The Council of the Cursed

by Peter Tremayne

  For a moment Eadulf froze in indecision. It was shadowy here but there was only one spot that afforded any cover. Hastening to the barrels, he crouched down behind them. He heard the clang of bolts being drawn on the iron gate, a chain being unfastened and a rough voice giving orders. The footsteps halted and there was a faint moan of a child before a scuffling sound.

  He chanced peering out around the barrel and saw the child first, a young boy no more than eight or nine years old. Following him were two religieuse, women in torn and dirty robes. Behind them was a warrior, with drawn weapon, a short sword, and then another man whose back was towards him.

  Eadulf’s eyes widened in surprise as he realised that the two women and the boy had their hands bound before them. The warrior was prodding them down the steps to the door. There he used the base of his sword-hilt to hammer on the door in a curious series of knocks. The door was opened and the trio were pushed through.

  Then the man half turned. It was good that he did not turn fully, for had he done so then his gaze would surely have fallen on the astounded Eadulf.

  Eadulf recognised the man, even in profile.

  He had last seen him only a few months before and that was in An Uaimh on the banks of the great river that flowed through the High King’s territory called the middle kingdom of Midhe. The man had been in the process of being banished from the kingdom under Fidelma’s sharp tongue, and he had turned and said: ‘I shall remember you, Fidelma of Cashel.’ And he had not meant it as a kind thought.

  Of all the people in the world, the fact that Verbas, the merchant of Peqini, was here in the villa of Lady Beretrude came as a complete shock to Eadulf.

  Fidelma had found herself moving through a series of small, exquisitely fragrant gardens, each separated by trelliswork or other fencing, some with hanging plants. There were stone seats and little figurine fountains again, each one different, and they seemed to stretch along the side of the villa, all bathed in the warm glow of the lowering sun. Fidelma had seen such gardens before when she had been in Rome but none had been executed with such miniature precision. The plants and design were pleasing to the eye. She thought of the more natural and, perhaps, rugged gardens of her own land, and wondered whether such a form could be transferred to Cashel, although these plants might not thrive in a more rainswept and colder climate.

  As she bent down to examine the plants more closely, there was a slight rustle behind her and she heard the sharp accented tone in Latin.

  ‘Ah, the lady Fidelma.’

  Fidelma swung round and found Lady Beretrude smiling at her from a mask-like face.

  ‘I am sorry if I intrude in your private gardens,’ Fidelma began. ‘I was lured by the fragrance of your plants and herbs.’

  To her surprise, Lady Beretrude showed no resentment.

  ‘It is my indulgence to spend time in this garden,’ she replied. ‘I have many herbs here that are not to be found elsewhere. Friends have brought them from eastern countries and I do my poor best to cultivate them.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Fidelma replied politely.

  ‘We grow olives here and crush them into oil.’

  ‘I was admiring those trees. I have not seen their like before.’

  ‘Ah, the cypresses.’ The woman glanced across. ‘As you know Greek’–was there a touch of bitterness in her tone?–‘you will know that the cypress is associated with Hades, the Greek God of the Dead and the subterranean kingdom of the dead.’

  Fidelma pretended to be interested in the plants as she could think of no suitable reply.

  ‘There are some curiosities in that corner which you may find of interest,’ went on Lady Beretrude. ‘Go, take a look; feel free to examine the plants.’

  She waved her hand to a corner of the garden where a multitude of green flowering plants grew and whose fragrance was powerful.

  ‘That is basil in the front–my cooks use it in the food. It is quite pleasant and comes from the east. It is named from the Greek basileus or “king” for it is said that it grew above the spot where Constantine and Helen discovered the remains of the True Cross.’

  Under the watchful gaze of Beretrude, Fidelma bent and pretended to become absorbed in the flowers. In fact, it was not a total pretence because part of her mind was, indeed, fascinated by the plants here.

  ‘If you go behind the basil you’ll see an evergreen shrub with pink flowers,’ instructed Beretrude. ‘Step over the little fence and you can bend down to smell it.’

  Fidelma had noticed that there was a border of wooden boards around this part of the garden, which separated the herbs from the row of evergreen bushes behind. It was only about sixty millimetres high.

  ‘It is called oleander, the plant that grows in the south of the country,’ continued the woman. ‘Ah, excuse me…I am being called away. Stay and enjoy the fragrances.’

  She moved away.

  Fidelma pulled a face, wondering if Lady Beretrude was trying to make up for her previous lack of civility by this show of friendliness. She bent down to smell the strange pink flowers that hung in clusters from among the leathery, dark green leaves. She had one foot in the bordered shrubbery enclosure and the other outside when she became aware of something sliding by her foot. Her mind registered a grass snake.

  ‘Fidelma?’

  Eadulf had appeared in the garden and saw Fidelma standing near the shrubbery. She turned, with one foot still across the fence.

  ‘I was just looking at the herb garden. What is it?’ She noticed that he seemed excited.

  ‘You will never guess who I have just seen here in the villa,’ he began.

  Fidelma gave a sudden yelp of pain. ‘Something has bitten me,’ she said.

  Eadulf hurried forward, glanced down and swore in his own language. Then he reached forward and pulled her out of the shrubbery onto the path.

  ‘An adder!’ he cried. ‘Quick.’ He was undoing the belt at his waist. As she watched, puzzled, Fidelma began to experience numbness around her ankle. A pain was creeping up her leg. She felt her heart beginning to thump wildly and a sick and dizzy feeling overcame her.

  Eadulf was strapping something around her leg and drawing it tight. Then she seemed to be falling to the ground. A moment later she was dimly aware that he had lifted her in his arms and was hurrying along the path. She tried to speak, and then all seemed to go black.

  Abbot Ségdae saw Eadulf first as he came around the side of the villa into the main garden, carrying the inert form of Fidelma.

  ‘What has happened?’ he demanded, running forward. Several other Hibernian delegates came crowding round.

  ‘We must get her to an apothecary!’ cried Eadulf. ‘She has been bitten by a poisonous snake. An adder.’

  Bishop Leodegar, followed by Lady Beretrude, came elbowing his way through the throng. He had heard what Eadulf said.

  ‘Bitten by an adder, you say?’

  ‘Take her into my villa, and I will send for my apothecary,’ instructed Lady Beretrude.

  Eadulf shook his head. ‘We’ll take her back to the abbey to Brother Gebicca,’ he said firmly.

  ‘But that will take time,’ protested Lady Beretrude. ‘She’ll be much better off here. I will personally look after her. If the poison isn’t treated quickly it could be dangerous…fatal even.’

  ‘I know that,’ Eadulf snapped. ‘I have some knowledge. Someone guide me back to the abbey. Quickly!’

  At once several of the Hibernian delegation, including Ségdae, volunteered to accompany him. Eadulf managed, with their help, to hoist Fidelma on his back and he, without another word, began to hurry forward in a trot surrounded by the Hibernian clerics; those in front and either side seemed to clear the way. For a moment it looked as though the warriors of Beretrude would halt them at the gates but Lady Beretrude made a signal to indicate they should be allowed to pass. She stood, without emotion, watching their departure with Bishop Leodegar at her side.

  Head down, with the weight of Fidelma on his back, Eadulf g
ritted his teeth and hurried as fast as his burden would allow him. He was exhausted and sweating by the time they came into the great square before the abbey. One of the clerics had run forward to alert the physician. Brother Chilperic appeared in the anticum.

  ‘Let me take her, Brother,’ he said, observing Eadulf’s panting and fatigued features.

  ‘Just lead me to Brother Gebicca,’ grunted Eadulf.

  He was bent forward now so that he could see only the lower part of Brother Chilperic’s legs, the heels hurrying before him, guiding him through the anticum and out into the main interior courtyard, crossing to the apothecary’s house. He was aware of doors opening and then hands were removing his burden and he straightened to see Fidelma being laid on a bed among the almost suffocating odours of the apothecary’s room.

  ‘What exactly happened?’ asked Brother Gebicca.

  ‘She was bitten on the ankle by an adder. A poisonous snake.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ demanded Brother Gebicca.

  ‘It was a black snake. I’ve seen them before.’

  The apothecary turned back to Fidelma who was breathing rapidly and with a shallow motion. She appeared in a comatose state.

  ‘You did not try to cut the wound and suck out the poison?’

  Eadulf shook his head.

  ‘That is good. The venom is inserted into the blood directly under the skin and so it is useless to try any way of extracting poison after this time. I see you tried to restrict the flow of blood. That is not much good,’ as he spoke he was removing Eadulf’s tourniquet. ‘What is good, however, is that you have kept the limb, where the wound is, at the lowest part of the body. Now go and let me do my work.’ He turned to the clerics crowding in. ‘Go! I will call you if there is a need.’

  Reluctantly, Eadulf allowed himself to be dragged away from the apothecary by Abbot Ségdae and guided to the calefactorium. Someone brought in a jug of good strong corma and mugs were produced.

  ‘How did it happen?’ asked Abbot Ségdae.

  ‘It was in the herb garden,’ Eadulf said shakily. ‘The viper was among the shrubbery and she was bitten by it.’

  ‘Let us pray that Brother Gebicca knows how to treat the poison.’

  At that moment, Bishop Leodegar entered the room, having followed them from Lady Beretrude’s villa.

  ‘How is she?’ he asked.

  ‘We are awaiting word from your apothecary,’ replied Eadulf.

  ‘The Lady Beretrude has offered to send healing herbs to our physician should he need them,’ the bishop continued. ‘She feels responsible, for she was showing the garden to Sister Fidelma just before it happened.’

  ‘It is thoughtful of Lady Beretrude,’ Abbot Ségdae acknowledged when Eadulf made no response.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ asked the bishop.

  ‘Until Brother Gebicca informs us of the situation, there is nothing,’ Eadulf replied.

  An age passed by in which no one spoke, but the corma was handed silently around as they sat waiting. Then Brother Gebicca entered and peered around in search of Eadulf. The latter sprang to his feet and moved towards him.

  ‘What news?’

  ‘She has a strong heart and a good constitution. Her pulse is normal. She will have a painful swelling on the leg for a day or two but, after a good night’s rest, she will start to mend.’

  ‘The venom has dispersed?’ demanded Eadulf, scarcely believing the news.

  Brother Gebicca nodded affirmatively. ‘I have seen worse cases. The effect in her case has been like a powerful bee-sting; painful and causing irritation. But in a strong adult, with a good constitution, the body recovers.’

  ‘Can I see her?’ Eadulf asked.

  Brother Gebicca shook his head. ‘She is sleeping now. Sleep is always a good curative in such matters. Let her rest and we will see how she is in the morning. I will sit up with her to ensure there are no complications during the night.’

  He left with a nod that encompassed everyone in the room.

  There were murmurs of congratulation from many while Abbot Ségdae clapped Eadulf wordlessly on the shoulder. Eadulf paused for a few moments before, as the abbey bell tolled, following the example of the others as they moved to the refectory for the evening meal.

  The next day, after morning prayers and the ritual breaking of the fast, Eadulf went directly to Brother Gebicca’s apothecary.

  Fidelma was sitting up and sipping at a hot broth that Brother Gebicca had prepared from various herbs. That it was unpleasant in its taste was obvious from her expression. She looked up in relief as Eadulf entered.

  Brother Gebicca turned to him with a look of satisfaction.

  ‘All is as I said, Brother. She has a painful swelling on the leg but nothing worse.’ He turned back to Fidelma. ‘I was asking, how it was that you did not recognise the poisonous serpent to avoid it? They do not attack unless they feel threatened.’

  ‘We do not have such serpents in Hibernia,’ Fidelma answered simply. ‘I have not seen such a poisonous reptile before.’

  ‘It is true,’ Eadulf confirmed, seeing Brother Gebicca’s look of disbelief. ‘There are no reptiles of that sort in the five kingdoms.’

  ‘Yet I have heard that they exist in the island of Britain, so why not in Hibernia? Are they not in close proximity? Is the warning of hidden danger not international–latet anguis in herba–a snake lies concealed in the grass? How can it be a warning if there is a country without snakes?’

  ‘That is a mystery,’ Fidelma replied firmly. ‘Yet it was told long ago that our people were destined to live in a land without snakes.’

  Brother Gebicca sniffed cynically and it was clear that he did not believe it so Fidelma decided to explain.

  ‘The progenitor of our race, Goidel Glas, son of Niul, in far-off times, served in the army of the Pharaoh Cingris in Egypt. A poisonous snake bit him but an Egyptian healer and holy man, who had been befriended by his father Niul, healed the boy. But the wound left a green mark on his skin. That is why he was called glas, which means green in our tongue. The healer then prophesied that he would eventually lead his people to an island at the edge of the world where no poisonous snakes would dwell. It was Goidel’s descendants who brought our people to the island that you called Hibernia.’

  ‘A pagan belief,’ dismissed Brother Gebicca. ‘Superstition.’

  ‘Pagan or not,’ Eadulf put in, ‘it is now being said that this miracle was wrought by Patrick when he came to convert the island. It was he, we are told, who drove out all the poisonous serpents.’

  Fidelma stirred restlessly. ‘How long before the swelling disperses and the wound heals?’ she asked.

  The physician began to bind the wound again.

  ‘There is no infection now. The wound is healing well and the swelling will go down in a day or two. I would advise rest, lest unnecessary movement causes the blood to circulate any residual venom through your body. Are you sure that you feel no ill-effects?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘The application of yellow snowdrop and vervain seems to have worked well. However, for a few days, drink a cup of the infusion of vervain and that will finish the attack of the poison.’

  ‘But can I get up now, for there is much I must do.’

  Brother Gebicca showed his disapproval.

  ‘You must do as you think best,’ he shrugged. ‘I have done my best and you are healed of the immediate effects of the poison. My advice is that you go to your room and rest for at least today.’

  Eadulf was in agreement. ‘The apothecary is right, Fidelma. If there is anything that needs to be done, I can do it.’

  ‘At the moment, you may help me to our chamber,’ Fidelma replied grimly. It was clear that, in spite of her question, she was not able to move without help.

  Supported by Eadulf, with her arm around his shoulder, Fidelma thanked the apothecary and, limping a little, made her way to the main building of the abbey. One or two of the delegates greeted her and asked after her
health. Abbot Ségdae also met them and pressed his profound relief at seeing her in a better state than on the previous night. Finally, they reached their chamber and Fidelma collapsed on the bed, exhausted by the effort.

  Eadulf went to get her some water and she sipped at it gratefully.

  ‘I rather think the apothecary is right,’ she admitted, after handing the mug back to Eadulf. ‘I need more rest than I thought. That walk was quite tiring.’ She noticed the basket of fruit and another of various herbs in the room. ‘The abbey, at least, seems to be concerned for my health,’ she said.

  Eadulf glanced at the baskets.

  ‘Bishop Leodegar brought those in. Apparently, the Lady Beretrude sent them, fruit and healing herbs, and with all good wishes for your recovery.’

  Fidelma frowned suddenly. ‘Lady Beretrude?’ She remembered the moments in the garden with Beretrude encouraging her to look more closely at the shrubbery…at what was it–the oleander?

  Eadulf saw her frown. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I just wondered if Beretrude knew there was a poisonous snake in the shrubbery.’

  Eadulf was surprised at the question. ‘Why would she know that?’ he demanded.

  ‘She was encouraging me to go near the shrubbery just before you came.’

  ‘She could not have known a poisonous snake would be there.’

  ‘There was a wooden border around those shrubs. It was of such a height that a snake would not be able to move over it. Perhaps the creature had been purposely placed there.’

  Eadulf was dubious. ‘Are you saying that she deliberately tried to kill you?’ He looked unconvinced. ‘The bite of a viper does not necessarily mean death. Even Brother Gebicca likened it to a bee-sting, affecting only the young and those with weak constitutions.’

  ‘It is debilitating nonetheless for that,’ replied Fidelma in annoyance at his argument. ‘It might have been an attempt to prevent me from pursuing the investigation.’

  It was then that Eadulf remembered what he had been about to tell her at the moment that the snake had bitten her.

  ‘I think we were right to suspect that Beretrude might have some connection with the women from the Domus Femini,’ he said slowly. ‘Last night I saw something at the villa that shocked me, and that was when I came to find you in the garden.’