The Council of the Cursed

Brows drawn together, Bishop Ordgar had sprung to his feet, knocking his seat over backwards, one hand apparently searching for a non-existent sword at his side.

Abbot Cadfan sat back and gave another bark of laughter and glanced round at the serious-faced prelates at the table.

‘You see how the barbarian reacts? He would resort to primitive violence, if he had a weapon. He is not fit to call himself a man of peace, a representative of the Christ, and sit in discussion with those of civilised degree. He is just as savage as the rest of the petty chieftains of his people who, when they do not make war on us Britons, are at war with each other.’

A sudden noise interrupted the scene. A tall, swarthy-skinned man, seated beside Bishop Leodegar and wearing rich robes and a silver cross on a chain around his neck-which denoted he was of high rank among them-had risen to his feet and rapped loudly on the floor with a staff of office.

‘Tacet! Be silent!’ he thundered. ‘Brethren, you both forget yourselves. You are gathered in council under the eye of God and the bishop of this place. As the envoy from the Holy Father in Rome, I am ashamed to witness such an outburst among the chosen of the Faith.’

That the envoy of Rome, Nuntius Peregrinus, had felt forced to intervene was a rebuke to the lack of authority displayed by Bishop Leodegar in controlling the delegates to the council.

Bishop Leodegar now raised a hand and gestured to the envoy to reseat himself. Then he said firmly: ‘Brethren, you do, indeed, shame yourself before our distinguished envoy. This is a council of the senior abbots and bishops of the western churches, here to decide the fundamental ways of promoting our unity. It is true that this is supposed to be an informal opening, without the attendance of all our scribes and advisers, so that we could come to know one another before our main debates, but it is not a marketplace where we brethren can brawl and fight among ourselves.’

There was a muttering from the twenty or so men who were seated around the table.

Bishop Leodegar now turned to Bishop Ordgar.

‘Ordgar, you are here as the personal representative of Theodore, who has been newly appointed by our Holy Father Vitalian in Rome as Archbishop at Canterbury. Would Theodore truly utter the words that you have used to a prelate of the church of the Britons?’

Ordgar was about to respond when Bishop Leodegar’s stern look caused him to sink back in his chair with a sour expression.

‘Cadfan,’ continued Bishop Leodegar, ‘you have come here representing the churches of your people, the Britons. Do you truly represent your people when you preach war and the elimination of the kingdoms of the Angles and Saxons?’

Abbot Cadfan refused to accept this censure silently.

‘We did not ask the Angles and Saxons to invade our lands and seek our eradication,’ he snapped. ‘Is there a man among you who has not read the Blessed Gildas’ De Excidio et Conquesta Britanniae-The Ruin and Conquest of Britain? Have you not heard how my people were massacred or forced to flee from their homes to other lands when the Angles and Saxons arrived? We are still being pushed to the west; others have fled to Armorica, to Galicia, to Hibernia and even to the land of the Franks, to seek respite from the ravening hordes.’

‘That surely was in the past,’ replied Bishop Leodegar. ‘We have to live in the present.’

‘Was Benchoer in the past?’ demanded Abbot Cadfan.

Bishop Leodegar looked puzzled. ‘Benchoer? I have noted that Drostó, the abbot of Benchoer, had not arrived here. What is it that you say about Benchoer?’

‘Well may you ask why Drostó of Benchoer is not here,’ went on Abbot Cadfan. ‘Benchoer is one of our oldest abbeys that housed three thousand brethren dedicated to Christ. I know that Drostó was meant to be the senior representative of our churches here, not I. Is the Saxon who sits before me afraid to tell you why Drostó does not sit in this place?’

Bishop Ordgar scowled. ‘The Welisc are always causing trouble,’ he replied tartly. ‘Their leader, whose outlandish name I can’t pronounce, has been particularly boastful of what he intends to do to my people.’

‘The King of Gwynedd is Cadwaladar ap Cadwallon,’ replied Abbot Cadfan angrily. ‘He descends from a line of great kings, great when your ancestors were scrabbling about in the mud!’

This time it was Bishop Leodegar who rapped on the floor for order.

‘We will disband this council immediately if this continues,’ he threatened.

Abbot Goelo of Bro Waroc’h, which lay in Armorica, cleared his throat. ‘With respect, Leodegar, I think the council needs to hear the answer to the question posed by our distinguished brother from Gwynedd.’

‘It is true that we had expected that the Venerable Drostó would represent your church at this council, Abbot Cadfan,’ Bishop Leodegar said. ‘What is it you imply about Benchoer?’

Abbot Cadfan turned his hard blue eyes directly on the tightlipped Bishop Ordgar.

‘The Abbey of Benchoer is no more and Drostó sleeps with the few survivors in the woods of Gwynedd, moving each night in fear of their lives. A months ago, the leader of the Saxons of Mercia…’

‘Angles,’ corrected Bishop Ordgar loudly.

‘…a barbarian called Wulfhere, led his hordes into Gwynedd and burned and destroyed our abbey at Benchoer, putting to the sword over a thousand of our religious. Is this the act of a Christian ruler?’

‘A thousand brethren?’ gasped one of the Gaulish delegates, in a shocked tone.

Abbot Ségdae of Imleach had been sitting listening to the argument in silence. He was chief bishop of the kingdom of Muman, the largest of the five kingdoms of Éireann. Now he stirred and gazed thoughtfully at Bishop Ordgar.

‘Is this true, Bishop Ordgar?’ he asked softly.

‘Wulfhere is Bretwalda and-’

‘Bretwalda? What is that?’ queried Abbot Ségdae.

‘It is a title which acknowledges that Wulfhere is overlord of the Welisc just as much as the kingdoms of the Angles and Saxons.’

‘Acknowledged by whom?’ Abbot Cadfan laughed sardonically. ‘Not by the Britons. It is a title without meaning. We would have no “lord of the Britons”, for that is what the title means, unless it be a Briton. We acknowledge no Saxon…’ he paused ‘…nor Angle,’ he added with emphasis, ‘as lord over us. Certainly, we would not accept that a barbarian has such a right. Anyway, we are told that Wulfhere is not even acknowledged as lord by the other Saxon kings.’

Bishop Ordgar glowered across the table. ‘Eorcenbehrt of Kent, the kingdom in which the primacy of Canterbury is placed, recognises him as such and gave him his daughter’s hand in marriage.’

‘Are you implying that Theodore, your archbishop at Canterbury, approves of that office?’ demanded Abbot Goelo.

‘Theodore has come to us from Rome and Vitalian has placed him as chief bishop of all the western islands.’

‘He has no right to claim that position in any of the five kingdoms of Éireann,’ Abbot Dabhóc immediately said.

Abbot Ségdae nodded in agreement and then looked at Bishop Leodegar, but addressed them all.

‘I have come here to this ancient town of Autun in order to speak on the propositions that Rome has asked us to debate. It was a long and arduous trip with many dangers attending it. I represent the churches of Muman while my colleague, the Abbot Dabhóc, is here on behalf of Bishop Ségéne of Ard Macha. This argument is not germane to the propositions we have come here to discuss. The matters that are being argued, while horrendous and needing arbitration among the Britons and the Saxons, are not relevant to those matters which we have to decide.’

Abbot Dabhóc was shaking his head. ‘I disagree. Are these not matters that reflect on the suitability of Bishop Ordgar to sit among us at this council? Does he approve of the massacre of religious by his people? He appears to give that approval. I think we should discuss this further. Let us hear from the representatives of the churches of the Franks, of the Gauls, of the land of Kernow and the kingdoms of Armorica.’

‘It is right that we should have a say,’ agreed an elderly bishop. ‘I am Herenal of Bro Erech in the land of