Peter Tremayne - The Council of the Cursed

‘I claim Fidelma is a conspirator sent to disrupt our morning worship!’

‘That is a silly claim designed to stop the truth being heard. By what right does she claim that?’ Fidelma asked.

Another woman had taken her place beside Abbess Audofleda so that her head could also be seen above the screen partition.

‘Her right is my authority!’ the woman cried, then flung off the hood of her robe. There was a gasp as most of the assembly recognised Lady Beretrude.

Bishop Leodegar was even more startled at her appearance.

‘Lady Beretrude,’ he swallowed, ‘these are matters for ecclesiastical authority. While your intervention is appreciated, you cannot…’

‘ Cannot ?’ The voice was threatening. ‘You know my authority in this city and in this land of Burgundia, Leodegar. If it is not acknowledged, then I will have to demonstrate it.’ She clapped her hands twice.

A dozen men clad in the robes of the brethren, who had been standing around the edge of the chapel, moved forward now and cast them off. Each one was a warrior; each one held a sword in his hand. There was momentary chaos.

Fidelma looked to the anxious Abbot Ségdae and smiled briefly in reassurance. The interruption was no more than she had expected.

‘Some friends will be with us soon. Do not fear,’ she whispered.

‘Now, Bishop Leodegar, will you obey my authority?’ demanded Lady Beretrude loudly.

‘No, but you will answer to mine, Beretrude!’ came a cold male voice.

The young King Clotaire, with Ebroin, Eadulf and Sigeric behind him, was walking slowly down the aisle towards the high altar. Behind them, appearing rather sheepishly, walked the young Lord Guntram with two of Clotaire’s warriors. Bishop Leodegar and Brother Chilperic had become like statues, shocked into immobility with the rapidity of events beyond their control.

Fidelma glanced quickly around. Clotaire’s men who, as if by magic, seemed to pour out of the dim recesses of the chapel with weapons at the ready, had already disarmed the dozen warriors of Beretrude. Only a couple of the warriors had resisted and their lifeless bodies lay sprawled on the floor of the chapel. The uproar was deafening among the community but Ebroin had moved forward. He held up a staff of office that he thumped forcefully on the stone floor.

‘Silence!’ he called in a stentorian voice. ‘Silence and recognise your imperator, Clotaire, the third of his name to govern the house of the Merovingian. Hail Clotaire! Hail our rightful King!’

The effect was to gradually still the assembly.

Ebroin signalled to his men to secure all the exits from the chapel. He then turned to Bishop Leodegar with an expression of satisfaction.

‘With your permission, we will remove those screens that separate the women of this congregation so that they are not hidden from us. I am sure Lady Beretrude is anxious to join in this community?’

Without waiting for Leodegar’s assent, he gestured to a couple of his warriors who quickly removed the folding wooden screens that separated the women’s section from the rest of the community in the chapel. There was some nervous murmuring while this was being done. Fidelma saw that Beretrude was still standing, her face white and her features a mask of outrage. Abbess Audofleda was standing with head bowed beside her.

Clotaire took his place before the high altar and stood with folded arms gazing thoughtfully at the congregation. Gradually everyone fell into an expectant silence. Then he turned and glanced at Bishop Leodegar.

‘A chair would be welcome, Bishop. There is much to be heard here and I have been on my feet these several hours.’

Brother Chilperic immediately fetched a chair and hurriedly placed it before the altar facing the congregation, for the King to be seated.

‘We will keep to Latin as our lingua franca in this matter as it is, indeed, the common tongue between all who are gathered in this place,’ he announced. ‘Fidelma of Cashel, are you prepared to elucidate?’

Fidelma moved forward and turned to face the congregation, having bowed her head to Clotaire. ‘Imperator, I am ready,’ she replied. She murmured to Eadulf who stood near by, ‘Well done. You see, fortune has favoured the daring.’

‘Do you not have another saying-that time is a good historian?’ Eadulf responded pessimistically.

Fidelma then murmured to Brother Sigeric, who stood by Eadulf’s side, ‘Sigeric, you may join Valretrade.’

The young man hurried to take his place beside Valretrade; the joining of their hands and joyous expressions told of their emotions.

‘You may proceed, Fidelma,’ Clotaire invited. ‘We are ready.’

Fidelma was used to estimating a correct dramatic pause before commencing. She had learned the trick during the years that she had presented cases before the great Brehons of the five kingdoms. Now she stood, head slightly bowed and silent until the last ripples of noise died away in the abbey. She began softly, and slowly allowed her voice to gain power.

‘I came to this place to attend a council at the behest of the abbot and chief bishop of my brother’s kingdom which is that of Muman, one of the five kingdoms of the land you know as Hibernia. My role was to advise Abbot Ségdae in the law of Hibernia that might affect matters discussed in this council. I came in the company of my husband, Brother Eadulf, who is well known among my people as he is also a gerefa …’

She paused a moment.

‘When we came here, it was through the intercession of Abbot Ségdae, as the senior surviving delegate from Hibernia, that Bishop Leodegar requested us to undertake an investigation over a death that occurred here. Abbot Dabhóc had been bludgeoned to death in the chamber of the Saxon Bishop Ordgar of Canterbury while both Ordgar and Abbot Cadfan of Gwynedd were in the same chamber. It seemed a simple enough task. We were supposed to decide which of the two-Ordgar or Cadfan-was guilty of this crime. Yet simplicity is often deceptive. So it was in this case.’

‘It is still a simple decision,’ muttered Bishop Leodegar loudly. ‘One of the two is guilty. Vel caeco appareat !’

The remark brought forth an irritated gesture from Clotaire and the bishop fell silent.

Fidelma allowed herself a grim smile.

‘Bishop Leodegar says it would be apparent even to a blind man. Praise God that I do not have any affliction and can use all of my senses. Some people here have all their senses but cannot use them.’ There was a chuckle from some of the brethren. ‘However, let the twine of truth begin to unwind. It became obvious that there were other matters of concern in this place that might or might not have been part of this apparently simple murder. There were, in fact, three matters that in some way were linked together.’

Lady Beretrude had recovered some of her poise.

‘Majesty, I must be heard,’ she called out. ‘I came here because I had heard that this woman might try to accuse the good Sisters of the abbey and others-even me -with claims of wrongdoing. I speak for the Burgunds of this province. My role here is to represent the law of our people. This woman is not of our people. She has no status in law among us. She cannot be allowed to make judgements that condemn any one of us. She is a foreigner in our midst without rank or position.’

Clotaire stared bleakly back.

‘The last I heard, Beretrude of the Burgunds, was that your son Guntram, who now stands beside me, was the lord of this province, ruling under my authority with the law of the Franks. Whose law do you claim to represent?’

Guntram shuffled uneasily at the side of the King.

‘Be silent, Mother,’ he muttered uneasily, as if embarrassed. ‘Sister Fidelma speaks with the authority of the King and…and under my authority as lord of the Burgunds.’