The Council of the Cursed sf-19

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Does the name mean anything?’ enquired Eadulf.

  ‘A shame on you for asking, Brother,’ admonished Brother Budnouen. ‘All names mean something. It means “the little river”.’

  The wagon rumbled across a wide wooden bridge towards an imposing stone gateway with a high circular arch and a further construction above it reaching heavenwards. Many people were passing to and fro beneath while armed guards were keeping watch on them.

  ‘This is the main gate of the city on this north side. There are, of course, three other gates,’ Brother Budnouen informed them. ‘That is the style of the Romans. But one of the gates is in bad repair. That’s the one that would have given more easy access to the abbey.’

  ‘The walls are impressive,’ Eadulf observed. ‘I have not seen the like, other than in Rome.’

  ‘The locals call Autun the rival city of Rome,’ agreed the Gaul. ‘The walls stretch all around it. We head south through the city to the far side where the abbey is situated.’

  Once through the impressive gates, the odours of the city impinged on their senses. Fidelma and Eadulf were used to the countryside, and the towns of their own lands were little more than well-spaced villages without protective walls. Now the smells reawakened memories of Rome: the stench of sewerage, of rotting vegetables and unattended animal waste and offal in the streets, combined with the sweat of people crowded into confined spaces.

  Fidelma shuddered, wondering how anyone could actually live in such a place.

  Brother Budnouen glanced at her and grinned. ‘It takes some getting used to, if you are country bred,’ he remarked.

  She did not respond, fearing the atmosphere would cause her to be nauseous. As they proceeded south along what seemed a principal street, women, whose dress announced them to be of some rank and wealth, passed by them, holding little bunches of flowers before their nostrils. It brought a faint smile to Fidelma’s lips. At least she was not the only one to react to the stink of what some called civilisation. She could not remember seeing such things in Rome but then, of course, the thoroughfares of Rome were much wider. This street was lined with little shops, even blacksmiths and all manner of vendors of goods. The cacophony of noise-the shouting of the traders, vying with one another to attract customers, and the haggling of customers over prices-oppressed her ears in a solid wall of sound.

  As they passed through a square, the crack of a whip nearby caused Fidelma to start nervously and peer around. In a corner of the square, she spotted a small platform on which were huddled half a dozen tiny figures. They were difficult to see, as a number of people were crowded before the platform. A tall man stood behind the figures, holding a whip. He was shouting but Fidelma had no idea what he was saying. Then her eyes widened as she saw that they were children, and that each child wore an iron collar about his or her neck. She drew a quick breath in horror.

  Brother Budnouen followed her gaze. ‘A slave auction,’ he explained nonchalantly. ‘There is quite a business done in the city. Many foreign merchants pass this way.’

  ‘It’s disgusting,’ Fidelma muttered.

  Brother Budnouen looked amused. ‘What-slavery? How would the world function without slaves?’

  ‘Easily enough,’ she replied spiritedly.

  The Gaul chuckled. ‘Come, do not try to tell me that your people have no slaves.’

  ‘Not in the sense you have them here,’ she replied.

  ‘In what sense then?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘We do have a class whom you could call non-free, the fudir,’ she admitted.

  ‘And how are they bought and sold?’

  ‘They are not commodities bought and sold for profit like sacks of flour. They are usually captives in battle or those criminals who have lost their rights to be part of the clan, the basis of our society. We call them daer-fudir-they have to serve the clan until they have atoned for their transgressions or done sufficient to gain freedom. They do not suffer the hopelessness of slaves that we see in other lands. The law of our land favours the eventual emancipation of the fudir class.’

  Brother Budnouen sniffed in disbelief. ‘I have heard that some merchants of the Angles and Saxons sell children to the Irish as servus and what is that but a slave?’

  ‘It is true that there is slavery among my people,’ Eadulf intervened, ‘especially among poor people who will sell their children or some other relative to merchants to raise money. I have seen these same merchants selling them in the ports of Hibernia and I hope the fashion will cease, for the Irish take them in innocence, not because of wanting slaves but thinking they are helping to rehabilitate dear-fudir, for the very word fudir, as I have heard it, means a remnant or someone who is superfluous. It is true, my friend, that the concept of one person being able to own another, as one would a piece of cloth or a sword, is beyond comprehension to the Hibernians.’

  Brother Budnouen pulled a face. ‘De gustibus non est disputandum,’ he shrugged, dismissing the argument. About tastes there is no disputing. ‘But the Faith accepts the institution of slavery. Slaves who flee from their masters are condemned and are refused Eucharistic communion. Scripture supports this. Does not Peter say, “Slaves, submit yourselves to your masters with all respect, not only to those who are good and considerate, but also to those who are harsh”. To claim it is wrong to have slaves is heresy.’

  Fidelma was angry. ‘Didn’t Paul of Tarsus tell the Corinthians: “If you can gain your freedom, do so…do not become slaves of human beings”.’

  Brother Budnouen was enjoying the exchange.

  ‘In the text from Titus, does not scripture instruct us, “Teach slaves to be subject to their masters in everything, to try to please them, not to talk back to them, and not to steal from them, but to show that they can be fully trusted so that in every way they will make the teaching about God our Saviour attractive”? You seem to be preaching rebellion, Sister. We are here to spread the Faith, not to preach the overthrow of the system and of kings and emperors.’

  ‘I am not here to conduct a moral argument,’ snapped Fidelma.

  ‘Quando hic sum, non ieiuno Sabbato-quando Romae sum, ieiuno Sabbato,’ Eadulf quoted, watching her expression.

  Fidelma pouted in annoyance. It was the thought of the Blessed Ambrose: when I am here, I do not fast on Saturday. When I am in Rome, I fast on Saturday. It was an admonition to obey local customs and not to try to impose your own.

  Nevertheless, the slave market and the sight of children being sold left a bad taste in her mouth. They passed through the square with Fidelma trying to avert her gaze from the forlorn-looking children waiting to be purchased. The sights and smells of the city, the noise that arose on all sides as their wagon trundled along the narrow streets, suddenly depressed her.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Brother Budnouen said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘Not all streets are like this. This is the main road of commerce. Once we leave this, there are quieter streets which lead up to the ecclesiastical quarters.’

  Again he was right.

  They turned out of the bedlam, still moving southward. Almost at once, even from the roadway, they could see the imposing structure of the abbey rising over the other buildings. Even the smells were less dominant here, for the houses appeared as more spacious villas, just as Fidelma remembered them in Rome. It was another world from the crowded hovels that were clustered around the gate by which they had entered.

  ‘Are all the entrances into the city as noisome?’ demanded Eadulf, apparently sharing the same idea.

  Brother Budnouen shrugged. ‘The city gate areas are where trade is carried out. Where trade is done you have the most noise and waste,’ he pointed out philosophically.

  They came into a large stone-flagged square, reasonably empty of people. On one side, the buildings of the abbey rose skywards. Close up they were ugly and forbidding, and Fidelma viewed them without enthusiasm. From afar they had looked impressive. Now the high walls seemed to intimidate the surrounding buildings
, as well as the people passing under their shadows.

  ‘Well, this is the abbey of Autun and the end of our journey,’ the Gaul said, as he swung the wagon round towards a low gateway and halted the mule team before it. ‘That is where I deliver my goods. It is the entrance to the storehouses. But if you go across towards that building.’ he indicated with his hand, ‘you will find the office of the steward of the abbey. You may enquire there as to where you should go.’

  Eadulf was already climbing thankfully down, removing the bags, before turning to help Fidelma alight.

  ‘We thank you for the journey, Brother,’ he said. ‘And the pleasantness of your company, as well as the knowledge and advice that you have imparted.’

  Brother Budnouen responded with his almost perpetual smile.

  ‘I shall be in Autun for a week or so. Doubtless our paths will cross before I depart. Should you wish to journey back to Nebirnum with me, just ask the steward here and he will find me. I wish you luck in your stay, although you may not find the attitude of the religious here to your liking…’ He shrugged. ‘“What went you out into the wilderness for to see? A reed shaken with the wind…a man clothed in soft raiment?”’

  ‘We are well aware of scripture, my friend,’ Fidelma replied, without humour. ‘We have come to this country with no preconceptions. However, we are much indebted to you, Brother.’

  Brother Budnouen raised a hand in parting and edged his cart closer through the large wagonway between the buildings. Eadulf, shouldering the bags, began to move off over the stone-paved square towards the door that the Gaul had indicated. Fidelma fell in step alongside.

  ‘I am not impressed,’ Eadulf remarked quietly to her, glancing round. ‘Preconception or no.’

  She gave him an amused sideways look. ‘What-not impressed with one of the great cities of Christendom?’

  He shook his head firmly. ‘Give me the mountains, rivers and forests any day in preference to the confines of a city. It is like a prison with walls all around. And these grey, grim heights…’ he indicated the abbey with a jerk of his head. ‘There is something forbidding about the place.’

  ‘The buildings are quite intimidating, I agree,’ Fidelma replied, glancing upwards. ‘I am not a city dweller. I also hate the idea of being confined. But we have to admit that such buildings have a curiously impressive quality of their own. So absorb the experience even if you cannot enjoy it. Now let us face the next ordeal…we must find out who has been killed here. Pray God it is not our old friend, Ségdae.’

  They were some way off the steward’s office when the door opened and a religieux exited. Eadulf hailed him and asked if this was where the steward of the abbey was to be found.

  The man examined him for a moment and then frowned at Fidelma.

  ‘Women go to the Domus Femini, the house of women,’ he said in accented and guttural Latin, pointing along the side of the building. ‘You are not welcome here.’

  Eadulf stared at him in bewilderment. ‘This is the abbey of Autun, isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘We seek the steward here.’

  A scowl settled on the man’s dark features.

  ‘Women are not welcome here,’ he repeated. ‘Go!’

  Fidelma’s lips thinned and her eyes grew dangerously bright.

  ‘We demand to see the steward! she said, her words slow and clear. ‘Where do we find him?’

  The man was about to respond further when a familiar figure suddenly appeared in the doorway behind him. It was Abbot Ségdae. He looked grey and ill but he came swiftly towards them, hands outstretched in welcome.

  ‘Fidelma! Eadulf! Thank God you have come at last!’

  Chapter Three

  ‘It is good to see you well, Ségdae,’ Fidelma said warmly. The Abbot of Imleach had drawn them into the anticum, the antechamber of the abbey, but not before a sharp exchange with the religieux who had tried to prevent their entrance. The man finally shrugged and moved off. Now they were seated on wooden benches in a large hall with vaulted roof. There was no one else about.

  ‘It is a relief that you have arrived.’ The abbot was clearly in a state of agitation.

  ‘It is obvious something disturbs you, Ségdae,’ Fidelma observed.

  ‘We heard that an abbot of the five kingdoms had been killed,’ Eadulf went on. ‘We were at Nebirnum and hastened here. Who was it?’

  ‘Dabhóc, a kindly man who was attending here on behalf of the bishop of Ard Macha.’

  ‘I do not know him,’ Fidelma said.

  ‘He was abbot of Tulach Óc, in the northern kingdom.’

  Fidelma shook her head, for the name and place meant nothing to her.

  ‘What happened, exactly?’ asked Eadulf. ‘Who killed him?’

  Abbot Ségdae’s face remained drawn. ‘That is the precisely the problem which is being argued over. The body of Abbot Dabhóc was found in the chamber of Bishop Ordgar…’

  ‘Not Bishop Ordgar of Kent!’ Eadulf exclaimed.

  ‘You know him?’ Abbot Ségdae asked.

  ‘I have heard much of him. I know that Theodore, who was appointed archbishop at Canterbury, is kindly disposed towards him. He believes firmly in the rules of Rome and has little sympathy towards the people or the churches of the west.’

  ‘Ordgar is here as Theodore’s representative,’ Abbot Ségdae said gloomily, ‘and I can vouch for his attitudes towards the representatives of the churches of the Britons. Alas, his manner is all too arrogant.’

  ‘So it was Ordgar who slew Dabhóc?’ interposed Fidelma.

  ‘That is what has not been decided. There is unquiet in this abbey and the council has not been able to meet in formal session yet. There has been nothing but rumour and whisperings during the last week.’

  ‘Was that why I was not welcome here?’ asked Fidelma. ‘That religieux who greeted us muttered something to that effect, and also something about my going to a Domus Femini. I do not understand.’

  ‘No,’ replied Abbot Ségdae. ‘The bishop was disinclined to admit you here because this abbey, alas, is not a conhospitae, a mixed house. There is a separate house for the females under an abbatissa. The males remain here under the bishop and abbot of this place. He is a Frank called Leodegar-an intelligent man, but of that party which believes in the segregation of the sexes and the idea of celibacy among those serving the New Faith.’

  ‘Then that makes our position awkward,’ Eadulf pointed out.

  Abbot Ségdae was contrite. ‘I did not know that this situation prevailed here, otherwise I would not have requested that your brother, Colgú, send you here as my adviser.’

  ‘Are there no female delegates to this council?’ asked Fidelma. ‘No male delegates who have brought wives or female advisers?’

  ‘A few, but Leodegar has instructed that they cannot participate in the proceedings. He claims his authority is from the Bishop of Rome, Vitalian. Bishop Leodegar seems a complex person. He is given to strange moods. The women have been sent either to the Domus Femini or found accommodation in the city.’

  Fidelma showed her irritation. ‘Then it seems that our long journey here has been a waste of time. We shall also seek some accommodation within the city. I presume that there are some inns or hostels here-or do Bishop Leodegar’s edicts run throughout the city?’

  ‘Wait, I have not explained fully,’ the abbot said rapidly. ‘Your journey here was no waste of time, I assure you. I have had a long talk with Leodegar and he has been persuaded that his need of your special talent outweighs his rules and restrictions.’

  ‘How so?’ she asked, still put out.

  ‘Leodegar boasts his authority is from Vitalian in Rome-but he is also under pressure from Rome to make this council a success. Decisions need to be made on the future of the churches in the west. However, the killing of Abbot Dabhóc has caused things to come to a halt. No one knows what to do and the delegates may simply decide to return to their own lands with nothing achieved. Unless…’ He glanced at Fidelma and Eadulf and made an awkward ge
sture with his hand.

  Fidelma did not change expression.

  ‘So, this Bishop Leodegar would like someone to investigate the circumstances of the murder?’ she asked coldly.

  ‘Exactly,’ the abbot replied.

  There was a long silence while Fidelma examined Abbot Ségdae’s troubled features.

  ‘Well, it is not a decision Eadulf or I can make without brushing the dust from our sandals,’ she said at last. ‘It has been a long journey and we would like a room to rest in and somewhere to bathe, if such a thing is possible in this city. So that brings me back to the problem of where we can stay. I don’t suppose you have noticed a nearby inn?’

  ‘Forgive me.’ Abbot Ségdae was at once apologetic. ‘In my distraction, I neglected to tell you that I had long talks with Leodegar and told him who you were…who both of you were. I spoke of the reputation you have each garnered in the five kingdoms, even being known in Rome when you resolved the mystery of the death of the previous archbishop of Canterbury there. Leodegar was most impressed and desires your advice. In return he has agreed that you and Eadulf can have a chamber in the hospitia, the guestrooms of the abbey. He also agrees that you may have free movement within this abbey. Bishop Leodegar needs your talent…as do I.’

  There was a long pause while Fidelma considered the matter.

  ‘Where is this Domus Femini, this house of women?’ she suddenly asked.

  Abbot Ségdae pointed through a window behind him. ‘It adjoins the abbey. It is part of the same buildings but the doors and passages are sealed off and the entrance is separate. The abbess is one Audofleda, who is the superior of their order.’