The Council of the Cursed sf-19 Page 9

  Fidelma felt comfortable with Cadfan’s easy manners and recalled that the Britons had a similar law system to those that the Brehons used. She reminded herself that among the Britons there was an office called a Barnwr that was their equivalent of a Brehon.

  ‘Let us start off by asking you when you first met Bishop Ordgar. It would be useless asking you if you disliked him.’

  Abbot Cadfan chuckled in genuine amusement.

  ‘Dislike would be too mild a term.’ He paused reflectively. ‘Though that admission will do me no good in an investigation such as this. Anyway, the truth is the truth. If he were lying in need of help on the far side of a road, I could not bring myself to emulate the story of the Good Samaritan. Perhaps I do not have sufficient faith in the Christ. But to answer your question, I had no idea of Bishop Ordgar’s existence until I arrived here in Autun. We first encountered each other outside the council chamber and I told him that when the council met, I was going to raise a proposition that they should begin by censuring the Saxon kingdoms for the wanton destruction of Benchoer.’

  Seeing that Fidelma and Eadulf looked blank he continued: ‘Benchoer is the largest and greatest of our religious houses in Gwynedd. Drostó, the abbot, was invited to this council; I was to come along as his assistant. Just before we commenced our journey, the Saxons of Mercia attacked and burned Benchoer and slaughtered nearly a thousand of our brethren there. I was not present at the time, thanks be to God, for I had gone to consult with the bishop of Dewi Sant in Menevia about matters that needed to be raised at this council. We heard that Drostó and a few survivors had fled into the forests and were being pursued by the Saxons. Then we had a message from Drostó himself, saying that he could not desert his people at such a time. So it was agreed that I should come here as representative because this council was too important to ignore. The proposals being debated here might greatly affect our churches and abbeys.’

  He paused. Eadulf was looking uncomfortable.

  Fidelma regarded Abbot Cadfan in sympathy.

  ‘Over a thousand of your brethren killed, you say?’

  ‘Of religious brothers and sisters,’ confirmed Cadfan. ‘It was an unprovoked attack by the Saxons.’

  ‘The ambition of Wulfhere to rule over all the Saxon kingdoms is well known,’ Eadulf observed slowly. ‘He also claims to be Bretwalda, that is lord over the Britons. He persuaded the authority of the archbishop at Canterbury to recognise that title. His alliances and conquests now hem in my own people, those of the kingdoms of the East Angles. He controls the kingdom of the East Saxons and also the kingdom of Lindsey to the north of us.’

  ‘You’ll forgive me if I am more concerned with my own people,’ Abbot Cadfan replied dryly. ‘It is Wulfhere’s attempts to destroy us that are on my mind. I asked Ordgar, as a man of Christ, representing the new bishop sent by Rome to administer to the Saxon kingdoms, if he would join me in condemning this sacrilege and unprovoked attack on a religious house. The man laughed in my face and said he rejoiced to hear of the success of Wulfhere’s exploits.’

  Eadulf dropped his gaze to the floor and was now clearly embarrassed.

  ‘There has been continual warfare between your people and mine,’ he offered, feeling he should make some comment.

  Abbot Cadfan’s expression was controlled. ‘Why is that, Brother Eadulf? Did we invade your lands or did you invade our lands? Surely, you are too intelligent to blindly side with your people when they are in the wrong?’

  ‘So,’ interrupted Fidelma hastily, ‘Bishop Ordgar refused to condemn the destruction of Benchoer. What happened then?’

  ‘We went into the council and before I had a chance to raise the matter, Ordgar began to insult me; this led to an argument and the council was adjourned. As we were leaving, Ordgar insulted me once again. Alas, it is my great fault that I am cursed with a quick temper. Losing it, I struck Ordgar and he struck back-and the next thing I knew, we were wrestling on the floor. It was unforgivable and undignified. Then the brethren were pulling us apart.’

  ‘When was this?’ asked Fidelma. ‘I mean, when was it in relationship to the events in Ordgar’s chamber?’

  ‘It was the very same afternoon.’

  ‘So tell me what happened after you and Ordgar were forcibly split up?’

  ‘I decided to avoid him and went with one of the Gaulish brethren to see that ancient Roman theatre which is not far from this abbey. It is an amazing place and-’

  ‘We have seen Roman theatres,’ Eadulf pointed out, observing the enthusiasm in the man’s eyes and wishing to keep to the matter in hand.

  ‘Not an amphitheatre like this, that seats fifteen hundred people. It is-’

  ‘Did anything of relevance happen at the theatre?’ interrupted Fidelma quickly. ‘Is this why you mention it?’

  ‘No.’ Realising that he should stick to the important facts, the abbot went on, ‘We returned here for evening prayers. I saw Ordgar in the chapel but again, avoided him, then came here to my chamber and retired for the night. I was awoken by a tapping on the door. I called out, but there was no answer. It was still dark but I felt it was not long before dawn. I lit a candle, but when I went to the door, the corridor was empty. However, there was a note on the threshold. A scrap of parchment.’

  ‘What was on it?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘It bore the name of Ordgar and said that he was at great fault and wished to see me at once. That he would be waiting in his chamber for me.’

  ‘We were told that you no longer have this note,’ Fidelma said.

  ‘I had it on me when I went to Ordgar’s chamber, but when I recovered consciousness it was gone,’ explained Abbot Cadfan.

  ‘I see. It said nothing else?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Did you not think it was strange-to receive such a note at such an hour?’

  Abbot Cadfan glanced at him with a frown. ‘In what way strange?’

  ‘That Bishop Ordgar, after the encounters you had had with him, should suddenly send you an apology and invitation at such an hour?’

  The Briton shrugged. ‘Paul encountered a blinding light on the road to Damascus,’ he replied. ‘Why not Ordgar in the middle of the night?’

  ‘I doubt whether even Paul had the disposition of Ordgar,’ observed Fidelma softly.

  Abbot Cadfan thought for a while and then said: ‘When I consider it in hindsight, then perhaps it was strange. I suppose that I was concerned with letting Christendom know of the crime at Benchoer. So I went eagerly to his chamber. I thought he had truly changed his mind. And now the note has vanished, which makes me appear a storyteller.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I tapped on the door and it swung open so I went inside. It was dark and I called out. Then there was a split second of pain. I think I knew that I had been struck from behind. The next thing, I was back here on my own bed. Someone had bandaged my head, which was painful and bloodied.’ He raised a hand to his head. ‘There is no bandage now, but you may still see the scar and the faint bruise that still exists.’

  ‘Were you told of what had happened?’

  ‘I was told that Abbot Dabhóc was dead, that I had been found unconscious and that Ordgar was claiming that he had been drugged. I was also told that the physician Brother Gebicca had brought me back to my chamber and tended me. Then the next day, Bishop Leodegar informed me that Ordgar was accusing me of contriving this murder in order to put the blame on him. It therefore seemed obvious to me who the culprit was. I say it was Ordgar who was waiting behind the door to strike me down as I entered.’

  Fidelma was puzzled and said so.

  ‘I do not follow your logic here, Abbot Cadfan. How do you reach this conclusion?’

  ‘Easy enough. I met Abbot Dabhóc at the council. Why would I kill him? He was sympathetic to me, and the people of Iwerddon, as we call your country, share many of our rites and rituals. Whereas Saxons do not. I had no reason to argue with Abbot Dabhóc. The accusation Ordgar levels at me is fals
e. He disliked Abbot Dabhóc as much as he disliked me. I say that Ordgar arranged the whole thing to put the blame on me. It is as simple as that.’

  There was silence for a moment. Then Abbot Cadfan regarded Eadulf as if a sudden thought had occurred to him.

  ‘Didn’t I hear that you, Brother Eadulf, went to one of those schools for physicians that are renowned in Iwerddon?’

  ‘I went to Tuam Brecain,’ Eadulf acknowledged.

  ‘Excellent. Now, please, examine my head. Look at the wound on my scalp and the bruises.’

  Eadulf rose and went to examine the abbot’s head.

  ‘I can see a jagged cut running from a line just above the left ear,’ he reported. ‘It is healing well but was fairly deep, I would say. There is still bruising all around. I would guess that it was inflicted by a blunt instrument.’

  Abbot Cadfan gave him an approving look.

  ‘You have a discerning eye, Brother Eadulf. I will not argue with your finding. So tell me, how did I, having drugged Ordgar and killed Abbot Dabhóc, then inflict this wound on myself? A wound on the back of my head that knocked me unconscious for many hours.’

  ‘It would be difficult,’ Eadulf conceded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ‘But perhaps Dabhóc inflicted the blow just as you killed him, or else you had an accomplice?’

  ‘You disappoint me,’ Abbot Cadfan replied, still cheerful, ‘I would say it was impossible to exert that much power with the one hand I would have had free to use. Can you imagine me picking up a piece of wood and attempting to strike myself on the back of the head?’ He laughed. ‘As for Dabhóc inflicting the blow, that is out of the question. Don’t take my word for it-ask Brother Gebicca. And once struck, I would be incapable of summoning enough strength to kill him. As for an accomplice-who would be my accomplice?’

  ‘Has the physician, Brother Gebicca, remarked on this matter?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘I pointed out the facts to him and he conceded the logic. It is a matter that I shall maintain in my defence,’ replied Abbot Cadfan firmly.

  ‘Defence?’ Fidelma repeated the word with mild reproach. ‘No one has been formally accused as yet.’

  ‘It will happen, I am sure of it,’ Abbot Cadfan sighed. ‘Bishop Leodegar is a Frank. Aren’t they first cousins of the Saxons? The language is similar. I believe that he has already made up his mind what course to take and that does not involve causing upset to the Saxons or to Rome. Isn’t Ordgar the emissary of Theodore of Canterbury, sent to minister to the Saxon kingdoms by none other than Pope Vitalian in Rome? I cannot see Bishop Leodegar upsetting such powerful authorities. He will sacrifice me, there is no doubt.’

  ‘Bishop Leodegar is going to abide by the truth,’ Fidelma assured Cadfan. ‘That is why we have been commissioned to investigate this matter.’

  Abbot Cadfan suddenly burst out laughing.

  ‘Forgive me, forgive me, Sister Fidelma,’ he said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. ‘I mean no insult. But Leodegar will do what is best for Leodegar and his Frankish Church. He will not censure the likes of Ordgar for fear of displeasing Rome. What does he care for the plight of us Britons?’

  ‘I trust you are wrong, Abbot Cadfan, for truth must prevail in the end,’ observed Fidelma, rising and moving to the door.

  ‘Truth can prevail-but let us hope that it does so while I still live,’ replied Abbot Cadfan. ‘Keep me informed of your search for it.’

  Fidelma paused at the door. Her face was serious.

  ‘Truth will prevail, Abbot Cadfan. I will see to it.’

  Chapter Six

  ‘Well, one of them must be lying as there seems no common ground,’ Eadulf remarked after they had left Abbot Cadfan. ‘Their stories are totally at odds with one another.’

  ‘On the contrary, the facts of the story are the same,’ Fidelma argued. ‘Neither one is disputing the facts, only who is responsible.’

  ‘One says he was drugged. The other says he was asked to go to Ordgar’s chamber and then hit on the head. They can’t both be telling the truth.’

  ‘Perhaps they can,’ Fidelma said quietly.

  Eadulf shook his head. ‘In the end it will be a matter of who we are to believe-Ordgar or Cadfan. It is like throwing up a coin and choosing which side it falls in order to make a decision.’

  ‘Truth is never found through a game of chance. Our resolution must be based on other factors.’

  ‘But what other factors are there?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘All I see is two people making two different claims.’

  ‘We have scarce begun to investigate.’

  ‘You think the physician, Brother Gebicca, might have something to say? We could go to see him now.’

  A bell started to ring.

  ‘I think that means it is time for the midday meal,’ Fidelma said. ‘Afterwards, let us find the apothecary of Brother Gebicca and see what he has to tell us.’

  They made their way downstairs and saw an orderly line of brethren, hands folded before them, heads bowed, waiting to file through the doors into the refectory. The men cast surreptitious glances at Fidelma as she and Eadulf joined the line. At that moment, Abbot Ségdae appeared.

  ‘Ah, Fidelma, I hoped to find you. You and Eadulf are to eat with us at the table reserved for the delegates from the five kingdoms.’

  ‘We were just wondering about it,’ she said with some relief as the abbot guided them past the line and into the refectory.

  ‘You can tell me how much progress you are making over the meal,’ the abbot said, as he led the way through the great refectory hall past the long benches and tables at which the brethren were gathering. Half-a-dozen religieux were already seated at the table to which he showed them. Abbot Ségdae called their names one by one in introduction. The names flowed over Eadulf’s head but he understood they represented the leading clerics of all five kingdoms. It was obvious that Abbot Ségdae was regarded as the senior ecclesiastic among them.

  A single bell rang and everyone in the refectory rose. At that moment, Bishop Leodegar entered with Brother Chilperic at his side and joined those at the table at the far end of the hall. Everyone had remained standing as the bishop took his place and spread his arms.

  ‘Gloria in excelesis Deo et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis,’ he intoned.

  ‘Laudamus te,’ mumbled the gathered brethren.

  ‘Benedicimus te, Gratias agimus te…’ the bishop continued with the Latin ritual.

  After the gratias and blessing they could thankfully sit and break bread and partake of cold meats and cooked vegetables.

  ‘So, have you seen all those you wished to see?’ asked Abbot Ségdae brightly, as he passed a plate of meat to Fidelma.

  ‘We have only spoken with Ordgar, Cadfan and Sigeric,’ she replied.

  ‘And have you reached any conclusions?’

  ‘You know my methods, Ségdae,’ she said. ‘We have not spoken as yet to everyone that we need to question.’

  The abbot did not look happy. ‘It would be good if we could clear up this matter quickly.’

  ‘Yes, it would be good. However, we are not possessed of second sight and can only do our best in finding out the culprit.’

  The abbot concentrated on helping himself to some vegetables.

  ‘Bishop Leodegar keeps reminding me that King Clotaire himself is expected in a few days,’ he said.

  ‘Someone mentioned that Leodegar was raised at Clotaire’s court,’ observed Fidelma absently. She had noticed that a young man seated at the end of the table kept looking at her, but when he saw her gaze upon him he dropped his eyes and pretended to concentrate on the plate before him. She tried to remember the name by which Ségdae had introduced him. A northerner? Ah, Brother Gillucán was the name.

  ‘Clotaire is a young man,’ the abbot was explaining. ‘He is the third to bear his name as King, so I am told. So Leodegar must have been raised by one of his forebears. This Clotaire is only seventeen years old; he was ten years old when he succeeded his father, Clovis
, to the throne.’

  She turned in surprise. ‘Ten years old? That is surely below the age of inheritance?’

  ‘It is the custom here. The eldest son succeeds the father, and if he is under age there is a guardian appointed to govern in his place.’

  ‘A curious and unstable method of governing,’ she commented.

  ‘Clotaire should be here shortly to officially sanction the council’s findings and recommendations. The papal envoy is already here. He is seated next to Leodegar. Can you see him?’

  Fidelma glanced over her shoulder but there were too many of the brethren in the way to see the man’s features.

  ‘So?’ she asked, holding her cup out for Eadulf to pour some of the cool water from the jug that stood on the table.

  ‘Leodegar takes every opportunity to inform me that the council cannot make progress unless this matter is cleared up,’ sighed Ségdae. ‘If it has not been resolved by the time Clotaire arrives, then how can the King make his public support for the decisions of the council?’

  Fidelma turned to the abbot. ‘I suspect Leodegar has already decided what decisions the council should make, especially when the council has been set up by Rome which does not like our rites and practices. Let us hope he has not also decided who is guilty of the murder.’

  ‘You are discerning as always, Fidelma,’ the abbot remarked. ‘If the Bishop of Rome instructs a council to make a decision and indicates what decision he wants made, then I would say that it is a foregone conclusion. I do not like it, but I fear we are here simply to give authenticity to a decision already reached in Rome.’

  Fidelma returned his gaze levelly. ‘If I thought that, and I had the authority to give my vote in the council, I would not give that authority. I would not even attend.’

  ‘Exactly so. We are invited here merely to register our protest when the decision is announced,’ said the abbot glumly. ‘You may have noticed that we who follow the church of Ailbe, Patrick and Colmcille are in a minority.’