The Leper's Bell (18 page)

The bishop sniffed dismissively.

‘An unexpected matter arose and I proceeded no further than the abbey of Coimán on the coast. I did not even set foot on shipboard.’

‘Nothing serious, I trust?’

The bishop shook his head. Obviously he did not feel the necessity to speak further on the subject. He cleared his throat hesitantly.

‘I have just heard of your loss. My … er, my condolences. I will say a mass for the repose of the soul of Sárait, who was an obedient daughter of the Faith…’ he hesitated again, ‘and I will pray for the safe return of the child.’

Eadulf grimaced sourly.

‘You will pray for
our
son, Alchú?’ he asked with emphasis. ‘My wife is most appreciative of such a gesture.’

Bishop Petrán blinked at the quiet belligerence in his voice.

‘It is not a gesture but my duty as a servant of the Faith.’

‘But I thought you disapproved of
our
son? Indeed, you do not even approve of our marital union,’ Eadulf continued, without disguising the sneer in his voice. Fidelma tried to give him a warning glance but he was not looking.

Bishop Petrán’s pale cheeks had reddened a little.

‘I have my beliefs, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham,’ he replied irritably. ‘It does not prevent me from being concerned with the fate of the son of the sister of my temporal king.’

‘Or
my
son?’ snapped Eadulf. ‘You surprise me. I thought you condemned all marital unions between the members of the religious as inspired by evil, especially those unions wrought between women of your land and the men of my country?’

Fidelma stirred uncomfortably at his side. She had been shocked into silence by Eadulf’s verbal attack on the elderly bishop. Once again, she was dumbfounded at seeing this new, angry side to Eadulf’s nature. It both astonished and concerned her.

‘This is not the time to speak of theological differences, Eadulf,’ she admonished. ‘We should thank the bishop for his spiritual concern.’

Eadulf snorted in disgust.

‘I have spoken of your appreciation. Yet I do not give thanks for that which should be a natural reaction. Petrán and I both know well that we hold differences that are irreconcilable. I have to say, however, that I find his words sanctimonious and lacking in sincerity.’

Bishop Petrán took a step backward, his eyes wide. The flush deepened as his expression hardened into dislike.

‘I have no knowledge of how your people treat their bishops, Saxon,’ he said coldly. ‘Indeed, I know that only a generation or so ago they had not even heard the Word of the True Faith, let alone had bishops to guide them. My people had to teach them, so maybe you are still in the process of learning. However, in this land, the bishops are treated with respect.’

Eadulf’s eyes were like pinpricks of fire. His face, too, was flushed with anger.

‘Respect is something that a Saxon, whether bishop or king, has to earn, Petrán. It is not given as a right. I have spent enough time in Rome and Gaul to know that you hold a very narrow view of the Faith. I upheld Rome at the great Council of Whitby and not even the Bishop of Rome, who is the Father of the Faith, preaches or condones those things that you teach.’

Bishop Petrán actually smiled, albeit a grimace without warmth.

‘I presume that you mean my teaching that for the religious only celibacy is the true path to God?’ he demanded. ‘In that case, I should remind you what the great Gregory of Rome said - that all sexual desire is sinful in itself.’

Eadulf uttered a short sharp bark of laughter.

‘Then he must mean that desire itself is intrinsically evil. How can that be? Did God not create men and women and the means to procreate? Do you say that God created something that is fundamentally evil? Something that is sinful?’

Bishop Petrán’s face darkened for a moment.

‘Do not question the word of a great saint. Gregory the Great is God’s infallible word. He is not to be challenged.’

‘Then you must condemn the great abbot and missionary Columbanus who defied him? Columbanus adhered to the ecclesiastical customs and teachings of the five kingdoms of Éireann, and when challenged by Gregory he wrote in defence of those teachings. Do you argue that the Faith is closed to such challenge and debate?’

‘Columbanus was a Laigin man who should have been content to remain abbot of Bangor in the northern kingdom. His pride in arguing with Gregory was sinful.’

Eadulf shook his head sadly. ‘You are prejudiced in your beliefs. That makes you a bigot.’

Bishop Petrán twisted his lips into an ugly sneer. ‘Heraclitus wrote that bigotry was a sacred disease.’

‘And that prejudice is the child of ignorance,’ riposted Eadulf.

‘And Aristotle pointed out that some men are just as sure of the truth of their opinions as are others of what they know,’ intervened Fidelma, raising her voice sharply as she tried to mediate in the argument.

‘When I travelled in Rome,’ went on Eadulf, ignoring her, as did Bishop Petrán, ‘I learnt that even Christ’s own people in Judaea believed that marriage was the prominent symbol for the relationship of God to his people, that marriage and family were in the centre of life and celibacy was not recognised as having any religious value. Very few Bishops of Rome have so far argued that the only route to God would come through celibacy.’

Bishop Petrán scowled as he replied.

‘The Faith, the congregation of bishops, is moving slowly to an acceptance of the teaching that the way of achieving greater devotion to God and victory over the world’s evils is to live the celibate life. For those religious who achieve it, it is to achieve a place in the hereafter as great as martyrdom.’

‘And I have no intention of achieving either martyrdom or celibacy,’ replied Eadulf. ‘Nowhere is it decreed by God or Christ that those who follow the Faith must abandon a normal life. Even those who a few centuries ago started to practise sexual abstinence as though it was a possible vocation did so in the belief that it was a transitory ritual during the brief time they thought they had to wait while the form of this world was passing away before the Kingdom of Christ arrived.’

The bishop shook his head in exasperation.

‘I have my belief, Saxon. I know I am right. I am fighting to keep the
truth safe.’ He suddenly held out his hands, each balled into a fist. ‘I grasp that truth tight in these hands for protection.’

‘And your grip might kill it, Petrán,’ interposed Fidelma softly, speaking again in an attempt to end the argument. ‘Let each of you have his own truth for the time being. We have other matters of more immediate concern. I thank you, Petrán, for your prayers and good wishes.’

She turned, with a meaningful look at Eadulf, and began to walk away. After a second’s hesitation, Eadulf reluctantly followed after her.

‘What are you doing, verbally and outrageously attacking Bishop Petrán?’ she hissed as they turned into the corridor leading to their chambers. A shadow was standing near their door. It was the tall warrior, Gorman.

‘Are you look for us, Gorman?’ asked Fidelma.

The warrior looked embarrassed.

‘No, lady. I was looking for Capa. He went to fetch the herald’s standard. I think the king is awaiting his return.’

Fidelma indicated further along the corridor.

‘The room of the
techtaire
, the herald’s room with the standards, is at the end of this corridor. The door to your left. That is where Capa should be.’

‘Thank you, lady,’ grunted the warrior, raising a hand in salute before moving off.

Eadulf paused to open the door to their chambers and stood aside while Fidelma entered. He was still truculent about his argument.

‘That hypocrite!’ he muttered, referring to Bishop Petrán. ‘If he has been behind the kidnapping of Alchú, I want him to know that I will not pander to his insincerity.’

‘And if he is behind it, you have certainly alerted him to your dislike,’ Fidelma admonished irritably.

A female servant, piling logs on the fire, rose in haste with a quick bob towards Fidelma.

‘I was just tidying your chambers. Is there anything you need, lady?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘A jug of wine,’ snapped Eadulf before Fidelma had a chance to respond.

The servant looked at Fidelma, who made a neutral gesture that the servant took as an affirmative. When she had disappeared, Eadulf flung himself into the seat before the fire and glared moodily at the flames.

‘I would, at times, give much to live the Faith as Bishop Petrán argues it,’ he muttered.

Fidelma stared at him in surprise.

‘What do you mean, Eadulf? I swear your reasoning is beyond me at times.’

Eadulf scowled back.

‘Bishop Petrán is known to believe in the literal word of scripture - would he not argue that we must obey the epistles of Paul? That to Ephesians, perhaps? “Wives, be subject to your husbands as to the Lord; for the man is the master of the woman, just as Christ is the head of the church. Christ is, indeed, the Saviour of the body; but just as the church is subject to Christ, so must women be subject to their husbands in everything.” Yet it seems your laws deny Holy Scripture. Here women are not subject to their husbands but husbands seem subject to their women.’

Fidelma’s brows came together in anger.

‘I swear that you can be boorish at times, Eadulf. Here, no woman is subject in her own home nor is any man her master. And no man is subject to his wife.’

Eadulf chuckled sardonically.

‘Except when a woman takes a foreigner as husband. Then he remains on sufferance of the woman and her family, without rights, without even respect. I cannot even ask wine from a servant without her looking at you for approval.’

Fidelma coloured a little. There was some truth in what Eadulf said. She knew it. Yet it was the way of her people. How was it growing into the problem that was causing Eadulf to behave so belligerently?

‘Eadulf, you have never talked this way before,’ she said defensively.

‘Perhaps I have been too compliant. It is, indeed, my great fault that I have not done so before now.’

‘You do not believe what you are saying, Eadulf. I know you too well to accept that you believe in the dictums of Paul of Tarsus on the obedience of women to men.’

Eadulf’s truculent features suddenly dissolved into an expression of sadness.

‘Fidelma, I am a Saxon, not an Éireannach. I was taught that my ancestors sprang from the loins of Woden, that no one was as great as we were and no other Saxon was as great as those of the South Folk. People trembled at our word. Were we not of the race of Wegdaeg, son of Woden,
and of Uffa, who drove the Britons from the land we then took as our own?’

Fidelma gazed at him in astonishment.

She had heard such diatribes from Saxon princelings and warriors about the glories of their people but she had never heard it from the lips of Eadulf before. She did not know how to answer him.

Eadulf gazed at her with an agonised look.

‘What I am trying to say, Fidelma, is that imbued with such spirit I have tried to accept the mantle of charity and brotherhood that is the mark of the Faith. Fursa, a wandering monk of your own race, taught me, when I had scarcely reached manhood. I was not brought up in the Faith but I forsook and forswore the old gods of the South Folk on my twentieth birthday. I was hereditary
gerefa
, magistrate, of the thane of Seaxmund’s Ham. I have pride, Fidelma. I have self-esteem. I have the vanity of my race. It is sometimes hard for me to find myself here. I am a stranger in a strange land.’

Fidelma felt the bewildered misery in his voice.

‘I thought that you liked this country,’ she said, trying to formulate her thoughts.

‘I do, otherwise I would not have spent so much time here. I came here to learn the canons of the Faith long before I met you. But it is hard to completely turn one’s back on one’s homeland and one’s culture. During this last year, I have especially been reminded of what it is that I miss.’

‘This last year? Since we married? Since we had little Alchú?’

Eadulf gestured helplessly with his arms.

‘You want to return to your own land?’

‘I don’t know. I think so.’

‘I could never live in that country, Eadulf. That is why I tried to keep our relationship at a distance.’

‘I know.’

She hesitated and then took a step towards him.

‘Eadulf…’ she began.

There was a knock on the door and the servant came back with a jug of Gaulish wine and pottery mugs. The moment of intimacy had gone.

‘Do you want me to continue cleaning, lady?’ the woman asked. ‘I had only just come to the chamber when you entered.’

Fidelma shook her head. She was turning aside when her eye was caught by a garment hanging out of a small wooden chest, not properly
folded away. The chest stood near Alchú’s cot. She shivered slightly, not wishing to go near it.

‘Just tuck that in before you go,’ she instructed the servant. ‘I do not like to see things left untidy. If you are to clean these chambers, make sure that such things are put away.’

The servant seemed about to speak but then she shrugged and went to carry out the instruction. There was silence until she left the room.

Eadulf was helping himself liberally to the wine. His movements still implied suppressed anger.

Fidelma spoke with a considered calm.

‘Eadulf, we are both in a state of emotional uncertainty. We have a crisis confronting us. There must be peace between us if we are to overcome this matter.’

Eadulf glanced at her. His expression did not change. He shrugged.

‘I cannot continue like this, Fidelma,’ he said simply. ‘When we did not have any formal marriage between us, I did not feel the antipathy that I am now subjected to by the people who surround you. What I cannot stand is the way that your actions and attitude to me now seem to condone the antagonism that is ranged against me.’

Fidelma considered for a while before responding.

‘I cannot change my character, Eadulf. For a long while, as you well know, I refused to make any decision about a resolution of the feelings we had for one another. I knew that, if you settled here in Cashel with me, you would be classed as a foreigner in our law, a landless foreigner with restricted rights. There are decisions that I have to make under our law which you cannot make.’