brehon of Muman, that had caused the mistake that had almost convinced everyone at Cashel that Eadulf was to blame for the old bishop’s death. The discovery of the truth had led to Dathal’s enforced retirement from office and the appointment of Baithen as brehon in his place.
‘We have weathered these objections before and doubtless will do so again,’ observed Fidelma.
Abbot Ségdae sighed, and not for the first time during the conversation. ‘Nevertheless, it is upsetting that Abbot Ultán arrives on the eve of your wedding to seize the opportunity to voice his arguments before the assembled kings of Éireann. It is obviously done deliberately because the opportunity to address such an audience at one time comes infrequently.’
‘A pity that this agitator did not meet with some accident on his journey here,’ muttered Colgú darkly. Then, seeing the look of disapproval from his legal and spiritual advisers, he shrugged apologetically.
‘He has no authority,’ agreed Brehon Baithen. ‘Neither in the law of this land nor, so far as I know them, in the rules of the Faith. Not even Rome enforces celibacy among its religious.’
‘Exactly,’ Fidelma agreed emphatically. ‘If we can ignore Ultán’s prejudice then surely our guests can?’
Colgú glanced at Caol. ‘And our guests have all arrived and are secure in their accommodations?’
The young warrior took a step forward.
‘As you know, Sechnassach, the High King, and his retinue were the last to arrive, at midday,’ he replied. ‘Before him, there arrived Fianamail of Laigin, Blathmac of Ulaidh, and the king of Connacht, Muirchertach Nár. They, with their ladies, and their
‘I see Muirchertach Nár of Connacht is accompanied by Abbot Augaire of Conga.’ Abbot Ségdae smiled grimly. ‘Caol tells me that Abbot Augaire has already engaged in an angry discourse with Abbot Ultán.’
Colgú looked surprised and troubled. ‘Arguments already? About his protest over Fidelma? Caol, what happened?’
‘Not exactly an argument over anything, so far as I witnessed. It seemed that there was an underlying tension. Abbot Augaire’s words were spoken in a civil tone though they were bitter. He did call Ultán an arrogant messenger from an arrogant bishop. But no voice was raised, no specific argument made. It seemed that they had met in the past and that there was still bitterness between them.’
Abbot Ségdae’s features were sorrowful. ‘I presume that the tension arises from the same argument that he had with me at Imleach. It is the claim of Ard Macha to be the primatial seat of the Faith in all the five kingdoms. Abbot Augaire of Conga is one of the many abbots and bishops who reject that claim.’
The king turned his worried gaze towards his brehon. ‘Is there any way that we can exclude Abbot Ultán from the ceremony tomorrow? I fear that there are enough problems without Ultán making public protests.’
Brehon Baithen exchanged a quick glance with the Abbot Ségdae.
‘There is no legal excuse,’ he said. ‘He is entitled to stand up and voice his objections to the marriage. We all acknowledge that he is, after all, the emissary from Ard Macha, which is very influential. Any discourtesy to Abbot Ultán may be interpreted as an insult to Blathmac, the king of Ulaidh, in whose kingdom Ard Macha is the chief religious house.’
Colgú drummed his fingers for a moment on the arm of his chair.
‘This was to have been an occasion of unity and serenity,’ he said, half to himself. ‘Kings and nobles and many of distinction have all come as our guests to witness this ceremony. Even the Uí Fidgente. That alone is a great tribute to my sister’s diplomacy in attempting to heal the wounds created at the battle of Cnoc Áine. That dissension sown by a firebrand prelate from outside this kingdom should now threaten the day. .’ He ended with a helpless shake of his head.
There was a pause before Brehon Baithen cleared his throat.
‘I have a suggestion.’
They turned to him expectantly. The brehon grimaced as if a little undecided whether to continue.
‘The objection of this Abbot Ultán is based solely on the fact that the lady Fidelma took vows to serve the Faith. Is that not so?’
‘Obviously so,’ agreed Abbot Ségdae. ‘And, as we continually point out, not even Rome lays strictures on the marriage of the religious. The idea that all who serve the Faith must remain celibate is only argued by a particular school of philosophers.’
‘It would end all argument if the lady Fidelma simply withdrew from those vows. You, Ségdae, as senior abbot and bishop of the kingdom, could pronounce on it. After all, since she left Cill Dara, Fidelma has not served in any religious house. There is no need for it. She follows her primary calling as an advocate of our laws.’
Fidelma leaned forward slightly from her chair. Her voice was sharp.
‘That would be admitting the validity of Ultán’s protests — that religious should not get married,’ she pointed out. ‘It is true that I only joined the house at Cill Dara at the suggestion of my cousin, Abbot Laisran. I have never been a religieuse in the strict sense. But, having said that, I will not withdraw when there is no need. When there is no rule that would force me to do so, why should I? No,’ she continued decisively, ‘since Abbot Ultán is determined to make an issue of this matter by interrupting the ceremony in the chapel, I think we should face his arguments rather than seek to avoid them.’
Abbot Ségdae was puzzled. ‘If you would attempt to debate with Abbot Ultán in the middle of a marriage ceremony. . why, that would be most unseemly. And I must point out that no mean scholar advises him. I mean his hawk-faced companion, Brother Drón. Ultán’s fault is that he tends to bombast when his arguments are blocked by counter-arguments.’
‘Such a debate must not take place in the middle of the marriage ceremony.’ Colgú’s voice was determined. ‘I forbid it.’
Brehon Baithen rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Even if we could debate this matter in private, I doubt that any conclusion arrived at would prevent Ultán from standing up during the ceremony and voicing his objections again in public. You cannot forbid his protest.’
Colgú turned in resignation to Abbot Ségdae. ‘You tell us that this Abbot Ultán is advised by Brother Drón who is no mean scholar. Can you inform us what scholarship he can use to argue his case against my sister’s marriage tomorrow?’
‘None that cannot be countered,’ replied the abbot with firmness. ‘As has been said many times, this matter of celibacy among those who serve the Faith is merely a matter of opinion. At the time when our Lord walked upon this earth, his apostles, such as Peter the Rock, on which it was said that the entire church was founded, were married men. All the religions that I have ever heard of contain aesthetes who believe that celibacy, among both male and female, somehow bring them closer to their gods. Our Christian aesthetes had their first victory three centuries ago at a council in Iberia, at a place called Elvira. That council agreed that a priest who slept with his wife the night before Mass could not perform the sacrament. A quarter of a century later, at Nicaea, it was decreed by the council that a priest should not marry after he had been ordained. Nevertheless fifty years later Siricius, the Bishop of Rome, who was married but deserted his wife, ordered that priests should no longer sleep with their wives — clearly demonstrating that they were still marrying.’
Fidelma gestured impatiently. ‘Most priests and other religious throughout all the kingdoms of the world still marry. I have heard that this inclination towards celibacy seems to be part of a movement emanating from those who seek to denigrate the role of women in the world. We all know that at the Council of Laodicea, three centuries ago, it was agreed that women must no longer be ordained priests. Today there are few women priests to be found.’
Abbot Ségdae nodded. ‘And it cannot be denied that for the last hundred years the bishops of Rome, who have been accepted by many as the premier bishops of Christendom, have tended to side with those who seek to enforce celibacy. Sons of former bishops and priests no longer take the throne of the Blessed Peter.
