The Council of the Cursed sf-19

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘If Rome wants to go down that path, why follow them?’ Fidelma asked. ‘Those churches in the east have not done so.’

  Abbot Ségdae was unhappy with her choice of words.

  ‘Careful, Fidelma, lest you be accused of uttering heresy,’ he warned. ‘Rome should still be our centre, for was it not the great apostle Peter who chose Rome as the place where the church of Christ would be founded? Did not Christ tell him that he was the person who would form His church?’

  ‘So why argue with Rome?’ interrupted Eadulf. ‘Why not accept their dictum and make life easier?’

  Abbot Ségdae turned to him with a frown. ‘Rome is but an erring parent, Eadulf. We follow the original precepts of the Founding Fathers of the Faith, the rites and rituals, the dating of our celebrations. It was not we who changed, but Rome who started to alter her ways and follow other paths.’

  ‘Isn’t that exactly what the churches in the east claim? They say that the churches there follow the orthodox rites that Rome rejected.’

  ‘Their split was over politics, not theology.’

  ‘How so?’ demanded Eadulf.

  ‘The eastern churches split when the Roman Empire itself split; when the Emperor made his capital at Byzantium and called it after his own name Constantinople. The separation between Rome and Constantinople caused the two adherents of the Faith to move apart.’

  Fidelma nodded in agreement. ‘Just as these new ideas of Rome are moving it apart from us in the west. Rome rejected the teachings of Pelagius, it expelled Arian and now it is at odds with monothelitism. One day this movement for segregation of the sexes and celibacy will probably be accepted as Rome’s teaching. Where will Rome’s constant revision of the Faith and its rites end? One day, we may find no connection at all with the original creed of the Founding Fathers of the Faith.’

  ‘I had no idea that you thought so deeply on such matters, Fidelma,’ the abbot said.

  ‘I do not wear my ideas on the sleeve of my robe, Ségdae,’ she replied softly. ‘But that is not to say that I do not have them. I believe the Faith is for the individual to accept or reject; it is not for someone else to tell them what they should believe or how to do so. My public concern is for the law; for truth and justice.’

  Eadulf coughed nervously. Fidelma glanced up, realising that many of the brethren were now filing out of the hall.

  ‘You will forgive us now, Ségdae, for we must continue our task,’ she said, rising.

  After they left the refectory, Eadulf whispered: ‘Is it wise to be so outspoken?’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ she replied. ‘Yet I cannot repress my thoughts entirely. It is not my nature.’

  ‘Of all the places in the world, I do not think this is the one for an open discussion on theology.’

  She looked at him and then started to chuckle.

  Eadulf was about to open his mouth to protest when she explained: ‘I do not laugh at you, Eadulf. It is the thought that this great abbey, with its council on the future of the Church, is not a place for a discussion on theology. If not here, then where?’

  ‘It can only be in a place where minds are free to receive ideas so that they can be discussed,’ Eadulf said grumpily. ‘Where minds are already made up, no discussion and exchange of ideas can thrive.’

  Fidelma reached out to touch his arm. ‘Sometimes I forget how wise you can be, Eadulf,’ she smiled. ‘I will be more attentive as to how I express my thoughts in future. Now, let us find Brother Gebicca.’

  Brother Gebicca was typical of all the physicians and apothecaries that Fidelma and Eadulf had ever known. He was elderly, but moved with a swift decisive energy as he bent his spare frame over the pestles and jars arrayed on his workbench in the malodorous rooms that he inhabited. He glanced up as they entered and his face registered surprise as he saw Fidelma followed by Eadulf.

  ‘You are a woman!’ he frowned.

  ‘You are very observant, Brother Gebicca,’ she replied with humour. ‘That is essential in an apothecary.’

  The physician made a cutting motion with his hand.

  ‘This abbey has been forbidden to women,’ he said.

  ‘You were not at evening prayers in the chapel last night?’ she asked.

  The apothecary was still irritable. ‘Why should I be? I have plenty to occupy my time and a dispensation from the bishop to concentrate on the health of the brethren. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Had you attended then you might have heard the bishop announce our presence and purpose here. We are investigating the death of Abbot Dabhóc.’

  Brother Gebicca’s eyes narrowed slightly for a moment. Then his expression eased.

  ‘Ah. Brother Chilepric did say something about your coming.’ He rose from the stool before his workbench and went to splash his hands in a bowl of water before wiping them on a linen cloth.

  ‘Now, what is it that you want of me?’

  ‘To tell us what you know of the death of Abbot Dabhóc.’

  Brother Gebicca glanced from Fidelma to Eadulf and back again, then gestured for them to follow him through a door that led out into the herb gardens behind the apothecary. There were a couple of low stone bench-like seats, where they sat. The area was bathed in the early afternoon summer sunshine, which was full of the different scents from the herbs and flowers in the garden. It was comforting, almost soporific to sit in the natural warmth after the cold interior of the abbey.

  ‘On the night of the killing of Abbot Dabhóc, we understand that you were summoned to Bishop Ordgar’s apartment by Brother Sigeric?’ Eadulf opened the questions.

  ‘Brother Sigeric was acting on the instructions of Bishop Leodegar who was already attending the scene,’ Brother Gebicca confirmed pedantically.

  ‘On reaching Ordgar’s chamber, who did you attend to first?’

  ‘I first confirmed that the Hibernian abbot, Dabhóc, was beyond help. That was easy enough. The back of his skull had been smashed in with a heavy force. Then I turned to the unconscious Briton, Abbot Cadfan. He, too, had been struck on the head but I saw that, although there was a cut and abrasion and the swelling had already started, he still lived. So then I moved on to Bishop Ordgar.’

  ‘And what did you find?’ encouraged Fidelma.

  ‘He was lying on his bed, semi-conscious. He was mumbling a great deal and incoherent. His breath smelled strongly of alcohol.’

  ‘You mean that he was drunk?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘I believed so at first, but then I came to the conclusion that he had been drugged.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘The state of the eyes, the tongue and lips. I have practised the healing arts for many years and know the difference between an over-indulgence in alcohol and the effects of certain herbs that can produce a similar stupor.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘I told Bishop Leodegar that he would get no sense from either Cadfan or Ordgar for a while. My estimation was that it would take at least a day for both men to recover sufficiently to explain what had happened. Bishop Leodegar, at my suggestion, had Abbot Cadfan carried back to his own chamber where I washed and dressed his wound, applying a poultice to defuse the swelling and heal the cut. Then I left someone to watch him. I was pleased with his progress; he is a strong man and has healed well.’

  ‘And Bishop Ordgar?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘As for Ordgar, he was removed to another chamber-in the same corridor. He could not, of course, remain in his own chamber with the blood and the fact that someone had died violently there. Ordgar’s steward, Brother Benevolentia, was roused and we carried the bishop to the new chamber. I instructed his steward to remain with him for the rest of the night and try to get him to swallow as much water as was possible at regular intervals in order to flush the system.’

  ‘And the body of Abbot Dabhóc?’

  ‘The body was removed to the mortuary where I later prepared it for burial. There were no other wounds than the blow that had splintered his skull. Obviously, it
was a blow that was delivered from behind and with considerable force.’

  ‘And what about Bishop Ordgar’s chamber?’ asked Fidelma.

  The physician looked at her questioningly.

  ‘I am told that you cleaned it,’ she explained. ‘You also washed the cup in which it was thought the wine had been drugged. Is that so?’

  ‘Should I have left a cup of drugged wine standing there for anyone to take or contaminate their drink from?’ retorted Brother Gebicca with some irritation. ‘That would have been dangerous.’

  Eadulf bent forward quickly. ‘There was still wine in the cup?’

  ‘It was half full.’

  ‘Then Bishop Ordgar had not entirely drained it?’

  ‘Had he done so, he might have been dead.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Fidelma in surprise.

  Brother Gebicca looked pained. ‘I would not state anything that I know to be false. Of course I am sure.’

  ‘You did not keep nor analyse this wine?’

  ‘I ensured that it was disposed of, both the cup and the amphora. By chance it seemed that the amphora was empty anyway.’

  ‘So there is no evidence of what this wine was, nor how the drug came to be in the wine? I mean, whether the drug was put in the cup first or into the amphora.’

  The physician made a negative gesture with one hand.

  ‘The fact that it was in the cup was cause enough for me to ensure no one else would drink from it and suffer illness or death,’ he replied.

  ‘We each have our tasks to fulfil, Brother Gebicca,’ replied Fidelma softly. ‘Your task is to save life but mine is to discover why life is lost.’

  Eadulf had been thoughtful for a few moments and now he said: ‘Let me ask you a question, Brother Gebicca. It needs must be a hypothetical one. Would it have been possible for Bishop Ordgar to have killed Abbot Dabhóc, struck Abbot Cadfan and then take the poison himself, swallowing only a mouthful or so to give him the effects you saw but not enough to kill himself?’

  Brother Gebicca considered. ‘Anything is possible, but Bishop Ordgar would have to be a man with fine judgement to know how much of that noxious brew to swallow in safety.’

  ‘But he could have done so?’ pressed Eadulf.

  The physician spread his arms in a helpless gesture. ‘Yes, he could have done so. But as a physician, I would say it was most unlikely, unless he was practised in the ways of poison.’

  ‘When you were tending to both Abbot Cadfan and Bishop Ordgar, did you question them about what had taken place?’ Fidelma asked next.

  ‘In fact, both men, when returning to consciousness, asked me what had happened. They said that they had no memories of it.’

  ‘They claimed they recalled nothing?’

  ‘Bishop Ordgar said he remembered taking wine, as was his custom before retiring and falling asleep. Abbot Cadfan said he entered Bishop Ordgar’s chamber, having been summoned there in the middle of the night, and was struck from behind and knew nothing else. I would say that the suspicion is more strongly connected with Ordgar, were it not for the fact that Cadfan claimed he had received a note from Ordgar asking him to attend him. No such note was found.’

  ‘Let me ask you another question,’ said Eadulf. ‘Speaking as a medical man, could Cadfan’s injury have been self administered?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Then, what you are saying, in fact, is that suspicion rests equally on both men.’

  The physician shrugged as Fidelma rose slowly from her seat.

  ‘I don’t suppose that you knew any of these three clerics before they arrived here at the abbey?’ she added as an afterthought.

  ‘Most of the learned bishops and abbots who are attending this council are strangers to this city. I have practised my arts only in Divio and here in Autun. I am under the impression that most of those attending the council are unknown to each other.’

  ‘Thank you for your time, Brother Gebicca,’ Fidelma said.

  ‘It is of little service, I’m afraid,’ the physician said, standing up and conducting them back through his apothecary to the door. ‘If I would venture an opinion, I would say that it comes down to which person you believe. Both of them cannot be telling the truth. A man is dead and there were only two others in the room. If the choice were mine, I would toss a coin.’

  Chapter Seven

  They left Brother Gebicca in his apothecary and walked slowly across the great courtyard to the main abbey building in silence.

  ‘It seems the physician agrees with me,’ Eadulf ventured after a while. ‘It does come down to a matter of choice.’

  ‘I am not prepared to make that judgement at the moment, Eadulf,’ Fidelma said stubbornly. ‘I do not feel that we have enough information.’

  ‘We have all the information that we are likely to get,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘There are no other witnesses.’

  ‘Then we need to give this more thought.’

  ‘If only the cup and amphora had not been destroyed. A good apothecary might have been able to identify any poison and so confirm Ordgar’s story.’

  ‘The destruction of the cup is regrettable,’ replied Fidelma. ‘The amphora does not matter.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Because the poison would have been mixed in the cup, not in the amphora, which was empty after the wine was poured. It is logical that it was too late that night to throw the amphora away. It was not the next day but it would have told us nothing so we need not concern ourselves with it. However, the cup…that’s a pity.’

  They had not reached the door of the building when Brother Chilperic came out and walked towards them.

  ‘I am off to our herb garden,’ he greeted them. ‘Are you seeking anything in particular?’

  ‘For the moment we are just exercising,’ replied Fidelma. ‘The late-afternoon sun is very inviting, Brother Chilperic. Where is your herb garden?’

  ‘It is a separate one to that which the apothecary cultivates for he has his own needs. It is this way, if you wish to see it.’

  They fell in step with him. He guided them alongside the abbey wall and through a small courtyard at the back of the main building into a large open space which surprised them. It was full of aromatic herbs and spices being tended by two elderly members of the brethren.

  ‘It looks a beautiful garden,’ Fidelma acknowledged.

  ‘It is, indeed, and I’m afraid that it invites us to be lazy and sit in contemplation when we should be about God’s work in tending the garden. Would you like to see our herbs and spices? We grow a great variety for the consumption of our brethren.’

  ‘I would not like to encourage indolence, Brother Chilperic, and stop you working.’

  ‘The sun is encouragement enough. But perhaps you need to get on about your own work. How is the investigation? Do you need anything? Have you made a decision yet?’

  Eadulf pursed his lips as he began to say, ‘We are faced with…’

  Fidelma knew that he was about to say ‘a blank wall’ and it suddenly gave her an idea.

  ‘Faced with a small problem,’ she ended quickly for him ‘But you, Brother Chilperic, are the very person who can help us with it.’

  ‘I am?’

  She inclined her head towards the high wall that separated the abbey from what was called the Domus Femini.

  ‘We would like to have a word with the abbatissa.’

  ‘Abbess Audofleda?’ queried the steward in astonishment.

  ‘That is her name, I believe,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Can you arrange it?’

  ‘Abbess Audofleda sees no one from the abbey without the bishop’s express permission,’ muttered Brother Chilperic. ‘Anyway, I do not see why your investigation should take you to the Domus Femini.’

  ‘Knowledge of the relevance is surely mine and not to be shared with anyone during an investigation.’

  The steward looked worried. ‘In such a matter I must first consult Bishop Leodegar.’

  Fidelma w
as about to protest when she realised that the young man was clearly incapable of making the decision without the approval of Leodegar. She knew she must not underestimate the power of the bishop. Instead she said: ‘Consult him then. We would not wish to upset the bishop. But if you can seek his permission straight away…?’

  Brother Chilperic hesitated. ‘The bishop is visiting in the city. He will not return to the abbey until the evening meal.’

  Fidelma glanced at the sky. The afternoon was well progressed but there would have been plenty of time to visit the Domus Femini. Presumably it would not be until the morning that they would now receive permission to meet Abbess Audofleda. That would be a waste of many hours. Fidelma felt a compulsion to finish this task as soon as possible and set out for home again, for she had felt uncomfortable ever since their arrival at the abbey.

  ‘I cannot see why you need to visit the Domus Femini,’ the steward repeated. ‘The murder was done here, we have the people involved, so why do you need to speak with Abbess Audofleda?’

  Eadulf noticed that Fidelma’s eyes had become bright and her jaw muscles were tightening.

  ‘My friend,’ he said, taking Brother Chilperic by the arm, ‘you must understand that it is our task to conduct our investigation in our own way. Bishop Leodegar gave us full permission to do so. So what we do is our own concern, with due respect to your position as steward of this abbey.’

  ‘I will still have to seek the permission of Bishop Leodegar,’ the man said mulishly.

  Fidelma had recovered her good humour.

  ‘In that case, we can do no more for this day.’ She turned to Eadulf. ‘While we are here we may as well see something of this city.’

  As Eadulf voiced his assent Brother Chiperic looked shocked.

  ‘Are you intending to leave the abbey?’ he asked in surprise.

  Fidelma frowned. ‘Is there an objection to that too?’

  The steward gestured helplessly. ‘The bishop left no instructions.’

  ‘Why would he?’

  ‘Because the general rule is that no one leaves the abbey without permission of the bishop. If they are strangers, like you, they need someone to guide them. It is a matter of protecting our delegates.’