Peter Tremayne - The Council of the Cursed

‘Please, have you been yet?’ pressed Fidelma, trying to keep her impatience in check.

He shook his head. ‘I go tomorrow, just after first light. Why?’

‘Is his place far from here?’

‘Not at all. It is ten kilometres to the south west.’

‘Will you take us? Will you take Eadulf and me there and bring us back?’

Brother Budnouen’s expression clearly showed that he thought her mad but he agreed anyway.

‘I never refuse the offer of company on these trips,’ he said. ‘I depart immediately after sunrise but I do not wish to stay long at his fortress. Long enough simply to deliver my goods and collect my money. I want to be back before nightfall.’

‘That would suit us well enough. Where shall we meet you?’

‘Right here, in the square.’

‘Then until tomorrow at sunrise,’ confirmed Fidelma. She was feeling much better now. It was not just because she wanted to see if Lord Guntram could remember anything of the events of the night of the murder, but also because he was Lady Beretrude’s son-and she wondered whether he could provide a key to unlocking the mystery which connected the events at the abbey.

After the events of the last few days it was actually pleasant to ride again on the wagon of Brother Budnouen and listen to his gossip as he guided his mule team south from Autun. The weather was pleasant; the sky blue with only a few fluffy white clouds seeming to hang unmoving high in the sky indicating there was no wind. The track moved through grassy fields dotted with grazing cattle and sheep. Before them was the dark edge of a forest. It seemed to stretch away in both directions towards the east and also to the west.

They had not left the city walls that far behind when they saw, beside the track, a stone cabin and a forge with smoke rising from the chimneystacks. They could hear the smack of iron on hot iron before they saw a man beating at a glowing bar on his anvil while a small boy was working the bellows at the fire. As the wagon trundled past, Brother Budnouen raised his hand in greeting.

‘Give you a good day, Clodomar,’ he called.

The smith thrust the iron bar back into the fire and rested his hammer.

‘You have not been by in many months, Brother Budnouen. Can you not stop for a cup of wine and an exchange of news?’ he called.

‘I am going to Lord Guntram’s fortress but will try to stop on the way back later,’ replied the Gaul.

The smith raised a hand in acknowledgement.

‘That was Clodomar the smith. He comes from a family of smiths. His brother has a forge in the city.’ Brother Budnouen jerked his thumb back to Autun. ‘Clodomar has chosen a good place to do business there, for many local farmers do not want to go into the confines of the city to get their work done.’

They continued on towards the forest. As they entered its canopy, it was like moving from bright sunshine into a dank gloom.

‘This seems a large forest. How far does it stretch?’ asked Eadulf, interested in his surroundings.

‘From this point one can ride south and east and west for many days. There are some large clearings, of course. Lord Guntram has his fortress at the head of a valley whose surrounding hills are partly denuded of trees which, in fact, were used to construct his fortress.’

‘How far is this place?’ asked Fidelma.

‘About five kilometres now, a straight run along the track. I have made the journey many times.’

‘So you know Lord Guntram well?’

Brother Budnouen laughed. ‘“Well” is not a word I would choose. How can a lowly transporter of goods come to know a mighty lord like Guntram, a descendant of the Burgund kings?’

‘It seems several folk claim to be descendants of these Burgund kings,’ commented Fidelma dryly. ‘Do you know what manner of person Guntram is? We have heard one or two stories of his youth and drinking.’

‘His excesses are whispered everywhere in Burgundia. He is certainly a young man overly fond of strong drink, of women, and of hunting. Beyond that, I think he cares little for anything else.’

‘Then he must be a disappointment to Lady Beretrude,’ commented Fidelma.

‘That he is.’

‘Does he interfere in religious life in Autun?’

Brother Budnouen grinned. ‘He wears religion like another person wears a coat. He can put it on and as easily remove it.’

‘He was staying in the abbey a week ago,’ Fidelma pointed out.

‘I have heard Bishop Leodegar is somehow related to him,’ Brother Budnouen nodded.

‘Somehow? I thought Leodegar was a Frank.’

‘He is indeed. Leodegar’s father was called Bobilo, of high rank at the court of King Clotaire…’

‘King Clotaire? I thought the Frankish king was a young man,’ Eadulf intervened. ‘I am confused.’

‘I speak of the second king of that name who ruled the Franks some forty years ago. The current King Clotaire is the third of the name to be king here. It is said that Bobilo, Leodegar’s father, had a young Burgund cousin who is Lady Beretrude. I do not know what his exact relationship was, to be honest. I repeat the stories that are told. Both Leodegar’s parents were of high rank-that was Bobilo and his wife Sigrada. So Leodegar is connected with the ruling families both Frank and Burgund. That is why, before he was rewarded with being bishop here, he served Queen Bathild, the mother of the current King Clotaire, at the royal court.’

‘So this royal connection is what gives Bishop Leodegar his autocratic air,’ Eadulf reflected. ‘And gives us a reason for caution,’ he added softly for Fidelma’s ears only.

‘We are always cautious, Eadulf,’ she replied, before turning back to Brother Budnouen. ‘So you think that Guntram and his mother have a good relationship with Leodegar?’

‘I have heard so,’ the Gaul replied, ‘but, as I have also heard, Beretrude and Guntram’s relationship is wanting.’

‘In what way? Because of her son’s style?’

‘Lady Beretrude is ambitious but Guntram is indolent. As I say, he spends more time in hunting, or…’ Brother Budnouen cast an embarrassed look towards Fidelma. ‘Or certain divertissements. Good wine and ladies of easy virtue. I only tell you what is common knowledge,’ he added, almost defensively.

‘Sometimes common knowledge is mere speculation,’ pointed out Eadulf.

‘There is some truth in that, Brother Eadulf,’ agreed the Gaul. ‘However, in this matter it is the truth.’

They had come to the edge of a large area of grasslands that had been denuded of trees and stretched away up into a series of small hills.

‘Guntram’s fortress is at the head of a horseshoe valley that opens just beyond the shoulder of that hill,’ Brother Budnouen said, indicating before him with one hand.

They fell silent as the wagon moved slowly forward along the track. Hardly a moment passed before they were hailed and a young warrior on horseback came riding out from the cover of a hill to a point that intersected their route. Brother Budnouen evidently knew the man, and a few brief words of greeting were exchanged before the warrior waved them forward and then returned whence he had come.

‘Just one of the sentinels that Lord Guntram maintains on the route to his fortress,’ explained Brother Budnouen.

The wagon continued along the track, through the grasslands and towards the valley between the low-lying hills.

The fortress of the Lord Guntram was a curious construction made of stone and timber. High walls surrounded the buildings. Along the walls were tall turrets, presumably for sentinels. It seemed an alien construction to Fidelma. It was obvious that this type of building would never be found in her native land. It was of sharp rectangles rather than flowing curves and circles. Once inside, beyond the walls, they found a complex that surprised them. There was a large villa that compared easily to that of Lady Beretrude’s Roman construction. Obviously, it must have been built by the Romans and maintained over the centuries since it had first been constructed as well as being enclosed by the fortifications.