The Council of the Cursed

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘I need your help,’ she said without preamble.

  Nuntius Peregrinus gestured with his hand. ‘You have only to ask.’

  ‘Have you seen Bishop Ordgar yet?’

  ‘I was just about to do so, having heard that he wanted to see me.’

  ‘As you know, I initially thought it advisable to keep Bishop Ordgar and Abbot Cadfan confined to their quarters until my enquiries into this crime are ended. Bishop Leodegar agreed with this course of action.’

  ‘A wise precaution,’ agreed the Nuntius.

  ‘Yet there is still much to do and I am unsure when the conclusion will be reached.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Bishop Ordgar wants you to overrule us. Now, I am cognisant of the office held by both Ordgar and Cadfan. Both could be released if they give their word of honour to keep separate from one another until the matter has been resolved.’

  ‘If they agree?’

  ‘They should give their parole to you and you will enforce their obedience as a senior representative of the Church.’

  ‘I will put it to them, and if they are willing, then I will instruct them to take an oath by the sign of the Holy Cross,’ the Nuntius said after some thought.

  ‘Excellent. That will solve their complaints and stop them from distracting us until we have finished the investigation.’

  ‘Does that mean they are allowed or not allowed to attend the Lady Beretrude’s reception for delegates?’

  Fidelma shook her head. ‘They must confine themselves inside the abbey until the matter is resolved.’

  ‘Do you expect the guilty one of them to attempt to escape? Is this why you give them freedom from their chambers?’ the Nuntius asked with interest.

  ‘No. I wanted them to be confined for their own safety as much as anything else,’ Fidelma revealed. ‘Please, make it a further condition of their freedom outside their chambers that they should have their stewards with them at all times.’ Then to Eadulf’s surprise, she added quietly, ‘Either one of them could be the next victim.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  The villa of Lady Beretrude was larger than Fidelma had imagined it, having seen only the entrance in the Square of Benignus. Once through the warrior-guarded portals, the villa and its surrounding gardens seemed to cover an enormous amount of ground. The small building at the entrance had only been a gatehouse. On either side of the wooden gates was a stone pillar with a carving on it. It was a curious letter ‘X’ enclosed in a circle. Fidelma presumed it had some meaning. Then, beyond the gates, one entered into a fragrant garden of flowers with a fountain positioned as its focal point. They were growing used to the fact that fountains predominated in the buildings of Autun. This one reminded Fidelma of the fountains that she had seen when she had been in Rome. Crafted from marble, it consisted of little statues of chubby cupids holding bows and arrows, with water spewing from their mouths.

  The afternoon was warm, although the sun was already lowering above the tops of the buildings to the west and its rays caused the white walls to be splashed in shades of pink. The perfume from the many flowers, enhanced by the warmth, was almost overpowering to the senses. Among them, Fidelma was able to identify the pungent smell of rosemary. She had encountered the unusual fragrance in Rome and had especially asked what it was, with its trailing green foliage and purple, pink or blue flowers. She had been told it was called ‘dew of the sea’–rosmarinus–and had discovered that apothecaries used it to help improve the memory.

  The council delegates, the grim-faced abbots and bishops, stood in uneasy groups around the central fountain. The splash of the water was a curiously comforting background but could not dispel the tensions evident among those gathered there. A few of the wives of the clerics had come from their lodging house to join their husbands but they, too, appeared uncomfortable. The Rule of Bishop Leodegar seemed to have taken the natural ease and composure out of their relationships, as the married couples knew that they were disapproved of. It seemed to Fidelma that they were trying to pass unnoticed, and they moved into corners of the garden where they thought they might pass unobserved.

  Fidelma was well aware of the hopeful glances that were cast towards her and Eadulf as they entered. It was as if no one wanted to be there, and was looking for someone to take the lead in expressing this fact. Fidelma had decided that it was a good moment to assert some of her authority. She had forewarned Eadulf that she would make an affirmation of her rank and culture at this gathering. It was only the third time that Eadulf had seen her discard her simple and practical form of dress for this magnificent outfit.

  She now wore a gown of deep blue satin with intricate gold thread patterning. It fitted snugly into her waist before flowing out into a full skirt, which came to her ankles. The sleeves were of a style called lam-fhoss, tight on the upper arms but spilling out just below the elbow and around the wrists in imitation of the lower part of her dress. Over this was a sleeveless tunic called an inar, tight fitting and covering the top of the dress but ending at the waist. From her shoulders hung a short lummon, a cape of contrasting red satin edged with badger’s fur. The cape was fastened on the left shoulder by a round brooch of silver and semi-precious stones. On her feet were specially decorated sandals, sewn with pieces of multi-coloured glass, and called mael-assa.

  Round her wrists were bracelets of complementary-coloured glass, and at her neck was a simple golden torc, indicating not only her royal position but that she was of the élite Nasc Niadh, bodyguards to the kings of Muman. Around her fiery red hair was a band of silver with three semi-precious stones at the front, two of them emeralds from the country of the Corco Duibhne and the third a fiery red stone which reflected the stones used in the silver brooch that held her cape. This headband served to keep in place a piece of silk that covered her hair but left her face bare. It was called a conniul and indicated her married status, for it was the custom of the married women of Hibernia to cover their heads to show their position.

  Eadulf wore his woollen homespun russet-brown robes but, as a concession to Fidelma, he also wore the golden torc of the Nasc Niadh which her brother King Colgú had inaugurated him with following their success in identifying the assassins of the High King the previous winter.

  Even Abbot Ségdae had smiled with approval when he, and the other delegates of Hibernia, greeted them in the anticum of the abbey. They had walked down to the Square of Benignus together, guided by one of the abbey community. Warriors met them at the gates and scrutinised the party. Fidelma noticed they affected to wear the same manner of apparel, armour and weapons, as the Roman legionaries of old. They were all clearly professional and were Lady Beretrude’s personal guard.

  There were several diverse groups in the garden, even some nationalities that neither Fidelma nor Eadulf could identify. Courtesies were exchanged as several delegates recognised one another. The Nuntius Peregrinus, the Papal envoy, immediately came forward to greet Fidelma and Eadulf. The Nuntius noticed her inquisitive gaze at the other delegates.

  ‘They are not here. As you suggested, I put it to Ordgar and Cadfan that it was not politic to make any appearance here until you have finished your enquiry. I also put the idea of parole to them, which they begrudgingly accepted, especially the condition that they should only move outside their rooms in the company of their stewards. So their stewards remain in the abbey as well.’

  Fidelma nodded absently. ‘I see no sign of Abbess Audofleda or anyone from the women’s community,’ she remarked.

  ‘Neither Abbess Audofleda nor any of her community is invited here. Only the bishop and one or two of his helpers are here from the abbey. The reception is for the delegates to the council and those whom the delegates have brought with them.’

  ‘Their wives and any female advisers?’

  The Nuntius moved uncomfortably. ‘Just so.’ He turned to greet some other guests.

  Men and women in simple attire were now moving between the guests bearing trays with cups of wine and
dishes of olives and bread.

  It was not until Fidelma was taking a proffered cup of wine that she realised that the woman who was bearing the tray had an iron collar about her neck. She glanced quickly round at the other servers and saw that they all wore this distinctive badge. She drew Eadulf aside.

  ‘These poor creatures, they are slaves.’

  Eadulf was sanguine about it. ‘Remember the lines Brother Budnouen quoted? “What did you go out into the wilderness to see…a man dressed in fine clothes?”’

  ‘That seems to be a favourite saying to excuse things that one finds abhorrent in other lands. I don’t need lectures in scripture,’ she replied irritably. ‘You know my views. To keep these poor folk with iron collars on their necks, women as well as men, is not the sign of a good woman of the Faith. Even in Rome they do not shackle house servants in this manner. I thought this Lady Beretrude was supposed to be known for her goodness?’

  Eadulf knew that slavery was a way of life to most peoples he had encountered, but it was not the time nor place to have a philosophical argument with his wife on the subject.

  ‘We do not know much about Lady Beretrude. Perhaps she is neither good nor truly of the Faith. One thing we must not do and that is judge people by our own standards.’

  Fidelma was about to speak when the sharp blast of a trumpet cut through the summer air. Everyone turned in the direction of the sound.

  Several people had emerged from the villa and positioned themselves on the steps of the veranda overlooking the garden where the guests were gathered.

  A man was lowering a trumpet from his lips and standing to one side. Two fully armed warriors had placed themselves on the bottom steps. Two more well-dressed men of youthful appearance also stood aside to allow Bishop Leodegar to come forward escorting a tall, middle-aged woman. The couple paused for a moment at the top of the steps that led down into the gardens.

  ‘Delegates, welcome the Lady Beretrude,’ cried the trumpeter.

  The woman stepped regally forward a pace and gazed down on the assembly. Those gathered, politely applauded. Instantly Fidelma took a dislike to her. Perhaps it was the over-application of make-up on her pale features, the thick red on the lips and bright spots of red on the white cheeks, the black lines to accentuate her eyes and the eyes themselves–cold, pale blue and almost without pupils. The hair was black and curly. Its blackness seemed unnaturally so. The features were thin; the nose was long, giving emphasis to the look of arrogance on her features as she surveyed the guests.

  Bishop Leodegar took a step that brought him by her side again and held out his left hand, slightly above waist level. Beretrude placed her right hand on it and allowed herself to be guided down the steps, and in this regal fashion they began to move around the groups in the garden with Leodegar introducing the woman to first one delegate and then to another.

  ‘She’s looking at you,’ whispered Eadulf.

  Fidelma was aware that Lady Beretrude had given some glances in her direction and then muttered something to Leodegar, who replied then began to guide Lady Beretrude towards her.

  ‘This is Fidelma of Hibernia, sister to a king in that country,’ he announced. ‘A kingdom called Moo-awn, I believe.’

  The pronunciation seemed close enough.

  Lady Beretrude gave Fidelma a lengthy scrutiny, from the top of her head down to her feet, as if she were some exotic figure that she had never encountered before.

  ‘The sister of the king of…I cannot repeat your outlandish names. But Hibernia, that I know of. I hear it is at the limit of the world, inhabited by a wild people who live a wretched existence on account of the cold.’

  Eadulf’s jaw tightened as he waited for Fidelma’s explosive reaction.

  ‘Neither so wild nor so wretched, my lady,’ she replied, keeping a tight control of her features.

  ‘Ah, but I hear the people in Hibernia are cannibals as well as gluttons. Do they not consider it honourable to eat their dead fathers and to openly have intercourse with their mothers and sisters as well?’

  Eadulf gasped loudly at the insult, but Fidelma was perfectly controlled.

  ‘Beretrude,’ she said softly, dropping the courteous form of address, ‘your ability to read Strabo does you credit. I did not think women in your culture read Greek, but your knowledge of it seems excellent. Mine, alas, must be of poor quality but, even so, I do recall that Strabo did point out that he made those observations never having been to my country, not having trustworthy witnesses to guide him. He admitted to basing his remarks solely on rumours that he heard about cannibalism among the Scythians.’

  Lady Beretrude’s eyes narrowed as she realised that Fidelma would not be so easily insulted.

  ‘Of course, one shouldn’t base knowledge on one source,’ she said coldly, her expression full of venom. ‘Pomponius Mela was not well disposed to your people either and considered them unrefined, ignorant of all the virtues and totally lacking all sense of duty.’

  ‘I must congratulate you again on your knowledge of the Latin writers as well as the Greeks who served the old Roman Empire,’ Fidelma replied, smiling. ‘What is sad, however, is the fact that neither of those writers, as great as they were in their own time, which is now many centuries past, ever visited Hibernia, otherwise they would have seen the error of relying on gossip and rumour. It is good, Beretrude, that in this day and age, people of intelligence and learning no longer indulge in making judgements on information gained at secondhand.’

  An angry flush had come to the Lady Beretrude’s cheeks as she also realised that she was unable to assert authority over Fidelma.

  She opened her mouth, hesitated and then spoke again.

  ‘Bishop Leodegar informs me that you have some knowledge of law?’

  ‘The law of my own land,’ confirmed Fidelma.

  ‘How quaint. He tells me that the Hibernian delegates have demanded that you choose which of the two foreign clerics killed the Hibernian delegate?’

  ‘Bishop Leodegar,’ Fidelma replied, glancing at him directly, ‘has actually commissioned me to investigate the killing of Abbot Dabhóc of Ard Macha. In my office, as a minor judge of my own land, it is a task that I sometimes undertake.’

  ‘Indeed?’ There was still the underlying sneer in Lady Beretrude’s voice. ‘It seems to me to be a task most unsuited for women.’

  ‘An unpleasant task for everyone, since murder is a very unnatural thing,’ Fidelma responded stolidly. ‘However, once done, then someone has to undertake the discovery of the culprit–male or female.’

  It seemed to Eadulf that Fidelma had purposefully left the sentence in ambiguous form as to whether the murderer or the investigator was male or female.

  Lady Beretrude was about to speak again when Bishop Leodegar, looking uneasy during this exchange, took her by the arm and moved her on to introduce her to someone else.

  ‘Somehow, I do not think you have made a friend in Lady Beretrude,’ Eadulf commented as he and Fidelma drew away. It was then he saw how angry the woman had made her. Her eyes were like pieces of sparkling ice.

  ‘I swear, Eadulf, there are times when I would enjoy physical violence. That was one of them.’

  ‘I thought that you handled her insults well.’

  ‘Belligerence and ignorance are never handled well, especially when the person who delivers them revels in them as if they were a virtue.’

  She looked around. The groups of delegates were still sipping wine and talking with one another. However, she noticed that each nationality tended to keep to itself, although her own people seemed to mix more freely with the Britons, Gauls and the Armoricans. They talked in excited groups with raised voices. The delegates from the Frankish kingdoms and from the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms seemed more subdued.

  Lady Beretrude was continuing to move from group to group with Bishop Leodegar, who was still introducing the various officials.

  ‘Well, as everyone is busy, perhaps it is a good time to explore a little,’ Fidel
ma suggested. ‘If it is true that some of the women from the Domus Femini have come here, we need to find out why. For the time being, I do not think asking Lady Beretrude will be of benefit. I’ll go along that side of the villa, through the gardens towards the back,’ she said, pointing to the western side, ‘and you explore the other side. If any of the guards stop you, we can pretend that we were looking for…for…’

  ‘The necessarium?’ Eadulf said wryly.

  ‘Just so.’

  She turned and made her way slowly towards the area of garden that stretched along the western side of the villa, against which the sun was causing the white walls to reflect in a pink glow. Eadulf waited to ensure her departure had not been observed before he edged slowly to the side of the villa that was now fairly shadowy, being on the opposite side to the setting sun. He hesitated a moment and glanced quickly around before moving along the pathway out of sight of the main gathering. On his right-hand side was a high wall, and to his left was the villa wall itself. There seemed no windows on this side of the villa at ground level but there were several windows above, which obviously looked out over and beyond the high border wall.

  He was unsure of what exactly Fidelma expected him to find. Did she think he would find a group of women or Valretrade in the villa? He would go as far as he could. If the passage ran around the back of the villa he could circumnavigate it, or if he found a door open, he could look inside with his ready excuse of seeking the latrina. The passageway was devoid of anything interesting except for a couple of tall wooden barrels. Some five metres beyond this he saw an iron gate that blocked the pathway. It was securely fastened. Just before this, to his left, there were some stone steps that led down to a door in the side of the villa below ground level. It was a plain, iron-studded wooden door. He was about to go down the steps to investigate when he heard a cry.

  It was a child’s cry. There came the sound of a harsh command. Footsteps were approaching.