Fidelma stirred slightly. ‘Abbot Ségdae has told us briefly of the facts,’ she said.
Bishop Leodegar nodded quickly. ‘Much hangs on the success of this council. The future of the western churches will be decided here.’
Eadulf raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘The future?’ he queried. ‘Surely that is an excessive claim?’
‘I do not speak such words lightly,’ Bishop Leodegar replied defensively. ‘The Holy Father has decreed that we should consider two matters very carefully and our decision on them will affect the churches here, in the west. The first and fundamental matter is the central doctrine of our Faith: which declaration of our beliefs are we to adhere to? Do we declare for the Credo of Hippolytus, or do we declare for the Quicunque–the faith of the Blessed Athanasius–or, indeed, should we keep to the words as expressed at the Council of Nicea? It is fundamental. We must ask ourselves what is our belief as followers of the Christ.’
‘Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem; Creatorem coeli et terrae…’ muttered Eadulf.
‘Indeed, Brother,’ responded Bishop Leodegar, ‘but should we not say ut unum Deum in Trinitate, et Trinitatem un unitate veneremur?’
Eadulf smiled briefly at the exchange. Was there much difference in expressing a belief in God as Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and a belief in one God in Trinity, and Trinity in unity? Different words that meant the same thing.
‘And is that what this council is about? Simply the form of the words of the Creed, our declaration of Faith?’
Bishop Leodegar’s brows drew together. ‘You should be aware, Brother Eadulf, that among the churches of Gaul, and even among the Franks, the teaching of monothelitism has been developing, contrary to the orthodox interpretation of the Faith. It is therefore important that we have a universal creed, the Rule of our belief.’
‘Monothelitism?’ Fidelma tried to analyse the word from its roots.
‘The teaching of how the divine and human relate in the person of the Christ,’ explained Eadulf. ‘It teaches that Christ had two natures–divine and human–but only one will.’
Bishop Leodegar nodded approvingly. ‘The orthodox interpretation is that Christ had two wills, human and divine, which corresponded to His two natures. But monothelitism has gained favour both in the east and in the west. Honorius, the first of his name to be Holy Father in Rome, has favoured it and so it has spread.’
‘And the council is just to condemn that and agree on a creed?’ Fidelma realised that her knowledge was lacking in the constant arguments and decisions of the various councils of bishops that frequently met to decide what their flocks should or should not believe. She was more concerned with the law of her own country, and she had often questioned her entry into the religious life. It had only been a means to an end for it was the fashion of the five kingdoms for most of those following the professions to enter the religious.
‘It is also for the purpose of agreeing that there should be one Rule for all the religious houses in western Christendom,’ the bishop told her. ‘One set of laws as to how each community should conduct themselves.’
‘One Rule for all communities?’ queried Fidelma, with surprise. ‘But all our religious houses draw up their own Rule according to their individual needs and purposes.’
‘The Holy Father believes such matters should be made uniform through the Faith.’
‘And what standard does he suggest?’ she asked dubiously.
‘It has been suggested that the Rule of the Blessed Benedict, composed over one hundred years ago, should come to define how those in the abbeys and religious houses should govern themselves in their everyday life.’
‘I have heard of the Rule,’ Eadulf said, ‘but Benedict was from a place called Latina. His Rule was fitted for those of the community that he founded there, and it was shaped by his views and culture. Why should his Rule be applied to communities of other lands whose manner of living and culture are so very different?’
‘That is precisely the point of this council, my young Brother in Christ. I am well aware that the Gauls, Armoricans, Britons and the people of Hibernia have their own particular rituals and manners. Indeed, until a few years ago, those rites were also practised among the majority of the Saxons and the Franks. But now we must strive for some uniformity in our beliefs and practices. This, therefore, is an important council. Yet it now stands in danger of disbanding before it has even commenced its deliberations.’
Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘So what is it that you are proposing?’
Bishop Leodegar looked uncomfortable and then he tried to smile.
‘You are direct, Sister,’ he said.
‘It saves time,’ she replied gravely.
‘Very well. What I propose is that you and Brother Eadulf, not being here when the murder was committed and therefore not involved, will have the confidence of the council to investigate this matter and make recommendations as to who is responsible.’
‘How will that save the council?’ Fidelma asked.
‘You, Fidelma, are of the land from where the murdered abbot comes and therefore a good advocate for his rights. Eadulf is a Saxon and as such will not ignore the rights of Bishop Ordgar. You are acceptable to the Hibernians, and Eadulf is acceptable to the Angles and Saxons.’
‘And what about the Britons who are also involved?’ Fidelma queried.
‘I am told that your reputation is known even among them due to some service you performed for the King of Dyfed and the church of the Britons. I am sure that they, too, will accept you as a just advocate.’
Fidelma glanced across to Abbot Ségdae who had remained silent during this time.
‘And this is what you also wish?’ she asked him.
Abbot Ségdae bowed his head in agreement.
‘It is the only just way that I can think of in order to end the dissension which has held up the council during this last week. I think that your brother, the King, would support me in this for, as you know, the matter has repercussions between his kingdom and that of the north.’
Eadulf did not look happy.
‘There are many uncertainties in this matter,’ he pointed out.
‘Which are?’ demanded Bishop Leodegar.
‘Firstly, this matter is over a week old. Doubtless, Abbot Dabhóc has been buried…?’
‘Of course, as is custom,’ replied the bishop.
‘So we are unable to see for ourselves what the wound was, how it could have been delivered, how the body lay on the floor and so on.’
Bishop Leodegar looked surprised. ‘Why is that necessary?’
‘Perhaps not necessary but helpful,’ interposed Fidelma. ‘What we are hearing is that, when everything is pared away and we get down to the basic facts, you have two men, bitter enemies to one another, and we must judge which one of them is telling the truth.’
‘Or which one is telling the lies,’ added Eadulf.
Bishop Leodegar sat back, eyes narrowed. ‘Are you saying that this is impossible to judge?’
‘Impossibilium nulla obligatio est,’ Fidelma replied philosophically. ‘If I thought it impossible I would not even be discussing it. We are merely pointing out the difficulties.’
‘So you will undertake it?’ pressed Bishop Leodegar.
‘We will do so,’ she replied after a slight pause.
The man seemed to relax in relief. ‘Then it is agreed?’
‘Do we have freedom to question all those whom we deem it necessary to question?’ asked Fidelma. ‘Do I have that authority from you?’
The bishop looked puzzled. ‘But you only need to question Ordgar and Cadfan.’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘You sound as though you have prejudged matters, Bishop Leodegar. We will not prejudge–not even when it appears a simple choice between one or another. If you want us to proceed then it will be under the conditions that I stipulate or not at all.’
A slight look of annoyance crossed the bishop’s face.
Abbot Ségdae cleared his throa
t noisily.
‘We realise that you do things differently here, Bishop Leodegar,’ he said hastily. ‘However, in our lands we have a legal system which allows our advocates certain freedoms when they investigate.’
Bishop Leodegar regarded him thoughtfully for a few moments.
‘I have already said that I am prepared to waive the Rule of this abbey to allow Fidelma access to where no women are allowed.’
‘And I have agreed to be circumspect,’ replied Fidelma firmly, ‘but it is the authority to investigate as I would do in my own country under my own law system that I need. I know no other way of undertaking this task.’
‘I have heard of your laws and methods from travelling religious from your lands,’ the bishop said after some thought. Then, as if making up his mind, he squared his shoulders and said, ‘Very well. I see no reason to restrain you in this matter. I give you those freedoms.’
‘And to Brother Eadulf,’ added Fidelma brightly. ‘Remember, Eadulf is a gerefa of his own people, a magistrate of the Saxon laws.’
‘That I understand, which is why I said that Eadulf will be seen as unbiased in the matter of Bishop Ordgar. These facts should be made known to the community because it will enforce the authority of your findings. I give you full and free permission to question whom you wish on this matter. I will announce this at evening prayers. I only ask that your resolution be quick so that the delegates may be satisfied. Clotaire, who is our King, will be arriving here soon to give this council his royal approval. It would benefit all of us if the matter were resolved by the time of his arrival.’
‘There are no guarantees in life, save only one–that we are all going to die at some time,’ responded Fidelma. ‘We will do our best to solve this matter, but we cannot guarantee a resolution by a certain time. Is it agreed?’
Bishop Leodegar raised his hands as if the matter were now beyond him.
‘Very well,’ Fidelma rejoined. ‘Let us begin with a few questions to you.’
The bishop looked at her in surprise. ‘Questions to me?’
‘Of course,’ went on Fidelma, unperturbed at his astonishment. The Frankish bishop was obviously not used to being questioned. ‘Who was it who discovered the body and the state of affairs that existed in Bishop Ordgar’s chamber?’
‘It was Brother Sigeric,’ volunteered the steward Brother Chilperic, who had sat in silence until that moment.
‘Ah, Brother Sigeric. And who is he?’
‘One of the scribes.’
‘We shall need to speak with him, of course. Is he available?’
Brother Chilperic nodded briefly.
‘Excellent. What was the name of the physician who examined the body–and was it the same person who checked the wound of Abbot Cadfan and also examined Bishop Ordgar?’
‘Brother Gebicca is the physician,’ replied Brother Chilperic.
‘And now,’ Fidelma turned back to Bishop Leodegar, ‘tell us about your role in this matter?’
‘My role?’ Bishop Leodegar was puzzled.
‘Perhaps I have chosen the wrong word. I am told that Abbot Ségdae was awoken by a request to attend in Ordgar’s chamber. When he arrived, he found that you were already there. How did that come to be?’
‘Brother Sigeric roused me first,’ explained the bishop. ‘He told me there had been an accident and I was to come immediately.’
‘In what circumstances did this Brother Sigeric rouse you?’
‘It would be best to tell the story as fully as you can,’ intervened Eadulf. ‘Presumably, you were asleep in your quarters?’
‘I had meant to retire after the midnight prayers,’ Bishop Leodegar began. ‘That is my custom. I was particularly tired that night as I had dined with a local nobleman who was visiting the abbey and he had been much the worse for our local wine. However, just as I was retiring, Bishop Ordgar came to my chambers. He wished to complain further about Abbot Cadfan. He was with me some time before I could get rid of him. He was very angry about the behaviour of the Briton that evening. I told him that this was a council in which all representatives must be treated with latitude. After he left me, I fell asleep until I became aware of Brother Sigeric shaking me. It was not then dawn. However, it was that point of darkness just before dawn when you can hear the birds stirring and crying to one another as they sense the approach of light.’
He paused and Eadulf prompted: ‘Go on.’
‘It is as I said. Brother Sigeric urged me to put on my robe and come to Bishop Ordgar’s chamber. He said there had been a bad accident.’
‘Did he describe what sort of accident or how he had discovered it?’
‘Not at that time, but later he said…’
Fidelma raised a hand. ‘We will speak to Brother Sigeric himself on that matter. Let us concentrate on what you did at the time.’
Bishop Leodegar hesitated a moment and then continued, ‘I followed him as he asked me to. Brother Sigeric was in an agitated state and so I did not pursue him with questions at that time. I entered Ordgar’s chamber…’
‘Was there a light it in?’ Fidelma asked quickly.
Bishop Leodegar nodded. ‘A candle was burning.’
‘So you could see the interior quite plainly?’
‘I could see that there appeared to be two bodies there and that Bishop Ordgar was slumped on his bed, groaning.’
‘Did he say anything as you entered?
‘He seemed to be in pain, and mumbling. He was clearly not himself.’
‘And you saw the body?’
‘I immediately noticed Abbot Cadfan who lay stretched on the floor beside the bed. There was light enough to see blood on the back of his skull.’
‘You could see blood by the candlelight?’ queried Eadulf.
Brother Leodegar frowned. ‘Yes…’ He realised what Eadulf was asking. ‘Well, I could see some dark, sticky stuff–and, of course, it turned out to be blood.’
Eadulf smiled in approval. ‘Was he conscious?’
‘No, and he did not revive until he was carried back to his own chamber.’ He paused, then realising that more was expected of him, went on, ‘I was about to bend down to him when I saw the body of Abbot Dabhóc. I called to Brother Sigeric to rouse my steward. I also told Sigeric to fetch our physician, Brother Gebicca. I went to Bishop Ordgar to see if I could administer to him, but it was as if he was intoxicated. He was mumbling nonsensical things.’
‘Did he smell of wine or beer?’ asked Fidelma.
‘There was an aura of stale wine about him,’ admitted the bishop.
‘And then?’
‘Then Brother Gebicca arrived and soon after, Brother Chilperic. When Gebicca pronounced that Abbot Dabhóc was dead, that a blow from behind had crushed his skull, I knew that I should advise Abbot Ségdae, as the senior cleric from your land. I sent Brother Sigeric to rouse him.’
‘And all the time Cadfan lay unconscious while Ordgar was in a state of intoxication?’ put in Fidelma.
‘We did not neglect Cadfan,’ he replied. ‘Brother Gebicca examined him and it was decided to take him back to his chamber where it took a day or so for him to recover fully. We also removed Ordgar to a nearby chamber. When I finally questioned Ordgar, he said he had taken wine as was his custom before retiring and knew no more until he awoke sick and dizzy. He was aware of the people in his chamber but could not say what was happening until he recovered. He thought, at first, that he had been made ill by bad wine–but when I told him what had occurred in his chamber, he believed that Cadfan had tried to poison him.’
‘So, according to Ordgar, why had Dabhóc been killed by Cadfan?’ asked Eadulf.
‘Ordgar claimed that Dabhóc must have interrupted Cadfan’s attempt to kill him and paid with his life.’
‘And Cadfan’s wound? How did he explain that?’
‘Ordgar believed it was either administered by Dabhóc before Cadfan killed him or even by Cadfan himself.’
‘A self-inflicted wound that rendered Cadfa
n unconscious for a day?’ Eadulf looked cynical. ‘That is hardly a self-administered blow, and if inflicted by another person, would not have allowed the killing of that person before unconsciousness.’
Fidelma shot him a look of disapproval for being so open with his thoughts.
‘We may pursue such matters when we question Ordgar and Cadfan,’ she said. ‘I presume that you also questioned Cadfan? What was his version of this story?’
‘He told me that someone had slipped a note under his door, knocked and run off before he could open it. The note told him to go to Ordgar’s chamber at once as there was some urgency. He came to the chamber, found the door ajar, knocked and a voice bade him enter. He recalled nothing except a sharp pain on the back of the head until he recovered consciousness a day or so later.’
For a while Fidelma said nothing, sitting head slightly forward with her eyes focused on the middle distance.
‘A strange tale indeed,’ she said at last. ‘Abbot Ségdae has informed us that Ordgar and Cadfan are confined to their chambers until the matter of the responsibility is resolved.’
‘That is true.’
‘And presumably both are outraged by their confinement?’
‘As you can imagine,’ conceded Bishop Leodegar. ‘But what other course of action can I take?’
‘And how is this suspicion and confinement received by the delegates to this council?’ asked Eadulf. ‘You have spoken of the tensions. Is anyone taking sides?’
Bishop Leodegar gave a bark of cynical laughter.
‘They would not be human if they did not. The Saxons and some of our Franks support Ordgar. The Britons, Gauls and Armoricans denounce Ordgar and demand the release of Cadfan. Those clerics from Hibernia call down a plague on both houses and demand reparation for the death of the representative of the bishop of Ard Macha. So what am I to do?’
Fidelma stood up abruptly, so abruptly that she caused some surprise. She glanced though the tall windows at the darkening day.
The Council of the Cursed Page 6