Peter Tremayne - The Council of the Cursed

‘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.’

‘Ransacked?’ Fidelma leaned forward. ‘Was this not the abbey authorities merely searching for any relevant material related to Abbot Dabhóc’s killing?’

‘It was not,’ asserted Brother Gillucán. ‘The abbey steward, Brother Chilperic, who made some initial enquiries, had not been to Abbot Dabhóc’s chamber by the time I went there. Moreover, all the abbot’s belongings had been removed. In fact, Brother Chilperic accused me of removing them, and demanded to see my hands.’

‘Your hands-why?’ Fidelma demanded.

Gillucán shrugged. ‘He said something about the person who had searched the chamber having cut himself while taking things, for there was some blood in evidence. Anyway, Brother Chilperic assured himself that it was not me, but he searched my chamber to ensure that what I said was true.’

Fidelma considered the matter for a moment. Dabhóc’s chamber had been ransacked on the very morning that the chamber in which he had been murdered had also been searched. What was the connection? There must be one.

‘He made no mention of this to me. Where is your chamber in relationship to the abbot’s? Did you hear anything of this search?’

‘I am in the adjoining corridor, Sister. So I heard nothing.’

‘Was anything further said about this matter? Was a search made for the missing belongings? Perhaps some enterprising but misled brother, thinking the abbot had no need for the clothes, had appropriated them?’ She knew there was a custom of sharing the clothes of a dead religious among the poor.

Brother Gillucán shook his head. ‘It was not just clothing that was taken. Everything was gone.’

‘What is your definition of everything?’

‘Money carried by the abbot, funds to cover our journey, letters from the Bishop of Ard Macha to various dignitaries which were kept in a book satchel, the abbot’s missal and some gifts-one in particular…’ His mouth snapped shut suddenly and he looked about with an almost exaggerated conspiratorial glance.

Fidelma examined him with interest. ‘And this particular gift…what was that?’

The young man lowered his voice. ‘Abbot Dabhóc had been entrusted by Bishop Ségéne with a precious gift to be handed to His Holiness.’

‘To the Bishop of Rome?’ asked Fidelma in surprise.

‘An emissary of Vitalian is attending this council to give the Holy Father’s personal blessing to it.’

‘I know. And so there was a gift brought from Ard Macha for this envoy to take to Rome?’

‘There was.’

‘Are you suggesting that Abbot Dabhóc had not passed that gift to the emissary before it was stolen?’

‘Just so. There was to be a ceremony of presentation at the end of the council.’

‘And the nature of the gift?’

‘I did not know exactly.’

‘So what-exactly- did you know?’

‘The gift was housed in a reliquary. Abbot Dabhóc carried it in a special sack and never let it out of his sight on the journey here. I caught a glimpse of it once. It was a box of wood and metal, inlaid and encrusted with many precious and semi-precious jewels.’

‘I have often seen the like,’ Fidelma admitted. ‘Our metalworkers are famous for such fine works of art. A reliquary box would obviously indicate that it contained some holy relics.’

Brother Gillucán shrugged. ‘I presume so, but I cannot swear to it. Abbot Dabhóc never spoke to me of the box nor of its contents.’

‘I still cannot see why you are fearful.’

‘I’ll come to that. But about this box: as I say, someone had doubtless carried it away on the night that the abbot was killed. Then the night afterwards, my own room was also searched.’

‘Yes, you have said that Brother Chilperic insisted on searching your room.’

‘No, it was searched again.’

‘What was taken?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing at all?’

The steward shook his head.

‘So it was not Brother Chilperic, searching again to ensure that he had not missed anything?’

‘I asked him. It was not.’

‘And you had not been entrusted with anything from the abbot that might warrant a search?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Curious,’ mused Fidelma. ‘Why would they go through your room then? It seemed they already had the money and the reliquary box.’

‘I do not know, Sister. I only feel that there are eyes in all the dark corners of this abbey-watching, waiting!’

‘And you have became fearful in consequence?’

‘There is more.’

‘Then tell me all, for I cannot make judgements on half-stories.’

‘I only became fearful two nights later. You see, I awoke in my chamber. It was dark and I was aware of someone bending over me; a hand was on my mouth and a sharp blade at my throat.’

Fidelma sat up a little straighter. ‘Go on.’

‘A voice said: “Where is it?” and the hand was removed so that I could answer.’

‘Where is it?’ she repeated.

‘Exactly so. I replied that I did not know what they meant.’ Brother Gillucán carefully turned his head sideways and pointed to a thin red line across his neck. It was not deep and already healing, but significant enough. Certainly, a blade had been held there. ‘That was the reply. And so I cried out, “Do not kill me for my ignorance. Tell me what you want and I will try to help.” The voice said: “Did your master give it to you?” And I-’

‘Master? What language did the intruder address you in?’

‘It was in Latin, Sister. That is the language we have to use in common here.’

‘And what did you reply?’

‘Having assumed it was Abbot Dabhóc of whom he spoke, I responded that he had given me nothing. Nor could I help them, for his room had been emptied.’