Shroud for the Archbishop

by Peter Tremayne

  Furius Licinius grimaced unhappily.

  ‘The abbot’s chamber is at the far end of the corridor but no one would suspect the abbot …’

  Fidelma let out an exhalation of exasperation.

  ‘If I am to function in this matter, I must be told all the facts,’ she snapped at the young officer. ‘I am firstly told that a search was made. I find that no search was made of Wighard’s apartment and then you tell me that not all the rooms on this floor were searched. Only those you thought unoccupied that night were searched.’

  The face of the young tesserarius blanched slightly at her vehemence.

  ‘I’m sorry, but it was the responsibility of the decurion …’ He paused unhappily, realising that it seemed he was shifting blame. ‘I simply thought …’

  ‘Let me do the thinking,’ Fidelma interrupted. ‘Just tell me the truth, actually and specifically, no more and no less.’

  Furius Licinius moved uncomfortably.

  ‘But surely you cannot search Abbot Puttoc’s chamber. He is … well, he is an abbot …’

  The unfeminine snort which Fidelma gave expressed what she thought of the reason and induced Furius Licinius to search for another excuse.

  ‘But he was in his chamber at the time. The murderer could not have hidden anything there without disturbing the abbot …’

  Fidelma turned to Eadulf.

  ‘Check to see if Puttoc and Eanred have left for their meeting with Bishop Gelasius. If they have, we will examine his chamber now.’

  Furius Licinius looked scandalised.

  ‘But …’

  ‘We have the authority, tesserarius,’ Fidelma cut him short. ‘Need I remind you of that?’

  Eadulf moved down the corridor and returned a moment later.

  ‘They’ve gone,’ he reported.

  Fidelma led the way to the chambers of the abbot and his servant. It did not take long to examine Abbot Puttoc’s room. The only thing that became clear was that Puttoc believed in pampering himself, for his was not the sparse simple chamber which Fidelma associated with a man proclaiming frugal piety. It was obvious that Puttoc had gathered many little luxuries to take back to his monastery. But there was no indication that anything had been secreted in his rooms which could be associated with the missing hoard from Wighard’s treasure trunk.

  There was a window, similar to that in Eadulf’s room, which gave a view into an enclosed courtyard three floors below. Below the window was a narrow ledge which ran the entire length of the building. While it was several inches in width, Fidelma noted there was no way in which anyone could have hidden anything beyond the chamber.

  ‘And Eanred’s room is next door?’ Fidelma asked in irritation as she turned from the room.

  Licinius quietly gestured assent. He had no wish to further incur the woman’s ire by saying the wrong thing. He had never encountered a woman who could command and snap at men as this Irish woman did.

  Fidelma turned into the religieux’ room. It was bare and simple. There was, indeed, scarcely anything of personal value excepting a sacculus in which the Brother Eanred carried his belongings. Only a second pair of sandals, some underwear and shaving gear were stored there.

  Fidelma stood, hands folded before her, and examined the room. Then she crossed to the window and peered out. The room was situated at right angles to the next block of buildings which formed the square courtyard but into which there was no entrance from the domus hospitale. Her discerning eye saw that the building seemed of more pristine plaster and tiles and therefore of newer origin than the one in which she stood. This probably accounted for the rooms not being one unit. She noticed, however, that the small ledge under the window had been reproduced on the other building but with the architect being more generous in the width. The ledge was a whole foot in width and, with this chamber window being so close into the angle of the two buildings, it was easy to step across to that ledge.

  ‘You see?’ Eadulf was saying behind her. ‘I think Furius Licinius is right. We are pursuing the wrong path.’

  ‘Eanred’s chamber is rather spartan, isn’t it?’ she commented, turning back into the room.

  ‘Eanred seems to like austerity,’ Eadulf agreed. He turned and followed Furius Licinius back into the corridor. Fidelma paused a moment before giving an inward shrug. Eadulf was probably right. Maybe she was imagining more than the facts were telling her. It was just that she could not shake this odd feeling that she was missing something.

  ‘We have yet to search the chamber occupied by Ine and Sebbi,’ she said.

  She turned out into the corridor and was closing the door when her eyes dropped to the door frame. The wood of the frame had splintered about three feet above the floor and a tiny piece of material had caught on it, a small jagged strip torn away and left hanging on the frame.

  She bent down and reached out a hand to unsnarl it.

  Eadulf was watching her with a frown.

  ‘What is it?’

  She shook her head negatively.

  ‘I am not sure. A piece of sackcloth, I think.’

  She took it between thumb and finger and drew herself up holding the object up in the light.

  ‘Yes, a piece of sackcloth.’

  Eadulf nodded agreement as he peered at it.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Furius Licinius asked, watching them.

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Perhaps someone was taking something into Eanred’s room and the splinter snagged the material tearing a piece off.’

  Eadulf was staring at her, trying to read her thoughts.

  ‘Are you saying that the treasure was carried into Eanred’s room?’

  Eadulf always had the ability to make a quick deduction along the lines Fidelma was speculating on.

  ‘I said that I don’t know,’ Fidelma replied softly with a shrug of her shoulders. ‘It is a bad judge who forms conclusions before all the evidence is before them.’

  ‘But it could have happened,’ insisted Furius Licinius, eager to contribute something. He felt he had to retrieve something of the honour of the custodes which had been lost by not making a proper search. ‘Eanred, by his own statement, did not come back until after Wighard’s body was discovered and, therefore, after Ronan Ragallach was arrested. Perhaps Ronan stashed the loot in Eanred’s room when he was away?’

  Fidelma grinned quickly.

  ‘Yes? Ronan Ragallach concealed two sacks of gold and silver objects in Eanred’s room. Then he came out and was arrested by the custodes. And what happened to the sacks?’

  Licinius compressed his lips.

  ‘I have already suggested an accomplice,’ he muttered.

  ‘So you have. We will discuss this matter later. Let us examine Brother Sebbi’s room,’ suggested Fidelma.

  ‘But the sackcloth?’ demanded Eadulf, watching her place it in her marsupium, the large bag which she carried.

  ‘The wise judge gathers the evidence, piece by piece,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘And when all the pieces are gathered, the wise judge will consider them and, like a craftsman making a mosaic, the judge will try to form patterns before the eyes, so that, by inserting a piece here and there until it fits, it will gradually form an entire picture. It is the bad judge who seizes one piece of evidence and tries to conjure a picture from it. Who knows? That piece may not even be part of the picture the judge seeks.’

  She looked up at him with a mischievous grin and then turned down the corridor.

  The searches of the chambers occupied by Brother Sebbi and by Brother Ine revealed no more than they should have done. After that Fidelma suggested that they continue the original plan to examine Ronan Ragallach’s lodgings.

  Eadulf exchanged a glance with the frustrated young tesserarius and let his shoulders droop in a shrug before following her. So far as he was concerned the matter was fairly clear and there was little need for the fatigue of searches. Ronan Ragallach had obviously killed Wighard for the treasure and had been able to hide it before he
had been caught. Now that he had escaped, he had probably retrieved the booty and, if sensible, had placed a considerable distance between himself and the city.

  As they came down the foot of the stairway into the main courtyard at the front of the domus hospitale they saw Abbot Puttoc’s tall figure by the fountain. But it was the second figure that arrested Fidelma’s attention and caused her to halt in the doorway, forcing Eadulf and Furius Licinius to stop behind her. It was the slight figure of Sister Eafa who seemed to be shaking as she stood before him, her voice raised in tearful distress. From this distance it looked as if the cruel-faced abbot was attempting to placate and calm her with his thin sneering smile and gestures. Then Eafa turned abruptly and went running towards one of the exits to the courtyard. She never even noticed their presence.

  Abbot Puttoc stood a moment looking after Eafa with an odd expression. Then he turned and saw Fidelma, with Eadulf and Furius Licinius behind her. He did not acknowledge them but turned and strode rapidly away towards a door in the far building.

  ‘It seems our narcissistic abbot has upset poor Sister Eafa,’ mused Fidelma. ‘I wonder what that was about?’

  ‘It is not for the first time,’ Eadulf commented grimly.

  Fidelma turned to him with a look of surprise.

  ‘What do you mean, Eadulf?’

  ‘Yesterday morning, when returning from the refectory to my room, I heard voices raised from Puttoc’s chamber. I was just going into my chamber. In fact, I was in the act of closing the door, when I heard Puttoc’s door bang open. Curiosity became the better of me and I reopened my door a crack to see what the matter was. Sister Eafa, her headdress askew, and appearance dishevelled, came running out as if she had seen Lucifer herself. She ran down the corridor and down the stairs.’

  ‘Did you ask Puttoc what was wrong?’

  Eadulf compressed his lips for a moment and a faint red hue tinged his cheeks.

  ‘I came to my own conclusion. I am afraid that I have been given to understand that Puttoc has a reputation among women. The rule of Rome might teach celibacy for abbots and bishops but I fear that Puttoc would probably prefer the easy way of Columba where such celibacy is not the rule.’

  Fidelma’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘That is hardly a reputation for someone to have if they have an ambition to follow in the footsteps of Augustine of Canterbury. Are you saying that Puttoc has been known to force his attentions on women who were unwilling?’

  Eadulf’s expression was acknowledgement enough but he said: ‘That is what I have heard.’

  ‘Are there no laws against rape among the Saxon kingdoms?’ Fidelma demanded, horrified at what she was hearing.

  ‘None for the poor,’ Eadulf replied.

  ‘Not only does our law of the Fenechus protect all women from rape by force but even if a drunken woman is made to have intercourse then the offence is as serious. Our law protects all women. If a man dare kiss, or even touch a woman against her will, by the law of the Fenechus he can be fined two hundred and forty silver screpall.’

  Eadulf knew that the screpall was one of the main Irish coins that were circulated.

  ‘Perhaps I speak too freely and merely repeat gossip,’ he said, feeling uneasy at Fidelma’s vehemence on the subject. ‘I heard the story only from Sebbi.’

  ‘And I would not trust the ambitions of Brother Sebbi,’ admonished Fidelma. She seemed about to make some further comment but then changed her mind. She said: ‘Come, Furius Licinius, show us the way to Ronan Ragallach’s lodgings.’

  ‘It is a lodging house by one of the arches of the Aqua Claudia.’ Licinius was clearly intrigued by the conversation that had passed.

  ‘Where is that?’ frowned Fidelma.

  ‘A place not far from here, sister,’ Licinius explained. ‘You must have seen the aqueduct. It is a prominent construction that was begun by the notorious emperor Caligula over six hundred years ago. It brings water from a spring near Sublaquea, sixty-eight kilometres from the city.’

  Fidelma had, indeed, seen the aqueduct and admired its engineering. There was nothing like it in Ireland but, then, the kingdoms of Ireland were replete with water and there was no need to alter the course of the rivers or site of springs to water such dry, arid areas as occurred in this land.

  ‘The lodging is in the house of the deacon Bieda,’ Furius Licinius went on. ‘I would warn you, sister, it is a very shoddy and cheap accommodation. It is not run under supervision of the religious. It is a place where the sensitivities of female religieuse are not catered for, if you understand my meaning.’

  Fidelma regarded the young man solemnly.

  ‘I think we understand your meaning, Furius Licinius,’ she replied gravely. ‘But if Bieda is a deacon of the church I fail to see how it can be the sort of place you described.’

  Licinius shrugged.

  ‘It is easy to buy favours in Rome. Easy to purchase a deaconship.’

  ‘Then I will do my best not to be offended by any lewdness that I observe. Now, I think we should be on our way for I am in no mood to miss the evening meal which,’ she glanced up at the sky, ‘will soon be served.’

  Chapter Nine

  Furius Licinius led the way through the many courtyards and gardens of the Lateran Palace until they emerged through a side gate in the walls on to the slopes of the Hill of Caelius. Even Fidelma was impressed at the extensive grounds of the palace. For once Licinius was pleased to display his knowledge, pointing to a building which could just be seen from the spot where they stood.

  ‘That is the Sancta Sanctorum,’ he said, indicating a dominating chapel. He caught sight of Fidelma’s frown and allowed himself to explain. ‘The sanctorum is the Holy Father’s private chapel which now houses the Scala Santa, the very staircase that the Holy Christ descended from governor Pilate’s house after He was condemned.’

  Fidelma raised a sceptical eyebrow.

  ‘But that house stood in Jerusalem,’ she pointed out.

  Licinius’s features broke into a smirk as he perceived that he had knowledge Fidelma did not possess.

  ‘The Blessed Helena, mother of the great Constantine, brought the staircase from Jerusalem – twenty-eight Tyrian marble steps – which even the Holy Father must ascend only on his knees. She found the staircase at the same time as she found the true cross, buried on the hill of Calvary, the very cross on which the Saviour suffered.’

  Fidelma had heard the story of the finding, some three centuries before, of the true cross by the aging mother of the Emperor Constantine. She was dubious that such a wooden artifact could have been so positively identified but felt a pang of guilt at daring to question the matter.

  ‘I have heard that the pious Helena forwarded whole shiploads of relics from the Holy Land even to pieces of wood from the Ark of the Covenant,’ she allowed herself to comment dubiously.

  Licinius’ face was serious.

  ‘Let me show you, sister, for we are very proud of the sacred relics we have here in the Lateran.’

  He would have forgotten their original quest and turned back, in his eagerness to show her. Fidelma put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Perhaps later, Furius Licinius. First things first. Now we must examine Ronan Ragallach’s lodgings.’

  Licinius coloured furiously as he realised how he had been carried away by his boyish enthusiasm. He immediately pointed towards the towering aqueduct across the square in which they stood on the eastern edge of palace grounds.

  ‘That building there is the hostel run by Bieda.’

  Brother Ronan Ragallach’s lodgings were in a small dilapidated house by the Aqua Claudia, as Furius Licinius had described them. The impressive stone arches of the aqueduct rose many metres in height so that even Fidelma was forced to admire their immensity.

  The lodging house was built beneath the shadow of the aqueduct, almost under one of the great arches.

  There was a solitary member of the palace custodes on duty outside Bieda’s house.
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  ‘He is stationed here in case Brother Ronan Ragallach attempts to return,’ explained the young tesserarius as he led the way into the dingy building.

  Fidelma sniffed scornfully.

  ‘I doubt whether Brother Ronan Ragallach is so unintelligent as to do that, knowing that this is the first place where he will be sought.’

  Licinius’ jaw hardened. He was still unused to a woman’s criticism or to one who gave him orders. He had heard about the women of Ireland, of Britain and Gaul, who had positions in society so unlike the women of Rome. They knew their place and stayed mainly at home. It was so undignified that a woman, a foreign woman at that, could give him orders. Nevertheless, he kept reminding himself that the military governor, the Superista Marinus, had made his position clear. He was to serve and obey this woman, and the mild and almost unassertive Saxon religieux.

  As they began to ascend the stairs in the darkened house, a short, middle-aged woman appeared from a ground-floor room, saw Licinius’ uniform and led forth a torrent of abuse in the curious rolling dialect of the Roman streets. Fidelma could scarcely understand a word although she detected that what the woman was saying to the young tesserarius was not flattering. She caught the end of the sentence which invited Licinius ‘ad malam crucem’!

  ‘Why is this woman displeased?’ she demanded.

  Licinius was unable to answer before the woman pushed forward and addressed herself to Fidelma, slowing her rate of delivery so that she could be understood.

  ‘Who is going to pay for this empty room? The foreign brother won’t return now nor pay me what he owed. A whole month, it is, since he paid any rent. And now, with all the pilgrims in Rome and me with an empty room, I cannot rent it to others, all because of the orders of this catalus vulpinus!’

  Fidelma smiled somewhat cynically.

  ‘Calm yourself. I am sure you will be compensated, for when we have done, if Brother Ronan does not return, you will be able to sell what belongings he has left, won’t you?’

  The woman did not seem to appreciate the cynicism in Fidelma’s voice.

  ‘That one!’ her voice was a sneer. ‘Never have I let a room to an Irish pilgrim who has possessed more than the clothes they stood up in. He has no money. Nor are there any belongings in his room worthy to sell for rent. I shall be made a pauper!’