The Council of the Cursed

concern, with due respect to your position as steward of this abbey.’

‘I will still have to seek the permission of Bishop Leodegar,’ the man said mulishly.

Fidelma had recovered her good humour.

‘In that case, we can do no more for this day.’ She turned to Eadulf. ‘While we are here we may as well see something of this city.’

As Eadulf voiced his assent Brother Chiperic looked shocked.

‘Are you intending to leave the abbey?’ he asked in surprise.

Fidelma frowned. ‘Is there an objection to that too?’

The steward gestured helplessly. ‘The bishop left no instructions.’

‘Why would he?’

‘Because the general rule is that no one leaves the abbey without permission of the bishop. If they are strangers, like you, they need someone to guide them. It is a matter of protecting our delegates.’

‘I scarcely think that such rules apply to us. Are not all the delegates free to come and go? After all, there was no concern for our security before we came to the abbey.’

‘I can only abide by the bishop’s Rule.’

Fidelma was astonished and said so.

‘I have no other instructions,’ muttered Brother Chilperic.

‘Are we allowed to return to our own chamber without being accompanied?’ snapped Fidelma.

The young man looked unhappy, torn between his duty to the bishop and Fidelma’s displeasure. However, Fidelma had already turned and walked away, her lips compressed tightly. Eadulf paused only a moment before following her. He fell in step as she stormed across the stone-paved courtyard; the smack of her shoes on the stones created an angry timbre.

‘I hate being restricted,’ she said at last, slowing to a more reasonable pace.

‘I don’t think it is the young man’s fault,’ Eadulf said, referring to Brother Chilperic. ‘He’s scared of making a decision which would displease the bishop.’

‘Of course it is not his fault. It is the bishop who is trying to control what people do and where they go. I wonder what Leodegar is scared of?’

‘Perhaps it is just that he is so used to dictating rules and having them obeyed that everyone is now in a position where they cannot think for themselves,’ offered Eadulf.

Fidelma suddenly halted. ‘Go and find Abbot Ségdae, Eadulf. I am sure he is not a man to be bound by the constraints of this abbey. Ask him for permission for us to leave and for his support if we are forbidden.’

Eadulf hesitated and then shrugged, and as he moved away, Fidelma called: ‘I’ll wait in the hospitia!’

Eadulf raised a hand without breaking stride to acknowledge her.

Deep in thought, Fidelma returned to the hospitia. She hoped that Bishop Leodegar was not going to press her as to why she needed to visit the Domus Femini. She wanted to see if Brother Sigeric’s tale connected in any deeper way with the events of Abbot Dabhóc’s death. But she felt frustrated that she was being so hampered by the segregation that Bishop Leodegar imposed on his brethren. She longed for the logic and attitudes of her own land.

Fidelma entered the chamber, and as she closed the door she heard a slight movement behind her. Heart beating fast, she wheeled round and saw the figure of a man in the shadows.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded, trying to suppress the fear in her voice.

‘I did not mean to frighten you, Sister.’ The voice spoke in her own language. It was that of a nervous young man.

She recognised the young religieux as the one whom she had observed watching her from the end of the table in the refectory.

‘You are Brother Gillucán, aren’t you?’

‘I am-I was-Abbot Dabhóc’s steward and companion on this pilgrimage.’

Fidelma moved across the room and sat on the edge of the bed, gesturing to the chair.

‘You have a strange way of introducing yourself, Brother Gillucán.’

The young man seated himself, saying in a low voice, ‘Everywhere in this abbey, there is a feeling of being watched. One needs to be cautious.’

‘Why would you be watched?’ Fidelma asked.

The young man shuddered. ‘I do not know. I long for my own country.’

‘You are from Ulaidh?’

‘I am of the Uí Nadsluaig although I served at Tulach Óc.’

‘You do not like this place?’

The young man gave a curious gesture with his hands that Fidelma was not sure how to interpret.

‘It is cursed. Souls are in torment-I have heard them.’ He sighed. ‘There is something in this abbey that is evil, Sister. In truth, I am scared.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘You speak with emotion, Brother Gillucán. You had best explain yourself.’

‘I am not sure where to start.’

‘The beginning is the best place to start,’ she encouraged him. ‘You are, or were, steward to the abbot of Tulach Óc?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. I served Abbot Dabhóc for five years as his chief scribe and steward.’

‘So that is why he chose you to accompany him to this council?’

‘It was. It is a great honour to be chosen to travel abroad and come to an important council such as this. We came, of course, in the name of Ségéne, the Bishop of Ard Macha.’

‘Of course. And how long have you been here?’

‘We arrived at this abbey ten days ago. After a few days, when all the major delegates had arrived, the Bishop of Autun opened the council. Only the main delegates were invited to attend that session. All the scribes and advisers were excluded so I did not witness the conflict which I heard about afterwards.’

‘The conflict?’

‘When Abbot Dabhóc returned, he was not happy. He told me that there had been great animosity between Abbot Cadfan of Gwynedd and Bishop Ordgar of Kent. It had even turned to physical violence between them. He lamented that it would be impossible for any agreements to be made while the two of them took such positions.’

Fidelma was frowning. ‘So he told you the details?’

‘I was also his anam chara, his soul friend.’

In the Faith of the five kingdoms, each person found an anam chara with whom they could discuss their problems. It was an ancient custom going back to the time when the old religion was followed. Elsewhere in Christendom, people had to confess in public or in private to the priests and then accept penance. That was not the purpose of a soul friend, who would discuss and advise on matters of spiritual conflict. There was no guilt and no penance with the anam chara, just a way forward when dealing with problems.

‘You said that you were frightened. Was it these animosities that made you so?’

The young man seemed to consider his words carefully before responding, ‘Not exactly. That evening, after that first meeting, Abbot Dahbóc was worried about the situation and resolved to see Bishop Leodegar the next morning. He wanted to find out if there was some way of compromise. Of course, it was the next morning that I learned that he had been killed in Ordgar’s chamber.’ He paused, upset.

‘So you think that he went to Bishop Ordgar’s chamber, that there was a row and he was killed in the course of that altercation?’ Fidelma asked gently.

‘It is a plausible explanation. Yet Bishop Ordgar says that he was drugged and I hear he did not recover for a full day. And Abbot Cadfan says he was called to Ordgar’s chamber and then knocked out.’ The young man rubbed his brow. ‘There is one thing that I cannot understand, and it is this that creates anxiety in my mind. That morning, when I heard what had happened to Abbot Dabhóc, I went to his chamber to pack his belongings and found that his room had been ransacked.’