Bishop Arigius was a tall thin man with sharp features, piercing dark eyes and thin red lips. His hair was sparse and silver grey. He had risen from a chair and crossed the room to greet them, a smile of welcome revealing yellowing teeth.
‘Pax vobiscum.’ He intoned the greeting solemnly. ‘My steward tells me that you are bound for Autun, to the council, and that you come from the land of Hibernia?’
‘He tells you no lie,’ replied Eadulf, shifting the weight of his bag on his shoulder.
The motion was not lost on the bishop.
‘Then come and be seated, put down your bags and join me in refreshment. A glass of white wine cooled in our cellars…?’ He nodded to the steward who hurried away to obtain the beverage.
‘I am Bishop Arigius, the second of that name to hold office here in this ancient abbey.’
‘An impressive building and an impressive town, from the little I have seen,’ Eadulf replied politely after they had introduced themselves.
Bishop Arigius gave a smile of pride.
‘Indeed. When the great Julius Caesar marched the Roman legions into this land, he chose this spot as a military depot for his legions. The Aedui, the Gauls who lived here, had a hill fort on this very spot, which Caesar refortified; hence the name of this place, which was Noviodunum-novus, the Latin for new, and dunum, the Gaulish word for a fort. So it was “new fort” and since then, changing accents have brought about its current name. It was one of the earliest places in which the Faith was established in this land, and for a while it became known as Gallia Christiana. The bishops here were renowned.’
‘You have great knowledge of this town,’ Fidelma said solemnly.
‘Scientia est potentia,’ smiled the bishop.
‘Knowledge is power,’ repeated Fidelma softly. It was a philosophy she had often expounded.
The young steward returned with a jug and beakers, which he filled with a golden-coloured wine. It was cold and refreshing.
‘We make it from our own vineyards,’ explained the young man in answer to their expressions of praise.
‘Now,’ Bishop Arigius said briskly, ‘I presume that you have heard the news from Autun?’
Fidelma exchanged a puzzled look with Eadulf. ‘The news?’ she repeated.
‘We only heard it ourselves yesterday afternoon.’ The bishop looked from one to another expectantly as if all was explained.
‘We are still at a loss,’ Fidelma said. ‘What news from Autun?’
Bishop Arigius sighed and sat back. ‘Forgive me. Foolishly, my steward thought you might have been on your way to Autun because of the news.’
Fidelma tried to be patient. ‘We have been travelling along the river for many days. We have heard no news for all that time.’
‘One of the abbots from your land of Hibernia was murdered there.’
Fidelma was shocked.
Eadulf immediately asked: ‘Do you know the name of this abbot? It was not Abbot Ségdae?’
Bishop Arigius shook his head. ‘I know only that he was of your land.’
‘What else can you tell us of what has happened?’ Eadulf pressed.
‘Nothing beyond that simple fact,’ replied the bishop promptly. ‘A passing merchant brought us the news yesterday.’
‘No name was mentioned?’ queried Fidelma.
‘No name was mentioned,’ affirmed the bishop.
There was a silence. Then Fidelma said: ‘It is imperative that we should continue on to Autun as soon as possible. But the boatman who brought us hither said that it is a two-or three-day journey by horse from here.’
Bishop Arigius glanced out of the window. ‘It is no use continuing on now, for the best part of the day is gone,’ he declared. ‘Stay and feast with us this evening and continue in the morning.’
Fidelma smiled sadly. ‘Alas, we have no horses, and…’
The bishop waved his hand deprecatingly.
‘One of our brethren leaves tomorrow at dawn with a wagon carrying goods destined for the brethren in Autun. You may ride on that and welcome. The road is good, especially at this time of year, being dry and hard, and it will take no more than four days to reach the town.’
‘We accept,’ Eadulf said hastily. The prospect of racing along strange roads on an equally strange steed had not been a pleasant one. Being seated comfortably on a wagon was a much better prospect.
‘Excellent.’ Bishop Arigius stood and they followed his example. ‘My steward will show you to our hospitia, our guests’ quarters, where you may rest and refresh yourselves. We gather shortly in the refectory; my steward will guide you there. The bell will toll for the services in the chapel. We rise at the tolling of the bell, just before dawn. I will instruct our brother to await you in the quadrangle to commence your journey tomorrow.’
‘And the name of this brother?’ asked Fidelma.
‘Brother Budnouen. He is a Gaul.’
Brother Budnouen was rotund, with a podgy red face seemingly lacking a neck, for folds of flesh seemed to flop straight down on to his chest. Middle aged, short in stature and tanned, he had pale eyes, almost sea-green, and long brown hair, which they immediately saw was cut in the manner of the tonsure of St John rather than in the corona spina favoured by Rome. In spite of his heavy breathing, caused by his girth and weight, the brother’s forearms seemed quite muscular from hard work, and his hands were callused. They later learned that this was due to his being a wagonman; the leather reins caused the hardening of the skin on the palms. It came as no surprise when he told them that he had spent his youth as a seaman, sailing along the ports of Armorica to Britain and Hibernia, whose languages he spoke with great fluency. He was an excellent companion; his eyes had a twinkle, his face a ready smile and his attitude was to look for the best that life had to offer. In fact, he was a very loquacious fellow and the moment they left the abbey at Nebirnum, Brother Budnouen kept up a steady commentary as he guided the wagon, pulled by four powerful mules, along the road which headed due east.
‘I am originally of the Aeudi,’ he told them. ‘This was once Aeudi country, but then many years ago, the Burgunds came and drove us out. Some of us fled to Armorica. Some, like me, stayed to make the best of things. Now the Burgunds, in their turn, are made vassals by the Franks who call this land Austrasia.’
‘The Aeudi were Gauls?’ queried Eadulf, who was always determined to add to his knowledge. He and Fidelma were seated beside Brother Budnouen on the driving seat of the wagon as their guide and driver expertly directed the team of mules by a flick of the long leather reins now and again.
Brother Budnouen laughed pleasantly and there was pride in his voice.
‘They were indeed the Gauls, my friend. I am descended from the great Vercingetorix-king of the world-who nearly destroyed Caesar and the Romans until he was forced to surrender in order to save the lives of the women and children that Caesar would have sacrificed by the thousands to ensure his victory. Caesar was so scared of that great man that he had him taken in chains to Rome, kept for years in a dungeon and then ritually strangled to celebrate his final victory.’
Eadulf pursed his lips. ‘War is not a pleasant thing.’
‘That was something the Romans found out. If they thought that the death of Vercingetorix would cowe us into submission, they were wrong. We rose many times against them but it seemed that when one legion was defeated, three more took its place. We were still fighting the Roman legions nearly a hundred years after Caesar departed. Eventually Gaul became a Roman province and peaceful, until a few more centuries when the Burgunds and Franks came flooding across the Rhine to destroy us.’