The Council of the Cursed

Chapter Two

‘There it is!’

Clodio, the elderly but muscular boatman, took one hand from the tiller and pointed to the left bank as the craft swung round the bend of the broad river, among trees and short limestone reaches. The two religious seated in the well of the craft turned in their seats towards him and then followed his outstretched arm towards the embankment.

‘Is that Nebirnum?’ asked the female religieuse. Her robes identified her as being from the land of Hibernia. She was tall, well proportioned and her eyes were bright, though Clodio the boatman had difficulty discerning whether they were blue or green. They seemed to change with her moods. Rebellious strands of red hair escaped from her caille, or headdress. Not for the first time Clodio reflected that she was attractive. When she conversed with her companion, a Saxon religieux about the same age, a thickset man with dark brown eyes and hair, Clodio had been surprised at the easy intimacy of their relationship. Their names were Fidelma and Eadulf, and it was not long before the boatman realised that they were also man and wife, for he had overheard them speaking of a child they had left behind to come on this journey.

Fidelma was gazing up at the high sloping hill on which the buildings straggled around an imposing structure that proclaimed, by its very features, that it was an abbey of some importance. The boatman nodded. His Latin, the only language that they had in common, was fairly poor but understandable.

‘That is the abbey of Nebirnum,’ Clodio confirmed. ‘There you may acquire horses for the last part of your journey.’

Eadulf, sitting beside Fidelma, winced slightly.

‘A horse ride?’ he asked in a painful tone. ‘How far is it then to Autun from this place?’

Clodio, who worked the boat with his two hardy sons, was regarding Eadulf’s lamentation with undisguised amusement.

‘From Nebirnum to the great city of Autun is but two to three days’ comfortable ride, no more. There is a good road due east.’

They had been in the riverboat for seven days. It seemed an eternity since they had landed at the Armorican port of Naoned and then commenced their journey upriver, along this majestic green waterway called the Liger. It was cramped in the small craft for, although they were the only passengers, the boatman was a trader along the river and transported bulky bales of materials and sometimes even live animals which had to be shipped from town to town along the banks of the winding thoroughfare. All the time, the craft been making its way against the flow of the river which rose, so they were told, over a thousand kilometres away in the mountains. Sometimes its flow was imperceptible and the boatman could even use a sail to progress; sometimes oars were necessary, long poles by which the craft was pushed. And, more often than not, mules were harnessed and pulled the boat, especially where the clear green water ran faster over the shallows through stretches of golden gravel that lined the banks. Fidelma had been duly impressed with the knowledge and skill in which the journey, first east and then south, along the broad waterway, had been conducted by Clodio and his sons. The craft was always on the move, in spite of the mighty strength of the river which occasionally ran around islands in the centre of the water, places of wild desolation. One lasting memory was of the women washing clothes along the banks, sometimes appearing in groups and sometimes as solitary figures, beating the wet clothing on rocks.

Now Fidelma sighed, but not at the prospect of exchanging the comfort of the boat for the saddle of a horse for she was a good horsewoman and had been at ease on a horse almost before she could walk.

‘Where would we find horses? Horses cost money,’ she pointed out.

‘Is there anything in this world that is free?’ Clodio replied philosophically. ‘Ah, but wandering religious expect all things to be given freely to them, in exchange for a muttered blessing. It would be an ideal life if all were so simple, my friends, but I have a wife and sons to keep.’

Fidelma frowned at the implication that he feared they might not pay for the journey.

‘Boatman,’ she said sternly, ‘did we not negotiate a fee for you to bring us from the port of Naoned to this place? Was it not a fair fee? If so, as we approach this place, now is the time for the fee to be paid.’

‘I did not mean…’ Clodio began, abashed, but Fidelma had already reached into her marsupium and counted out the coins that she thrust towards him.

‘Remember, boatman, that a wandering religious may not always be a beggar; she said stiffly.

Eadulf looked nervously at his companion and hoped that she would not boast of her relationship to the Kings of Muman.

‘Redime te captium quam minimo,’ he muttered, using the ancient Latin prescription for soldiers who were captured: if taken prisoner, pay as little as possible to buy your freedom. In other words, make sure you give the enemy as little information as you can. If Clodio thought that they were rich, greed might entice him to consider holding them for ransom. Eadulf had heard plenty of stories of pilgrims travelling in distant lands who were captured and held for ransom and sometimes never heard of again.

Fidelma gave him a look of understanding before turning back to the boatman.

‘We promised to pay you and, even though it makes the rest of our journey difficult, for we cannot afford horses, we will do so,’ she said quietly.

Clodio, who had not understood the Latin saying, merely nodded as his hands closed over the coins and dropped them into the leather purse at his belt.

‘Bishop Arigius, at the abbey, will take care of you,’ he told them. ‘He is a man of good reputation.’

Turning to his two sons, he ordered them to take out the oars while he cried a warning and jerked on a rope to lower the single sail of the craft. Then he moved quickly back to the tiller and, with dextrous smoothness, drew the craft alongside one of the several wooden piers that jutted into the river at this point. In a few moments they were tied up and the sons of the boatmen helped first Fidelma and Eadulf ashore.

Clodio nodded to them both. ‘Good luck on your travels, my friends,’ he said. ‘Follow that road up to the town and it will bring you to the doors of the abbey. Remember, it is the Bishop Arigius whom you wish to see.’

They said farewell to the man and his sons who now began to offload their goods. Merchants and onlookers were already moving down to the pier to examine what cargo they had brought as Fidelma and Eadulf set off up the road towards the main town. Eadulf had felt the heat of the early summer sun while he was in the boat but now on land it struck on his face and shoulders with a force that caused sweat to form on his brow.

‘I swear, Fidelma,’ began Eadulf, but his sandal struck a stone that stood prouder than the rest and caused him to trip, almost sending him headlong. He just recovered himself at the last moment with a muttered oath. ‘I swear, Fidelma, that I am sick of travelling.’

Fidelma glanced at him without humour. ‘Do you think I am not?’ she said shortly. ‘Since the birth of little Alchú, how much time have I spent with our son? Too little, that is for certain. When we returned from Tara a few months ago, I fully expected that we would be able to remain at Cashel for…well, for the foreseeable future.’

‘We could have refused this journey,’ Eadulf pointed out.

‘Duty must come first,’ Fidelma replied in a heavy tone. ‘If my brother, the King, requests me to come here as aide and adviser to his bishop, Ségdae of Imleach, then this is where I must come. But you were not obliged to accompany me.’

‘My place is wherever you are,’ replied Eadulf simply.

Fidelma laid a free hand on his arm. ‘I make no demands on you, Eadulf,’ she said softly.

‘Did you not say that duty must come first?’ he replied with a raised eyebrow. ‘And what greater duty is there than the moral code of the bonds that are between us? So do not question where my duty lies. It is just that I cannot see why some council of church leaders held in Gaul…’

‘The Gauls are almost gone now,’ corrected Fidelma. ‘The Franks have overrun and settled this territory and call these lands the kingdoms of Austrasia and Neustria. Two brothers rule them, I am told.’

‘Wherever we are,’ Eadulf went on, ‘I still cannot see why some council of church leaders in this remote spot has any influence on the five kingdoms of Éireann, or even on the Britons or Saxon kingdoms.’

‘Perhaps not now but someday hence the influence of the decisions made here might be felt. That is why, when Vitalian, the Bishop of Rome, called representatives of the western churches to this place, Bishop Ségdae had to attend. You know that the practices we follow in Éireann are under threat from the new ideas springing up in Rome which are alien to our laws and to our way of life.’

‘But Autun is such a long way from Cashel!’

‘Thoughts and ideas travel faster than a man,’ replied Fidelma firmly.

Eadulf sighed and shifted the weight of the bag that he carried on his shoulder. He cast an envious glance at Fidelma’s light linen robes and wished he had something more cooling than the brown woollen homespun he wore as a Brother of the Faith.

But they were moving on easier ground now among the buildings, and the gates of the abbey were within easy access. There were plenty of people about but no one paid them much interest. It was clear that Nebirnum was a busy trading town filled with strangers, and many wagons loaded with goods were moving here and there.

At the gates of the abbey they encountered a Brother who seemed more of a sentinel than a welcoming religieux.

‘Pax tecum,’ Fidelma greeted the dark, sun-tanned man.

‘Pax vobiscum,’ replied the man indifferently.

‘We have come from the distant land of Hibernia. We are on our way to the Council at Autun and were told that Bishop Arigius might facilitate our journey there.’

The man pointed through the gates. ‘You may enquire for the bishop inside,’ he said carelessly, and turned to continue to gaze at the passers-by.

‘Not exactly an enthusiastic greeting for us peregrinatio pro Christo,’ Eadulf muttered wryly.

Fidelma did not reply. A youthful religieux was passing through the quadrangle in which they found themselves, and she hailed him.

‘Where can we find Bishop Arigius?’ she asked.

The young man stopped and frowned. ‘I am his steward. You are strangers in this place.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

‘We are on our way to Autun to attend the council there. We are from the land of Hibernia.’

The young man’s eyes seemed to widen slightly at the latter statement. Then he said: ‘Follow me.’

He led them to a door in a corner of the quadrangle, which gave entrance into a square tower that seemed to be opposite to what was obviously a chapel. They followed him up the dark, oak stairs to a door of similar hue. Here the young steward turned to them and asked them to wait. He knocked upon the door and, without pausing for an answer, opened it and passed inside, closing it behind him. They could hear the mumble of voices and then the door re-opened and the young man beckoned them inside.

Bishop Arigius was a tall thin man with sharp features, piercing dark eyes and thin red lips. His hair was sparse and silver grey. He had risen from a chair and crossed the room to greet them, a smile of welcome revealing yellowing teeth.

‘Pax vobiscum.’ He intoned the greeting solemnly. ‘My steward tells me that you are bound for Autun, to the council, and that you come from the land of Hibernia?’

‘He tells you no lie,’ replied Eadulf, shifting the weight of his bag on his shoulder.

The motion was not lost on the bishop.

‘Then come and be seated, put down your bags and join me in refreshment. A glass of white wine cooled in our cellars…?’ He nodded to the steward who hurried away to obtain the beverage.

‘I am Bishop Arigius, the second of that name to hold office here in this ancient abbey.’

‘An impressive building and an impressive town, from the little I have seen,’ Eadulf replied politely after they had introduced themselves.

Bishop Arigius gave a smile of pride.

‘Indeed. When the great Julius Caesar marched the Roman legions into this land, he chose this spot as a military depot for his legions. The Aedui, the Gauls who lived here, had a hill fort on this very spot, which Caesar refortified; hence the name of this place, which was Noviodunum-novus, the Latin for new, and dunum, the Gaulish word for a fort. So it was “new fort” and since then, changing accents have brought about its current name. It was one of the earliest places in which the Faith was established in this land, and for a while it became known as Gallia Christiana. The bishops here were renowned.’

‘You have great knowledge of this town,’ Fidelma said solemnly.

‘Scientia est potentia,’ smiled the bishop.

‘Knowledge is power,’ repeated Fidelma softly. It was a philosophy she had often expounded.

The young steward returned with a jug and beakers, which he filled with a golden-coloured wine. It was cold and refreshing.

‘We make it from our own vineyards,’ explained the young man in answer to their expressions of praise.

‘Now,’ Bishop Arigius said briskly, ‘I presume that you have heard the news from Autun?’

Fidelma exchanged a puzzled look with Eadulf. ‘The news?’ she repeated.

‘We only heard it ourselves yesterday afternoon.’ The bishop looked from one to another expectantly as if all was explained.

‘We are still at a loss,’ Fidelma said. ‘What news from Autun?’

Bishop Arigius sighed and sat back. ‘Forgive me. Foolishly, my steward thought you might have been on your way to Autun because of the news.’

Fidelma tried to be patient. ‘We have been travelling along the river for many days. We have heard no news for all that time.’

‘One of the abbots from your land of Hibernia was murdered there.’

Fidelma was shocked.

Eadulf immediately asked: ‘Do you know the name of this abbot? It was not Abbot Ségdae?’

Bishop Arigius shook his head. ‘I know only that he was of your land.’

‘What else can you tell us of what has happened?’ Eadulf pressed.

‘Nothing beyond that simple fact,’ replied the bishop promptly. ‘A passing merchant brought us the news yesterday.’

‘No name was mentioned?’ queried Fidelma.

‘No name was mentioned,’ affirmed the bishop.

There was a silence. Then Fidelma said: ‘It is imperative that we should continue on to Autun as soon as possible. But the boatman who brought us hither said that it is a two-or three-day journey by horse from here.’

Bishop Arigius glanced out of the window. ‘It is no use continuing on now, for the best part of the day is gone,’ he declared. ‘Stay and feast with us this evening and continue in the morning.’

Fidelma smiled sadly. ‘Alas, we have no horses, and…’

The bishop waved his hand deprecatingly.

‘One of our brethren leaves tomorrow at dawn with a wagon carrying goods destined for the brethren in Autun. You may ride on that and welcome. The road is good, especially at this time of year, being dry and hard, and it will take no more than four days to reach the town.’

‘We accept,’ Eadulf said hastily. The prospect of racing along strange roads on an equally strange steed had not been a pleasant one. Being seated comfortably on a wagon was a much better prospect.

‘Excellent.’ Bishop Arigius stood and they followed his example. ‘My steward will show you to our hospitia, our guests’ quarters, where you may rest and refresh yourselves. We gather shortly in the refectory; my steward will guide you there. The bell will toll for the services in the chapel. We rise at the tolling of the bell, just before dawn. I will instruct our brother to await you in the quadrangle to commence your journey tomorrow.’

‘And the name of this brother?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Brother Budnouen. He is a Gaul.’

Brother Budnouen was rotund, with a podgy red face seemingly lacking a neck, for folds of flesh seemed to flop straight down on to his chest. Middle aged, short in stature and tanned, he had pale eyes, almost sea-green, and long brown hair, which they immediately saw was cut in the manner of the tonsure of St John rather than in the corona spina favoured by Rome. In spite of his heavy breathing, caused by his girth and weight, the brother’s forearms seemed quite muscular from hard work, and his hands were callused. They later learned that this was due to his being a wagonman; the leather reins caused the hardening of the skin on the palms. It came as no surprise when he told them that he had spent his youth as a seaman, sailing along the ports of Armorica to Britain and Hibernia, whose languages he spoke with great fluency. He was an excellent companion; his eyes had a twinkle, his face a ready smile and his attitude was to look for the best that life had to offer. In fact, he was a very loquacious fellow and the moment they left the abbey at Nebirnum, Brother Budnouen kept up a steady commentary as he guided the wagon, pulled by four powerful mules, along the road which headed due east.

‘I am originally of the Aeudi,’ he told them. ‘This was once Aeudi country, but then many years ago, the Burgunds came and drove us out. Some of us fled to Armorica. Some, like me, stayed to make the best of things. Now the Burgunds, in their turn, are made vassals by the Franks who call this land Austrasia.’

‘The Aeudi were Gauls?’ queried Eadulf, who was always determined to add to his knowledge. He and Fidelma were seated beside Brother Budnouen on the driving seat of the wagon as their guide and driver expertly directed the team of mules by a flick of the long leather reins now and again.

Brother Budnouen laughed pleasantly and there was pride in his voice.

‘They were indeed the Gauls, my friend. I am descended from the great Vercingetorix-king of the world-who nearly destroyed Caesar and the Romans until he was forced to surrender in order to save the lives of the women and children that Caesar would have sacrificed by the thousands to ensure his victory. Caesar was so scared of that great man that he had him taken in chains to Rome, kept for years in a dungeon and then ritually strangled to celebrate his final victory.’

Eadulf pursed his lips. ‘War is not a pleasant thing.’

‘That was something the Romans found out. If they thought that the death of Vercingetorix would cowe us into submission, they were wrong. We rose many times against them but it seemed that when one legion was defeated, three more took its place. We were still fighting the Roman legions nearly a hundred years after Caesar departed. Eventually Gaul became a Roman province and peaceful, until a few more centuries when the Burgunds and Franks came flooding across the Rhine to destroy us.’

‘What do you know of this city of Autun?’ asked Fidelma, trying to change the conversation to the subject that was continuing to trouble her.

‘Autun?’ Brother Budnouen shrugged. ‘There was nothing there but a few huts until the Emperor Augustus designated it as the new central city of the Aeudi. He called it Augustodunum, the fort of Augustus-that’s where the Burgunds derived the name Autun. The Romans had made our own capital and fortress Bibracte uninhabitable as a punishment for Vercingetorix’s near-defeat of them. They created Augustodunum into a great Roman city to impress the Gauls.’

He paused to negotiate a difficult bend of the road.

‘The Faith reached the town very early. They say that it became an episcopal see in the time of the blessed Irenaeus, just over a century after the crucifixion of Our Lord. It is told that the son of Senator Faustus of Autun, a young man named Symphorian, converted to the Faith and destroyed a statue of the Roman goddess Cybele as a protest. He was arrested and flogged, but when he continued to refuse to deny the Faith he was beheaded in front of his mother, Augusta. They built the abbey over his grave, which was the ancient necropolis.’

Brother Budnouen chuckled and nudged Eadulf. ‘They say if you pray by the grave, you will get a cure for the pox!’ He paused, glanced in embarrassment at Fidelma and added: ‘Begging your pardon, Sister.’

‘I was trying to discover what the town is like today and why it was deemed the best place for this council,’ Fidelma replied coldly.

‘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 flowers 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?’

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!’