‘We are not here to debate these matters of interpretation,’replied the abbot sharply. ‘Our Faith was proclaimed at the Council of Nicaea, when the work of Arius was declared heretical. We believe in the divinity of the Holy Trinity. God as Three in One. It is from Nicaea that we take our creed, believing that the Father, Son and Holy Spirit are of the same substance — homoousios — that is, of one being.’
‘There are enough proofs of our arguments in the Gospels, in the writings of Luke and in the Acts of the Apostles,’ replied the bishop with equal firmness. ‘We believe in one God. We believe Christ, being the Son of God, is subject and obedient in all things to God His Father. We believe the Holy Spirit is subject and obedient in all things to Jesus and to His Father. The Son and Holy Spirit were created by God. God is eternal and unbegotten, always existing.’
Fidelma was intrigued. As one who prided herself on her logic, she found the argument of Bishop Britmund curiously rational.
Radoald once again held up his hand for silence. ‘You have stated the irreconcilable differences of interpretation between you. And we are well aware of them. But the matter at this meeting is how we may come to a practical tolerance in this valley between these two views so that no one walks in fear from those with whom they disagree.’
‘We shall not reject our faith and beliefs for they are those approved by the Holy Father in Rome,’ declared Abbot Servillius firmly.
‘Nor shall we reject the Truth,’ replied Bishop Britmund with equal determination.
Radoald sighed impatiently. ‘No one is asking you to reject or embrace anything, except that you must find a course in which tolerance binds you and not hatred.’
‘Then let the members of this abbey begin,’ said BishopBritmund. ‘Let them cease to preach against us in Placentia. Let them cease travelling to the surrounding towns and churches and denouncing our beliefs as heresy.’
‘Then let those prelates and propounders of your heresy cease to tell people that they will receive the blessings of God if they rise up and destroy us and this abbey,’ retorted Abbot Servillius.
Bishop Britmund hesitated for a moment before demanding: ‘What accusation is this, Servillius?’
‘Do you deny the martial cry from your pulpits?’ sneered the abbot. ‘We hear them even from behind these ancient walls.’
Bishop Britmund turned to Lord Radoald, his face growing red. ‘I did not come here to be falsely accused.’
There was a silence and then Radoald looked towards Fidelma. A smile was on his lips.
‘And what do you make of this, lady? Were there ever such diametrically opposed opinions at that Council you attended at Streonshalh?’
Fidelma took a moment’s thought and then said, ‘The opinions were opposed, certainly, but perhaps presented with a little less emphatic resolve. I thought the purpose here was to find a via media aurea, the middle way, which is the golden path where both sides may meet.’
‘That was my intention,’ agreed Radoald solemnly. ‘But, so far, that path appears elusive.’
‘It seems that we are stuck in the via militaris,’ Fidelma acknowledged ‘Is it not said that in the middle way stands the truth?’
‘There is no middle way,’ snapped Bishop Britmund. ‘There is either truth or untruth. Truth has no compromise.’ He rose abruptly and his companion rose with him. ‘I came here atthe request of the Lord Radoald. I hoped to see in him the great lord that his father was. Instead I find him besotted by this abbey and its heretical philosophies.’
Wulfoald clapped a hand on his sword hilt and made a threatening movement, but Radoald quickly reached up and seized his warrior by the arm, causing him to halt. But Wulfoald was not to be stopped from speaking.
‘Have a care, Bishop, when you insult the Lord of Trebbia. Perctarit’s warriors have not yet crossed the mighty Padus to protect you.’
Fidelma noticed that Brother Godomar had also reached forward and was tugging at the sleeve of the bishop’s robe. Bishop Britmund’s eyes blazed. He seemed to consider for a moment the situation and then he shrugged.
‘No insult was meant, Lord Radoald. Forgive my clumsy way of expressing my displeasure. I can see no means for an amicable settlement of our differences here. We stand as firm for our faith as do those of this abbey stand for their heresy. We must accept that our middle path is this promise: if we are attacked, we shall retaliate. Oculum pro oculo, detem pro dente, manum pro manu, pedem pro pede.’
‘I thought,’ Fidelma observed softly but clearly, ‘that the Faith, by whatever interpretation you give it, was based on the words and teaching of the Christ?’
Bishop Britmund swung round with anger on his features. ‘Are you trying to teach me the Faith, woman of Hibernia?’
‘I am merely reminding you that Christ taught that it had, indeed, been said, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, but He told the faithful to ignore that teaching. Furthermore, He taught them that whoever strikes them on the right cheek, they should turn the other cheek to them.’
Abbot Servillius was smiling in approval as he added, ‘It isso stated in the Gospel of Matthew. Perhaps Bishop Britmund is not above denying the teaching of Christ as well as the Creed of Nicaea?’
Bishop Britmund did not conceal his anger. He turned to Lord Radoald. ‘I need your guarantee of safe passage back to Placentia.’
Radoald lifted an eyebrow. ‘Why so? Were you endangered coming here?’
‘It is plain that I stand here unharmed, so no danger came to me on my way here.’
‘Then you shall return unharmed. No one here wishes to do you or any member of the Faith physical harm, Britmund.’
The bishop hesitated, as if about to say something more, and then swept from the room, followed by his silent companion, Brother Godomar. Brother Wulfila, as steward, went scurrying after them for it was his task to see them safely from the confines of the abbey.
After they had gone, Abbot Servillius slumped back in his chair and gave a long, deep sigh.
‘When the Creator handed out charity, He must have missed giving Britmund a share of it.’
Radoald was rueful. ‘I am afraid that this is my fault. I tried to play the peacemaker, having been conscious of what happened to poor Brother Ruadán. I want these attacks to cease.’
Fidelma stirred uncomfortably, remembering how she had seen poor Brother Ruadán lying in his bed, an old man attacked and injured because of the arrogance of Bishop Britmund, a so-called man of God.
‘What is more worrying, Radoald, is that such prelates as Britmund may well be placed in a position of power if the stories of Perctarit’s return are true,’ pointed out Abbot Servillius.
‘But we have heard nothing more tangible than rumours of his returning. No details, no hard news,’ Wulfoald intervened. It seemed the warrior was comfortable speaking his mind before his lord and the prelates of the abbey. ‘There is no need to panic until we have news.’
The abbot seemed irritated as he replied, ‘We of Bobium are not panicking but we should be prepared for the worst.’
‘We do not accuse you of panic, Abbot Servillius,’ Radoald calmed him. ‘But we can do nothing until we receive definite news.’
‘And how can we obtain that?’ replied the abbot petulantly. ‘By the sight of Perctarit’s army marching up the Trebbia Valley?’
Radoald responded with conviction. ‘It is my intention to position some of my men strategically to listen to such rumours, to hear the news and to report back to me of any impending dangers. After all, if Perctarit comes here, he will be seeking revenge. I must remind you that it was my father, when he was Lord of Trebbia, who supported Grimoald in the assassination of Godepert and in forcing his brother, Perctarit, to flee into exile. And was I not fighting at my father’s side?’
The abbot looked uncomfortable. ‘You are right to rebuke me. I was thinking only of the welfare of this abbey and the brethren.’