The Council of the Cursed

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.’

‘If Rome wants to go down that path, why follow them?’ Fidelma asked. ‘Those churches in the east have not done so.’

Abbot Ségdae was unhappy with her choice of words.

‘Careful, Fidelma, lest you be accused of uttering heresy,’ he warned. ‘Rome should still be our centre, for was it not the great apostle Peter who chose Rome as the place where the church of Christ would be founded? Did not Christ tell him that he was the person who would form His church?’

‘So why argue with Rome?’ interrupted Eadulf. ‘Why not accept their dictum and make life easier?’

Abbot Ségdae turned to him with a frown. ‘Rome is but an erring parent, Eadulf. We follow the original precepts of the Founding Fathers of the Faith, the rites and rituals, the dating of our celebrations. It was not we who changed, but Rome who started to alter her ways and follow other paths.’

‘Isn’t that exactly what the churches in the east claim? They say that the churches there follow the orthodox rites that Rome rejected.’

‘Their split was over politics, not theology.’

‘How so?’ demanded Eadulf.

‘The eastern churches split when the Roman Empire itself split; when the Emperor made his capital at Byzantium and called it after his own name Constantinople. The separation between Rome and Constantinople caused the two adherents of the Faith to move apart.’

Fidelma nodded in agreement. ‘Just as these new ideas of Rome are moving it apart from us in the west. Rome rejected the teachings of Pelagius, it expelled Arian and now it is at odds with monothelitism. One day this movement for segregation of the sexes and celibacy will probably be accepted as Rome’s teaching. Where will Rome’s constant revision of the Faith and its rites end? One day, we may find no connection at all with the original creed of the Founding Fathers of the Faith.’

‘I had no idea that you thought so deeply on such matters, Fidelma,’ the abbot said.

‘I do not wear my ideas on the sleeve of my robe, Ségdae,’ she replied softly. ‘But that is not to say that I do not have them. I believe the Faith is for the individual to accept or reject; it is not for someone else to tell them what they should believe or how to do so. My public concern is for the law; for truth and justice.’

Eadulf coughed nervously. Fidelma glanced up, realising that many of the brethren were now filing out of the hall.

‘You will forgive us now, Ségdae, for we must continue our task,’ she said, rising.

After they left the refectory, Eadulf whispered: ‘Is it wise to be so outspoken?’

‘Perhaps not,’ she replied. ‘Yet I cannot repress my thoughts entirely. It is not my nature.’

‘Of all the places in the world, I do not think this is the one for an open discussion on theology.’

She looked at him and then started to chuckle.

Eadulf was about to open his mouth to protest when she explained: ‘I do not laugh at you, Eadulf. It is the thought that this great abbey, with its council on the future of the Church, is not a place for a discussion on theology. If not here, then where?’

‘It can only be in a place where minds are free to receive ideas so that they can be discussed,’ Eadulf said grumpily. ‘Where minds are already made up, no discussion and exchange of ideas can thrive.’

Fidelma reached out to touch his arm. ‘Sometimes I forget how wise you can be, Eadulf,’ she smiled. ‘I will be more attentive as to how I express my thoughts in future. Now, let us find Brother Gebicca.’

Brother Gebicca was typical of all the physicians and apothecaries that Fidelma and Eadulf had ever known. He was elderly, but moved with a swift decisive energy as he bent his spare frame over the pestles and jars arrayed on his workbench in the malodorous rooms that he inhabited. He glanced up as they entered and his face registered surprise as he saw Fidelma followed by Eadulf.

‘You are a woman!’ he frowned.

‘You are very observant, Brother Gebicca,’ she replied with humour. ‘That is essential in an apothecary.’

The physician made a cutting motion with his hand.

‘This abbey has been forbidden to women,’ he said.

‘You were not at evening prayers in the chapel last night?’ she asked.

The apothecary was still irritable. ‘Why should I be? I have plenty to occupy my time and a dispensation from the bishop to concentrate on the health of the brethren. What are you doing here?’

‘Had you attended then you might have heard the bishop announce our presence and purpose here. We are investigating the death of Abbot Dabhóc.’

Brother Gebicca’s eyes narrowed slightly for a moment. Then his expression eased.

‘Ah. Brother Chilepric did say something about your coming.’ He rose from the stool before his workbench and went to splash his hands in a bowl of water before wiping them on a linen cloth.

‘Now, what is it that you want of me?’

‘To tell us what you know of the death of Abbot Dabhóc.’

Brother Gebicca glanced from Fidelma to Eadulf and back again, then gestured for them to follow him through a door that led out into the herb gardens behind the apothecary. There were a couple of low stone bench-like seats, where they sat. The area was bathed in the early afternoon summer sunshine, which was full of the different scents from the herbs and flowers in the garden. It was comforting, almost soporific to sit in the natural warmth after the cold interior of the abbey.

‘On the night of the killing of Abbot Dabhóc, we understand that you were summoned to Bishop Ordgar’s apartment by Brother Sigeric?’ Eadulf opened the questions.

‘Brother Sigeric was acting on the instructions of Bishop Leodegar who was already attending the scene,’ Brother Gebicca confirmed pedantically.

‘On reaching Ordgar’s chamber, who did you attend to first?’

‘I first confirmed that the Hibernian abbot, Dabhóc, was beyond help. That was easy enough. The back of his skull had been smashed in with a heavy force. Then I turned to the unconscious Briton, Abbot Cadfan. He, too, had been struck on the head but I saw that, although there was a cut and abrasion and the swelling had already started, he still lived. So then I moved on to Bishop Ordgar.’

‘And what did you find?’ encouraged Fidelma.

‘He was lying on his bed, semi-conscious. He was mumbling a great deal and incoherent. His breath smelled strongly of alcohol.’

‘You mean that he was drunk?’ asked Eadulf.

‘I believed so at first, but then I came to the conclusion that he had been drugged.’

‘Why was that?’

‘The state of the eyes, the tongue and lips. I have practised the healing arts for many years and know the difference between an over-indulgence in alcohol and the effects of certain herbs that can produce a similar stupor.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘I told Bishop Leodegar that he would get no sense from either Cadfan or Ordgar for a while. My estimation was that it would take at least a day for both men to recover sufficiently to explain what had happened. Bishop Leodegar, at my suggestion, had Abbot Cadfan carried back to his own chamber where I washed and dressed his wound, applying a poultice to defuse the swelling and heal the cut. Then I left someone to watch him. I was pleased with his progress; he is a strong man and has healed well.’

‘And Bishop Ordgar?’ asked Eadulf.

‘As for Ordgar, he was removed to another chamber-in the same corridor. He could not, of course, remain in his own chamber with the blood and the fact that someone had died violently there. Ordgar’s steward, Brother Benevolentia, was roused and we carried the bishop to the new chamber. I instructed his steward to remain with him for the rest of the night and try to get him to swallow as much water as was possible at regular intervals in order to flush the system.’

‘And the body of Abbot Dabhóc?’

‘The body was removed to the mortuary where I later prepared it for burial. There were no other wounds than the blow that had splintered his skull. Obviously, it was a blow that was delivered from behind and with considerable force.’

‘And what about Bishop Ordgar’s chamber?’ asked Fidelma.

The physician looked at her questioningly.

‘I am told that you cleaned it,’ she explained. ‘You also washed the cup in which it was thought the wine had been drugged. Is that so?’

‘Should I have left a cup of drugged wine standing there for anyone to take or contaminate their drink from?’ retorted Brother Gebicca with some irritation. ‘That would have been dangerous.’

Eadulf bent forward quickly. ‘There was still wine in the cup?’

‘It was half full.’

‘Then Bishop Ordgar had not entirely drained it?’

‘Had he done so, he might have been dead.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Fidelma in surprise.

Brother Gebicca looked pained. ‘I would not state anything that I know to be false. Of course I am sure.’

‘You did not keep nor analyse this wine?’

‘I ensured that it was disposed of, both the cup and the amphora. By chance it seemed that the amphora was empty anyway.’

‘So there is no evidence of what this wine was, nor how the drug came to be in the wine? I mean, whether the drug was put in the cup first or into the amphora.’

The physician made a negative gesture with one hand.

‘The fact that it was in the cup was cause enough for me to ensure no one else would drink from it and suffer illness or death,’ he replied.

‘We each have our tasks to fulfil, Brother Gebicca,’ replied Fidelma softly. ‘Your task is to save life but mine is to discover why life is lost.’

Eadulf had been thoughtful for a few moments and now he said: ‘Let me ask you a question, Brother Gebicca. It needs must be a hypothetical one. Would it have been possible for Bishop Ordgar to have killed Abbot Dabhóc, struck Abbot Cadfan and then take the poison himself, swallowing only a mouthful or so to give him the effects you saw but not enough to kill himself?’

Brother Gebicca considered. ‘Anything is possible, but Bishop Ordgar would have to be a man with fine judgement to know how much of that noxious brew to swallow in safety.’

‘But he could have done so?’ pressed Eadulf.

The physician spread his arms in a helpless gesture. ‘Yes, he could have done so. But as a physician, I would say it was most unlikely, unless he was practised in the ways of poison.’

‘When you were tending to both Abbot Cadfan and Bishop Ordgar, did you question them about what had taken place?’ Fidelma asked next.

‘In fact, both men, when returning to consciousness, asked me what had happened. They said that they had no memories of it.’

‘They claimed they recalled nothing?’

‘Bishop Ordgar said he remembered taking wine, as was his custom before retiring and falling asleep. Abbot Cadfan said he entered Bishop Ordgar’s chamber, having been summoned there in the middle of the night, and was struck from behind and knew nothing else. I would say that the suspicion is more strongly connected with Ordgar, were it not for the fact that Cadfan claimed he had received a note from Ordgar asking him to attend him. No such note was found.’

‘Let me ask you another question,’ said Eadulf. ‘Speaking as a medical man, could Cadfan’s injury have been self administered?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Then, what you are saying, in fact, is that suspicion rests equally on both men.’

The physician shrugged as Fidelma rose slowly from her seat.

‘I don’t suppose that you knew any of these three clerics before they arrived here at the abbey?’ she added as an afterthought.

‘Most of the learned bishops and abbots who are attending this council are strangers to this city. I have practised my arts only in Divio and here in Autun. I am under the impression that most of those attending the council are unknown to each other.’

‘Thank you for your time, Brother Gebicca,’ Fidelma said.

‘It is of little service, I’m afraid,’ the physician said, standing up and conducting them back through his apothecary to the door. ‘If I would venture an opinion, I would say that it comes down to which person you believe. Both of them cannot be telling the truth. A man is dead and there were only two others in the room. If the choice were mine, I would toss a coin.’