Peter Tremayne - The Council of the Cursed

The afternoon was warm, although the sun was already lowering above the tops of the buildings to the west and its rays caused the white walls to be splashed in shades of pink. The perfume from the many flowers, enhanced by the warmth, was almost overpowering to the senses. Among them, Fidelma was able to identify the pungent smell of rosemary. She had encountered the unusual fragrance in Rome and had especially asked what it was, with its trailing green foliage and purple, pink or blue flowers. She had been told it was called ‘dew of the sea’- rosmarinus -and had discovered that apothecaries used it to help improve the memory.

The council delegates, the grim-faced abbots and bishops, stood in uneasy groups around the central fountain. The splash of the water was a curiously comforting background but could not dispel the tensions evident among those gathered there. A few of the wives of the clerics had come from their lodging house to join their husbands but they, too, appeared uncomfortable. The Rule of Bishop Leodegar seemed to have taken the natural ease and composure out of their relationships, as the married couples knew that they were disapproved of. It seemed to Fidelma that they were trying to pass unnoticed, and they moved into corners of the garden where they thought they might pass unobserved.

Fidelma was well aware of the hopeful glances that were cast towards her and Eadulf as they entered. It was as if no one wanted to be there, and was looking for someone to take the lead in expressing this fact. Fidelma had decided that it was a good moment to assert some of her authority. She had forewarned Eadulf that she would make an affirmation of her rank and culture at this gathering. It was only the third time that Eadulf had seen her discard her simple and practical form of dress for this magnificent outfit.

She now wore a gown of deep blue satin with intricate gold thread patterning. It fitted snugly into her waist before flowing out into a full skirt, which came to her ankles. The sleeves were of a style called lam-fhoss , tight on the upper arms but spilling out just below the elbow and around the wrists in imitation of the lower part of her dress. Over this was a sleeveless tunic called an inar , tight fitting and covering the top of the dress but ending at the waist. From her shoulders hung a short lummon , a cape of contrasting red satin edged with badger’s fur. The cape was fastened on the left shoulder by a round brooch of silver and semi-precious stones. On her feet were specially decorated sandals, sewn with pieces of multi-coloured glass, and called mael-assa .

Round her wrists were bracelets of complementary-coloured glass, and at her neck was a simple golden torc, indicating not only her royal position but that she was of the élite Nasc Niadh, bodyguards to the kings of Muman. Around her fiery red hair was a band of silver with three semi-precious stones at the front, two of them emeralds from the country of the Corco Duibhne and the third a fiery red stone which reflected the stones used in the silver brooch that held her cape. This headband served to keep in place a piece of silk that covered her hair but left her face bare. It was called a conniul and indicated her married status, for it was the custom of the married women of Hibernia to cover their heads to show their position.

Eadulf wore his woollen homespun russet-brown robes but, as a concession to Fidelma, he also wore the golden torc of the Nasc Niadh which her brother King Colgú had inaugurated him with following their success in identifying the assassins of the High King the previous winter.

Even Abbot Ségdae had smiled with approval when he, and the other delegates of Hibernia, greeted them in the anticum of the abbey. They had walked down to the Square of Benignus together, guided by one of the abbey community. Warriors met them at the gates and scrutinised the party. Fidelma noticed they affected to wear the same manner of apparel, armour and weapons, as the Roman legionaries of old. They were all clearly professional and were Lady Beretrude’s personal guard.

There were several diverse groups in the garden, even some nationalities that neither Fidelma nor Eadulf could identify. Courtesies were exchanged as several delegates recognised one another. The Nuntius Peregrinus, the Papal envoy, immediately came forward to greet Fidelma and Eadulf. The Nuntius noticed her inquisitive gaze at the other delegates.

‘They are not here. As you suggested, I put it to Ordgar and Cadfan that it was not politic to make any appearance here until you have finished your enquiry. I also put the idea of parole to them, which they begrudgingly accepted, especially the condition that they should only move outside their rooms in the company of their stewards. So their stewards remain in the abbey as well.’

Fidelma nodded absently. ‘I see no sign of Abbess Audofleda or anyone from the women’s community,’ she remarked.

‘Neither Abbess Audofleda nor any of her community is invited here. Only the bishop and one or two of his helpers are here from the abbey. The reception is for the delegates to the council and those whom the delegates have brought with them.’

‘Their wives and any female advisers?’

The Nuntius moved uncomfortably. ‘Just so.’ He turned to greet some other guests.

Men and women in simple attire were now moving between the guests bearing trays with cups of wine and dishes of olives and bread.

It was not until Fidelma was taking a proffered cup of wine that she realised that the woman who was bearing the tray had an iron collar about her neck. She glanced quickly round at the other servers and saw that they all wore this distinctive badge. She drew Eadulf aside.

‘These poor creatures, they are slaves.’

Eadulf was sanguine about it. ‘Remember the lines Brother Budnouen quoted? “What did you go out into the wilderness to see…a man dressed in fine clothes?”’

‘That seems to be a favourite saying to excuse things that one finds abhorrent in other lands. I don’t need lectures in scripture,’ she replied irritably. ‘You know my views. To keep these poor folk with iron collars on their necks, women as well as men, is not the sign of a good woman of the Faith. Even in Rome they do not shackle house servants in this manner. I thought this Lady Beretrude was supposed to be known for her goodness?’

Eadulf knew that slavery was a way of life to most peoples he had encountered, but it was not the time nor place to have a philosophical argument with his wife on the subject.

‘We do not know much about Lady Beretrude. Perhaps she is neither good nor truly of the Faith. One thing we must not do and that is judge people by our own standards.’

Fidelma was about to speak when the sharp blast of a trumpet cut through the summer air. Everyone turned in the direction of the sound.

Several people had emerged from the villa and positioned themselves on the steps of the veranda overlooking the garden where the guests were gathered.

A man was lowering a trumpet from his lips and standing to one side. Two fully armed warriors had placed themselves on the bottom steps. Two more well-dressed men of youthful appearance also stood aside to allow Bishop Leodegar to come forward escorting a tall, middle-aged woman. The couple paused for a moment at the top of the steps that led down into the gardens.

‘Delegates, welcome the Lady Beretrude,’ cried the trumpeter.

The woman stepped regally forward a pace and gazed down on the assembly. Those gathered, politely applauded. Instantly Fidelma took a dislike to her. Perhaps it was the over-application of make-up on her pale features, the thick red on the lips and bright spots of red on the white cheeks, the black lines to accentuate her eyes and the eyes themselves-cold, pale blue and almost without pupils. The hair was black and curly. Its blackness seemed unnaturally so. The features were thin; the nose was long, giving emphasis to the look of arrogance on her features as she surveyed the guests.