The Council of the Cursed

by Peter Tremayne

‘Who was it?’ demanded Fidelma eagerly.

  ‘The stonemason, Brother Andica. He was the one who carried me here.’

  Fidelma was slightly disappointed. ‘I am afraid he is dead.’

  Sister Valretrade was shocked for a moment, and then she went on. ‘I did not recognise the woman. Perhaps it was Radegund. After all, she is Beretrude’s niece. And she is the only married one in the community who has complete freedom.’

  It was a moment or two later when there came the sound of the scraping of bolts at the door. Everyone turned expectantly as it swung open. A thickset warrior entered and paused on the steps. He surveyed them all for a moment with a smirk on his bearded features. Then he spoke first in the local language and then in bad Latin.

  ‘It is your last night here. Tomorrow, before first light, you will be transported south.’

  There arose an immediate chorus of protests from the women. The warrior called a sharp warning to quiet them.

  ‘Where are we being transported to?’ demanded one woman. ‘And why?’

  ‘To the slave markets to which your unChristian marriages and liaisons have condemned you.’

  Several women cried out in anguish.

  ‘Under what law does it say our marriages are unChristian? By what right do you hold us prisoners?’ entreated another one of the women.

  ‘This is the law now.’ The warrior tapped his sword in a significant manner. ‘Resign yourselves to it. Be ready to commence your journey. You are being placed in good hands.’

  Another figure appeared at his shoulder–a tall man, richly clad, swarthy but clean shaven. He was examining the women captives in speculation. Fidelma had no sooner looked at him than she turned her face and drew the hood over her hair. In the darkness of the cellar she hoped to avoid identification by this man. She herself had no difficulty in recognising Verbas of Peqini, the slave owner, with whom she had had the confrontation at Tara. She prayed that he had not seen her.

  ‘This merchant is your new master until you are disposed of,’ the warrior said. ‘Be obedient and you will be well treated. Create trouble and you will be punished.’

  A woman, one of the older ones, had taken a pace towards him.

  ‘Shame on you! And shame on your mistress, Beretrude! We recognise you, warrior, and who you serve. We are freeborn women of this city. We have no masters. We freely entered the calling of the Faith and joined with our husbands to work in its service. By what right do you do this heinous act…?’

  Her words ended with a scream as the warrior moved down the few stone steps, raised his hand and struck her across the face, sending her spinning to the floor. A low, ominous sound came from the women and the man drew his sword.

  ‘Back, you whores!’ he snarled. ‘It is your choice whether you wish to leave here alive or dead. I will not speak to you again. You made the choice to have liaisons with male clerics and religious. Councils in many lands have now ordained that this is an affront to the Faith. All wives of the religious are to be rounded up and sold as slaves for the greater good of the Faith. That is your Fate. Accept it.’

  Verbas of Peqini turned and left, although the warrior, still with his sword at the ready, backed slowly up the steps after the merchant–and then the door swung shut and was bolted behind him.

  Many of the women, joined by the children, had burst into tears, uttering piteous cries of lamentation.

  Valretrade turned to Fidelma. ‘Why did you not want that merchant to see you?’ she asked.

  ‘Verbas of Peqini? I encountered him some months ago in my own land, bested him in argument, managed to free one of his slaves and sent him without compensation from our kingdom. He would be delighted to see me again, for his last words to me were a promise of revenge. I believe, if he saw me, he would enjoy fulfilling his promise.’

  ‘Then he will doubtless have his revenge tomorrow. Once it is daylight and we leave this gloomy cellar, you will not be able to hide for ever, not with that red hair.’

  Fidelma compressed her lips. ‘Then I must ensure that I am not here tomorrow.’

  ‘Escape?’ Sister Valretrade laughed without humour. ‘Do you think that I have not been looking for a means of escape during this last week?’

  ‘What happens when they take you for the ablutions?’ Fidelma asked. ‘What are the possibilities there?’

  Valretrade looked wearied. ‘None, because there is a bucket in that corner which is what we have to use. They also bring us buckets of water for our washing. I have not been allowed out in a week. The others have been in here since their incarceration.’

  Fidelma was aghast. ‘This is inhuman.’

  ‘Not for slaves, it is not.’

  Fidelma rose carefully to her feet, steadying herself on the arm of Valretrade.

  ‘Help me walk around the chamber to get my balance,’ she said.

  A slow walk around convinced Fidelma that it was hopeless to even waste time contemplating the idea of trying to seek ways to escape from the cellar. However, the walk had helped to make her feel normal again. The ache in her head had eased and her confusion was gone.

  ‘Perhaps there will be a chance on the journey,’ suggested her new companion.

  ‘Every moment it is daylight there is a chance Verbas will recognise me,’ replied Fidelma. Her mind was working rapidly. ‘From Beretrude’s villa, he will probably want to transport us through the streets of the city before daylight,’ she said, thinking aloud. ‘That is why they have ordered us to be ready to leave before dawn. It may mean that they do not want anyone in the city knowing what they are doing. That might be a weakness that we can exploit.’

  Valretrade was looking at her in puzzlement. ‘What weakness?’

  Fidelma glanced around at the others. One or two of the women were looking at them with curiosity.

  ‘Keep your voice low, Valretrade, for we need to discuss this between ourselves before we can involve anyone else.’

  ‘Very well,’ whispered the girl. ‘What weakness?’

  ‘Consider. What would be their intention? To take us to the river and transport us from there? If so, there are two possibilities. They may pile us into a wagon or they may force us to walk through the city streets. Escape from the wagon would be difficult, but if we are on foot there might well be a chance.’

  Valretrade was not convinced.

  ‘They will probably bind us together–perhaps use manacles,’ she said. ‘I have seen it done in the slave markets.’

  ‘If they want us to walk, they will not bind our legs,’ Fidelma asserted. ‘The narrow streets of the city in the darkness before dawn…it would be our only chance…How well do you know this area of the city?’

  ‘I know it well,’ replied Valretrade. ‘I was born and grew up here. But even if there was a possibility of escape–what then? Where would we go? Certainly not back to the abbey, for how would one know friend from foe?’

  ‘I have friends at the abbey who will help. There is also Brother Sigeric. But first things first. Let us think about escape, before we think of where to escape to.’

  ‘If it is of any help, I have a sister who still lives close by and I am sure, if we can reach her house, she will shelter us until we can contact your friends. Her husband is a local blacksmith.’

  Fidelma nodded absently. ‘Much will depend on the route we take. Verbas of Peqini comes from the east. I suspect he will want to go south to the Mediterranean Sea.’

  ‘Then the journey will be a long one. Most merchants travel by boat. I am sure we will be taken to the river.’

  ‘Do the rivers go right through this land?’ asked Fidelma. ‘I thought they rose on mountains in the centre?’

  ‘We would go along the Liger, which means a journey against the flow of the river. Mules usually pull boats as far south as a town called Rod-Onna–a Gaulish name. The Liger is navigable south to this trading centre. After that, there are narrow gorges and the river winds up at its source on the Massif Central. No large boat can navigate it.’r />
  ‘And is that near to the southern sea?’

  Valretrade shook her head. ‘No, but from there some tributaries and waterways can be crossed from the Liger to a city called Lugdunum.’

  ‘And from Lugdunum?’

  ‘There is a great river called Rhodanus that runs from it and, going with the tide, a boat can reach the open sea within days.’

  ‘Rhodanus?’ Fidelma smiled. ‘That is a good omen for it means Great Danu. Danus was the mother of all the pagan gods of our land.’

  Valretrade said nothing, waiting as she saw Fidelma had relapsed into thought.

  ‘Once out to the southern sea, we shall be lost,’ Fidelma finally said. ‘It seems that the weakest part of the journey is leaving this city to get to the Liger.’

  ‘The river that runs by this city joins the Liger at a point further upstream to Nebirnum. I think this man Verbas will want to avoid Nebirnum, since Bishop Arigius there has long campaigned to stop traffic in slaves along the river. Of course, Verbas may use wagons to transport us to the Liger.’

  ‘Then we must seize any opportunity to escape before we leave this city,’ Fidelma announced firmly. ‘So let us get some rest for we will need our strength later tonight.’

  Bishop Leodegar gazed from Brother Eadulf to Abbot Ségdae, a look of disapproval on his face. He had not been pleased when Ségdae and Eadulf had come disturbing him with the news that Fidelma was missing. Nor was he pleased that the abbot was supporting Eadulf in the demand that he confront no less a person than the Lady Beretrude.

  ‘I would weigh your words carefully, Brother Eadulf, when you affront the reputation of a noble lady. And as for you, Abbot Ségdae of Imleach, you should consider what support you give to the insinuations and demands of this Saxon.’

  Abbot Ségdae reached out a hand to grasp Eadulf’s arm and hold him back as he moved impulsively towards the bishop. The bishop’s steward, Brother Chilperic, also took a step forward as if to intercept Eadulf, should he threaten the bishop.

  ‘Bishop Leodegar!’ Abbot Ségdae’s voice sounded like the crack of a horsewhip. ‘It is quite clear what Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham is asking of you. I see no need for me to reconsider my support of him. Fidelma, who is the sister to King Colgú, ruler of my own land, went out with the declared intention of visiting the Lady Beretrude, whom she suspects of some involvement in the matters which she is investigating on your behalf. It is now after midnight and she has not returned. Let me say, Bishop Leodegar, that Fidelma is not only dear to her husband, Eadulf, but to her friends as well as to her brother, the King. It might be construed as an unfriendly act to all Hibernia, should this matter be ignored.’

  Bishop Leodegar stared at the abbot in surprise. He was not used to such challenges to his authority.

  ‘That sounds very much like a threat, Ségdae of Imleach.’ His voice was tight and angry.

  ‘It was not intended as such, only as a warning of what feeling might be aroused if the matter is ignored. All we are asking is that we proceed forthwith to the villa of the Lady Beretrude and discover what has happened to Fidelma.’

  The bishop’s jaw was thrust out aggressively.

  ‘You are aware of who Lady Beretrude is? She is of the line of Gundahar of the Burgunds. It may be that her indolent son, Guntram, besports himself with drink, hunting and women, but it is Beretrude who is the ruler of this land.’ Bishop Leodegar let out an angry breath. ‘You expect me to march to her villa and accuse her…accuse her of what? Do you think that I am mad, that I would make such an enemy here?’

  Eadulf was tight lipped. ‘So, you would rather be a coward than champion truth and justice?’

  Bishop Leodegar’s steward again moved threateningly towards him.

  ‘Brother Chilperic!’ The bishop waved his hand to motion the steward back to his side. ‘Come, let us have no more of threats. We are too old and should be too sensible to come to such a misunderstanding. You must appreciate that what you are suggesting is offensive to the dignity of the rulers of this land.’

  ‘So you will do nothing? Am I to tell the King of Cashel that you did nothing to protect his sister?’ demanded the abbot.

  Bishop Leodegar sighed. ‘I will send my steward to Lady Beretrude’s villa and ask if Sister Fidelma is there or has called there. That is all I can do.’

  Abbot Ségdae glanced at Eadulf and his look admitted defeat.

  ‘And if, as I suspect, the reply is in the negative?’

  The bishop shrugged. ‘Autun is a big city. It is unwise for a foreign woman to have wandered its streets alone at night, for there any many thieves and robbers.’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Fidelma was awoken by the noise of several armed men entering the cellar. They were shouting orders and the women were jolted from their sleep in confusion. The young children started to cry and the warriors cursed and threatened them when they wouldn’t fall silent, which only made matters worse. Valretrade was already awake and shivering slightly in the dawn chill. Fidelma rubbed the sleep from her eyes and glanced up at the window. She was satisfied to see that it was still dark, but the men had brought several lanterns. There was no sign of Verbas of Peqini among them.

  ‘Stand in line here,’ shouted one of the warriors. Fidelma thought it was the burly man who had addressed them on the previous night. He held several lengths of chain in his hand with manacles on either end. The length of the chain between the manacles was about a metre.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ demanded one of the women, a Latin speaker.

  The guard grimaced evilly. ‘You will be manacled together. So if you have any ideas of running away, you can forget them.’

  Fidelma grabbed Valretrade and moved quickly to the line. Instructions were being given in Burgund and in Latin. At Fidelma’s prompting, Valretrade asked the warrior: ‘Are you not going to provide wagons for us to ride in?’

  ‘Wagons for slaves?’ The man chuckled in amusement. No, my lady, you will walk to the river and like it. From there you will have a nice trip by boat.’

  Fidelma uttered a silent cheer. It meant there would be an opportunity to escape as they walked through the small streets and alleys of the city, but the manacles would create a problem. She tried to assess the attitude of the guard as he locked a manacle shut on one woman’s right wrist and then fastened the other end to a second woman’s left wrist.

  The guard fitting the manacles was not doing it haphazardly, she could tell. He was choosing to place the strong with the weak-looking. He was obviously a clever man. There was a thickset and tough-looking woman standing just before her and Fidelma saw the guard considering her. She decided to gamble.

  ‘I’d like to be shackled to her,’ she said, moving forward and pointing to the woman.

  The guard stared at her for a second and then burst out laughing as he viewed her would-be companion. Grabbing Valretrade’s wrist, as she stood close behind Fidelma, he fastened one manacle on it and placed the other on Fidelma.

  ‘I suppose you think that you stand a better chance of escape with someone who is so strong?’ He spoke with a sneer in his voice. ‘I say to whom you are to be shackled.’

  As they were pushed back into line, Valretrade was clearly puzzled.

  ‘Why did you want to be shackled to her?’ she demanded in a whisper.

  ‘I didn’t, but I had to be sure that I was shackled to you. That guard was clearly choosing who was being joined to whom, and he might not have put us together.’

  Valretrade still didn’t understand.

  ‘He obviously wanted to ensure that two fit-looking women were not placed together,’ explained Fidelma patiently. ‘I had to distract him by pretending I wanted to be placed with that woman, who stood out as being strong. He was so taken off-guard that he reacted and only saw that you were slimmer than the person I asked to be bound to. He thought he was thwarting my chances.’

  Valretrade stared at the iron chain that united them by the wrists.

  ‘I don
’t see how this will improve our prospect of escape.’

  ‘We are going to be walked through the city to the river. The streets are narrow.’

  ‘Some of them,’ agreed the girl.

  ‘Then we must ensure we are placed about the centre of the column. There will be guards at the front and at the back. We need to be the furthest away from them.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Do you know any narrow lanes or streets where we have a chance to break away? We need to start running and get enough of a lead over our pursuers to have time to find a hiding place.’

  Valretrade was suddenly thoughtful. ‘It will depend which side of the villa they march us out from,’ she said. ‘Both afford some good opportunities, but we need to start soon. In daylight we will not have much of a chance.’

  As if on cue, the door opened again and Verbas of Peqini stood on the threshold, legs apart and hands on hips. Fidelma had quickly thrown her hood over her head.

  ‘Well?’ he called to one of the guards in Latin. ‘Are they all ready?’

  ‘All ready, lord,’ was the reply.

  ‘Then take them outside and get them into a line. I want to be out of the city before daybreak.’

  The guards herded the women through the door and up the stone steps into the side garden of the villa. Thirty women and seven children, one only a babe in arms, were shackled in twos. But there were other guards waiting for them outside.

  ‘Children in the front, the rest behind. Hurry now!’

  The women began to arrange themselves, and Fidelma and Valretrade hurriedly inserted themselves into the middle of the column that was forming.

  A horse had been brought, and Verbas mounted it, staring disdainfully down at his charges.

  ‘Anyone escaping will face the lash,’ he called harshly. ‘Guard, if anyone does not understand Latin, ensure that their companions tell them the penalty. You will move quickly and in silence. Is this clear?’

  ‘Clear, my lord,’ called the chief guard.

  Without more ado, Verbas waved his hand in a forward gesture and moved slowly through the side gates of the villa.