As if from nowhere, servants appeared and drew chairs before the fire. Trays of sweetmeats and drinks were brought for them to choose from.
‘My spies have told me all about you. I have heard that you are sister to the king of your country in which women are judges and lawyers. Amazing. You are a lucky man, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham.’
Eadulf could think of nothing to say in rejoinder. The young man was continuing to speak.
‘It is true that I am the ultimate law and true, too, that Bishop Leodegar should have consulted with me on this matter. But, then, Franks often forget to consult with Burgunds. Of course I have no objections to your investigating this tiresome matter.’
‘Tiresome matter? We talk about the death of an abbot of Hibernia,’ interposed Eadulf, slightly outraged by the other’s nonchalant tone.
‘The effects are tiresome, not the act itself,’ qualified the young lord.
‘In what way tiresome?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Tiresome in that it disturbs the tranquillity of my land and my people. That there is a council, in which representatives from many lands have come to participate, is tiresome enough. That the council brings an envoy, Nuntius Peregrinus, from Rome here is also tiresome. Then comes a murder of a foreign delegate. That will mean that Clotaire will doubtless blame me for the disturbance in tranquillity and that is even more tiresome. Our Frankish king is youthful and sensitive as to how his image appears in Rome.’
‘Why would he blame you?’
‘The Franks are always blaming the Burgunds and seeking ways to destroy what little power we have.’
‘I am not concerned with your internal affairs but with how the abbot of my country came by his death.’
The young man looked serious. ‘Then, at least, we can join in that ambition. How may I help?’
‘I am told that you were in the abbey on the night that it happened.’
Guntram nodded agreement. ‘Not only in the abbey but in the very next chamber to where the body was discovered.’
Fidelma felt it was a good start that the young man was honest.
‘And did you see or hear anything that aroused your suspicions that night?’
The young man suddenly burst out laughing and then seemed to catch himself.
‘I am sorry, Fidelma of Cashel, but in all honesty, I was in no condition to see or hear anything. You must have been told of that. Yes, the truth is that I had over-indulged myself with the fruits of Bacchus.’
‘You were drunk?’ pressed Eadulf.
‘
‘Do you remember anything at all about that evening?’ Fidelma insisted.
The young man seemed to reflect for a moment.
‘Well, I had gone to the city to collect my feudal dues. I maintain only a dozen bodyguards and a dozen servants to upkeep this fortress. Not a great deal but money is essential. Every new moon, I receive the
He paused, frowning as he thought about it and so Fidelma interrupted his meditation.
‘I understand you had imbibed more than was good to commence the journey back here. Your mother, Lady Beretrude, has a villa in Autun. Why did you not stay there?’
Guntram sighed languidly. ‘Because we had had one of our interminable quarrels.’
‘About anything in particular?’ queried Fidelma.
‘Her favourite subject. My lack of ambition.’
‘You are lord of this area, what other ambition should you have?’ demanded Eadulf.
‘According to my mother, I should be raising armies to avenge the death of Sigismond and Gundomar…’ He saw their puzzled expressions and explained: ‘They were kings of the Burgunds who were defeated by Clovis of the Franks.’
‘Are you saying that your mother wants you to raise an insurrection against the kings of this land?’ asked Fidelma.
Guntram was amused. ‘And I with only twelve men-at-arms! They are more my hunting companions than an army. I am afraid my mother has notions of grandeur; notions that the Burgunds will rise again. We are no longer a powerful nation, and the first duty of a ruler of such a people is to recognise that fact; recognise the strengths and weaknesses of his people and carve their role in the world according to what they may usefully achieve. That is essential for any leader. It is no good setting out to bring destruction down upon us for the sake of the wild dreams of ancient times.’
They sat in silence for a while.
‘So this was the subject of the argument that you had with your mother?’ Fidelma said. ‘Is it why you chose to stay at the abbey and not at her villa?’
‘The abbey is always preferable to staying with my mother. Every time I stay with her I have to listen to her criticism that I am not like my father or that I am an unworthy descendant of Gundahar and the line of the Burgund kings. I would rather a monk’s uncomfortable cell than a bed in her luxurious villa.’
‘Did Bishop Leodegar approve of your staying in the abbey under such conditions? My understanding is that he is a man of strict views.’
‘I have known Leodegar for many years. There is some ancient family connection. I know not what because he is a Frank. But he is also my confessor. I went to him to talk about my frustrations.’
‘Very well. What then?’
‘We dined well that night. I recall Leodegar saying that the day had been most trying in that he had had to deal with arguments between the delegates attending the council. He was exhausted. In fact, he invited me to dine away from the refectory in his private rooms where we talked, played chess and ate our fill. The wine circled well and, I confess, I over-indulged. I was too busy trying to drown my mother’s accusations about my lack of ambition and how the elder son did not always merit the inheritance of office. I remember feeling extraordinarily tired and sitting back in my chair. Then I was waking in a small chamber and it was late morning. There was movement outside. That was when I discovered that the abbot from Hibernia had been killed by some of his fellow religious.’
Eadulf leaned forward. ‘In what way did you discover that?’
The young man shrugged. ‘From Brother Chilperic. I had slept through it all. In fact, he had carried me out of Leodegar’s apartments on the previous night just as that Saxon bishop, who is now suspected of the crime, arrived. I still had a sore head and was in no condition to take it all in. I had to get a balm from Brother Gebicca, the apothecary, before I could set out on my journey here that morning.’
Eadulf was disappointed. ‘So you heard and saw nothing during that night?’
Guntram shook his head. ‘You have had a wasted journey here, I am afraid, if you thought I could provide some testimony about the death of this abbot. The plain truth is that I was drunk and slept throughout all these events.’
‘No journey is ever wasted, Guntram,’ replied Fidelma gravely.
‘All you have learned is my weakness,’ the young man said ruefully.
‘That you have acknowledged it as a weakness is a strength,’ she replied philosophically.
He raised his eyebrows momentarily in surprise. ‘You should be my confessor, but I am afraid it would be an unrewarding task. I do not think I can now change my habits. My mother has told me that I will come to nothing.’
‘And you believe her?’
‘She is a powerful woman. In her eyes I could never succeed. My father died when I was ten years old. I was the eldest son but, try as I might, I could never be his successor. By the time I was of the age of maturity I had ceased to even try to measure up to my father in her eyes.’
‘We should only try to measure ourselves against our own standards, not other people’s,’ Fidelma said, not unkindly. ‘We are all individuals.’
‘That is what my Cousin Radegund says. She was left an orphan by the plague. Rather than live with my
