‘Guntram’s fortress is at the head of a horseshoe valley that opens just beyond the shoulder of that hill,’ Brother Budnouen said, indicating before him with one hand.
They fell silent as the wagon moved slowly forward along the track. Hardly a moment passed before they were hailed and a young warrior on horseback came riding out from the cover of a hill to a point that intersected their route. Brother Budnouen evidently knew the man, and a few brief words of greeting were exchanged before the warrior waved them forward and then returned whence he had come.
‘Just one of the sentinels that Lord Guntram maintains on the route to his fortress,’ explained Brother Budnouen.
The wagon continued along the track, through the grasslands and towards the valley between the low-lying hills.
The fortress of the Lord Guntram was a curious construction made of stone and timber. High walls surrounded the buildings. Along the walls were tall turrets, presumably for sentinels. It seemed an alien construction to Fidelma. It was obvious that this type of building would never be found in her native land. It was of sharp rectangles rather than flowing curves and circles. Once inside, beyond the walls, they found a complex that surprised them. There was a large villa that compared easily to that of Lady Beretrude’s Roman construction. Obviously, it must have been built by the Romans and maintained over the centuries since it had first been constructed as well as being enclosed by the fortifications.
Lord Guntram believed in security for there were young warriors at the great wooden gates and one or two pacing the walkways along the walls. Brother Budnouen seemed well known, however, for cheery smiles and cries of greeting welcomed him. As they entered into the inner court of the villa, Brother Budnouen halted his wagon and a man came forward who apparently was the major domus of Guntram’s household.
‘Greetings, Brother Budnouen,’ the man said as the Gaul clambered down. ‘What goods do you bring us from Nebirnum this time?’
There followed a short and rapid conversation in the language of the Burgunds, but so quick were the words spoken that Eadulf admitted he lost track of what was being said, except that he and Fidelma were mentioned a few times. The major domus examined them keenly for they had both climbed down from the wagon and now stood hesitantly behind Brother Budnouen.
‘So you wish to speak with Lord Guntram?’ he asked after a pause, his voice low in heavily accented Latin.
Fidelma answered: ‘We do. Would you tell him that it concerns the events in the abbey at Autun?’
‘So I understand,’ the man replied with a slight nod towards Brother Budnouen. ‘Come with me.’
‘Once I have unloaded my wagon, I shall be waiting here for you to join me for the return journey to Autun,’ Brother Budnouen called as they followed the steward into the main building.
The stone-faced major domus told them to wait in an antechamber while he went in search of Lord Guntram. It was a room that filled them with some amazement after the hard stone confines of the abbey. The room was lined in pink stucco plaster displaying old frescos of scenes of satyrs, a man playing pipes and of young men sporting with girls. Although their colours were fading, the pictures were quite astonishing. There were chairs before a log fire but they had barely seated themselves when the major domus returned.
‘My lord Guntram bids you welcome and apologises for a little delay in being able to receive you. You are welcome to partake of some refreshment while you wait.’
‘Your pardon.’ Eadulf rose looking slightly embarrassed and anxious. ‘It has been a long trip on Brother Budnouen’s wagon. Would you mind if I used your necessarium?’
The major domus looked puzzled, apparently not knowing the word. Eadulf made gestures and resorted to his own language, using the word abort.
‘Ah,’ grunted the man. ‘Behind the stables to the left.’
The major domus left Fidelma with a beaker of apple wine and some dried fruit before leaving. Eadulf was gone some time and when he re-entered, he had no time to sit down before the man returned and beckoned them into the adjacent room.
A thin-featured young man was standing before a blazing log fire, even though the late summer day was moderately warm. In spite of the sharpness of his features, his blue eyes and curly black hair were handsome, or so Fidelma thought as she studied him. It was only Guntram’s jaw line and his red lips, as if he had squeezed red berry juice over them as was the custom with some of the well-born women of her own land, that displayed a certain weakness. One could see a resemblance to Lady Beretrude immediately, just as she had seen it in the features of Sister Radegund. Then she paused: surely she had seen similar features elsewhere? Beretrude, Radegund and now Guntram-but who else?
Guntram stood with his hands behind his back, feet slightly apart, his pale eyes scrutinising them. Then he glanced to the steward, who announced their names.
‘I have heard that you are investigating the death of Abbot Dabhóc at the request of the bishop,’ began the young man, speaking in a fluent Latin. Then he frowned. ‘Autun is within my feudal domain and Bishop Leodegar did not ask my permission about this matter.’
Fidelma’s eyes widened slightly in reaction but her expression did not change.
‘We have no wish to impose ourselves where we are not wanted, Lord Guntram. When we arrived at Autun, our assistance was requested and presumably the Bishop Leodegar was under the impression that, as the matter was concerned with the abbey, he had a right to commission us to investigate. Are you questioning that right?’
The young man was silent for a moment.
‘I am Guntram, prince of the Burgunds and lord of this land,’ he said, articulating it like a prayer. ‘I am the direct descendant of Gundahar, who was the first great leader of the Burgunds and who defeated the Roman general Aetius. Our lineage was ancient before the ancestors of Clovis the Frank learned to write their own name. I am the ultimate law here.’
Fidelma bowed her head gravely. ‘A great prince is known by his actions and not by a recitation of his ancestors,’ she replied pointedly.
Eadulf suppressed a shiver. Fidelma’s forthrightness might not be wise among these Franks and Burgunds who seemed so sensitive of their ancestry and rank. He saw Guntram’s eyes narrow as if in anger. Then the young man began to shake. To his astonishment, Eadulf realised that he was laughing.
‘Well said, Fidelma of Cashel. I have heard of the ready wit of your people. Let me offer you refreshments from your journey and please be seated.’ He clapped his hands for attention.
As if from nowhere, servants appeared and drew chairs before the fire. Trays of sweetmeats and drinks were brought for them to choose from.
‘My spies have told me all about you. I have heard that you are sister to the king of your country in which women are judges and lawyers. Amazing. You are a lucky man, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham.’
Eadulf could think of nothing to say in rejoinder. The young man was continuing to speak.
‘It is true that I am the ultimate law and true, too, that Bishop Leodegar should have consulted with me on this matter. But, then, Franks often forget to consult with Burgunds. Of course I have no objections to your investigating this tiresome matter.’
‘Tiresome matter? We talk about the death of an abbot of Hibernia,’ interposed Eadulf, slightly outraged by the other’s nonchalant tone.
‘The effects are tiresome, not the act itself,’ qualified the young lord.
‘In what way tiresome?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Tiresome in that it disturbs the tranquillity of my land and my people. That there is a council, in which representatives from many lands have come to participate, is tiresome enough. That the council brings an envoy, Nuntius Peregrinus, from Rome here is also tiresome. Then comes a murder of a foreign delegate. That will mean that Clotaire will doubtless blame me for the disturbance in tranquillity and that is even more tiresome. Our Frankish king is youthful and sensitive as to how his image appears in Rome.’