The Council of the Cursed Read Free Page B

the profanities they hurled at one another.
    Bishop Leodegar hurried across, Nuntius Peregrinus at his side.
    The other clerics were holding each man back, for if set loose they would doubtless have physically engaged with one another again.
    ‘Brethren! Are you brothers in Christ or wild animals that you behave so?’ came Bishop Leodegar’s thunderous tone.
    Abbot Cadfan blinked and seemed to come to his senses.
    ‘The Saxon attacked me,’ he said sullenly.
    ‘The Welisc insulted me,’ snapped Bishop Ordgar but he, too, was beginning to regain control of himself.
    Bishop Leodegar was shaking his head with sadness.
    ‘Shame on you both. Return to your quarters and pray forgiveness for your transgressions against the teachings of Our Lord. Shame is your portion until you have made atonement for your actions. I will give both of you a last chance to participate in our deliberations, not because of who you are but because of who you represent. Messengers will be sent to Theodore of Canterbury and to Drostó of Gwynedd informing them of how you carry out your sacred duties. If, when we next foregather, there is still enmity between you, then I shall dismiss you both from thiscouncil and will proceed without your representation. Do I make myself clear?’
    There was a silence and then, like sullen children, first Abbot Cadfan and then Bishop Ordgar muttered agreement.
    Bishop Leodegar gave a deep sigh. ‘Now disperse,’ he ordered. He glanced around at everyone. ‘All of you, disperse.’
    In ones and twos the men began to leave the luxurious courtyard, moving towards the main buildings of the abbey.
    Abbot Dabhóc grinned at his companion. ‘I tell you, Ségdae, this is the most hotblooded council that I have attended. I thought the arguments among our people, debating matters of the Faith, were fierce enough, but I have never seen clerics come to physical blows before.’
    ‘I fear that our host is much too sanguine in hoping those two will declare a truce between them during the rest of this council,’ Ségdae replied. ‘And it will not just be the wars between Briton and Saxon but these ideas coming from Rome that will fuel the arguments. The Franks and Saxons support them–and we now have to argue against them. Such debate is bound to give rise to new animosities.’
    ‘It is of no concern to us what the Franks and Saxons do in their own land.’ Abbot Dabhóc grimaced sourly. ‘We have our Faith and our own liturgy. Whatever decisions are made at this council cannot affect us any more than the decision made at Whitby.’
    Abbot Ségdae shook his head in disagreement. ‘First Whitby and now this council here in Autun. Where next? This erosion of our beliefs and cultures emanates from the new thinking at Rome, and I have no liking for it. Over the years, councils such as this have changed or amended the original concepts of the Faith until we can no longer be sure of the original teachings of the Founding Fathers.’
    Abbot Dabhóc looked shocked but Ségdae continued, ‘It is true, I tell you so. This is not the first time we have had to argue with Rome over the way they have altered even the very date on which Our Lord was martyred. Did not our own Columbanus argue with the Bishop of Rome over the date?’
    ‘True enough, although at Ard Macha we begin to think it would be better for all Christendom to worship on the same day.’
    ‘Better to worship in truth than in myth,’ muttered Abbot Ségdae.
    ‘Well, at least this council is not concerned with calendars and dates of ceremonies but in what we believe and how we should conduct ourselves in the religious houses,’ Abbot Dabhóc concluded. ‘I, for one, am looking forward to the debates.’
    For the first time Abbot Ségdae allowed a brief smile to flit across his sombre features.
    ‘At least, judging by the action of our brothers, those debates will be lively,’ he joked.
    They had halted in the corridor of the hospitia or guest quarters where