Ordgar. ‘You, Leodegar, as a Frank should be ashamed to be giving your support to these Welisc . They are as much enemies of your people as of mine.’
There were many cries of, ‘Shame!’
‘We are all one in Christ,’ pointed out Abbot Dabhóc, ‘or can it be that Bishop Ordgar would deny that? If it is so, then you have proven the point that Abbot Cadfan argues. You cannot be part of this council.’
‘My authority is from Theodore of Canterbury who, in turn, was directly appointed by the Holy Father in Rome. What is your authority, barbarian?’ Bishop Ordgar’s brows came together threateningly.
‘My authority is the church I serve,’ began the abbot. ‘And—’
Again Bishop Leodegar was rapping on the floor with his staff of office. He exchanged a questioning glance with Nuntius Peregrinus who shrugged and then nodded his head in answer. Bishop Leodegar took this as an affirmative to his unasked question and rose to face the delegates.
‘I am closing this session. We shall pray and contemplate the purpose of our gathering for a day and a night. When we return here, which will be with our scribes and advisers, we will have no more of such arguments. There are more pressing matters to consider and discuss. Should anyone here attempt to continue this argument, then they will be expelled from the deliberations of the council no matter from what corner of the world they come. My brothers, let me urge this advice on you: in medio tutissimus ibis –you shall go safely into the middle course. Now depart and go in peace, in the name of the Most Holy, under Whose stern and watchful eye we gather to do homage.’
The abbots and bishops now rose in their seats and received the blessing from Bishop Leodegar almost reluctantly–and with not a little resentment from the chief antagonists.
As the gathering began to disperse, Abbot Ségdae moved across to Abbot Dabhóc.
‘It is a long journey just to listen to the Briton arguing with the Saxon,’ he said heavily.
Abbot Dabhóc shrugged. ‘I have sympathy with the Britons. What Cadfan says is the truth. Both Angles and Saxons are constantly attacking the kingdoms of the Britons.’
‘But I would have thought that Cadfan and Ordgar, as men of the Church, would employ diplomacy and turn their minds to what we came here to discuss.’
The two men had moved out of the chapel and into a courtyard with its central gushing fountain surrounded by scented gardens and tall buildings with Roman columns.
Abbot Dabhóc paused and looked upon the scene appreciatively.
‘The long journey is worth it when we see wonders like this, Ségdae,’ he observed. ‘The cities built by the Romans are so unlike those of Éireann.’
It was true that outside the abbey, the city of Autun was a sprawl of Romanesque buildings which had originally been built many centuriesbefore, when the Romans had marched into Gaul and defeated the Gaulish armies of Vercingetorix. They had built the city by a river and called it Augustodunum, but as the Gauls and the Romans had receded and merged with the invading Burgunds, it had become known as Autun, one of the earliest Christian centres in the part of Gaul now called Burgundia. The abbey retained many of its ancient Roman buildings, palaces and temples now re-dedicated to the Christian Faith. To Abbot Ségdae it seemed like a miniature Rome with its towering manmade constructions, a totally alien place to the small urban complexes of his native land.
There was a sudden shouting in the courtyard.
Abbot Ségdae started from his contemplation and glanced in astonishment across to where several of the prelates were engaged in a scuffle. Among them was Ordgar, who was grasping another cleric by the neck. It was Cadfan. The two men were shouting and hitting each other like a pair of quarrelling children. The others began dragging them apart. Cadfan’s robe was torn while there was blood on Ordgar’s face. It took no great linguist to understand
There were many cries of, ‘Shame!’
‘We are all one in Christ,’ pointed out Abbot Dabhóc, ‘or can it be that Bishop Ordgar would deny that? If it is so, then you have proven the point that Abbot Cadfan argues. You cannot be part of this council.’
‘My authority is from Theodore of Canterbury who, in turn, was directly appointed by the Holy Father in Rome. What is your authority, barbarian?’ Bishop Ordgar’s brows came together threateningly.
‘My authority is the church I serve,’ began the abbot. ‘And—’
Again Bishop Leodegar was rapping on the floor with his staff of office. He exchanged a questioning glance with Nuntius Peregrinus who shrugged and then nodded his head in answer. Bishop Leodegar took this as an affirmative to his unasked question and rose to face the delegates.
‘I am closing this session. We shall pray and contemplate the purpose of our gathering for a day and a night. When we return here, which will be with our scribes and advisers, we will have no more of such arguments. There are more pressing matters to consider and discuss. Should anyone here attempt to continue this argument, then they will be expelled from the deliberations of the council no matter from what corner of the world they come. My brothers, let me urge this advice on you: in medio tutissimus ibis –you shall go safely into the middle course. Now depart and go in peace, in the name of the Most Holy, under Whose stern and watchful eye we gather to do homage.’
The abbots and bishops now rose in their seats and received the blessing from Bishop Leodegar almost reluctantly–and with not a little resentment from the chief antagonists.
As the gathering began to disperse, Abbot Ségdae moved across to Abbot Dabhóc.
‘It is a long journey just to listen to the Briton arguing with the Saxon,’ he said heavily.
Abbot Dabhóc shrugged. ‘I have sympathy with the Britons. What Cadfan says is the truth. Both Angles and Saxons are constantly attacking the kingdoms of the Britons.’
‘But I would have thought that Cadfan and Ordgar, as men of the Church, would employ diplomacy and turn their minds to what we came here to discuss.’
The two men had moved out of the chapel and into a courtyard with its central gushing fountain surrounded by scented gardens and tall buildings with Roman columns.
Abbot Dabhóc paused and looked upon the scene appreciatively.
‘The long journey is worth it when we see wonders like this, Ségdae,’ he observed. ‘The cities built by the Romans are so unlike those of Éireann.’
It was true that outside the abbey, the city of Autun was a sprawl of Romanesque buildings which had originally been built many centuriesbefore, when the Romans had marched into Gaul and defeated the Gaulish armies of Vercingetorix. They had built the city by a river and called it Augustodunum, but as the Gauls and the Romans had receded and merged with the invading Burgunds, it had become known as Autun, one of the earliest Christian centres in the part of Gaul now called Burgundia. The abbey retained many of its ancient Roman buildings, palaces and temples now re-dedicated to the Christian Faith. To Abbot Ségdae it seemed like a miniature Rome with its towering manmade constructions, a totally alien place to the small urban complexes of his native land.
There was a sudden shouting in the courtyard.
Abbot Ségdae started from his contemplation and glanced in astonishment across to where several of the prelates were engaged in a scuffle. Among them was Ordgar, who was grasping another cleric by the neck. It was Cadfan. The two men were shouting and hitting each other like a pair of quarrelling children. The others began dragging them apart. Cadfan’s robe was torn while there was blood on Ordgar’s face. It took no great linguist to understand