The Council of the Cursed

we can no longer be sure of the original teachings of the Founding Fathers.’

Abbot Dabhóc looked shocked but Ségdae continued, ‘It is true, I tell you so. This is not the first time we have had to argue with Rome over the way they have altered even the very date on which Our Lord was martyred. Did not our own Columbanus argue with the Bishop of Rome over the date?’

‘True enough, although at Ard Macha we begin to think it would be better for all Christendom to worship on the same day.’

‘Better to worship in truth than in myth,’ muttered Abbot Ségdae.

‘Well, at least this council is not concerned with calendars and dates of ceremonies but in what we believe and how we should conduct ourselves in the religious houses,’ Abbot Dabhóc concluded. ‘I, for one, am looking forward to the debates.’

For the first time Abbot Ségdae allowed a brief smile to flit across his sombre features.

‘At least, judging by the action of our brothers, those debates will be lively,’ he joked.

They had halted in the corridor of the hospitia or guest quarters where individual chambers had been set aside for the accommodation of the senior delegates during the course of the council.

‘I hear that your advisers have not arrived as yet?’ Abbot Dabhóc suddenly remarked.

A worried expression returned to Abbot Ségdae’s features. ‘They were travelling separately and should have been here some days ago.’

‘The seas can be tempestuous and it is a long voyage, even before coming to this land. Then there is a long river journey. Who are they? You have many good scholars in Muman.’

‘Fidelma of Cashel has agreed to come to advise on the legal aspects of what we may agree-as it applies to the laws of the Fénechus, that is.’

Abbot Dabhóc’s eyes widened. ‘Fidelma? Her name is a by-word anywhere in the five kingdoms, especially since her investigation into the murder of the High King earlier this year. But murder is one thing; advising on how the decisions of this council may affect the laws and practices in the five kingdoms is another entirely.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Perhaps, if our Briton and Saxon friends continue as they have done so far, we may be able to provide her with a new murder to investigate.’

Abbot Ségdae was disapproving.

‘One should not be flippant about such matters, my brother. I simply wish, having found the circumstances that prevail in this abbey, that I had never asked her to come here in the first place. Anyway, the hour grows late. There is barely time to bathe before the evening meal.’

Someone was shaking him. He was aware of a voice calling urgently. Abbot Ségdae awoke, blinking against the light of the candle enclosed in a lantern that was held above him.

‘Bishop Leodegar says you must come at once!’

Abbot Ségdae focused on the shadowy figure of the religieux who had been trying to rouse him from a deep slumber. He realised it was still dark and the room felt cold.

‘What is it?’ he demanded.

‘Bishop Leodegar says-’ began the other.

‘I heard you,’ replied the abbot, struggling to sit up. ‘What has happened?’

The religieux seemed agitated. ‘I cannot say…you must come.’

With a sigh, Abbot Ségdae swung from the bed and began pulling on his robe. Within a few minutes he was following the religieux along the darken corridor.

‘Where are we going, or can’t you tell me that, Brother…Brother…?’

‘I am Brother Sigeric.’

‘So where are we going?’

‘To the quarters of the Saxon bishop. Bishop Ordgar.’

‘Why?’

‘I am told only to bring you there at the urgent request of Bishop Leodegar.’

Abbot Ségdae sighed irritably. It was clear that he would get no further information.

However, it did not take long to reach a chamber where the door was open. Brother Sigeric motioned him inside. The sight that met his eyes caused Abbot Ségdae to pause on the threshold.

The first thing he saw was a religieux bending over a figure on the floor. He recognised the body immediately as that of Abbot Cadfan. A groan came from the man and Abbot Ségdae realised that Cadfan was semi-conscious-alive, Thank God! Then he saw Bishop Leodegar standing by a second body that lay beyond Cadfan. That body was also clothed in religious robes.

‘Bishop Ordgar?’ he asked tersely. ‘Has Cadfan killed him then?’

There was a groan from the bed behind the door.

Abbot Ségdae swung round. Bishop Ordgar of Canterbury was lying on the bed barely conscious. Bewildered, the abbot turned back to Bishop Leodegar and the second body.

‘I am afraid that it is your colleague, Abbot Dabhóc of Tulach Óc,’ said Bishop Leodegar heavily. ‘That is why I sent for you, brother. Abbot Dabhóc has been murdered.’

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