The Council of the Cursed sf-19 Page 11

  ‘I scarcely think that such rules apply to us. Are not all the delegates free to come and go? After all, there was no concern for our security before we came to the abbey.’

  ‘I can only abide by the bishop’s Rule.’

  Fidelma was astonished and said so.

  ‘I have no other instructions,’ muttered Brother Chilperic.

  ‘Are we allowed to return to our own chamber without being accompanied?’ snapped Fidelma.

  The young man looked unhappy, torn between his duty to the bishop and Fidelma’s displeasure. However, Fidelma had already turned and walked away, her lips compressed tightly. Eadulf paused only a moment before following her. He fell in step as she stormed across the stone-paved courtyard; the smack of her shoes on the stones created an angry timbre.

  ‘I hate being restricted,’ she said at last, slowing to a more reasonable pace.

  ‘I don’t think it is the young man’s fault,’ Eadulf said, referring to Brother Chilperic. ‘He’s scared of making a decision which would displease the bishop.’

  ‘Of course it is not his fault. It is the bishop who is trying to control what people do and where they go. I wonder what Leodegar is scared of?’

  ‘Perhaps it is just that he is so used to dictating rules and having them obeyed that everyone is now in a position where they cannot think for themselves,’ offered Eadulf.

  Fidelma suddenly halted. ‘Go and find Abbot Ségdae, Eadulf. I am sure he is not a man to be bound by the constraints of this abbey. Ask him for permission for us to leave and for his support if we are forbidden.’

  Eadulf hesitated and then shrugged, and as he moved away, Fidelma called: ‘I’ll wait in the hospitia!’

  Eadulf raised a hand without breaking stride to acknowledge her.

  Deep in thought, Fidelma returned to the hospitia. She hoped that Bishop Leodegar was not going to press her as to why she needed to visit the Domus Femini. She wanted to see if Brother Sigeric’s tale connected in any deeper way with the events of Abbot Dabhóc’s death. But she felt frustrated that she was being so hampered by the segregation that Bishop Leodegar imposed on his brethren. She longed for the logic and attitudes of her own land.

  Fidelma entered the chamber, and as she closed the door she heard a slight movement behind her. Heart beating fast, she wheeled round and saw the figure of a man in the shadows.

  ‘Who are you?’ she demanded, trying to suppress the fear in her voice.

  ‘I did not mean to frighten you, Sister.’ The voice spoke in her own language. It was that of a nervous young man.

  She recognised the young religieux as the one whom she had observed watching her from the end of the table in the refectory.

  ‘You are Brother Gillucán, aren’t you?’

  ‘I am-I was-Abbot Dabhóc’s steward and companion on this pilgrimage.’

  Fidelma moved across the room and sat on the edge of the bed, gesturing to the chair.

  ‘You have a strange way of introducing yourself, Brother Gillucán.’

  The young man seated himself, saying in a low voice, ‘Everywhere in this abbey, there is a feeling of being watched. One needs to be cautious.’

  ‘Why would you be watched?’ Fidelma asked.

  The young man shuddered. ‘I do not know. I long for my own country.’

  ‘You are from Ulaidh?’

  ‘I am of the Uí Nadsluaig although I served at Tulach Óc.’

  ‘You do not like this place?’

  The young man gave a curious gesture with his hands that Fidelma was not sure how to interpret.

  ‘It is cursed. Souls are in torment-I have heard them.’ He sighed. ‘There is something in this abbey that is evil, Sister. In truth, I am scared.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘You speak with emotion, Brother Gillucán. You had best explain yourself.’

  ‘I am not sure where to start.’

  ‘The beginning is the best place to start,’ she encouraged him. ‘You are, or were, steward to the abbot of Tulach Óc?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. I served Abbot Dabhóc for five years as his chief scribe and steward.’

  ‘So that is why he chose you to accompany him to this council?’

  ‘It was. It is a great honour to be chosen to travel abroad and come to an important council such as this. We came, of course, in the name of Ségéne, the Bishop of Ard Macha.’

  ‘Of course. And how long have you been here?’

  ‘We arrived at this abbey ten days ago. After a few days, when all the major delegates had arrived, the Bishop of Autun opened the council. Only the main delegates were invited to attend that session. All the scribes and advisers were excluded so I did not witness the conflict which I heard about afterwards.’

  ‘The conflict?’

  ‘When Abbot Dabhóc returned, he was not happy. He told me that there had been great animosity between Abbot Cadfan of Gwynedd and Bishop Ordgar of Kent. It had even turned to physical violence between them. He lamented that it would be impossible for any agreements to be made while the two of them took such positions.’

  Fidelma was frowning. ‘So he told you the details?’

  ‘I was also his anam chara, his soul friend.’

  In the Faith of the five kingdoms, each person found an anam chara with whom they could discuss their problems. It was an ancient custom going back to the time when the old religion was followed. Elsewhere in Christendom, people had to confess in public or in private to the priests and then accept penance. That was not the purpose of a soul friend, who would discuss and advise on matters of spiritual conflict. There was no guilt and no penance with the anam chara, just a way forward when dealing with problems.

  ‘You said that you were frightened. Was it these animosities that made you so?’

  The young man seemed to consider his words carefully before responding, ‘Not exactly. That evening, after that first meeting, Abbot Dahbóc was worried about the situation and resolved to see Bishop Leodegar the next morning. He wanted to find out if there was some way of compromise. Of course, it was the next morning that I learned that he had been killed in Ordgar’s chamber.’ He paused, upset.

  ‘So you think that he went to Bishop Ordgar’s chamber, that there was a row and he was killed in the course of that altercation?’ Fidelma asked gently.

  ‘It is a plausible explanation. Yet Bishop Ordgar says that he was drugged and I hear he did not recover for a full day. And Abbot Cadfan says he was called to Ordgar’s chamber and then knocked out.’ The young man rubbed his brow. ‘There is one thing that I cannot understand, and it is this that creates anxiety in my mind. That morning, when I heard what had happened to Abbot Dabhóc, I went to his chamber to pack his belongings and found that his room had been ransacked.’

  ‘Ransacked?’ Fidelma leaned forward. ‘Was this not the abbey authorities merely searching for any relevant material related to Abbot Dabhóc’s killing?’

  ‘It was not,’ asserted Brother Gillucán. ‘The abbey steward, Brother Chilperic, who made some initial enquiries, had not been to Abbot Dabhóc’s chamber by the time I went there. Moreover, all the abbot’s belongings had been removed. In fact, Brother Chilperic accused me of removing them, and demanded to see my hands.’

  ‘Your hands-why?’ Fidelma demanded.

  Gillucán shrugged. ‘He said something about the person who had searched the chamber having cut himself while taking things, for there was some blood in evidence. Anyway, Brother Chilperic assured himself that it was not me, but he searched my chamber to ensure that what I said was true.’

  Fidelma considered the matter for a moment. Dabhóc’s chamber had been ransacked on the very morning that the chamber in which he had been murdered had also been searched. What was the connection? There must be one.

  ‘He made no mention of this to me. Where is your chamber in relationship to the abbot’s? Did you hear anything of this search?’

  ‘I am in the adjoining corridor, Sister. So I heard nothing.’

  ‘
Was anything further said about this matter? Was a search made for the missing belongings? Perhaps some enterprising but misled brother, thinking the abbot had no need for the clothes, had appropriated them?’ She knew there was a custom of sharing the clothes of a dead religious among the poor.

  Brother Gillucán shook his head. ‘It was not just clothing that was taken. Everything was gone.’

  ‘What is your definition of everything?’

  ‘Money carried by the abbot, funds to cover our journey, letters from the Bishop of Ard Macha to various dignitaries which were kept in a book satchel, the abbot’s missal and some gifts-one in particular…’ His mouth snapped shut suddenly and he looked about with an almost exaggerated conspiratorial glance.

  Fidelma examined him with interest. ‘And this particular gift…what was that?’

  The young man lowered his voice. ‘Abbot Dabhóc had been entrusted by Bishop Ségéne with a precious gift to be handed to His Holiness.’

  ‘To the Bishop of Rome?’ asked Fidelma in surprise.

  ‘An emissary of Vitalian is attending this council to give the Holy Father’s personal blessing to it.’

  ‘I know. And so there was a gift brought from Ard Macha for this envoy to take to Rome?’

  ‘There was.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that Abbot Dabhóc had not passed that gift to the emissary before it was stolen?’

  ‘Just so. There was to be a ceremony of presentation at the end of the council.’

  ‘And the nature of the gift?’

  ‘I did not know exactly.’

  ‘So what-exactly-did you know?’

  ‘The gift was housed in a reliquary. Abbot Dabhóc carried it in a special sack and never let it out of his sight on the journey here. I caught a glimpse of it once. It was a box of wood and metal, inlaid and encrusted with many precious and semi-precious jewels.’

  ‘I have often seen the like,’ Fidelma admitted. ‘Our metalworkers are famous for such fine works of art. A reliquary box would obviously indicate that it contained some holy relics.’

  Brother Gillucán shrugged. ‘I presume so, but I cannot swear to it. Abbot Dabhóc never spoke to me of the box nor of its contents.’

  ‘I still cannot see why you are fearful.’

  ‘I’ll come to that. But about this box: as I say, someone had doubtless carried it away on the night that the abbot was killed. Then the night afterwards, my own room was also searched.’

  ‘Yes, you have said that Brother Chilperic insisted on searching your room.’

  ‘No, it was searched again.’

  ‘What was taken?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing at all?’

  The steward shook his head.

  ‘So it was not Brother Chilperic, searching again to ensure that he had not missed anything?’

  ‘I asked him. It was not.’

  ‘And you had not been entrusted with anything from the abbot that might warrant a search?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Curious,’ mused Fidelma. ‘Why would they go through your room then? It seemed they already had the money and the reliquary box.’

  ‘I do not know, Sister. I only feel that there are eyes in all the dark corners of this abbey-watching, waiting!’

  ‘And you have became fearful in consequence?’

  ‘There is more.’

  ‘Then tell me all, for I cannot make judgements on half-stories.’

  ‘I only became fearful two nights later. You see, I awoke in my chamber. It was dark and I was aware of someone bending over me; a hand was on my mouth and a sharp blade at my throat.’

  Fidelma sat up a little straighter. ‘Go on.’

  ‘A voice said: “Where is it?” and the hand was removed so that I could answer.’

  ‘Where is it?’ she repeated.

  ‘Exactly so. I replied that I did not know what they meant.’ Brother Gillucán carefully turned his head sideways and pointed to a thin red line across his neck. It was not deep and already healing, but significant enough. Certainly, a blade had been held there. ‘That was the reply. And so I cried out, “Do not kill me for my ignorance. Tell me what you want and I will try to help.” The voice said: “Did your master give it to you?” And I-’

  ‘Master? What language did the intruder address you in?’

  ‘It was in Latin, Sister. That is the language we have to use in common here.’

  ‘And what did you reply?’

  ‘Having assumed it was Abbot Dabhóc of whom he spoke, I responded that he had given me nothing. Nor could I help them, for his room had been emptied.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘The knife’s pressure increased and I cried out once more that I could not help them and for the sake of pity to spare my life. I am sure the man holding me down on the bed would have cut my throat. Then another voice, a voice in the darkness behind him, said, “Leave him. He obviously knows nothing.” The person holding me said: “Say nothing of this for if you do, we will return when you least expect it.” I heard them exit my chamber and lay for a long time not knowing what to do.’

  ‘And what language was this exchange conducted in?’

  ‘Still in Latin.’

  ‘Did you report the matter?’

  Brother Gillucán shook his head dejectedly. ‘I want to live and return to Tulach Óc. However, I have heard of you and Brother Eadulf, and I knew that I should tell you what I know. That is why I have done so, but with discretion. I want no one to know that I have seen you.’

  ‘I understand. How will you return home to Tulach Óc?’

  ‘There are some pilgrims from Mágh Bhíle who are on their way back from Rome. They stayed in this city last night, and leave tomorrow. I shall go with them, and be thankful to do so.’

  ‘And you cannot describe these missing belongings of Abbot Dabhóc further?’

  Brother Gillucán hesitated. ‘As I said, I caught sight of the reliquary box only once.’

  ‘And?’ encouraged Fidelma.

  The young man screwed up his eyes as if to conjure the image before him.

  ‘It was of copper, some tin, enamel and a wood base. It was in the shape of a hexagonal house, with a pitched roof and gable ends, as is typical of the reliquary boxes made by our craftsmen.’

  ‘You mentioned jewels?’

  ‘There are decorative mouldings, mounts with red enamel and settings in which emeralds are cast. I do not think they were coloured glass settings. No, I think they were precious and semi-precious stones.’

  ‘And the size?’

  ‘Perhaps fourteen centimetres at the base, perhaps ten centimetres deep and five in width.’

  Fidelma nodded, for most reliquary boxes from the five kingdoms were made roughly to those dimensions.

  ‘Oh, and I forgot-there were words engraved on the lid.’

  ‘Which were?’

  ‘One name was Benén.’

  ‘Just that name?’ queried Fidelma, for it was a popular name used among certain of her people.

  ‘That is all I remember. But there was another name inscribed on it. I can’t recall it.’

  ‘Well, little things can mount up,’ said Fidelma. ‘I think you have been very wise in telling me what you know, Brother Gillucán. However, we are dealing with beings in corporeal from and not the legions of the cursed as you have described them. “Souls in torment”, I think you said.’

  The young man shook his head gloomily. ‘Truly, Sister, there are souls in torment in this abbey. Voices crying out in pain and agony. I have heard them,’ he added with emphasis.

  Fidelma wanted to smile but kept her features controlled, for the young man was in earnest.

  ‘Perhaps you could tell me what you heard and in what circumstances.’

  But Brother Gillucán seemed nervous and was having difficulty in making up his mind to speak further. Eventually he said: ‘I went to the necessarium,’ and flushed a little.

  Fidelma was puzzled, not having come across
the word before.

  ‘Necessarium?’ she repeated.

  ‘The latrina. It was before dawn and I…the call of nature…’

  ‘Go on,’ Fidelma said impatiently. ‘I am not so sheltered from life that I need protection from natural functions of the body.’

  ‘I was sitting in the necessarium when I heard a low wailing sound. The cries of souls in torment-that is the only way I can describe the sound. Then cries of terror, wailing in fear and anguish. It was terrible to listen to. I have to admit, I fled from the room and did not stir until well after first light.’

  It was clear that the young man had truly heard something that had frightened the wits out of him.

  ‘Where did these sounds come from?’ Fidelma probed. ‘You say that you were in the necessarium-so were the sounds in the same room?’

  Brother Gillucán stared at her for a moment.

  ‘They seemed to come from the walls,’ he said. ‘That is it! They came from the walls. The voices of the cursed.’

  ‘Where is this necessarium?’

  ‘On the ground floor, beyond the refectory.’ He swallowed nervously. ‘I feel that this place is cursed, Sister. I cannot wait for dawn tomorrow, when I will start back for the kingdom of Ulaidh.’

  Fidelma regarded the frightened young man with sympathy.

  ‘If you wish, you could accompany Brother Eadulf and myself back to the five kingdoms, or even go with Abbot Ségdae and his steward.’

  ‘After what has happened to my abbot and then to me, the quicker I leave this city, the better I shall like it,’ he said. ‘No, I shall leave in the morning with the pilgrims for Mágh Bhíle, as I have said.’

  ‘Then God be on every road that you travel,’ Fidelma replied gravely.

  Brother Gillucán rose quickly. ‘If you do find the abbot’s reliquary box, please remember it was a gift from Ard Macha to Rome.’

  ‘I will remember it, Brother Gillucán.’

  ‘Then may God protect you in this evil place, Sister.’ He moved to the door, halted before it and looked back apologetically.

  ‘Sister, would you mind checking that the corridor is empty?’

  She rose without a word and went to the door to open it. A swift glance up and down the corridor ensured that no one was within sight.