The Council of the Cursed

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Master? What language did the intruder address you in?’

  ‘It was in Latin, Sister. That is the language we have to use in common here.’

  ‘And what did you reply?’

  ‘Having assumed it was Abbot Dabhóc of whom he spoke, I responded that he had given me nothing. Nor could I help them, for his room had been emptied.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘The knife’s pressure increased and I cried out once more that I could not help them and for the sake of pity to spare my life. I am sure the man holding me down on the bed would have cut my throat. Then another voice, a voice in the darkness behind him, said, “Leave him. He obviously knows nothing.” The person holding me said: “Say nothing of this for if you do, we will return when you least expect it.” I heard them exit my chamber and lay for a long time not knowing what to do.’

  ‘And what language was this exchange conducted in?’

  ‘Still in Latin.’

  ‘Did you report the matter?’

  Brother Gillucán shook his head dejectedly. ‘I want to live and return to Tulach Óc. However, I have heard of you and Brother Eadulf, and I knew that I should tell you what I know. That is why I have done so, but with discretion. I want no one to know that I have seen you.’

  ‘I understand. How will you return home to Tulach Óc?’

  ‘There are some pilgrims from Mágh Bhíle who are on their way back from Rome. They stayed in this city last night, and leave tomorrow. I shall go with them, and be thankful to do so.’

  ‘And you cannot describe these missing belongings of Abbot Dabhóc further?’

  Brother Gillucán hesitated. ‘As I said, I caught sight of the reliquary box only once.’

  ‘And?’ encouraged Fidelma.

  The young man screwed up his eyes as if to conjure the image before him.

  ‘It was of copper, some tin, enamel and a wood base. It was in the shape of a hexagonal house, with a pitched roof and gable ends, as is typical of the reliquary boxes made by our craftsmen.’

  ‘You mentioned jewels?’

  ‘There are decorative mouldings, mounts with red enamel and settings in which emeralds are cast. I do not think they were coloured glass settings. No, I think they were precious and semi-precious stones.’

  ‘And the size?’

  ‘Perhaps fourteen centimetres at the base, perhaps ten centimetres deep and five in width.’

  Fidelma nodded, for most reliquary boxes from the five kingdoms were made roughly to those dimensions.

  ‘Oh, and I forgot–there were words engraved on the lid.’

  ‘Which were?’

  ‘One name was Benén.’

  ‘Just that name?’ queried Fidelma, for it was a popular name used among certain of her people.

  ‘That is all I remember. But there was another name inscribed on it. I can’t recall it.’

  ‘Well, little things can mount up,’ said Fidelma. ‘I think you have been very wise in telling me what you know, Brother Gillucán. However, we are dealing with beings in corporeal from and not the legions of the cursed as you have described them. “Souls in torment”, I think you said.’

  The young man shook his head gloomily. ‘Truly, Sister, there are souls in torment in this abbey. Voices crying out in pain and agony. I have heard them,’ he added with emphasis.

  Fidelma wanted to smile but kept her features controlled, for the young man was in earnest.

  ‘Perhaps you could tell me what you heard and in what circumstances.’

  But Brother Gillucán seemed nervous and was having difficulty in making up his mind to speak further. Eventually he said: ‘I went to the necessarium,’ and flushed a little.

  Fidelma was puzzled, not having come across the word before.

  ‘Necessarium?’ she repeated.

  ‘The latrina. It was before dawn and I…the call of nature…’

  ‘Go on,’ Fidelma said impatiently. ‘I am not so sheltered from life that I need protection from natural functions of the body.’

  ‘I was sitting in the necessarium when I heard a low wailing sound. The cries of souls in torment–that is the only way I can describe the sound. Then cries of terror, wailing in fear and anguish. It was terrible to listen to. I have to admit, I fled from the room and did not stir until well after first light.’

  It was clear that the young man had truly heard something that had frightened the wits out of him.

  ‘Where did these sounds come from?’ Fidelma probed. ‘You say that you were in the necessarium–so were the sounds in the same room?’

  Brother Gillucán stared at her for a moment.

  ‘They seemed to come from the walls,’ he said. ‘That is it! They came from the walls. The voices of the cursed.’

  ‘Where is this necessarium?’

  ‘On the ground floor, beyond the refectory.’ He swallowed nervously. ‘I feel that this place is cursed, Sister. I cannot wait for dawn tomorrow, when I will start back for the kingdom of Ulaidh.’

  Fidelma regarded the frightened young man with sympathy.

  ‘If you wish, you could accompany Brother Eadulf and myself back to the five kingdoms, or even go with Abbot Ségdae and his steward.’

  ‘After what has happened to my abbot and then to me, the quicker I leave this city, the better I shall like it,’ he said. ‘No, I shall leave in the morning with the pilgrims for Mágh Bhíle, as I have said.’

  ‘Then God be on every road that you travel,’ Fidelma replied gravely.

  Brother Gillucán rose quickly. ‘If you do find the abbot’s reliquary box, please remember it was a gift from Ard Macha to Rome.’

  ‘I will remember it, Brother Gillucán.’

  ‘Then may God protect you in this evil place, Sister.’ He moved to the door, halted before it and looked back apologetically.

  ‘Sister, would you mind checking that the corridor is empty?’

  She rose without a word and went to the door to open it. A swift glance up and down the corridor ensured that no one was within sight.

  She stood back and he slipped out.

  ‘Slán abhaile,’ she whispered, feeling sorry for the frightened young man. Safe home.

  Chapter Eight

  Eadulf had returned frustrated, not having found Abbot Ségdae. The latter and some other delegates were apparently holding a meeting on some of the proposals that would have to be discussed by the council when it was finally convened. The abbot had given orders that they were not to be disturbed. Fidelma was philosophical and decided that they would wait until the next day before going to see the Abbess Audofleda. She took the opportunity to tell Eadulf about her visitor.

  ‘So now we are told that the abbey is haunted?’ he said, his tone sceptical.

  ‘The young man heard something. It doesn’t mean that his interpretation is the correct one.’

  ‘Perhaps I should examine this necessarium,’ mused Eadulf. The hospitia had its own latrina so he had not seen the one that was for general use. He had not expected to be taken seriously, but Fidelma agreed.

  ‘Find out its location and make a visit there later tonight when all is quiet. With luck, you may stumble across some reasonable explanation for what young Gillucán thought he heard.’

  Eadulf groaned inwardly. Truth to tell, he retained some of the superstitions of his pagan upbringing and still believed in malignant spirits. Fidelma pretended not to notice his woebegone expression.

  ‘What is of more concern to me is the fact that Abbot Dabhóc was carrying a valuable gift for the Bishop of Rome–this reliquary box. Did whoever killed him steal it?’

  Eadulf sprawled into the chair that had been earlier vacated by the young man.

  ‘Well, if they did, they were certainly not the two men who later visited Gillucán and threatened him with a knife,’ he commented.

  ‘How do you reach that conclusion?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘Simple enough. If they already had the box, having ransacked Dabhóc’s chamber, why would t
hey search Gillucán’s room and then return a second time in the middle of the night to threaten him with a knife, asking the question, “Where is it?”’

  ‘The “it” in question being a reference to the reliquary box?’

  ‘I think that is a logical deduction,’ Eadulf agreed.

  ‘But that brings up another question,’ Fidelma said. ‘Who, then, did take this mysterious box?’

  ‘Or did Abbot Dabhóc hide it somewhere safe before his death and now no one can find it?’ Eadulf said. ‘Should we not have another examination of his chamber?’

  ‘We will, but we must also consider whether this matter is relevant to his murder, or simply a coincidence. And, of course, if either Ordgar or Cadfan were involved in the murder–why would they want this reliquary box?’

  ‘It would not be the first time members of the Faith have been tempted by temporal wealth or by some religious icon,’ Eadulf commented.

  Fidelma had to acknowledge he was right but did not feel satisfied that this was the answer.

  ‘We don’t know if it was valuable. That would depend on whose relics were in the box. From the name Gillucán gave me, I cannot think that it is anyone well venerated.’

  ‘What was the name again?’

  ‘Benén was the name on the box, according to Gillucán.’

  Eadulf frowned. ‘Benén. There are many who have entered the religious who call themselves by that name. They think it makes them of a more holy disposition. When I was a student at Tuam Brecain, I knew a few of that name. And—’ He suddenly sat up straight. ‘Do you mean Benén mac Sesenén of Midhe?’

  Fidelma stared at him. ‘The successor of Patrick?’ she asked.

  ‘The same,’ Eadulf agreed. ‘You should know his work well, for he was one of the three representatives of the Church who sat on the nine-man commission who edited the laws of the Fénechus and produced the Senchus Mór–the great law book by which you Brehons set such great store.’

  ‘Benén,’ she echoed. He had been the favourite disciple of Patrick, his co-adjutor at Ard Macha, and he also wrote Patrick’s biography. ‘Of course, Benén!’

  They were silent for a few moments.

  ‘Why would the bishop of Ard Macha send the relics of Benén to Rome?’ Fidelma wondered, almost to herself. ‘He never left Ulaidh or Midhe during his temporal life, so why send them there? There seems no connection.’

  Eadulf shrugged. ‘That is a question beyond my answering.’

  There came a tap on the door. It was Abbot Ségdae.

  ‘I am told that you were looking for me, Brother Eadulf? I was in a meeting with some of the Armorican abbots.’

  It was Fidelma who told him of the problems that they were facing.

  ‘I thought this had all been clearly agreed by Bishop Leodegar,’ the abbot said peevishly. ‘Perhaps you are right. He wields such a strong hand with his community here that it could well be that no one, not even his steward, will do anything without his direct approval.’ He sighed deeply. ‘I will have another word with him on his return and insist that he makes clear that you can question whoever you want, whenever you want and wherever you want.’ He added heavily, ‘Some of the delegates are speaking of withdrawing from this council. Already there is talk that the council is cursed.’

  Fidelma examined the abbot with surprise. ‘Cursed? It is unlike clerics to use such strong language, Ségdae.’

  The Abbot of Imleach nodded moodily. ‘Even if this council goes ahead, I do fear the outcome. I have spoken to many, as I have said before, and the Gauls, Britons and the people of our own five kingdoms will not accept these new ideas from Rome easily.’

  ‘When you were with Abbot Dabhóc, did he ever speak to you of a gift he was bringing here for the Nuntius to take back to Rome?’ Fidelma asked, changing the subject.

  Abbot Ségdae looked bemused. ‘What sort of gift?’ he asked. ‘He never mentioned anything to me.’

  ‘Then please speak of this to no one,’ Fidelma replied. ‘We think it was a reliquary box–the relics of the Blessed Benén who was Patrick’s helper and disciple.’

  ‘At Imleach we have long known that Ard Macha has been attempting to claim that it is the primacy of all the five kingdoms and we have long fought against it,’ said Abbot Ségdae. ‘We know that the bishops of Ard Macha have already written to the bishops of Rome to enlist their support. Perhaps this is another means of trying to solicit the backing of Rome.’ He tutted to himself. ‘It is sad that even in the Faith, man resorts to politics…!’ He suddenly looked hard at Fidelma. ‘Are you saying there is some connection with the death of Dabhóc and this matter?’

  ‘I am not saying that…yet,’ she responded. ‘I would appreciate it that nothing is said.’

  ‘You have my word. Have you spoken to Dabhóc’s steward? I forget his name but he might know something.’

  ‘I have spoken to him–but again, I would appreciate it if no more was said.’

  ‘Very well.’

  There came the distant ringing of a bell.

  Abbot Ségdae glanced up in surprise. ‘Tempus fugit. It is the bell to end the day’s toil in the abbey and prepare for the evening meal.’

  For people from the five kingdoms it was a signal for their daily bath, which always occurred before the evening meal.

  The abbot hurriedly made his excuses and left them.

  They joined him when the bell tolled again to announce the evening meal. Brother Gillucán was at the table in the refectory looking withdrawn and nervous, and while Fidelma glanced encouragingly at the young man she did not refer to their earlier meeting, nor did he. Abbot Ségdae waited until after the ritual of the gratias, the meal and the dismissal were over before approaching Bishop Leodegar. After a hurried conversation, the bishop accompanied the abbot back to where Fidelma was waiting with Eadulf.

  ‘I apologise, Sister Fidelma, if my intentions were misinterpreted. I will make sure that my instructions are followed more carefully. Of course you have the freedom to come and go, as you will. Only please respect my wish that you are circumspect.’

  ‘That was my understanding of our agreement,’ said Fidelma solemnly. ‘I was sure that Brother Chilperic was simply being a little over-zealous.’

  Bishop Leodegar looked a little uncomfortable. ‘Just so. Just so. Though I must confess that I cannot understand why you need to consult with Abbess Audofleda.’

  ‘It is difficult to explain where one’s path will lead in an investigation,’ Fidelma said smoothly. ‘Perhaps into a blind alley, perhaps down a side turning, perhaps nowhere at all. One has to follow one’s instincts.’

  ‘Very well, I shall send a message to Abbess Audofleda telling her to expect you. Tomorrow morning, perhaps?’ But his voice betrayed both reluctance and curiosity.

  Fidelma bowed her head in acknowledgement.

  The bishop waited a moment more before, with a jerk of his head towards both of them, he turned and moved off.

  Later that night, Fidelma woke Eadulf. He blinked in the candlelight.

  ‘It’s still dark!’ he protested sleepily.

  ‘And time to do some investigation–remember?’

  Eadulf groaned. ‘So I must go seeking the ghosts of Brother Gillucán’s imagination?’

  ‘As you suggested yourself. Find the necessarium and see what there is to be seen. I do not think there will be anything, but one needs to be thorough.’

  Still grumbling Eadulf climbed out of the bed and pulled on his robe.

  ‘Auroa Musis amica,’ chuckled Fidelma as she watched him.

  ‘We have a similar saying,’ replied Eadulf without humour. ‘The early bird catches the worm.’

  ‘So I suppose you know where to go?’ she asked, as he took the candle and made his way to the door.

  He turned back with some of his old spirit.

  ‘I am not so slow,’ he chided. ‘You may have noticed that after the evening meal, I followed a couple of the brethren who were almost running along the corridor. T
hey led me to the necessarium.’

  Fidelma was puzzled. ‘How did you know they were going there?’

  ‘When you see men hurrying in such a manner after having imbibed, then it is logical enough.’ He allowed himself a grin before adding: ‘I’ll be back soon.’

  The necessarium for the brethren was along a corridor that led to the far side of the abbey, against what Eadulf judged to be the southern wall of the city. He moved quietly along the corridors, holding the tallow candle before him to light his way. There were few lanterns in this section of the abbey; the guest quarters were, of course, among those areas that were well lit.

  Eadulf suppressed a shiver as he crept down the narrow stairwell to the lower floor. He paused to listen at the bottom before making his way along the final darkened corridor to the room which the brethren used as the communal necessarium. He entered it, closed the door behind him and, holding up his candle, peered around.

  It was a large square room with a stone trough in the middle in which water lay reflecting the candlelight with curious sparkles and ripples. This was for washing. The floor itself was tiled, and around the walls was a continuous line of marble seats with no partitions between them. In each seat was a hole that dropped into darkness but from which Eadulf could hear the trickle and splash of a watercourse–a stream that ran underneath. Each person could go to a chosen seat and perform their natural functions before moving to the central pool to wash. There was little privacy here when one came to perform one’s ablutions. A memory returned to Eadulf; it was like one of the communal necessaria that he had seen in Rome when he was there.

  An objectionable odour rose from the open seating. He sniffed in disapproval, wondering which poor member of the brethren was sent down to clear the water channel when it became blocked with the excrement of his fellows. Eadulf screwed up his face into an expression of distaste, trying to push the unwelcome thought from his mind.

  He moved to stand near the centre of the room by the water trough and listened, but there was no sound apart from the trickling of the water channel beneath the seats. He waited a few moments and then slowly walked around the walls by the seats, pausing now and then to listen. A sudden hooting sound caused him to stop in his tracks with heart pounding, until he realised it was the mournful cry of an owl. There were two windows, high up and open to the sky, and the bird must have flown by. He crept on again. No, there were no cries of souls in torment.