There was a subdued muttering from across the table while Fidelma sat silent for a moment before speaking slowly and clearly.
‘It is true that we have adopted a New Faith from the east. In many ways it is different to the Faith of our forefathers, which was followed from the time before time, and so, even in the area over which you claim authority, Donennach of the Ui Fidgente, there are some who have yet to embrace it.’
That caused an angry rumble from Abbot Nannid but Fidelma’s eyes flashed.
‘Is it denied that, less than a day’s ride to the western mountains, you will find that the old gods and goddesses are still revered? Speak, anyone who denies it!’
There was a silence before Abbot Nannid said roughly: ‘Come to the point.’
‘That point I shall now attempt to elucidate. The people of Rome and, indeed, in the east – in the very land where this New Faith was born – followed their own religions until they were converted to this New Faith. Many saw the New Faith as but an extension of their old one. They continued to adhere to their native laws – laws from their religions which, it must be admitted, were punitive and unlike our more enlightened laws. The very words enunciated by Abbot Nannid are taken from the old texts of their religion, and were not born out of new interpretations.’
‘That is sacrilege!’ Abbot Nannid cried.
‘Let me continue.’ Fidelma raised her voice above the muttering of outrage. ‘The place where the New Faith was first taught was a desolate and desert country. Into this desert, groups of religious wandered in search of tranquillity and formed communities dedicated to the contemplation of their Faith. It was a harsh life indeed. In order to survive, these groups had to have a strict discipline. Among these groups was a man called John the Ascetic.’
‘When was this, lady?’ asked Brehon Faolchair, intrigued and wondering where her story was leading.
‘A little over two centuries ago,’ she replied confidently. ‘He joined a community of the New Faith who decided to establish themselves in a place called called the Desert of Scetis, which is in Egypt. There he realised that, in order to survive, he needed to enforce discipline upon the community. This John the Ascetic set down a number of rules for the community to follow, a list of rules of behaviour which, if transgressed, were called “sins” and were punished in the manner in which his people had punished wrongdoers from their ancient times. They were the punishments of the laws of his people – not our people,’ she added with emphasis.
‘How would you know this?’ Abbot Nannid scoffed.
‘How do you know anything but by seeking after knowledge?’ she returned.
‘You are no longer a religious, even though some still call you Sister.’ Abbot Nannid made it sound like an accusation.
‘True, I have left the religious – which is not to say that I have left the religion,’ she replied. ‘And I am not responsible for what other people call me. I will say, however, that in pursuit of the New Faith I have opened my mind to learning, not closed it.’
‘This is a long and weary way to make a point,’ dismissed the abbot. ‘That is, if you have any point to make.’
‘You seem to find it weary. However, I shall continue. John the Ascetic left his community in the Desert of Scetis and travelled to Gaul. He was to die in the city of Massilia, a place I have visited during my travels to Rome. It was near there that he set up another community, and he used the same harsh rules to govern it as he had with the community of Scetis – rules that little reflected the change of attitude and law of the people in the area in which he now settled. Yet his rules were to have an influence on Martin of the Turones and his community. They also influenced Benedict, whose rules for the communities of the Faith have now been officially adopted by Rome.’
This time it was Prince Donennach who interrupted.
‘This is a fascinating history that you recite, Fidelma, but I am at a loss to understand the purpose, except that you say that the rules now being adopted by our churchmen are, as they already claim, being spread by the Faith.’
‘I am not denying this,’ she rejoined. ‘What I am saying is that we have missed the intention of these rules. These Penitentials listed penances and punishments based on foreign laws. Even when accepted by religious communities, they were never meant to supersede the laws of different kingdoms. They applied only to those who had voluntarily joined a religious community that had voted to accept them. Finnian of Cluain Ioraird, then Cummian, and then others, like Abbot Nannid, may have accepted those rules for their communities but not for the Five Kingdoms. They cannot enforce them on all the peoples.’
There was a short silence when she had finished speaking.
Then Abbot Nannid rose again, his voice tight with anger. ‘You have listened to the beguiling voice of a lawyer. A lawyer who has an interest in ensuring that you reject the teachings of the New Faith. The fact is that she was once a member of the religious herself but now acts as her brother’s legal adviser; a woman who cleaves to the ancient laws that were devised and transmitted from pagan times. I am no lawyer. I am a plain and simple man who maintains that the words of the Faith must be obeyed. What I say is this: the Penitentials have been brought to our land as part of the Faith which we have adopted and, notwithstanding our past, these rules must govern our behaviour now and in the future. That is why we, we of the Ui Fidgente, are leading the way in the Faith by the fact that our abbeys and churchmen accept the Penitentials as the law to be obeyed above all other law.’
Prince Donennach again had to raise his hand to silence the hubbub that followed.
‘There is much to be considered here. I must, however, point out that I rule here under the law of the Fenechus. How then can I give judgement under the rules of the New Faith?’
‘That is a matter for the council of chieftains to decide, which council must sit with the bishops and abbots of the Ui Fidgente who have equal rights as the nobles of the people,’ Brehon Faolchair declared. ‘But as I understand Abbot Nannid’s immediate argument – the argument he has continued to press – Abbot Segdae was a leading churchman, an abbot and a bishop. Therefore his killer should be punished under the laws of the Church.’
Prince Donennach turned with a questioning look at the Prior of Imleach.
‘What is your response, Prior Cuan? You now stand in place of the Abbot of Imleach and are now senior churchman of the King of Cashel. Do you agree with this?’
The cleric painfully rose to his feet, leaning his weight on his blackthorn stick. ‘Imleach is not governed by the Penitentials. Abbot Segdae, may he rest in peace, believed in the old laws and would not wish his death to be a cause of such changes in any part of the Kingdom of Muman, of which he was Chief Bishop.’
‘You know this for a fact, brother?’ Abbot Nannid called out rudely. ‘After all, Abbot Segdae is dead and not able to come forward, is he, to affirm what you say.’
Fidelma exhaled sharply in exasperation. ‘I think there are enough people who knew Abbot Segdae during his lifetime to confirm his beliefs.’
‘I refer to witnesses who are without bias,’ Abbot Nannid replied complacently. ‘You are an Eoghanacht and an advocate of those laws you uphold over the rules of the Christ.’
Fidelma was once more on her feet, her eyes flashing with fury.