‘Truth is never found through a game of chance. Our resolution must be based on other factors.’
‘But what other factors are there?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘All I see is two people making two different claims.’
‘We have scarce begun to investigate.’
‘You think the physician, Brother Gebicca, might have something to say? We could go to see him now.’
A bell started to ring.
‘I think that means it is time for the midday meal,’ Fidelma said. ‘Afterwards, let us find the apothecary of Brother Gebicca and see what he has to tell us.’
They made their way downstairs and saw an orderly line of brethren, hands folded before them, heads bowed, waiting to file through the doors into the refectory. The men cast surreptitious glances at Fidelma as she and Eadulf joined the line. At that moment, Abbot Ségdae appeared.
‘Ah, Fidelma, I hoped to find you. You and Eadulf are to eat with us at the table reserved for the delegates from the five kingdoms.’
‘We were just wondering about it,’ she said with some relief as the abbot guided them past the line and into the refectory.
‘You can tell me how much progress you are making over the meal,’ the abbot said, as he led the way through the great refectory hall past the long benches and tables at which the brethren were gathering. Half-a-dozen religieux were already seated at the table to which he showed them. Abbot Ségdae called their names one by one in introduction. The names flowed over Eadulf’s head but he understood they represented the leading clerics of all five kingdoms. It was obvious that Abbot Ségdae was regarded as the senior ecclesiastic among them.
A single bell rang and everyone in the refectory rose. At that moment, Bishop Leodegar entered with Brother Chilperic at his side and joined those at the table at the far end of the hall. Everyone had remained standing as the bishop took his place and spread his arms.
‘Gloria in excelesis Deo et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis,’ he intoned.
‘Laudamus te,’ mumbled the gathered brethren.
‘Benedicimus te, Gratias agimus te…’ the bishop continued with the Latin ritual.
After the gratias and blessing they could thankfully sit and break bread and partake of cold meats and cooked vegetables.
‘So, have you seen all those you wished to see?’ asked Abbot Ségdae brightly, as he passed a plate of meat to Fidelma.
‘We have only spoken with Ordgar, Cadfan and Sigeric,’ she replied.
‘And have you reached any conclusions?’
‘You know my methods, Ségdae,’ she said. ‘We have not spoken as yet to everyone that we need to question.’
The abbot did not look happy. ‘It would be good if we could clear up this matter quickly.’
‘Yes, it would be good. However, we are not possessed of second sight and can only do our best in finding out the culprit.’
The abbot concentrated on helping himself to some vegetables.
‘Bishop Leodegar keeps reminding me that King Clotaire himself is expected in a few days,’ he said.
‘Someone mentioned that Leodegar was raised at Clotaire’s court,’ observed Fidelma absently. She had noticed that a young man seated at the end of the table kept looking at her, but when he saw her gaze upon him he dropped his eyes and pretended to concentrate on the plate before him. She tried to remember the name by which Ségdae had introduced him. A northerner? Ah, Brother Gillucán was the name.
‘Clotaire is a young man,’ the abbot was explaining. ‘He is the third to bear his name as King, so I am told. So Leodegar must have been raised by one of his forebears. This Clotaire is only seventeen years old; he was ten years old when he succeeded his father, Clovis, to the throne.’
She turned in surprise. ‘Ten years old? That is surely below the age of inheritance?’
‘It is the custom here. The eldest son succeeds the father, and if he is under age there is a guardian appointed to govern in his place.’
‘A curious and unstable method of governing,’ she commented.
‘Clotaire should be here shortly to officially sanction the council’s findings and recommendations. The papal envoy is already here. He is seated next to Leodegar. Can you see him?’
Fidelma glanced over her shoulder but there were too many of the brethren in the way to see the man’s features.
‘So?’ she asked, holding her cup out for Eadulf to pour some of the cool water from the jug that stood on the table.
‘Leodegar takes every opportunity to inform me that the council cannot make progress unless this matter is cleared up,’ sighed Ségdae. ‘If it has not been resolved by the time Clotaire arrives, then how can the King make his public support for the decisions of the council?’
Fidelma turned to the abbot. ‘I suspect Leodegar has already decided what decisions the council should make, especially when the council has been set up by Rome which does not like our rites and practices. Let us hope he has not also decided who is guilty of the murder.’
‘You are discerning as always, Fidelma,’ the abbot remarked. ‘If the Bishop of Rome instructs a council to make a decision and indicates what decision he wants made, then I would say that it is a foregone conclusion. I do not like it, but I fear we are here simply to give authenticity to a decision already reached in Rome.’
Fidelma returned his gaze levelly. ‘If I thought that, and I had the authority to give my vote in the council, I would not give that authority. I would not even attend.’
‘Exactly so. We are invited here merely to register our protest when the decision is announced,’ said the abbot glumly. ‘You may have noticed that we who follow the church of Ailbe, Patrick and Colmcille are in a minority.’
‘If Rome wants to go down that path, why follow them?’ Fidelma asked. ‘Those churches in the east have not done so.’
Abbot Ségdae was unhappy with her choice of words.
‘Careful, Fidelma, lest you be accused of uttering heresy,’ he warned. ‘Rome should still be our centre, for was it not the great apostle Peter who chose Rome as the place where the church of Christ would be founded? Did not Christ tell him that he was the person who would form His church?’
‘So why argue with Rome?’ interrupted Eadulf. ‘Why not accept their dictum and make life easier?’
Abbot Ségdae turned to him with a frown. ‘Rome is but an erring parent, Eadulf. We follow the original precepts of the Founding Fathers of the Faith, the rites and rituals, the dating of our celebrations. It was not we who changed, but Rome who started to alter her ways and follow other paths.’
‘Isn’t that exactly what the churches in the east claim? They say that the churches there follow the orthodox rites that Rome rejected.’
‘Their split was over politics, not theology.’
‘How so?’ demanded Eadulf.
‘The eastern churches split when the Roman Empire itself split; when the Emperor made his capital at Byzantium and called it after his own name Constantinople. The separation between Rome and Constantinople caused the two adherents of the Faith to move apart.’
Fidelma nodded in agreement. ‘Just as these new ideas of Rome are moving it apart from us in the west. Rome rejected the teachings of Pelagius, it expelled Arian and now it is at odds with monothelitism. One day this movement for segregation of the sexes and celibacy will probably be accepted as Rome’s teaching. Where will Rome’s constant revision of the Faith and its rites end? One day, we may find no connection at all with the original creed of the Founding Fathers of the Faith.’
‘I had no idea that you thought so deeply on such matters, Fidelma,’ the abbot said.
‘I do not wear my ideas on the sleeve of my robe, Ségdae,’ she replied softly. ‘But that is not to say that I do not have them. I believe the Faith is for the individual to accept or reject; it is not for someone else to tell them what they should believe or how to do so. My public concern is for the law; for truth and justice.’