The Council of the Cursed

by Peter Tremayne

  Now Fidelma sighed, but not at the prospect of exchanging the comfort of the boat for the saddle of a horse for she was a good horsewoman and had been at ease on a horse almost before she could walk.

  ‘Where would we find horses? Horses cost money,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Is there anything in this world that is free?’ Clodio replied philosophically. ‘Ah, but wandering religious expect all things to be given freely to them, in exchange for a muttered blessing. It would be an ideal life if all were so simple, my friends, but I have a wife and sons to keep.’

  Fidelma frowned at the implication that he feared they might not pay for the journey.

  ‘Boatman,’ she said sternly, ‘did we not negotiate a fee for you to bring us from the port of Naoned to this place? Was it not a fair fee? If so, as we approach this place, now is the time for the fee to be paid.’

  ‘I did not mean…’ Clodio began, abashed, but Fidelma had already reached into her marsupium and counted out the coins that she thrust towards him.

  ‘Remember, boatman, that a wandering religious may not always be a beggar; she said stiffly.

  Eadulf looked nervously at his companion and hoped that she would not boast of her relationship to the Kings of Muman.

  ‘Redime te captium quam minimo,’ he muttered, using the ancient Latin prescription for soldiers who were captured: if taken prisoner, pay as little as possible to buy your freedom. In other words, make sure you give the enemy as little information as you can. If Clodio thought that they were rich, greed might entice him to consider holding them for ransom. Eadulf had heard plenty of stories of pilgrims travelling in distant lands who were captured and held for ransom and sometimes never heard of again.

  Fidelma gave him a look of understanding before turning back to the boatman.

  ‘We promised to pay you and, even though it makes the rest of our journey difficult, for we cannot afford horses, we will do so,’ she said quietly.

  Clodio, who had not understood the Latin saying, merely nodded as his hands closed over the coins and dropped them into the leather purse at his belt.

  ‘Bishop Arigius, at the abbey, will take care of you,’ he told them. ‘He is a man of good reputation.’

  Turning to his two sons, he ordered them to take out the oars while he cried a warning and jerked on a rope to lower the single sail of the craft. Then he moved quickly back to the tiller and, with dextrous smoothness, drew the craft alongside one of the several wooden piers that jutted into the river at this point. In a few moments they were tied up and the sons of the boatmen helped first Fidelma and Eadulf ashore.

  Clodio nodded to them both. ‘Good luck on your travels, my friends,’ he said. ‘Follow that road up to the town and it will bring you to the doors of the abbey. Remember, it is the Bishop Arigius whom you wish to see.’

  They said farewell to the man and his sons who now began to offload their goods. Merchants and onlookers were already moving down to the pier to examine what cargo they had brought as Fidelma and Eadulf set off up the road towards the main town. Eadulf had felt the heat of the early summer sun while he was in the boat but now on land it struck on his face and shoulders with a force that caused sweat to form on his brow.

  ‘I swear, Fidelma,’ began Eadulf, but his sandal struck a stone that stood prouder than the rest and caused him to trip, almost sending him headlong. He just recovered himself at the last moment with a muttered oath. ‘I swear, Fidelma, that I am sick of travelling.’

  Fidelma glanced at him without humour. ‘Do you think I am not?’ she said shortly. ‘Since the birth of little Alchú, how much time have I spent with our son? Too little, that is for certain. When we returned from Tara a few months ago, I fully expected that we would be able to remain at Cashel for…well, for the foreseeable future.’

  ‘We could have refused this journey,’ Eadulf pointed out.

  ‘Duty must come first,’ Fidelma replied in a heavy tone. ‘If my brother, the King, requests me to come here as aide and adviser to his bishop, Ségdae of Imleach, then this is where I must come. But you were not obliged to accompany me.’

  ‘My place is wherever you are,’ replied Eadulf simply.

  Fidelma laid a free hand on his arm. ‘I make no demands on you, Eadulf,’ she said softly.

  ‘Did you not say that duty must come first?’ he replied with a raised eyebrow. ‘And what greater duty is there than the moral code of the bonds that are between us? So do not question where my duty lies. It is just that I cannot see why some council of church leaders held in Gaul…’

  ‘The Gauls are almost gone now,’ corrected Fidelma. ‘The Franks have overrun and settled this territory and call these lands the kingdoms of Austrasia and Neustria. Two brothers rule them, I am told.’

  ‘Wherever we are,’ Eadulf went on, ‘I still cannot see why some council of church leaders in this remote spot has any influence on the five kingdoms of Éireann, or even on the Britons or Saxon kingdoms.’

  ‘Perhaps not now but someday hence the influence of the decisions made here might be felt. That is why, when Vitalian, the Bishop of Rome, called representatives of the western churches to this place, Bishop Ségdae had to attend. You know that the practices we follow in Éireann are under threat from the new ideas springing up in Rome which are alien to our laws and to our way of life.’

  ‘But Autun is such a long way from Cashel!’

  ‘Thoughts and ideas travel faster than a man,’ replied Fidelma firmly.

  Eadulf sighed and shifted the weight of the bag that he carried on his shoulder. He cast an envious glance at Fidelma’s light linen robes and wished he had something more cooling than the brown woollen homespun he wore as a Brother of the Faith.

  But they were moving on easier ground now among the buildings, and the gates of the abbey were within easy access. There were plenty of people about but no one paid them much interest. It was clear that Nebirnum was a busy trading town filled with strangers, and many wagons loaded with goods were moving here and there.

  At the gates of the abbey they encountered a Brother who seemed more of a sentinel than a welcoming religieux.

  ‘Pax tecum,’ Fidelma greeted the dark, sun-tanned man.

  ‘Pax vobiscum,’ replied the man indifferently.

  ‘We have come from the distant land of Hibernia. We are on our way to the Council at Autun and were told that Bishop Arigius might facilitate our journey there.’

  The man pointed through the gates. ‘You may enquire for the bishop inside,’ he said carelessly, and turned to continue to gaze at the passers-by.

  ‘Not exactly an enthusiastic greeting for us peregrinatio pro Christo,’ Eadulf muttered wryly.

  Fidelma did not reply. A youthful religieux was passing through the quadrangle in which they found themselves, and she hailed him.

  ‘Where can we find Bishop Arigius?’ she asked.

  The young man stopped and frowned. ‘I am his steward. You are strangers in this place.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

  ‘We are on our way to Autun to attend the council there. We are from the land of Hibernia.’

  The young man’s eyes seemed to widen slightly at the latter statement. Then he said: ‘Follow me.’

  He led them to a door in a corner of the quadrangle, which gave entrance into a square tower that seemed to be opposite to what was obviously a chapel. They followed him up the dark, oak stairs to a door of similar hue. Here the young steward turned to them and asked them to wait. He knocked upon the door and, without pausing for an answer, opened it and passed inside, closing it behind him. They could hear the mumble of voices and then the door re-opened and the young man beckoned them inside.

  Bishop Arigius was a tall thin man with sharp features, piercing dark eyes and thin red lips. His hair was sparse and silver grey. He had risen from a chair and crossed the room to greet them, a smile of welcome revealing yellowing teeth.

  ‘Pax vobiscum.’ He intoned the greeting solemnly. ‘My steward tell
s me that you are bound for Autun, to the council, and that you come from the land of Hibernia?’

  ‘He tells you no lie,’ replied Eadulf, shifting the weight of his bag on his shoulder.

  The motion was not lost on the bishop.

  ‘Then come and be seated, put down your bags and join me in refreshment. A glass of white wine cooled in our cellars…?’ He nodded to the steward who hurried away to obtain the beverage.

  ‘I am Bishop Arigius, the second of that name to hold office here in this ancient abbey.’

  ‘An impressive building and an impressive town, from the little I have seen,’ Eadulf replied politely after they had introduced themselves.

  Bishop Arigius gave a smile of pride.

  ‘Indeed. When the great Julius Caesar marched the Roman legions into this land, he chose this spot as a military depot for his legions. The Aedui, the Gauls who lived here, had a hill fort on this very spot, which Caesar refortified; hence the name of this place, which was Noviodunum–novus, the Latin for new, and dunum, the Gaulish word for a fort. So it was “new fort” and since then, changing accents have brought about its current name. It was one of the earliest places in which the Faith was established in this land, and for a while it became known as Gallia Christiana. The bishops here were renowned.’

  ‘You have great knowledge of this town,’ Fidelma said solemnly.

  ‘Scientia est potentia,’ smiled the bishop.

  ‘Knowledge is power,’ repeated Fidelma softly. It was a philosophy she had often expounded.

  The young steward returned with a jug and beakers, which he filled with a golden-coloured wine. It was cold and refreshing.

  ‘We make it from our own vineyards,’ explained the young man in answer to their expressions of praise.

  ‘Now,’ Bishop Arigius said briskly, ‘I presume that you have heard the news from Autun?’

  Fidelma exchanged a puzzled look with Eadulf. ‘The news?’ she repeated.

  ‘We only heard it ourselves yesterday afternoon.’ The bishop looked from one to another expectantly as if all was explained.

  ‘We are still at a loss,’ Fidelma said. ‘What news from Autun?’

  Bishop Arigius sighed and sat back. ‘Forgive me. Foolishly, my steward thought you might have been on your way to Autun because of the news.’

  Fidelma tried to be patient. ‘We have been travelling along the river for many days. We have heard no news for all that time.’

  ‘One of the abbots from your land of Hibernia was murdered there.’

  Fidelma was shocked.

  Eadulf immediately asked: ‘Do you know the name of this abbot? It was not Abbot Ségdae?’

  Bishop Arigius shook his head. ‘I know only that he was of your land.’

  ‘What else can you tell us of what has happened?’ Eadulf pressed.

  ‘Nothing beyond that simple fact,’ replied the bishop promptly. ‘A passing merchant brought us the news yesterday.’

  ‘No name was mentioned?’ queried Fidelma.

  ‘No name was mentioned,’ affirmed the bishop.

  There was a silence. Then Fidelma said: ‘It is imperative that we should continue on to Autun as soon as possible. But the boatman who brought us hither said that it is a two-or three-day journey by horse from here.’

  Bishop Arigius glanced out of the window. ‘It is no use continuing on now, for the best part of the day is gone,’ he declared. ‘Stay and feast with us this evening and continue in the morning.’

  Fidelma smiled sadly. ‘Alas, we have no horses, and…’

  The bishop waved his hand deprecatingly.

  ‘One of our brethren leaves tomorrow at dawn with a wagon carrying goods destined for the brethren in Autun. You may ride on that and welcome. The road is good, especially at this time of year, being dry and hard, and it will take no more than four days to reach the town.’

  ‘We accept,’ Eadulf said hastily. The prospect of racing along strange roads on an equally strange steed had not been a pleasant one. Being seated comfortably on a wagon was a much better prospect.

  ‘Excellent.’ Bishop Arigius stood and they followed his example. ‘My steward will show you to our hospitia, our guests’ quarters, where you may rest and refresh yourselves. We gather shortly in the refectory; my steward will guide you there. The bell will toll for the services in the chapel. We rise at the tolling of the bell, just before dawn. I will instruct our brother to await you in the quadrangle to commence your journey tomorrow.’

  ‘And the name of this brother?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘Brother Budnouen. He is a Gaul.’

  Brother Budnouen was rotund, with a podgy red face seemingly lacking a neck, for folds of flesh seemed to flop straight down on to his chest. Middle aged, short in stature and tanned, he had pale eyes, almost sea-green, and long brown hair, which they immediately saw was cut in the manner of the tonsure of St John rather than in the corona spina favoured by Rome. In spite of his heavy breathing, caused by his girth and weight, the brother’s forearms seemed quite muscular from hard work, and his hands were callused. They later learned that this was due to his being a wagonman; the leather reins caused the hardening of the skin on the palms. It came as no surprise when he told them that he had spent his youth as a seaman, sailing along the ports of Armorica to Britain and Hibernia, whose languages he spoke with great fluency. He was an excellent companion; his eyes had a twinkle, his face a ready smile and his attitude was to look for the best that life had to offer. In fact, he was a very loquacious fellow and the moment they left the abbey at Nebirnum, Brother Budnouen kept up a steady commentary as he guided the wagon, pulled by four powerful mules, along the road which headed due east.

  ‘I am originally of the Aeudi,’ he told them. ‘This was once Aeudi country, but then many years ago, the Burgunds came and drove us out. Some of us fled to Armorica. Some, like me, stayed to make the best of things. Now the Burgunds, in their turn, are made vassals by the Franks who call this land Austrasia.’

  ‘The Aeudi were Gauls?’ queried Eadulf, who was always determined to add to his knowledge. He and Fidelma were seated beside Brother Budnouen on the driving seat of the wagon as their guide and driver expertly directed the team of mules by a flick of the long leather reins now and again.

  Brother Budnouen laughed pleasantly and there was pride in his voice.

  ‘They were indeed the Gauls, my friend. I am descended from the great Vercingetorix–king of the world–who nearly destroyed Caesar and the Romans until he was forced to surrender in order to save the lives of the women and children that Caesar would have sacrificed by the thousands to ensure his victory. Caesar was so scared of that great man that he had him taken in chains to Rome, kept for years in a dungeon and then ritually strangled to celebrate his final victory.’

  Eadulf pursed his lips. ‘War is not a pleasant thing.’

  ‘That was something the Romans found out. If they thought that the death of Vercingetorix would cowe us into submission, they were wrong. We rose many times against them but it seemed that when one legion was defeated, three more took its place. We were still fighting the Roman legions nearly a hundred years after Caesar departed. Eventually Gaul became a Roman province and peaceful, until a few more centuries when the Burgunds and Franks came flooding across the Rhine to destroy us.’

  ‘What do you know of this city of Autun?’ asked Fidelma, trying to change the conversation to the subject that was continuing to trouble her.

  ‘Autun?’ Brother Budnouen shrugged. ‘There was nothing there but a few huts until the Emperor Augustus designated it as the new central city of the Aeudi. He called it Augustodunum, the fort of Augustus–that’s where the Burgunds derived the name Autun. The Romans had made our own capital and fortress Bibracte uninhabitable as a punishment for Vercingetorix’s near-defeat of them. They created Augustodunum into a great Roman city to impress the Gauls.’

  He paused to negotiate a difficult bend of the road.

  ‘The Faith reached th
e town very early. They say that it became an episcopal see in the time of the blessed Irenaeus, just over a century after the crucifixion of Our Lord. It is told that the son of Senator Faustus of Autun, a young man named Symphorian, converted to the Faith and destroyed a statue of the Roman goddess Cybele as a protest. He was arrested and flogged, but when he continued to refuse to deny the Faith he was beheaded in front of his mother, Augusta. They built the abbey over his grave, which was the ancient necropolis.’

  Brother Budnouen chuckled and nudged Eadulf. ‘They say if you pray by the grave, you will get a cure for the pox!’ He paused, glanced in embarrassment at Fidelma and added: ‘Begging your pardon, Sister.’

  ‘I was trying to discover what the town is like today and why it was deemed the best place for this council,’ Fidelma replied coldly.