The cruit was a small eight-stringed harp on which poets would accompany themselves as they sang their poems and ballads.

  Colgú met Gormán’s eye. ‘See to it, but suggest a subject less controversial than the Uí Fidgente plot. What of the one about the Blessed Ailbhe? There is a ballad about him being saved by a she-wolf when he was abandoned as a baby by his father. That will surely appeal to our distinguished religious guests.’

  ‘It is certainly a good ballad to distract our guests with,’ Abbot Ségdae said approvingly.

  Abbess Líoch was still looking unhappy, as were both Sister Dianaimh and Brother Madagan. It was the abbess who brought them back to the main subject.

  ‘It’s all very well to divert these people with entertainment – but what do they want? They have not even indicated why they have come here. And why here, out of all the Five Kingdoms? That’s what I’d like to know.’

  ‘Líoch does have a point,’ Fidelma told her brother. ‘Since we have heard of their coming, we have witnessed many inexplicable happenings. Are those events connected with the purpose of their visit?’

  ‘I cannot extract information if the strangers are not willing to give it,’ Colgú replied defensively. ‘Tell me a means of doing so, and I will do it.’

  ‘The means will present itself tonight,’ Abbot Ségdae said in a positive voice. There was a sceptical silence and so he continued: ‘I will be the spear-point in the coming conflict. As comarb, the successor to the Blessed Ailbhe, therefore abbot and senior bishop in this kingdom, I shall demand answers!’

  ‘And if the answers are not supplied?’ There was a slight note of derision in Abbess Líoch’s voice.

  The abbot made an eloquent gesture with his hand. ‘Then we have recourse to the law.’

  Even Fidelma was confused at this remark. ‘I think you had best explain that.’

  ‘There is a movement among some clerics, especially those influenced by Rome, to reject our system of law and replace it with what they call the “Penitentials”. A few of our abbeys are introducing them. They are a foreign abomination and I am against them.’

  ‘We can agree in that, but what are you saying?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘In our society, an abbot or bishop has no more rights under our law than a secular lord. He is constrained by the law. If he misbehaves, his tuath, the people, can impeach him. He must be heard before a gathering of the derbhfhine of the abbey, who are considered his family. If found guilty of misconduct under the law, they can dismiss him and elect a new abbot or bishop.’ He addressed Abbess Líoch: ‘And of course, the same law applies to the abbesses and their houses.’

  He paused again for a moment, in order to gather up his arguments. ‘All clerics of high rank have equal rights to provincial kings and are treated equally. I am an Eóghanacht and my honour price under law is fourteen cumals.’

  Fidelma was shaking her head. ‘I still do not understand. How does this mean that we might be able to force the strangers to tell us why they are here? What recourse to law are you suggesting?’

  ‘There is a text in the Bretha Nemed toísech pointing out that a cleric is called upon to give dagfolad or consideration to society. If he refuses consideration, then he must face the consequences.’

  Fidelma’s eyes suddenly lit up as she began to see the point he was developing.

  ‘The Córus Béscnai speaks of the consequences of the wrongdoing of clerics, even abbots and bishops. They can be treated like any other wrongdoer,’ she said slowly.

  Abbot Ségdae was smiling triumphantly. ‘Do not the ancient annals tell us that even high-ranking churchmen can be taken as hostages and have their rights stripped from them, be confined to the territory and made to work for the good of the community?’

  Colgú leaned forward nervously in his chair.

  ‘Now wait. Are you suggesting that we have Gormán and his warriors here take Verax and Arwald as prisoners? Surely that would produce outrage in their own lands, and the next thing would be that foreign armies would land on our shores and we would have to contend with them. That is something I do not want to see!’

  Fidelma was chuckling reassuringly. ‘With God’s help, neither shall you, brother. What Abbot Ségdae is talking about is only the threat that this could be done – while not making the threat a reality. It is a bluff that, should there be further prevarication, we can use by simply pointing out our system of law. Why,’ she warmed to the idea, ‘a few years ago, the Council of Brehons even passed an amendment to the laws, speaking of the punishment which should be imposed on a bishop who stumbles in the performance of his duties and obligations to the community.’

  ‘Very well, how do we confront people like the Venerable Verax and Bishop Arwald?’ Colgú wanted to know. ‘How do you wrap up in diplomatic language the threat that either they tell us what they are doing here or we will simply reduce them to what they call slaves in their own country?’

  ‘I would suggest that the Venerable Verax would be the one to approach in the matter,’ advised Fidelma. ‘What he decrees, Bishop Arwald, in spite of his arrogance, will obey. So with that in mind, let us wait and see what this evening will bring. Meanwhile, Eadulf and I will retire, for we have much to talk about.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  They were walking back to their chambers across the courtyard when Fidelma stopped abruptly in mid-stride. Eadulf immediately glanced nervously up at the surrounding walls, even though they were some way from the nearest one, in case there was a threat. However, Fidelma had halted because a thought, not a missile, had struck her.

  ‘It just occurred to me that there is an easier way than confrontation to find out what this deputation is really about.’

  Eadulf turned to her. ‘I thought your original suggestion was the best. The Venerable Verax is the man with authority and he would be the best person to respond to reason.’

  ‘But there might be another way. If you get a chance, have words with the young scribe who accompanies them … what’s his name?’

  ‘Brother Bosa?’

  ‘Brother Bosa,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘He has been keeping very quiet so far. As scribe to Bishop Arwald, he should be able to tell us what is going on.’

  Eadulf was doubtful. ‘He will obey his masters. If they have told him to say nothing, then doubtless he will say nothing. Anyway, I don’t like him.’

  ‘Why not?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘There is something furtive about him.’

  To his surprise, Fidelma laughed. ‘I swear, husband, you are getting suspicious of religious; first your brother and now this scribe. Religious are not born. They enter the life from all manner of previous lives – even from the role of warrior. Anyway, his response will no doubt depend on the way he is questioned. I feel that he might provide the breach in the wall put up by Verax and Arwald. After all, you are a fellow countryman of his. You still wear the Roman tonsure, for you have not yet completely accepted the rites of our church.’

  Eadulf was intrigued in spite of his reservations. ‘It might well be a path,’ he admitted. ‘Do you remember how Arwald thought he recognised me as being at Canterbury a short time ago?’

  ‘We know that was a mistake.’

  ‘It was obvious that he mistook me for my brother, Egric. Superficially, there are similarities. At least it tells us that Arwald knows that Egric came to this kingdom. But why did he say, “in the company of an elderly man”, and not the Venerable Victricius?’

  ‘We must keep an open mind and…’ Fidelma fell silent as she glanced towards the far side of the courtyard. The very person they had been talking about had emerged and was speaking to one of the guards. The warrior was pointing to the chapel, as if to give directions, and Brother Bosa began walking towards it.

  ‘The ideal opportunity, Eadulf.’ Fidelma smiled grimly. ‘I suggest you follow Brother Bosa to the chapel while I return to our chambers. See what you can find out.’

  Eadulf walked slowly towards the chapel and entered. A few lamps shed a shadowy light inside. He paused at the door, peering round in the gloom, trying to locate the figure of the Saxon. He saw him at last at the back of the chapel, kneeling in prayer.

  Eadulf waited until it looked as if Brother Bosa had finished his devotions and then made his way towards him. Brother Bosa saw him coming and rose from his knees.

  ‘You looking for me, Brother?’ he asked brusquely in their common language.

  ‘I could not help but notice that you act as both translator as well as scribe to this deputation,’ Eadulf replied in as friendly tone as he could muster. ‘I was wondering how you had such a good command of the language of the Five Kingdoms.’

  ‘I make no secret of it,’ replied the other with a shrug. ‘I studied at the Abbey of Darú where many of our countrymen have studied. I was there for two years before returning home.’

  ‘And where is home?’

  The young scribe did not reply but changed the subject. ‘I heard you say that you were from the Kingdom of the East Angles. Do you not find it difficult to live among these strange people? Look at the way the servants seem to think themselves equal to their King. We would have them flogged for such pretensions.’

  ‘It is not the custom here to flog those who attend to our needs.’ Eadulf felt his hackles rise. ‘Rather, we reward them for their service to us. You should know that, if you have studied here for two years.’

  ‘I did not concern myself with the lives of those outside the abbey. I concentrated on my studies and was glad to leave the country,’ replied the other rudely.

  ‘I presume that you are from Magonsaete?’ Eadulf asked, trying to keep a calm voice and pursue the information he sought.

  ‘Magonsaete? That backwater? Not I,’ declared Brother Bosa, much to Eadulf’s surprise. ‘I am from the Kingdom of Kent. I am a direct descendant of Wecta, son of Woden. My father was Octha, brother to Eorcenbert.’

  Eadulf was even more surprised. Eorcenbert had been a King of Kent and married to Seaxburh, daughter of Anna, King of his own people, the East Angles. Importantly, Eorcenbert was the first king to have been raised as a Christian, and when he had come to power in Kent, he had ordered the destruction of all the ancient gods and goddesses and their priests. He had appointed the first Jutish Archbishop of Canterbury. That had been Frithuwine, who took the Latin name Deusdedit, but who had died of the Yellow Plague.

  Brother Bosa obviously took Eadulf’s silence for awe and smiled indulgently. ‘I am the son of kings and of the oldest kingdom among our people. My father, a pious man, sent me first to Rome for my education and then to Darú, so that I might learn the ways of the barbarians that surround our country.’

  Eadulf regarded the young man thoughtfully, ignoring the slight. ‘Bishop Arwald is from Magonsaete,’ he pointed out.

  Brother Bosa flushed in annoyance. ‘I have never been to that place,’ he said haughtily.

  ‘But you serve Bishop Arwald. Why…?’ Eadulf was frowning.

  ‘I am of Kent,’ snapped Brother Bosa. ‘I am from Canterbury and serving in the household of Theodore, the Archbishop, who is also served by Arwald. I serve the Bishop because…’ He suddenly caught himself as if he was about to reveal something he should not.

  ‘Your master, Bishop Arwald, thought he had seen me before. In fact, he thought he had seen me in Canterbury only a short time ago in the company of an elderly man. Whoever he mistook me for, he said that he had come to this country and was known to have landed at one of the ports in the south.’

  When Eadulf paused to allow a comment, Brother Bosa made no response.

  ‘I was wondering why Bishop Arwald thought it was me and how he knew that this person and his elderly companion had come to the Five Kingdoms.’

  Brother Bosa hesitated a moment and then, obviously unable to think up some prevarication, he said: ‘I also glimpsed this person. He was remarkably like you but, now I look closely at you, he was much younger. While we were at this abbey called Fearna, Bishop Arwald made some enquiries of local merchants, and was told that two people answering the descriptions of those we sought had landed at a sea port to the south not so long ago.’

  ‘So you seek these people!’ Eadulf exclaimed. ‘Why?’

  Brother Bosa seemed hesitant again. ‘I could answer, why should that be of interest to you?’ he countered.

  ‘If one of these persons looks so like me,’ replied Eadulf ‘then it is surely of interest.’

  ‘I suppose it would be,’ the scribe reflected. ‘I cannot enlighten you, however. I can only say that Bishop Arwald was much concerned about them.’

  ‘I suppose you know that the Venerable Verax is brother to the Holy Father?’

  Brother Bosa seemed surprised that Eadulf knew, and confined himself to a nod of acknowledgement, before adding: ‘I serve Canterbury and Rome, and therefore it distresses me to be among barbarians who have not accepted the True Faith. You yourself, Brother Eadulf, wear a tonsure of Rome, yet you live among these barbarians and have even married the sister of the King.’

  Eadulf’s eyes narrowed for a moment. ‘And you disapprove?’

  Brother Bosa did not appear perturbed at the frowning countenance of Eadulf. If anything, he was growing assertive, leaning forward to tap the other man on the chest with a forefinger.

  ‘You are a religieux, and in spite of conversion to the Faith by clerics from this country, we are told that you went to Rome and declared for her teachings as decided at innumerable councils of her bishops. You represented the true path of Rome at the Great Council of Streonshalh against the false doctrines of the Church of Columba.’

  ‘Therefore?’ Eadulf’s voice was quietly ominous.

  ‘You have been seduced; married to a foreigner. A religieux should be celibate.’

  Eadulf raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah, so you are an advocate of celibacy among the religious?’

  ‘There is no other path to follow but that of the True Faith. It is wrong for anyone in the religious to marry and have children.’

  Smiling complacently, the young scribe did not notice the tightening of the muscles of Eadulf’s features.

  Eadulf completely forgot that the scribe had neatly deflected him from the purpose of his questions. He said icily, ‘You are now in the Kingdom of Muman, Brother Bosa; in the Land of the Five Kingdoms which hold an allegiance to a High King who resides in the Middle Kingdom. All the kingdoms follow the same laws and practices and religious concepts. You would be well advised not to express the opinion that their liturgy is a false doctrine. Remember, it is Rome which, through its many councils and debates, has departed from what was originally taught when the Faith first came to this land. Here, they regard the liturgy and doctrines now followed in Rome as the deviant ones; ones rejecting the original teachings of the Faith.’

  ‘That is nonsense!’

  ‘Nonsense or not, not even the Bishop of Rome and his council have declared against marriage among the religious. So be aware of where you are.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Have you ever read the works of Aurelius Ambrosius, a man from Gaul who became Bishop of Mediolanum, a city situated, so I am told, to the north of Rome?’

  Brother Bosa was puzzled. ‘I have never read his work.’

  ‘There are two lines of advice given by him that you may well consider. Quando hic sum, non jejuno Sabbato; quando Romae sum, jejuno Sabboto.’

  Brother Bosa thought for a moment and then translated: ‘When I’m here, I do not fast on Saturday; when I’m in Rome, I fast on Saturday. What does that mean?’

  ‘In other words, Brother Bosa, follow the customs of where you are and do not try to impose your own.’

  ‘What if I know that I speak the truth? Am I to remain silent?’

  ‘Ensure that your truth will not offend another’s truth before uttering it!’

  ‘And you take offence because I do not believe that you have followed the right path of the Faith in marrying yourself to a foreigner in order to gain favour with these people?’

  Eadulf fought once more to restrain a surge of angry emotion. He was thinking of the attitude of his brother, Egric. ‘It did not happen like that. Besides, nowhere in Christendom is this idea of celibacy mandatory for those in religious life. Even the apostles were married, for did not Christ cure the mother of Peter’s wife? Did not Paul write to Timothy at Ephesus, accepting marriage among the church fathers but saying that bishops should only take one wife for there are some societies where there can be a plurality of wives?’

  Brother Bosa bent forward, eyes fierce. ‘Paul also wrote to the Christians at Corinth pointing out that the unmarried religious care for the Lord’s business and devote their life to pleasing the Lord; but the married men and women care only for worldly things, aiming to please their wives or husbands and gain security through personal wealth.’

  ‘Indeed, he did,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘He also explained that this was his personal view – which he did not impose on anyone else. There was no compulsion and people were in complete control of their own choices.’

  ‘I have read, in the sacred texts, that the disciples asked Christ if it was better not to marry, and He said that His followers should renounce marriage for the sake of achieving the Kingdom of Heaven.’

  ‘Return to the text, Brother Bosa, which is in the Gospel of Matthew,’ Eadulf counselled. ‘The words of Christ are very clear. He was speaking generally when he said some are incapable of marriage because they are born so. Others might decide to renounce marriage to devote their time to the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven. Nowhere does the Christ say that they must do so.’

  ‘More and more, the churches are realising that you cannot serve the needs of the faithful while being distracted by the needs of your own family. It was one of the canons agreed by the bishops and priests meeting at the Great Council of Elvira,’ Brother Bosa argued stubbornly.