The Council of the Cursed

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Who knows why?’ replied the Gaul. ‘Isn’t Vitalian, the Holy Father, a Roman and perhaps he remembers that Autun was Augustodunum. The Romans have long memories. They never forgave our people for defeating their legions and occupying Rome itself, and that was so many generations before the birth of Our Saviour that they are almost beyond counting.’

  Eadulf was about to ask him to explain but Fidelma, sensing that the question would bring forth another long discourse, nudged Eadulf discreetly and said: ‘So who is the bishop of Autun now?’

  ‘Leodegar,’ replied the man at once. ‘He is elderly but still has a sharp mind, and is renowned for his learning and virtue. The son of Frankish nobles, he grew up at the court of King Clotaire. He even helped in the government of the kingdom until he was named as bishop. He’s a strong leader, they say, but too fond of reforms. What’s more, he seems intent on repairing the old Roman walls of the city and restoring the Roman public buildings. I reckon that is probably why Rome has given him the opportunity to preside over this important council.’

  ‘And do you know anything about the happening in Autun?’

  ‘You mean the murder there? No, I’m afraid I cannot help you. I heard the merchants gossip, that is all. Some abbot at the council was found slain. There was talk of arguments and fighting among the clerics. But that is all I can say.’

  If it was all he could say, Brother Budnouen certainly had a way of expanding such a little into long discourses, and by the end of the first day’s travel Fidelma and Eadulf were as much exhausted by his constant prattle as by the exigencies of the journey. Nevertheless, they agreed that it did help to pass the time, and the Gaul was able to point out interesting aspects of the rolling countryside through which they travelled. In the evenings he knew places to stop where good food and beds were available, and with rivers or springs where it was safe to bathe. Fidelma longed for the rituals of the Irish baths and for hot water and soap, but she made the best that she could of it.

  On the morning of the third day they passed an imposing hill rising out of a magnificent surrounding forest. To their surprise, Brother Budnouen halted his team of mules, climbed down and knelt in its direction as if in prayer. When he climbed back on the wagon, he explained: ‘Bibracte–that was the capital of the Aedui, the very spot where Vercingetorix was proclaimed head of all the tribes of Gaul to confront Julius Caesar.’ He pointed to the hill. ‘It was there that Caesar defeated him and finished writing his account of how he conquered my people.’

  ‘So how far to Autun now?’ asked Eadulf wearily.

  ‘We shall be there tomorrow morning. It is twenty-five kilometres more. Tonight we rest at a place outside the town so that we do not arrive at night time. As I say, Leodegar with Lord Guntram, the ruler of the province, has restored and maintains the old Roman walls and employs guards who do not like the approach of strangers during the hours of darkness.’

  Fidelma was surprised. ‘Is it so dangerous to be abroad in these parts then?’

  ‘There is always danger, Sister,’ the Gaul stated. ‘The richer the towns, the more that thieves and robbers are attracted to them. Bands of robbers often prowl the roads.’

  ‘Should we not have waited for warriors to guard us?’ asked Eadulf, not disguising his nervousness. They had entered a countryside that was heavily wooded and could harbour vagabonds.

  Brother Budnouen chuckled. ‘Why would you want warriors to guard you? Do you carry treasure with you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ snapped Eadulf. ‘It is just that our lives are precious to us.’

  ‘Listen, my friend,’ the Gaul was still smiling, ‘your life is safer when you do not surround yourself with bodyguards, for bodyguards proclaim to bandits that you have something worth guarding. If you have nought but your life, then better not to let them think otherwise. Often I have passed along these highways and only once or twice was I stopped. But these days thieves are not interested in the goods I transport to the brethren in Autun, nor those I return with from Autun to Nebirnum. They want gold, silver, jewels and suchlike. Things for easy profit.’

  ‘We will have to take your word for that,’ Fidelma replied easily. ‘But we will rest easier when we reach Autun.’

  ‘You’ll see it tomorrow,’ Brother Budnouen assured her. ‘Once we traverse this area which still retains its old Gaulish name of Morven–that means the country of black mountains because of the darkness of the green hills and forests here–once through here you will see the city of Autun.’

  He was right. They approached the city about midday from the northwest, coming across the shoulder of a small hill. Enclosed by ancient grey walls, it seemed large to them since, although they had seen Rome, they had little to compare it with. That it was big and impressive was their immediate reaction. Moreover, rising above the red-tiled roofs of the buildings, on the far side of the city, was a massive complex like a castle–the great abbey itself. Part of it rose many storeys high and a massive tower stood at one end.

  They turned their attention to the city ramparts, ancient walls that here and there showed signs of reconstruction. There was no denying that it was a beautiful location, sited among a lush green terrain with vineyards to be seen flourishing here and there around the city walls.

  Brother Budnouen smiled in satisfaction as he glanced at their expressions. People from the western islands were always impressed with the cities of Gaul. As the wagon trundled down the roadway towards the river, he saw that his passengers were examining large square-shaped stone building to the right of the roadside.

  ‘That was originally the Roman Temple of Janus,’ he offered. ‘It is used for other things now, of course. They do say that the Romans built it on one of the sacred sites of the Aeudi so that their god’s power would negate the power of the old Gaulish god. A strange and fearful people, those Romans.’ He chuckled and pointed to the river that they had to cross to enter the walled city. ‘This is the Aturavos. Strange how, in spite of the Romans and then the Burgunds who have settled here, the old rivers, forests and hills retain their original Gaulish names. While our people have been forced to give way, our names survive.’

  ‘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 flo
wers 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?�
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  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.