here,’ supplied Brother Benevolentia. ‘I served in that abbey there as a scribe so have been with Bishop Ordgar for only three weeks.’
Fidelma had stood silently listening in approval to Eadulf’s questioning. Now she felt compelled to ask the bishop a question of her own.
‘How well did you know Abbot Dabhóc?’
‘I knew him not at all. We met formally before the council opened but barely exchanged a few words.’
‘You did not express a difference of opinion in debate?’
‘There have been no debates.’
‘I was told there was an opening session at which acrimonious remarks were passed.’
‘It was not a debate but an assembly where delegates could meet before the start of the working sessions. My quarrel was with Cadfan the Briton,’ asserted the bishop.
‘So you have no idea why Abbot Dabhóc would call at your chamber in the middle of the night?’
‘None whatsoever, unless he was inveigled there by the Welisc who killed him, to lay the blame on me. That is my belief.’
‘You dislike Abbot Cadfan very much, I hear?’
‘They are all the same, these Welisc . They are enemies of my blood. Whining and ungrateful.’
‘Isn’t that understandable?’ asked Fidelma.
Bishop Ordgar jerked his head towards her and his eyes narrowed angrily.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It is not so many years ago that your people crossed the seas and began to drive out the Britons, whom you call “foreigners”– Welisc in your language–from their lands and began to settle on the farms and the villages from which they had been dispossessed. Even now you continue to drive them westward. Do you expect gratitude and kindness from them?’
Bishop Ordgar’s lip curled arrogantly. ‘God showed us the way to the island of the Britons and gave it to us to inhabit.’
‘But it was inhabited already.’
‘Inhabited only by sheep. God would not have made the Welisc sheep if He did not expect them to be shorn.’
‘They have not been shorn so easily,’ Fidelma observed. ‘They still fight for the possession of their lands.’ It was clear that she had no liking for the bishop. ‘If it was God Who showed your people the way, Ordgar of Kent,’ she continued, ‘then He came in a strange disguise. At the time, it was Woden, Tyr, Thurnor and Freya whom you worshipped. You see, I know of your gods, for many of your people worship them still. A generation or two ago, none of the Angles and Saxons knew or cared of the Christ until the missionaries from my people raised you from your idols. Do not blame God nor Christ as the reason why you continue to persecute and dispossess the Christian Britons.’
Brother Ordgar swallowed hard. He was trying to think of some suitable retort when Fidelma turned to Eadulf. Out of courtesy she continued to speak in Latin.
‘We need not trouble Bishop Ordgar nor Brother Benevolentia further…at this time.’
Eadulf was confused. His mind was actually turning over the truth of what Fidelma had said because he himself had worshipped Woden intohis teenage years before a wandering missionary from the land of Hibernia converted him to the New Faith. He realised Fidelma was turning for the door and glanced quickly back.
‘We have finished for the moment,’ he said hastily.
‘Wait!’ Bishop Ordgar called, as Eadulf was about to follow Fidelma. ‘I need to be cleared of these foul accusations at once. When am I to be allowed to resume my seat at the council?’
It was Fidelma, in the doorway, who turned back to him.
‘When we have finished our enquiry, Bishop Ordgar of Kent,’ she replied curtly. ‘You will be informed when that is, have no fear.’
Eadulf followed her as she paced rapidly down the corridor. They found themselves in a tiny hallway at the end where there was a large window. It overlooked a small courtyard with a little flower garden and splashing fountain. There she paused, leaning on the windowledge and slowly breathing in the fresh air.
‘I am sorry,
Fidelma had stood silently listening in approval to Eadulf’s questioning. Now she felt compelled to ask the bishop a question of her own.
‘How well did you know Abbot Dabhóc?’
‘I knew him not at all. We met formally before the council opened but barely exchanged a few words.’
‘You did not express a difference of opinion in debate?’
‘There have been no debates.’
‘I was told there was an opening session at which acrimonious remarks were passed.’
‘It was not a debate but an assembly where delegates could meet before the start of the working sessions. My quarrel was with Cadfan the Briton,’ asserted the bishop.
‘So you have no idea why Abbot Dabhóc would call at your chamber in the middle of the night?’
‘None whatsoever, unless he was inveigled there by the Welisc who killed him, to lay the blame on me. That is my belief.’
‘You dislike Abbot Cadfan very much, I hear?’
‘They are all the same, these Welisc . They are enemies of my blood. Whining and ungrateful.’
‘Isn’t that understandable?’ asked Fidelma.
Bishop Ordgar jerked his head towards her and his eyes narrowed angrily.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It is not so many years ago that your people crossed the seas and began to drive out the Britons, whom you call “foreigners”– Welisc in your language–from their lands and began to settle on the farms and the villages from which they had been dispossessed. Even now you continue to drive them westward. Do you expect gratitude and kindness from them?’
Bishop Ordgar’s lip curled arrogantly. ‘God showed us the way to the island of the Britons and gave it to us to inhabit.’
‘But it was inhabited already.’
‘Inhabited only by sheep. God would not have made the Welisc sheep if He did not expect them to be shorn.’
‘They have not been shorn so easily,’ Fidelma observed. ‘They still fight for the possession of their lands.’ It was clear that she had no liking for the bishop. ‘If it was God Who showed your people the way, Ordgar of Kent,’ she continued, ‘then He came in a strange disguise. At the time, it was Woden, Tyr, Thurnor and Freya whom you worshipped. You see, I know of your gods, for many of your people worship them still. A generation or two ago, none of the Angles and Saxons knew or cared of the Christ until the missionaries from my people raised you from your idols. Do not blame God nor Christ as the reason why you continue to persecute and dispossess the Christian Britons.’
Brother Ordgar swallowed hard. He was trying to think of some suitable retort when Fidelma turned to Eadulf. Out of courtesy she continued to speak in Latin.
‘We need not trouble Bishop Ordgar nor Brother Benevolentia further…at this time.’
Eadulf was confused. His mind was actually turning over the truth of what Fidelma had said because he himself had worshipped Woden intohis teenage years before a wandering missionary from the land of Hibernia converted him to the New Faith. He realised Fidelma was turning for the door and glanced quickly back.
‘We have finished for the moment,’ he said hastily.
‘Wait!’ Bishop Ordgar called, as Eadulf was about to follow Fidelma. ‘I need to be cleared of these foul accusations at once. When am I to be allowed to resume my seat at the council?’
It was Fidelma, in the doorway, who turned back to him.
‘When we have finished our enquiry, Bishop Ordgar of Kent,’ she replied curtly. ‘You will be informed when that is, have no fear.’
Eadulf followed her as she paced rapidly down the corridor. They found themselves in a tiny hallway at the end where there was a large window. It overlooked a small courtyard with a little flower garden and splashing fountain. There she paused, leaning on the windowledge and slowly breathing in the fresh air.
‘I am sorry,
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