‘So why should one more or less heresy matter?’ Eadulf wanted to know.
‘That such a community as this one exists within the jurisdiction of Imleach cannot really be tolerated.’
‘Why not? Rome condemns Pelagianism as a heresy but it is central to all the churches of the Five Kingdoms and thereby tolerated here.’
‘That is different. This is the worst heresy of all,’ declared Brother Mac Raith in a surprisingly forceful tone. ‘This is why we have sought advice from the leading theologians of the Abbeys of Ard Mór, Ros Ailithir and Corcach Mór, to meet here and discuss how the Chief Bishop of Muman should respond to such heresy.’
‘All our major teaching abbeys?’ asked Fidelma, recalling the point she had made earlier to her brother. ‘Except that one, I notice, is missing.’
Brother Mac Raith smiled knowingly. ‘You are referring to our old antagonists at the Abbey of Mungairit? Indeed. They have been deliberately excluded because they made a dalliance with this particular heresy some years ago, and I am informed that they have kept several copies of texts relating to it. In fact, it was one of our scholars from Ros Ailithir who recommended that we should not invite a representative from there. He informed us that the abbey we are concerned with has been discussing the heresy with Mungairit recently.’
‘Your informant seems to have good intelligence,’ remarked Eadulf.
‘Brother Giolla Rua? He apparently has a sister in the religious who has recently been involved in such matters. In view of that, we thought it wiser not to ask a delegate from Mungairit to debate on this heresy.’
‘Which is?’ enquired Eadulf. ‘You have not told us what this heresy is as yet.’
‘It is called Psilanthropism.’
Eadulf exchanged a glance with Fidelma who shook her head slightly, indicating that she had never heard of the movement before.
‘I am not sure what that means,’ Eadulf confessed, although he had acquired some knowledge of Greek.
‘You should study Greek more diligently, Brother,’ reproved the steward. ‘It was the language in which the New Faith as we know it first emerged. Psilós means “mere” or “plain” and ánthropós means “humanity” – so this heresy declares that Jesus was a “plain” or “ordinary man”.’
‘When did this idea originate?’
‘It is said to go back to the very foundation of the New Faith among the Hebrews in Judea. Some of them still follow the idea that Jesus was just a prophet and teacher. That concept was accepted by a Theodotus of Byzantium some four centuries ago.’
‘Wasn’t Theodotus a Greek theologian?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Most of the early founders of the New Faith were Greek, converted by Paul of Tarsus who declared that the teachings of Christ were no longer part of the Hebrew Faith. In fact, it was these Greeks who first used the word Christos, from their word meaning “the anointed one”. Paul of Tarsus had been Hebrew by religion, Greek by culture and a citizen of Rome; thus did the New Faith emerge from the three cultures. But to many, in those early years, Jesus had been just an ordinary man, a teacher among his people, who was virtuous and just. He was held in such esteem that the people, out of courtesy, call him a Son of God, not the Son of God. You see the difference?’ Brother Mac Raith suddenly coughed nervously. ‘I do not subscribe to this, but merely explain to show you what this Psilanthropism teaching is about.’
‘We understand,’ Eadulf replied solemnly. ‘What happened to this Theodotus?’
‘He was denounced for his heresy and excommunicated by Pope Victor a full century after his death.’
‘Denounced and excommunicated after his death?’ Fidelma challenged. ‘But not condemned during his life?’
Brother Mac Raith nodded quickly.
‘So how long did his teaching, this Psilanthropism, last?’ Eadulf asked.
‘It still exists,’ Brother Mac Raith told him. ‘That is the very point. The leader of the movement was Paul of Samosto, a Bishop of Antioch. He added new ideas to this philosophy. He propounded a further claim that not only was Jesus a good man but that he should be regarded in the minds of the people as a man-god. Paul of Samosto further taught that God was just a single being and not a Trinity. It was widely thought that these teachings were eventually merged into the heretical movement of Arianism.’
‘You say there is still a community here, which should be answerable to the orthodoxy of the Abbot of Imleach as Chief Bishop of the kingdom, where this curious theology has continued?’ Fidelma asked slowly.
‘Indeed, there is. Once we have deliberated the facts, I am ordered to confront their abbot and demand that, if he and his community persist in maintaining this heresy, they must consent to appear at a full council where these matters may be argued in front of all the bishops and scholars of this kingdom.’
‘Tell me, Brother,’ Fidelma queried, ‘what is the name of this heretical community that continues this heresy?’
Brother Mac Raith actually smiled briefly. ‘The irony of it, lady, is that it bears the same name as Abbot Cuán of Imleach. That could be the goad that impels him to sort out the issue. The place is called Ráth Cuáin.’
Fidelma and Eadulf sat before the crackling log fire in their own apartment, gazing at the dancing flames and listening to the occasional hiss of steam rising from an odd piece of wet timber. Muirgen, the nurse, had taken little Alchú to his bed long ago. So Fidelma and Eadulf had eaten and were resting thoughtfully before the fire. It was Eadulf who finally broke the silence that had fallen between them. He shifted in his chair, stretching a little.
‘Do you still think we have anything to learn from this Abbey of Ráth Cuáin?’ he asked unexpectedly. ‘It sounds a curious place, preaching heresy. Then this strange poet warrior, Febal, with his story about pursuing a rapist there. It all seems pretty odd to me. I doubt that visiting the abbey will lead us to a resolution of how Spelán came to be murdered in such a grotesque ritual fashion or why.’
‘Perhaps you are right,’ Fidelma sighed, ‘but Brehon Morann taught that there will always be a weak link in any chain of events, that opens a path to knowledge. So we must examine every possible link to find the weak one.’
Brehon Morann had been Fidelma’s mentor when she had attended his law school near Tara.
‘Let us hope he is right then,’ Eadulf said. ‘So far as I can see, this is a mystery and likely to remain one.’
Fidelma regarded him with disapproval. ‘We have faced and resolved greater mysteries,’ she reminded him. ‘And we will also deal with this one.’
Eadulf saw her determined expression with misgiving.
‘So we are to go to Ráth Cuáin tomorrow in order to pursue this matter?’
‘Indeed we will. We’ll take Aidan again to assist us. I have asked him to have the horses ready after first light.’
‘What about this council? Won’t Brother Mac Raith feel that we are interfering with his discussions about whatever it is they teach as theology there?’
‘Psilanthropism is the word you are looking for, Eadulf,’ Fidelma reminded him. ‘His mission is nothing to do with us. Anyway, he and his council of scholars will probably take months of argument to discuss whatever they have to before they notify Ráth Cuáin. We can ignore the council and the arguments about heresy. That is a separate issue to the murder of Spelán.’
‘It is strange that this community should bear the same name as the Chief Bishop with whom they are in theological conflict,’ mused Eadulf.
‘Not so strange. Cuán is a relatively common name in this kingdom. But I would certainly like to be a witness to the arguments between the two sides when they meet and see how Abbot Síoda justifies his philosophies. They are entirely new to me. However, for the time being, we have more important matters to pursue.’
‘More important than the interpretations of the Faith?’ Eadulf asked in a tone of mild rebuke, for he himself still adhered to the rituals and practices of the Roman Church, although he found himself growing
attracted again to the teachings of the churches of the Five Kingdoms, to which he had originally been converted as a youth.
‘Yes,’ Fidelma replied. ‘To me, law and justice are more important than which ideas one should adopt with regard to religion.’
Eadulf bit back a retort, saying merely, ‘Even if this Abbot Síoda and his community are willing to speak to us, what do we do if they cannot provide any further information?’
‘Then we shall have closed that path and have to think where else to turn.’
‘What about this strange fellow, Febal? We should question him more.’
‘I agree. There is something about his story that doesn’t ring true. But we must be careful. If he is a prince of the Uí Brúin Seóla and his people learn that we are holding him here – against his will, as a suspect – it could lead to conflict between Muman and Connacht.’
‘Then surely we should let him go?’
‘Not yet,’ she replied with a shake of her head. ‘I wish to question him again.’ She then stood up, smothering a yawn. ‘An early night might be a good idea. We need to make the most of tomorrow’s daylight.’
‘Wait a moment,’ protested Eadulf. ‘You have not read the message that Brother Mac Raith brought you from old Gelasius in Rome.’
‘I forgot all about it!’ Fidelma declared in surprise. She turned and found her marsupium on the table, took the square of sewn leather from it and held it in her hands for a few moments, staring at it, twisting it around as if trying to understand what was inside.
‘You won’t know what is in it unless you open it,’ Eadulf pointed out.
Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘It is not often one gets a message from Rome. And it is some years since we last saw the Venerable Gelasius.’
‘So are you going to find out what he says?’
Without another word, she found a small knife on the table and proceeded to cut the strings that bound the leather square together. Inside was a piece of papyrus. She read the spidery characters twice before Eadulf pressed her again for information.
‘It is in Latin,’ she began.
‘Naturally.’ Eadulf was impatient.
‘It merely says that if a young man introduces himself to me as Brother Lucidus, then I should afford him assistance in a matter of great concern. Gelasius says he would forever be in my debt. It goes on that Brother Lucidus has Gelasius’ full confidence and approval in fulfilling the task of tracing a book missing from the Secret Archives of the Lateran Palace which, it is suspected, may have been brought to this island. Gelasius adds that if it gets into the wrong hands, then the peace of Christendom might be destroyed.’
She paused and remained looking at the papyrus.
‘Well?’ prompted Eadulf.
‘There is no more,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘That is all he says.’
Eadulf also read it through. ‘I don’t understand. Do we know anyone called Lucidus?’
Fidelma gave a shake of her head. ‘If the person contacts us, presumably we will know more. But this is all the message says.’
‘Destroy the peace of Christendom?’ Eadulf echoed the words. ‘It is a little over-dramatic, surely, and not in the usual style of the Venerable Gelasius. Is there any peace at the moment with all the arguing factions? How could a book make things any worse than they are already? The only way we will ever achieve peace in Christendom is through a miracle, the greatest miracle of all.’
Dawn came over the eastern hills in a slash of red, orange and gold. Eadulf looked at the coming light with a groan.
‘Et mane hodie tempestas rutilat enim triste caelum,’ he muttered.
‘What?’ Fidelma asked, not catching the words of his quotation.
‘I was just echoing the Gospel of Matthew,’ Eadulf explained. ‘“There will be a storm today for the sky is red and threatening”.’
Fidelma looked past him to the sky above the hills. ‘Red sky in the morning does usually portend bad weather,’ she admitted, ‘but not always, Eadulf. We will still ride to Ráth Cuáin.’
Eadulf was rather offended. ‘I was not trying to avoid it,’ he blustered.
She chuckled. ‘I know you too well, husband.’
There was a sudden thunderous knock at their chamber door and Gormán burst in without waiting. He was followed by the outraged figure of Muirgen, who stood wringing her hands apologetically, visibly upset by the guard commander’s effrontery at barging into the private chambers of the King’s sister.
‘Lady, you are wanted in the chapel immediately,’ Gormán declared breathlessly.
Fidelma and Eadulf stared at him in surprise.
‘Am I?’ Fidelma examined his anxiety-creased expression for a moment. ‘By whom?’
‘A dálaigh is needed, lady. One of those religious scholars has attacked his colleague.’
There was a bark of laughter from Eadulf.
‘What was I saying last night?’ he grinned. They turned to stare at him uncomprehendingly. ‘The peace of Christendom? Tell me – what peace!’
Fidelma turned back to the warrior. ‘Are you saying there has been a physical assault? You don’t mean there was a verbal attack made during some debate?’
‘A physical assault, which has resulted in blood,’ Gormán confirmed.
In the courtyard they met Aidan, who had been coming to tell them that their horses were ready; they had to explain why they were being delayed. When they entered the chapel, Brother Conchobhar came forward to greet them wearing a rueful smile. Fidelma noticed that the warriors Enda and Dego were there, apparently keeping two groups apart. On one side was an angry-looking Brother Mac Raith with another religieux, who was holding a hand to a bloodstained cheek, while facing them were two more brethren. One was a young man whose features were twisted in rage. He was being restrained by his companion.
‘I am afraid our scholars have declared for a rather forceful manner of debating,’ Brother Conchobhar explained in amusement.
The companion of Brother Mac Raith took his hand away from his injured cheek and pointed an accusing finger at the young, belligerent religieux.
‘He punched me,’ he announced thickly. ‘I have lost a tooth.’
Fidelma approached and looked at the man. ‘And you are …?’
‘I am Brother Giolla Rua of Ros Ailithir,’ he replied stiffly.
She turned to the young man whom he had accused. ‘And you?’
The man thrust out his jaw, making him seem even more aggressive. ‘Who are you to question me, woman?’ he said rudely.
There was a gasp from the warriors. Gormán stepped forward and thrust his face into that of the religieux, who was of the same height and muscular build.
‘This is the lady Fidelma of Cashel, sister to the King and a dálaigh who will judge your conduct,’ he snapped.
The young man hesitated. A curious light of recognition came into his eyes – and then was gone before she had quite registered it. He dropped his head a fraction and then muttered: ‘I am Brother Sionnach of Corcach Mór.’
Fidelma turned to the only man who had not been identified, but as soon as her eyes fell on him he bowed politely and said, ‘I am Brother Duibhinn of Ard Mór, lady.’
‘Very well. So what was the cause of this quarrel?’ She addressed Brother Sionnach.
The young man’s mouth tightened. ‘It was a scholastic argument.’
Fidelma grimaced in disapproval. ‘Usually one argues about scholastic matters by exchanging facts and opinions. A fist is hardly relevant and does nothing to prove a point.’
‘The argument became heated, lady,’ he declared.
She gestured to Brother Giolla Rua. ‘What do you say?’
‘It was, indeed, a matter of scholarship, lady – and I was right,’ Brother Sionnach added swiftly before the other man could speak.
‘I refused to listen. In retaliation, this hooligan knocked out one of my teeth!’ snarled Brother Giolla Rua.
Fidelma stepped forward betwe
en them.
‘Enough of this. This is an argument for your council. But what has happened here must first be dealt with. Brother Conchobhar, as an apothecary, have you ascertained that this man has received a blow to the face which knocked out one of his teeth?’
‘That is correct. As well as dislodging a tooth, the blow, as you will see, bruised his cheek,’ confirmed the elderly apothecary.
Fidelma turned to Brother Sionnach. ‘Do you admit that you delivered that blow?’
The young scholar shrugged carelessly and then said with a sneer at his adversary: ‘Of course.’
Fidelma said icily, ‘Under the Bretha Déin Chécht this is an assault. It is a physical injury and compensation is immediately due to the victim. Although I am entitled to it, I shall forgo my share of the fine as judge in the matter. However, there are six classes of tooth injury and the penalties vary according to the social status of the victim. Is it agreed I give the judgement?’
Both men looked uncertain for a moment and then, seeing the frown gathering on Fidelma’s forehead, they nodded almost in unison.
‘What is your honour price, Brother Giolla Rua?’
‘I am an Óg Aire,’ declared the man proudly. It was a technical term showing that he was not quite an ollamh or professor but would be considered the equal of most scholars skilled in decisions concerning his calling.
‘We are all of the rank of Óg Aire,’ Brother Sionnach pointed out.
‘Then the blow is struck between equals? Very well. In this case I shall make a minimal award. As a fine, it will be two screpalls. Do you agree, Brother Sionnach?’
The young man said indifferently, ‘I agree to the fine but shall not accept the argument that he puts forth. That is heresy.’
‘No one is asking you to accept the argument causing disagreement. However, you must accept your responsibility for not debating the argument in a scholastic manner and inflicting unjust injury. If you debate further, make sure that you use only words as your weapon. In fact,’ she gave a nod to Gormán, ‘I suggest that you place one of your warriors in the chapel to ensure that no further violence occurs. Is it agreed?’
Night of the Lightbringer Page 13
