastily.

  ‘Wait!’ Bishop Ordgar called, as Eadulf was about to follow Fidelma. ‘I need to be cleared of these foul accusations at once. When am I to be allowed to resume my seat at the council?’

  It was Fidelma, in the doorway, who turned back to him.

  ‘When we have finished our enquiry, Bishop Ordgar of Kent,’ she replied curtly. ‘You will be informed when that is, have no fear.’

  Eadulf followed her as she paced rapidly down the corridor. They found themselves in a tiny hallway at the end where there was a large window. It overlooked a small courtyard with a little flower garden and splashing fountain. There she paused, leaning on the windowledge and slowly breathing in the fresh air.

  ‘I am sorry, Eadulf,’ she said, feeling him standing behind her and knowing he would be looking at her with a reproachful gaze. ‘Something about that man and his arrogance causes my ire to rise. I should not have spoken so harshly about your people and their history.’

  ‘I am not oblivious to their faults,’ acknowledged Eadulf. ‘There are no people on the face of this earth who are possessed of all the virtues. Our storytellers say that our forefathers were being driven from their own lands by hostile tribes, and that is why they crossed the sea to Britain and fought the natives for the right to settle there.’

  ‘Good for your people, but hard for the Britons who were dispossessed.’

  Eadulf sought to change the subject. ‘So you think Bishop Ordgar might be guilty of this crime?’

  ‘It is certainly a weak story that he has to tell. But in its very weakness the truth might lie. Overall, it is too curious a story to be made up.’

  ‘What of the young man, Brother Benevolentia?’

  ‘He seems in awe of Bishop Ordgar and will do what his master tells him.’ Fidelma straightened up from the windowledge and saw that Eadulf was looking gloomy. ‘It is early days yet,’ she smiled.

  Brother Chilperic’s directions were easy to follow.

  When they entered Abbot Cadfan’s chamber, in response to his invitation, the Briton came forward with an outstretched hand and clasped first that of Fidelma and then that of Eadulf. He was short, with dark hair, and his black eyes seemed devoid of pupils, for the colours appeared to merge together, making one large orb in each socket.

  ‘I know of you, Fidelma of Cashel,’ he said animatedly. ‘I was at the court of Gwlyddien of Dyfed when you and Brother Eadulf came there and solved the mystery of what happened at Pen Caer. I am glad that you are here. If there is any who can solve this matter, then it is you.’

  ‘Pen Caer was some time ago.’ Fidelma gave a deprecating smile. ‘I only hope that we can fulfil your expectations.’

  ‘What happened in the kingdom of Dyfed has often been told at the feasting fires even in the northern kingdom of Gwynedd. But come, be seated, let me offer you refreshment.’

  It was certainly a better reception than that given them by Bishop Ordgar. The pair seated themselves and accepted his wine. It was white, cool and refreshing.

  ‘Now,’ the Briton began in businesslike fashion, ‘I know that I am accused by Ordgar of killing poor Abbot Dabhóc. So please ask your questions and I will tell you what I know as facts.’

  Fidelma felt comfortable with Cadfan’s easy manners and recalled that the Britons had a similar law system to those that the Brehons used. She reminded herself that among the Britons there was an office called a Barnwr that was their equivalent of a Brehon.

  ‘Let us start off by asking you when you first met Bishop Ordgar. It would be useless asking you if you disliked him.’

  Abbot Cadfan chuckled in genuine amusement.

  ‘Dislike would be too mild a term.’ He paused reflectively. ‘Though that admission will do me no good in an investigation such as this. Anyway, the truth is the truth. If he were lying in need of help on the far side of a road, I could not bring myself to emulate the story of the Good Samaritan. Perhaps I do not have sufficient faith in the Christ. But to answer your question, I had no idea of Bishop Ordgar’s existence until I arrived here in Autun. We first encountered each other outside the council chamber and I told him that when the council met, I was going to raise a proposition that they should begin by censuring the Saxon kingdoms for the wanton destruction of Benchoer.’

  Seeing that Fidelma and Eadulf looked blank he continued: ‘Benchoer is the largest and greatest of our religious houses in Gwynedd. Drostó, the abbot, was invited to this council; I was to come along as his assistant. Just before we commenced our journey, the Saxons of Mercia attacked and burned Benchoer and slaughtered nearly a thousand of our brethren there. I was not present at the time, thanks be to God, for I had gone to consult with the bishop of Dewi Sant in Menevia about matters that needed to be raised at this council. We heard that Drostó and a few survivors had fled into the forests and were being pursued by the Saxons. Then we had a message from Drostó himself, saying that he could not desert his people at such a time. So it was agreed that I should come here as representative because this council was too important to ignore. The proposals being debated here might greatly affect our churches and abbeys.’

  He paused. Eadulf was looking uncomfortable.

  Fidelma regarded Abbot Cadfan in sympath
y.

  ‘Over a thousand of your brethren killed, you say?’

  ‘Of religious brothers and sisters,’ confirmed Cadfan. ‘It was an unprovoked attack by the Saxons.’

  ‘The ambition of Wulfhere to rule over all the Saxon kingdoms is well known,’ Eadulf observed slowly. ‘He also claims to be Bretwalda, that is lord over the Britons. He persuaded the authority of the archbishop at Canterbury to recognise that title. His alliances and conquests now hem in my own people, those of the kingdoms of the East Angles. He controls the kingdom of the East Saxons and also the kingdom of Lindsey to the north of us.’

  ‘You’ll forgive me if I am more concerned with my own people,’ Abbot Cadfan replied dryly. ‘It is Wulfhere’s attempts to destroy us that are on my mind. I asked Ordgar, as a man of Christ, representing the new bishop sent by Rome to administer to the Saxon kingdoms, if he would join me in condemning this sacrilege and unprovoked attack on a religious house. The man laughed in my face and said he rejoiced to hear of the success of Wulfhere’s exploits.’

  Eadulf dropped his gaze to the floor and was now clearly embarrassed.

  ‘There has been continual warfare between your people and mine,’ he offered, feeling he should make some comment.

  Abbot Cadfan’s expression was controlled. ‘Why is that, Brother Eadulf? Did we invade your lands or did you invade our lands? Surely, you are too intelligent to blindly side with your people when they are in the wrong?’

  ‘So,’ interrupted Fidelma hastily, ‘Bishop Ordgar refused to condemn the destruction of Benchoer. What happened then?’

  ‘We went into the council and before I had a chance to raise the matter, Ordgar began to insult me; this led to an argument and the council was adjourned. As we were leaving, Ordgar insulted me once again. Alas, it is my great fault that I am cursed with a quick temper. Losing it, I struck Ordgar and he struck back–and the next thing I knew, we were wrestling on the floor. It was unforgivable and undignified. Then the brethren were pulling us apart.’

  ‘When was this?’ asked Fidelma. ‘I mean, when was it in relationship to the events in Ordgar’s chamber?’

  ‘It was the very same afternoon.’

  ‘So tell me what happened after you and Ordgar were forcibly split up?’

  ‘I decided to avoid him and went with one of the Gaulish brethren to see that ancient Roman theatre which is not far from this abbey. It is an amazing place and—’

  ‘We have seen Roman theatres,’ Eadulf pointed out, observing the enthusiasm in the man’s eyes and wishing to keep to the matter in hand.

  ‘Not an amphitheatre like this, that seats fifteen hundred people. It is—’

  ‘Did anything of relevance happen at the theatre?’ interrupted Fidelma quickly. ‘Is this why you mention it?’

  ‘No.’ Realising that he should stick to the important facts, the abbot went on, ‘We returned here for evening prayers. I saw Ordgar in the chapel but again, avoided him, then came here to my chamber and retired for the night. I was awoken by a tapping on the door. I called out, but there was no answer. It was still dark but I felt it was not long before dawn. I lit a candle, but when I went to the door, the corridor was empty. However, there was a note on the threshold. A scrap of parchment.’

  ‘What was on it?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘It bore the name of Ordgar and said that he was at great fault and wished to see me at once. That he would be waiting in his chamber for me.’

  ‘We were told that you no longer have this note,’ Fidelma said.

  ‘I had it on me when I went to Ordgar’s chamber, but when I recovered consciousness it was gone,’ explained Abbot Cadfan.

  ‘I see. It said nothing else?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Did you not think it was strange–to receive such a note at such an hour?’

  Abbot Cadfan glanced at him with a frown. ‘In what way strange?’

  ‘That Bishop Ordgar, after the encounters you had had with him, should suddenly send you an apology and invitation at such an hour?’

  The Briton shrugged. ‘Paul encountered a blinding light on the road to Damascus,’ he replied. ‘Why not Ordgar in the middle of the night?’

  ‘I doubt whether even Paul had the disposition of Ordgar,’ observed Fidelma softly.

  Abbot Cadfan thought for a while and then said: ‘When I consider it in hindsight, then perhaps it was strange. I suppose that I was concerned with letting Christendom know of the crime at Benchoer. So I went eagerly to his chamber. I thought he had truly changed his mind. And now the note has vanished, which makes me appear a storyteller.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I tapped on the door and it swung open so I went inside. It was dark and I called out. Then there was a split second of pain. I think I knew that I had been struck from behind. The next thing, I was back here on my own bed. Someone had bandaged my head, which was painful and bloodied.’ He raised a hand to his head. ‘There is no bandage now, but you may still see the scar and the faint bruise that still exists.’

  ‘Were you told of what had happened?’

  ‘I was told that Abbot Dabhóc was dead, that I had been found unconscious and that Ordgar was claiming that he had been drugged. I was also told that the physician Brother Gebicca had brought me back to my chamber and tended me. Then the next day, Bishop Leodegar informed me that Ordgar was accusing me of contriving this murder in order to put the blame on him. It therefore seemed obvious to me who the culprit was. I say it was Ordgar who was waiting behind the door to strike me down as I entered.’

  Fidelma was puzzled and said so.

  ‘I do not follow your logic here, Abbot Cadfan. How do you reach this conclusion?’

  ‘Easy enough. I met Abbot Dabhóc at the council. Why would I kill him? He was sympathetic to me, and the people of Iwerddon, as we call your country, share many of our rites and rituals. Whereas Saxons do not. I had no reason to argue with Abbot Dabhóc. The accusation Ordgar levels at me is false. He disliked Abbot Dabhóc as much as he disliked me. I say that Ordgar arranged the whole thing to put the blame on me. It is as simple as that.’

  There was silence for a moment. Then Abbot Cadfan regarded Eadulf as if a sudden thought had occurred to him.

  ‘Didn’t I hear that you, Brother Eadulf, went to one of those schools for physicians that are renowned in Iwerddon?’

  ‘I went to Tuam Brecain,’ Eadulf acknowledged.

  ‘Excellent. Now, please, examine my head. Look at the wound on my scalp and the bruises.’

  Eadulf rose and went to examine the abbot’s head.

  ‘I can see a jagged cut running from a line just above the left ear,’ he reported. ‘It is healing well but was fairly deep, I would say. There is still bruising all around. I would guess that it was inflicted by a blunt instrument.’

  Abbot Cadfan gave him an approving look.

  ‘You have a discerning eye, Brother Eadulf. I will not argue with your finding. So tell me, how did I, having drugged Ordgar and killed Abbot Dabhóc, then inflict this wound on myself? A wound on the back of my head that knocked me unconscious for many hours.’

  ‘It would be difficult,’ Eadulf conceded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ‘But perhaps Dabhóc inflicted the blow just as you killed him, or else you had an accomplice?’

  ‘You disappoint me,’ Abbot Cadfan replied, still cheerful, ‘I would say it was impossible to exert that much power with the one hand I would have had free to use. Can you imagine me picking up a piece of wood and attempting to strike myself on the back of the head?’ He laughed. ‘As for Dabhóc inflicting the blow, that is out of the question. Don’t take my word for it–ask Brother Gebicca. And once struck, I would be incapable of summoning enough strength to kill him. As for an accomplice–who would be my accomplice?’

  ‘Has the physician, Brother Gebicca, remarked on this matter?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘I pointed out the facts to him and he conceded the logic. It is a matter that I shall maintain in my defence,’
replied Abbot Cadfan firmly.

  ‘Defence?’ Fidelma repeated the word with mild reproach. ‘No one has been formally accused as yet.’

  ‘It will happen, I am sure of it,’ Abbot Cadfan sighed. ‘Bishop Leodegar is a Frank. Aren’t they first cousins of the Saxons? The language is similar. I believe that he has already made up his mind what course to take and that does not involve causing upset to the Saxons or to Rome. Isn’t Ordgar the emissary of Theodore of Canterbury, sent to minister to the Saxon kingdoms by none other than Pope Vitalian in Rome? I cannot see Bishop Leodegar upsetting such powerful authorities. He will sacrifice me, there is no doubt.’

  ‘Bishop Leodegar is going to abide by the truth,’ Fidelma assured Cadfan. ‘That is why we have been commissioned to investigate this matter.’

  Abbot Cadfan suddenly burst out laughing.

  ‘Forgive me, forgive me, Sister Fidelma,’ he said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. ‘I mean no insult. But Leodegar will do what is best for Leodegar and his Frankish Church. He will not censure the likes of Ordgar for fear of displeasing Rome. What does he care for the plight of us Britons?’

  ‘I trust you are wrong, Abbot Cadfan, for truth must prevail in the end,’ observed Fidelma, rising and moving to the door.

  ‘Truth can prevail–but let us hope that it does so while I still live,’ replied Abbot Cadfan. ‘Keep me informed of your search for it.’

  Fidelma paused at the door. Her face was serious.

  ‘Truth will prevail, Abbot Cadfan. I will see to it.’

  Chapter Six

  ‘Well, one of them must be lying as there seems no common ground,’ Eadulf remarked after they had left Abbot Cadfan. ‘Their stories are totally at odds with one another.’

  ‘On the contrary, the facts of the story are the same,’ Fidelma argued. ‘Neither one is disputing the facts, only who is responsible.’

  ‘One says he was drugged. The other says he was asked to go to Ordgar’s chamber and then hit on the head. They can’t both be telling the truth.’

  ‘Perhaps they can,’ Fidelma said quietly.