‘So they have no connection with this abbey?’
‘The women do join the brethren in the chapel for the morning and evening prayers. They come to the chapel here but are seated in a separate area, behind wooden screens, so there is no communication between the sexes.’
‘Is this separation the decision of all the religious? I have not come across such extremes before.’
‘I think it was the Rule imposed by Bishop Leodegar. He is one of the group that is pressing Rome to declare that no one entering the religious should be married because they say worldly distractions prevent them from doing the work of God.’
Fidelma sniffed in disapproval. ‘And they seek to enforce their views on others. It is a wonder this Bishop Leodegar has allowed Eadulf and myself into this place at all.’
Abbot Ségdae grinned ruefully. ‘Above all else, Bishop Leodegar is a wily politician. He saw immediately the advantage of having a renowned advocate from Abbot Dabhóc’s own land conducting an investigation in the company of someone who is from the land of Bishop Ordgar.’
Eadulf whistled softly.
‘A means to show an unbiased judgement, eh? I hope the good bishop has not already proceeded to judgement and merely wants us to endorse it.’
‘We must also wait until the outcome of this matter before according motives to Bishop Leodegar that he may or may not possess,’ replied Abbot Ségdae in slight rebuke.
‘But the warning is well taken,’ asserted Fidelma. ‘We will watch the proceedings of Bishop Leodegar very carefully.’
‘Will you undertake the task?’ Abbot Ségdae prompted dolefully as a silence fell. ‘The murder weighs heavily upon me, Fidelma. Dabhóc was one of our own.’
‘As Fidelma has said, we cannot answer until we have bathed and rested,’ Eadulf replied firmly. ‘Then we would have to discuss the matter both with you and Bishop Leodegar. So we will accept the hospitality of this abbey pro tempore until we decide.’
Abbot Ségdae suddenly looked hopeful. They had been speaking in the language of the five kingdoms as their common tongue, but now he looked up and called in Latin across the anticum to where a religieux was crossing the stone-flagged floor.
‘Brother Chilperic!’
The man came towards them with a puzzled look on his handsome features as he saw Fidelma. He had fair hair, blue eyes and was about their own age.
‘This is Bishop Leodegar’s steward, Brother Chilperic.’ The abbot made the introductions. On learning their names, Brother Chilperic was politeness itself to Fidelma.
‘Forgive any surprise, Sister, but the abbot has probably explained that we have certain rules stating that women are not allowed here. However, I am told they have been put in abeyance so far as you are concerned. The bishop has been awaiting your arrival with some impatience. Chambers have been set aside for you in our hospitia and you have only to tell me any other requirement you may have.’ He turned to Abbot Ségdae. ‘Bishop Leodegar will obviously want to be informed of the arrival of your compatriots. Would you do so while I conduct them to their quarters?’ Receiving assent, he turned back to Fidelma and Eadulf. ‘Come with me.’
They followed him, having made an arrangement to meet with the abbot after they had rested.
Brother Chilperic led them up several flights of wooden stairs. The abbey seemed as cold and grey on the inside as it had appeared on the outside. But now and then, through the windows they passed, they caught the sunlit vista of green fields and forests and the winding blue strip of the river. They had obviously been taken to the side of the abbey that overlooked the southern walls of the city, on the opposite side to the sprawl of the city itself. Fidelma estimated that the rooms of the hospitia must be on the third level of the abbey-a fact confirmed by the steward. He showed them to a comfortable chamber with walls clad in yew and polished birchwood. It was spacious and there was even an adjoining room prepared for ablutions and toilet requisites.
Brother Chilperic caught Fidelma glancing around with an air of appreciative surprise.
‘This chamber was originally set aside for visiting nobles; kings have stayed here, such as the noble Dagobert and Judicael of Domnonia,’ he said.
Fidelma bowed her head. ‘Then we are truly honoured, Brother Chilperic. We did not expect such comfort.’
‘It is you who honour our abbey, for I am told you are sister to the king of your own land. I shall order water to be heated and some food to be brought to you, and if there is anything else that you require…’
‘Then we shall ask,’ Fidelma finished solemnly.
When the door closed, she turned to Eadulf and grinned. ‘Well, things seem to have improved slightly.’
‘Why is it that I get the feeling that our hosts are a little over-indulgent to us?’ he replied. ‘Altering the Rule of the abbey, providing us with a chamber and service better suited to a king…Can it be that there is something more that they are not telling us about the death of Abbot Dabhóc?’
‘It is no use thinking about that until we have seen Ségdae again and Bishop Leodegar,’ reproved Fidelma. ‘Now, who shall bathe first?’ she asked brightly, knowing that Eadulf had never really taken to the Irish custom of a full body wash once a day.
Some time later, when the eastern sky grew dark, Fidelma and Eadulf were seated in Abbot Ségdae’s chamber, which was but a short distance along the same corridor. One of several set aside for the delegates to the council, it was nowhere near so well presented as their own chamber. It was sparsely furnished and with an economy in fittings, which doubtless meant that the religious visitors to the abbey were expected to share the same frugality of life as the brethren. By comparison, they were being treated as royal guests and Fidelma presumed that Abbot Ségdae had emphasised her status as sister to the King of Cashel. Ordinarily, she would have objected, but had decided to withhold her condemnation until she observed whether such emphasis was help or hindrance.
‘Perhaps you should tell us first of the facts relating to this death?’ Fidelma invited, relaxing back in her chair and feeling more comfortable after her bath.
‘As I have told you,’ began the abbot, ‘a week ago, Dabhóc was found with his skull smashed on the floor of Bishop Ordgar’s chamber here. Lying unconscious by his side, having received a blow to his head, was Abbot Cadfan from the kingdom of Gwynedd. Also in the chamber was Ordgar himself, who seemed in a semi-conscious state.’
‘A semi-conscious state?’ interrupted Eadulf. ‘What does that mean?’
‘He claimed he was drugged.’
‘And what did Cadfan and Ordgar say about this situation?’ asked Fidelma.
‘Ordgar claimed that he had no knowledge at all of what had taken place. He said that he had drunk wine last thing at night, as was his custom, and fell into a dreamless sleep. He now claims his drink was drugged. The physician confirmed Ordgar’s condition. At least, his condition fitted the facts that he claimed.’
‘And Cadfan?’
‘Cadfan says that a note-which he no longer has, incidentally-summoned him to Bishop Ordgar’s chamber on urgent business.’
‘When was this scene uncovered-the finding of the body of Dabhóc?’
‘Well after midnight but certainly before dawn,’ Abbot Ségdae replied.
‘So when was this note delivered to Cadfan?’
‘He says he was awoken in his chamber by a knock and the note placed under the door. He went to Ordgar’s chamber, knocked and a voice bade him enter. He did so-and immediately received a blow to the head. He knew nothing else until he came to, having been carried unconscious back to his own chamber. He swears that he saw neither Dabhóc’s body nor Ordgar. When he entered the chamber it was in darkness.’
‘A curious tale,’ Fidelma observed.
Abbot Ségdae nodded glumly. ‘And one which will end this council, unless it is explained. There is already much friction here. At the opening of the council last week, Ordgar and Cadfan came to physical blows.’
Fidelma’s eyes w
idened. ‘Really?’
‘That was on the evening just before the murder,’ confirmed the abbot.
‘Was Dabhóc concerned in this fight?’
‘He had intervened in the debate as peacemaker, no more. Many others did as well.’
‘Is it felt that Dabhóc was slain because of his attempt to act as peacemaker between the two?’ asked Eadulf.
‘No one knows what to think. Both Ordgar and Cadfan are confined to their chambers while Bishop Leodegar has been contemplating what to do. In a few days’ time the ruler of this kingdom, Clotaire, is due to arrive to give his approval to the findings of this council, but there has been no formal meeting, let alone debate on the motions that Rome has sent for consideration. As I say, many of the delegates are talking about returning to their lands.’
‘Leodegar has a tough decision to make,’ Fidelma observed.
‘He must either pronounce the guilt of one or the innocence of both,’ agreed the abbot. ‘Both men have proclaimed their innocence and both have proclaimed their hatred of one another-and so accusations are made with venomous conviction.’
‘And what do you say? You are the senior representative of Éireann.’
The abbot raised his shoulders and let them fall in a hopeless gesture.
‘That is my dilemma, Fidelma. You know the rivalry between my own abbey of Imleach and that of Ard Macha. In recent years Ard Macha has been claiming to be the senior bishopric of the five kingdoms, and now claims authority even over Imleach-yet Imleach existed before Ard Macha was established.’
‘How does this affect your thoughts on this matter?’ asked Fidelma, a little impatiently.
‘I am, as you say, now the senior representative. If I do not demand that a pronouncement of guilt and reparation be made following Dabhóc’s death, Ségéne, the abbot and bishop of Ard Macha, could accuse me and Imleach of not caring because Dabhóc was representing Ard Macha. If I do make the demand, then I am demanding that Bishop Leodegar make a decision that is a choice between the guilt of Ordgar or Cadfan. If nothing at all is done, then the council disbands and Leodegar has to answer to the Bishop of Rome.’
‘In other words, there is a political decision that weighs on your mind over and above the moral decision of what is right, what is truthful?’ Fidelma summed up.
Abbot Ségdae smiled tiredly. ‘I wish I saw it as so clear cut, Fidelma. But just consider this-the conflict between Ard Macha and Imleach and the conflict between the Britons and the Saxons balance on this matter. Whatever decision is made will result in resentment and conflict. I need advice in making that decision.’
Fidelma pursed her lips, as if in a soundless whistle, and glanced at Eadulf.
Abbot Ségdae meanwhile had suddenly noticed the lateness of the day. He rose.
‘Bishop Leodegar will be waiting for us. Let us not keep him further.’
Bishop Leodegar settled himself in his chair and regarded both Fidelma and Eadulf with a searching scrutiny. He was elderly; his black hair was streaked with grey and his eyes were dark and fathomless. His features were pale and lean, the skin tightly stretched across the bones, the Adam’s apple prominent. The way he sat, tensed and leaning slightly forward, put Fidelma in mind of a hungry wolf waiting to pounce.
‘You are both very welcome at the Abbey of Autun,’ he said finally, as if making up his mind about something. ‘Abbot Ségdae’, he glanced to where the abbot was seated alongside Brother Chilperic at the side of the chamber, ‘has told me much about you both, and it is good that you have arrived safely in this place.’
They were seated before him in chairs provided by Brother Chilperic.
Bishop Leodegar hesitated a moment, before continuing, ‘I understand that you have been told that this abbey consists of a house for the males and one for the females. We are not a mixed house, although both sexes come together in the abbey chapel for the morning and evening prayers. Here, we follow the idea that celibacy should be the Rule-and in celibacy we come closer to the divinity.’
Fidelma and Eadulf remained silent.
‘I realise that you follow those who do not agree with this Rule,’ went on Leodegar. ‘For the sake of the matter before us, we are prepared to overlook some of our Rule. The only condition I must stipulate is that you proceed with circumspection in this abbey.’ He paused, and when neither Fidelma nor Eadulf commented, he went on: ‘From what Abbot Ségdae has told me, it seems that you both have a talent for considering puzzles and finding solutions to problems. We stand in great need of such talent at this moment.’
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.’
The Council of the Cursed sf-19 Page 5