The Council of the Cursed sf-19
Page 20
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?’
‘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,’ Fidelma 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.
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 sp
ot 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.