‘Their wives and any female advisers?’
The Nuntius moved uncomfortably. ‘Just so.’ He turned to greet some other guests.
Men and women in simple attire were now moving between the guests bearing trays with cups of wine and dishes of olives and bread.
It was not until Fidelma was taking a proffered cup of wine that she realised that the woman who was bearing the tray had an iron collar about her neck. She glanced quickly round at the other servers and saw that they all wore this distinctive badge. She drew Eadulf aside.
‘These poor creatures, they are slaves.’
Eadulf was sanguine about it. ‘Remember the lines Brother Budnouen quoted? “What did you go out into the wilderness to see…a man dressed in fine clothes?”’
‘That seems to be a favourite saying to excuse things that one finds abhorrent in other lands. I don’t need lectures in scripture,’ she replied irritably. ‘You know my views. To keep these poor folk with iron collars on their necks, women as well as men, is not the sign of a good woman of the Faith. Even in Rome they do not shackle house servants in this manner. I thought this Lady Beretrude was supposed to be known for her goodness?’
Eadulf knew that slavery was a way of life to most peoples he had encountered, but it was not the time nor place to have a philosophical argument with his wife on the subject.
‘We do not know much about Lady Beretrude. Perhaps she is neither good nor truly of the Faith. One thing we must not do and that is judge people by our own standards.’
Fidelma was about to speak when the sharp blast of a trumpet cut through the summer air. Everyone turned in the direction of the sound.
Several people had emerged from the villa and positioned themselves on the steps of the veranda overlooking the garden where the guests were gathered.
A man was lowering a trumpet from his lips and standing to one side. Two fully armed warriors had placed themselves on the bottom steps. Two more well-dressed men of youthful appearance also stood aside to allow Bishop Leodegar to come forward escorting a tall, middle-aged woman. The couple paused for a moment at the top of the steps that led down into the gardens.
‘Delegates, welcome the Lady Beretrude,’ cried the trumpeter.
The woman stepped regally forward a pace and gazed down on the assembly. Those gathered, politely applauded. Instantly Fidelma took a dislike to her. Perhaps it was the over-application of make-up on her pale features, the thick red on the lips and bright spots of red on the white cheeks, the black lines to accentuate her eyes and the eyes themselves-cold, pale blue and almost without pupils. The hair was black and curly. Its blackness seemed unnaturally so. The features were thin; the nose was long, giving emphasis to the look of arrogance on her features as she surveyed the guests.
Bishop Leodegar took a step that brought him by her side again and held out his left hand, slightly above waist level. Beretrude placed her right hand on it and allowed herself to be guided down the steps, and in this regal fashion they began to move around the groups in the garden with Leodegar introducing the woman to first one delegate and then to another.
‘She’s looking at you,’ whispered Eadulf.
Fidelma was aware that Lady Beretrude had given some glances in her direction and then muttered something to Leodegar, who replied then began to guide Lady Beretrude towards her.
‘This is Fidelma of Hibernia, sister to a king in that country,’ he announced. ‘A kingdom called Moo-awn, I believe.’
The pronunciation seemed close enough.
Lady Beretrude gave Fidelma a lengthy scrutiny, from the top of her head down to her feet, as if she were some exotic figure that she had never encountered before.
‘The sister of the king of…I cannot repeat your outlandish names. But Hibernia, that I know of. I hear it is at the limit of the world, inhabited by a wild people who live a wretched existence on account of the cold.’
Eadulf’s jaw tightened as he waited for Fidelma’s explosive reaction.
‘Neither so wild nor so wretched, my lady,’ she replied, keeping a tight control of her features.
‘Ah, but I hear the people in Hibernia are cannibals as well as gluttons. Do they not consider it honourable to eat their dead fathers and to openly have intercourse with their mothers and sisters as well?’
Eadulf gasped loudly at the insult, but Fidelma was perfectly controlled.
‘Beretrude,’ she said softly, dropping the courteous form of address, ‘your ability to read Strabo does you credit. I did not think women in your culture read Greek, but your knowledge of it seems excellent. Mine, alas, must be of poor quality but, even so, I do recall that Strabo did point out that he made those observations never having been to my country, not having trustworthy witnesses to guide him. He admitted to basing his remarks solely on rumours that he heard about cannibalism among the Scythians.’
Lady Beretrude’s eyes narrowed as she realised that Fidelma would not be so easily insulted.
‘Of course, one shouldn’t base knowledge on one source,’ she said coldly, her expression full of venom. ‘Pomponius Mela was not well disposed to your people either and considered them unrefined, ignorant of all the virtues and totally lacking all sense of duty.’
‘I must congratulate you again on your knowledge of the Latin writers as well as the Greeks who served the old Roman Empire,’ Fidelma replied, smiling. ‘What is sad, however, is the fact that neither of those writers, as great as they were in their own time, which is now many centuries past, ever visited Hibernia, otherwise they would have seen the error of relying on gossip and rumour. It is good, Beretrude, that in this day and age, people of intelligence and learning no longer indulge in making judgements on information gained at secondhand.’
An angry flush had come to the Lady Beretrude’s cheeks as she also realised that she was unable to assert authority over Fidelma.
She opened her mouth, hesitated and then spoke again.
‘Bishop Leodegar informs me that you have some knowledge of law?’
‘The law of my own land,’ confirmed Fidelma.
‘How quaint. He tells me that the Hibernian delegates have demanded that you choose which of the two foreign clerics killed the Hibernian delegate?’
‘Bishop Leodegar,’ Fidelma replied, glancing at him directly, ‘has actually commissioned me to investigate the killing of Abbot Dabhóc of Ard Macha. In my office, as a minor judge of my own land, it is a task that I sometimes undertake.’
‘Indeed?’ There was still the underlying sneer in Lady Beretrude’s voice. ‘It seems to me to be a task most unsuited for women.’
‘An unpleasant task for everyone, since murder is a very unnatural thing,’ Fidelma responded stolidly. ‘However, once done, then someone has to undertake the discovery of the culprit-male or female.’
It seemed to Eadulf that Fidelma had purposefully left the sentence in ambiguous form as to whether the murderer or the investigator was male or female.
Lady Beretrude was about to speak again when Bishop Leodegar, looking uneasy during this exchange, took her by the arm and moved her on to introduce her to someone else.
‘Somehow, I do not think you have made a friend in Lady Beretrude,’ Eadulf commented as he and Fidelma drew away. It was then he saw how angry the woman had made her. Her eyes were like pieces of sparkling ice.
‘I swear, Eadulf, there are times when I would enjoy physical violence. That was one of them.’
‘I thought that you handled her insults well.’
‘Belligerence and ignorance are never handled well, especially when the person who delivers them revels in them as if they were a virtue.’
She looked around. The groups of delegates were still sipping wine and talking with one another. However, she noticed that each nationality tended to keep to itself, although her own people seemed to mix more freely with the Britons, Gauls and the Armoricans. They talked in excited groups with raised voices. The delegates from the Frankish kingdoms and from the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms seemed more subdued.