The Council of the Cursed (4 page)

Bishop Arigius shook his head. ‘I know only that he was of your land.’

‘What else can you tell us of what has happened?’ Eadulf pressed.

‘Nothing beyond that simple fact,’ replied the bishop promptly. ‘A passing merchant brought us the news yesterday.’

‘No name was mentioned?’ queried Fidelma.

‘No name was mentioned,’ affirmed the bishop.

There was a silence. Then Fidelma said: ‘It is imperative that we should continue on to Autun as soon as possible. But the boatman who brought us hither said that it is a two-or three-day journey by horse from here.’

Bishop Arigius glanced out of the window. ‘It is no use continuing on now, for the best part of the day is gone,’ he declared. ‘Stay and feast with us this evening and continue in the morning.’

Fidelma smiled sadly. ‘Alas, we have no horses, and…’

The bishop waved his hand deprecatingly.

‘One of our brethren leaves tomorrow at dawn with a wagon carrying goods destined for the brethren in Autun. You may ride on that and welcome. The road is good, especially at this time of year, being dry and hard, and it will take no more than four days to reach the town.’

‘We accept,’ Eadulf said hastily. The prospect of racing along strange roads on an equally strange steed had not been a pleasant one. Being seated comfortably on a wagon was a much better prospect.

‘Excellent.’ Bishop Arigius stood and they followed his example. ‘My steward will show you to our
hospitia
, our guests’ quarters, where you may rest and refresh yourselves. We gather shortly in the refectory; my steward will guide you there. The bell will toll for the services in the chapel. We rise at the tolling of the bell, just before dawn. I will instruct our brother to await you in the quadrangle to commence your journey tomorrow.’

‘And the name of this brother?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Brother Budnouen. He is a Gaul.’

Brother Budnouen was rotund, with a podgy red face seemingly lacking a neck, for folds of flesh seemed to flop straight down on to his chest. Middle aged, short in stature and tanned, he had pale eyes, almost sea-green, and long brown hair, which they immediately saw was cut in the manner of the tonsure of St John rather than in the
corona spina
favoured by Rome. In spite of his heavy breathing, caused by his girth and weight, the brother’s forearms seemed quite muscular from hard work, and his hands were callused. They later learned that this was due to his being a wagonman; the leather reins caused the hardening of the skin on the palms. It came as no surprise when he told them that he had spent his youth as
a seaman, sailing along the ports of Armorica to Britain and Hibernia, whose languages he spoke with great fluency. He was an excellent companion; his eyes had a twinkle, his face a ready smile and his attitude was to look for the best that life had to offer. In fact, he was a very loquacious fellow and the moment they left the abbey at Nebirnum, Brother Budnouen kept up a steady commentary as he guided the wagon, pulled by four powerful mules, along the road which headed due east.

‘I am originally of the Aeudi,’ he told them. ‘This was once Aeudi country, but then many years ago, the Burgunds came and drove us out. Some of us fled to Armorica. Some, like me, stayed to make the best of things. Now the Burgunds, in their turn, are made vassals by the Franks who call this land Austrasia.’

‘The Aeudi were Gauls?’ queried Eadulf, who was always determined to add to his knowledge. He and Fidelma were seated beside Brother Budnouen on the driving seat of the wagon as their guide and driver expertly directed the team of mules by a flick of the long leather reins now and again.

Brother Budnouen laughed pleasantly and there was pride in his voice.

‘They were indeed the Gauls, my friend. I am descended from the great Vercingetorix–king of the world–who nearly destroyed Caesar and the Romans until he was forced to surrender in order to save the lives of the women and children that Caesar would have sacrificed by the thousands to ensure his victory. Caesar was so scared of that great man that he had him taken in chains to Rome, kept for years in a dungeon and then ritually strangled to celebrate his final victory.’

Eadulf pursed his lips. ‘War is not a pleasant thing.’

‘That was something the Romans found out. If they thought that the death of Vercingetorix would cowe us into submission, they were wrong. We rose many times against them but it seemed that when one legion was defeated, three more took its place. We were still fighting the Roman legions nearly a hundred years after Caesar departed. Eventually Gaul became a Roman province and peaceful, until a few more centuries when the Burgunds and Franks came flooding across the Rhine to destroy us.’

‘What do you know of this city of Autun?’ asked Fidelma, trying to change the conversation to the subject that was continuing to trouble her.

‘Autun?’ Brother Budnouen shrugged. ‘There was nothing there but a few huts until the Emperor Augustus designated it as the new central city of the Aeudi. He called it Augustodunum, the fort of Augustus–that’s where the Burgunds derived the name Autun. The Romans had made our own capital and fortress Bibracte uninhabitable as a punishment for Vercingetorix’s near-defeat of them. They created Augustodunum into a great Roman city to impress the Gauls.’

He paused to negotiate a difficult bend of the road.

‘The Faith reached the town very early. They say that it became an episcopal see in the time of the blessed Irenaeus, just over a century after the crucifixion of Our Lord. It is told that the son of Senator Faustus of Autun, a young man named Symphorian, converted to the Faith and destroyed a statue of the Roman goddess Cybele as a protest. He was arrested and flogged, but when he continued to refuse to deny the Faith he was beheaded in front of his mother, Augusta. They built the abbey over his grave, which was the ancient necropolis.’

Brother Budnouen chuckled and nudged Eadulf. ‘They say if you pray by the grave, you will get a cure for the pox!’ He paused, glanced in embarrassment at Fidelma and added: ‘Begging your pardon, Sister.’

‘I was trying to discover what the town is like today and why it was deemed the best place for this council,’ Fidelma replied coldly.

‘Who knows why?’ replied the Gaul. ‘Isn’t Vitalian, the Holy Father, a Roman and perhaps he remembers that Autun was Augustodunum. The Romans have long memories. They never forgave our people for defeating their legions and occupying Rome itself, and that was so many generations before the birth of Our Saviour that they are almost beyond counting.’

Eadulf was about to ask him to explain but Fidelma, sensing that the question would bring forth another long discourse, nudged Eadulf discreetly and said: ‘So who is the bishop of Autun now?’

‘Leodegar,’ replied the man at once. ‘He is elderly but still has a sharp mind, and is renowned for his learning and virtue. The son of Frankish nobles, he grew up at the court of King Clotaire. He even helped in the government of the kingdom until he was named as bishop. He’s a strong leader, they say, but too fond of reforms. What’s more, he seems intent on repairing the old Roman walls of the city and restoring the Roman
public buildings. I reckon that is probably why Rome has given him the opportunity to preside over this important council.’

‘And do you know anything about the happening in Autun?’

‘You mean the murder there? No, I’m afraid I cannot help you. I heard the merchants gossip, that is all. Some abbot at the council was found slain. There was talk of arguments and fighting among the clerics. But that is all I can say.’

If it was all he could say, Brother Budnouen certainly had a way of expanding such a little into long discourses, and by the end of the first day’s travel Fidelma and Eadulf were as much exhausted by his constant prattle as by the exigencies of the journey. Nevertheless, they agreed that it did help to pass the time, and the Gaul was able to point out interesting aspects of the rolling countryside through which they travelled. In the evenings he knew places to stop where good food and beds were available, and with rivers or springs where it was safe to bathe. Fidelma longed for the rituals of the Irish baths and for hot water and soap, but she made the best that she could of it.

On the morning of the third day they passed an imposing hill rising out of a magnificent surrounding forest. To their surprise, Brother Budnouen halted his team of mules, climbed down and knelt in its direction as if in prayer. When he climbed back on the wagon, he explained: ‘Bibracte–that was the capital of the Aedui, the very spot where Vercingetorix was proclaimed head of all the tribes of Gaul to confront Julius Caesar.’ He pointed to the hill. ‘It was there that Caesar defeated him and finished writing his account of how he conquered my people.’

‘So how far to Autun now?’ asked Eadulf wearily.

‘We shall be there tomorrow morning. It is twenty-five kilometres more. Tonight we rest at a place outside the town so that we do not arrive at night time. As I say, Leodegar with Lord Guntram, the ruler of the province, has restored and maintains the old Roman walls and employs guards who do not like the approach of strangers during the hours of darkness.’

Fidelma was surprised. ‘Is it so dangerous to be abroad in these parts then?’

‘There is always danger, Sister,’ the Gaul stated. ‘The richer the towns,
the more that thieves and robbers are attracted to them. Bands of robbers often prowl the roads.’

‘Should we not have waited for warriors to guard
us
?’ asked Eadulf, not disguising his nervousness. They had entered a countryside that was heavily wooded and could harbour vagabonds.

Brother Budnouen chuckled. ‘Why would you want warriors to guard you? Do you carry treasure with you?’

‘Of course not,’ snapped Eadulf. ‘It is just that our lives are precious to us.’

‘Listen, my friend,’ the Gaul was still smiling, ‘your life is safer when you do not surround yourself with bodyguards, for bodyguards proclaim to bandits that you have something worth guarding. If you have nought but your life, then better not to let them think otherwise. Often I have passed along these highways and only once or twice was I stopped. But these days thieves are not interested in the goods I transport to the brethren in Autun, nor those I return with from Autun to Nebirnum. They want gold, silver, jewels and suchlike. Things for easy profit.’

‘We will have to take your word for that,’ Fidelma replied easily. ‘But we will rest easier when we reach Autun.’

‘You’ll see it tomorrow,’ Brother Budnouen assured her. ‘Once we traverse this area which still retains its old Gaulish name of Morven–that means the country of black mountains because of the darkness of the green hills and forests here–once through here you will see the city of Autun.’

He was right. They approached the city about midday from the northwest, coming across the shoulder of a small hill. Enclosed by ancient grey walls, it seemed large to them since, although they had seen Rome, they had little to compare it with. That it was big and impressive was their immediate reaction. Moreover, rising above the red-tiled roofs of the buildings, on the far side of the city, was a massive complex like a castle–the great abbey itself. Part of it rose many storeys high and a massive tower stood at one end.

They turned their attention to the city ramparts, ancient walls that here and there showed signs of reconstruction. There was no denying that it was a beautiful location, sited among a lush green terrain with vineyards to be seen flourishing here and there around the city walls.

Brother Budnouen smiled in satisfaction as he glanced at their expressions. People from the western islands were always impressed with the cities of Gaul. As the wagon trundled down the roadway towards the river, he saw that his passengers were examining large square-shaped stone building to the right of the roadside.

‘That was originally the Roman Temple of Janus,’ he offered. ‘It is used for other things now, of course. They do say that the Romans built it on one of the sacred sites of the Aeudi so that their god’s power would negate the power of the old Gaulish god. A strange and fearful people, those Romans.’ He chuckled and pointed to the river that they had to cross to enter the walled city. ‘This is the Aturavos. Strange how, in spite of the Romans and then the Burgunds who have settled here, the old rivers, forests and hills retain their original Gaulish names. While our people have been forced to give way, our names survive.’

‘Does the name mean anything?’ enquired Eadulf.

‘A shame on you for asking, Brother,’ admonished Brother Budnouen. ‘All names mean something. It means “the little river”.’

The wagon rumbled across a wide wooden bridge towards an imposing stone gateway with a high circular arch and a further construction above it reaching heavenwards. Many people were passing to and fro beneath while armed guards were keeping watch on them.

‘This is the main gate of the city on this north side. There are, of course, three other gates,’ Brother Budnouen informed them. ‘That is the style of the Romans. But one of the gates is in bad repair. That’s the one that would have given more easy access to the abbey.’

‘The walls are impressive,’ Eadulf observed. ‘I have not seen the like, other than in Rome.’

‘The locals call Autun the rival city of Rome,’ agreed the Gaul. ‘The walls stretch all around it. We head south through the city to the far side where the abbey is situated.’

Once through the impressive gates, the odours of the city impinged on their senses. Fidelma and Eadulf were used to the countryside, and the towns of their own lands were little more than well-spaced villages without protective walls. Now the smells reawakened memories of Rome: the stench of sewerage, of rotting vegetables and unattended animal waste and
offal in the streets, combined with the sweat of people crowded into confined spaces.

Fidelma shuddered, wondering how anyone could actually live in such a place.

Brother Budnouen glanced at her and grinned. ‘It takes some getting used to, if you are country bred,’ he remarked.

She did not respond, fearing the atmosphere would cause her to be nauseous. As they proceeded south along what seemed a principal street, women, whose dress announced them to be of some rank and wealth, passed by them, holding little bunches of flowers before their nostrils. It brought a faint smile to Fidelma’s lips. At least she was not the only one to react to the stink of what some called civilisation. She could not remember seeing such things in Rome but then, of course, the thoroughfares of Rome were much wider. This street was lined with little shops, even blacksmiths and all manner of vendors of goods. The cacophony of noise–the shouting of the traders, vying with one another to attract customers, and the haggling of customers over prices–oppressed her ears in a solid wall of sound.