Shroud for the Archbishop

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Why so?’ she demanded. ‘What makes you so sure that Ronan Ragallach did not kill Wighard?’

  ‘Because …’ Osimo looked around the room as if seeking an answer. ‘Because it is simply not in his character, sister. Tell me that …’ he searched for an analogy, ‘ … that the Holy Father has attended the feast of Bacchanalia and, God forgive me, danced naked in the Temple of Bacchus on the Sacra Via and I will believe you sooner than I will believe that Brother Ronan is capable of murder.’

  Fidelma smiled thinly.

  ‘That is testimonial, indeed, Brother Osimo.’

  ‘One not lightly given,’ added the sub-praetor firmly.

  ‘Yet Ronan was arrested fleeing from the archbishop-designate’s chamber at the time the murder was discovered. He tried to give a false name and he later escaped from custody,’ interposed Eadulf, somewhat maliciously. ‘That is hardly the action of an innocent man, is it, Brother Osimo?’

  Osimo hung his head unhappily but his voice was full of passionate defence.

  ‘It may have been the action of a desperate man, a man who sees the world rise up against him in his innocence. Desperate to prove his honesty, he seeks freedom in order to prove that virtue.’

  Fidelma gazed at the youth for a moment in silence and then she asked quietly, ‘Has Brother Ronan told you this much?’

  Osimo flushed immediately.

  ‘Of course not.’ His voice trembled with indignation.

  Fidelma felt there was little conviction in his voice. She decided to press the matter.

  ‘So, you have not seen Brother Ronan since his escape? Yet you seem to speak with some authority on his behalf.’

  ‘I have worked with him closely these last nine months and we have become as … as friends. Close friends.’

  Osimo did not meet her eye but stuck out his chin with an unusual expression of stubbornness.

  Fidelma leant confidingly forward.

  ‘You realise that if you see Ronan Ragallach it is your duty, under law, to advise the custodes?’

  ‘I realise it,’ Osimo replied quietly.

  Fidelma sat back and examined the young man for a while.

  ‘So long as you do, Brother Osimo. Believe me, it is my intention to get to the bottom of the murder of the archbishop-designate of Canterbury. If Brother Ronan is innocent, I shall prove it. If he is guilty, then he will not escape.’

  Her confident, rather than boastful, tone made Osimo raise his eyes and peer closely at her before he dropped his gaze again.

  ‘I understand,’ he whispered.

  ‘For our record,’ Eadulf intervened, ‘when did you last see Brother Ronan?’

  ‘On the day of Wighard’s murder, Brother Ronan worked until the sounding of the evening Angelus.’

  ‘Did you ever meet Wighard or any of his entourage?’

  Osimo shook his head.

  Fidelma turned to Eadulf.

  ‘I have no further questions unless … ?’

  Eadulf made a negative grimace.

  ‘Then, Brother Osimo … ah, but I nearly forgot.’ She reached into her marsupium and pushed the torn piece of papyrus towards the sub-praetor. ‘Can you tell me what that language is?’

  Brother Osimo took up the papyrus and glanced momentarily at Fidelma as if surprised. He recovered his composure within a second, almost before his startled look had registered with her.

  ‘The hieroglyphics are in the language of the Arabians,’ he replied. ‘Aramaic, it is called.’

  ‘Do they mean anything?’ she pressed.

  ‘It is part of some writing. Who knows? Perhaps it is even a letter. Only a few words are decipherable.’

  ‘What words?’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘The language is read from right to left. We have words for “library”, “sacred disease”, and the rendition of a Greek name, something ending in “ophilus” and then the words for “price” and “exchange”. It makes little sense.’

  After their frugal evening meal, which left Fidelma suddenly feeling very tired in spite of her afternoon nap, Furius Licinius was sent in search of Abbess Wulfrun or Sister Eafa. Fidelma and Eadulf sat in silence for a while. Fidelma was turning over the statement of Brother Osimo in her mind. She was sure that Osimo’s relationship with Ronan Ragallach was something more than a working one; more than he had admitted and that he had intimate knowledge of Ronan Ragallach. In fact, she felt that she would go so far as to take an oath that Ronan had escaped from the custodes and gone to Osimo Lando for help. But it was intuition and not fact that prompted her conclusions.

  She became aware of Eadulf’s fingers drumming aimlessly on the table and sniffed in annoyance at the distraction.

  ‘What are you thinking, Eadulf?’ she demanded as the drumming continued.

  Eadulf blinked, paused and realised his unconscious action.

  ‘I was just thinking about what Osimo said.’

  Fidelma raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  ‘So was I. What were you thinking?’

  ‘About the Arabian words which he translated.’

  Fidelma was disappointed.

  ‘Oh, that,’ she said, with a shrug. She had thought that Eadulf might have been paralleling her line of thought about Osimo and Ronan. ‘Well, that means little enough.’

  Eadulf shook his head.

  ‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. It stirred some memories within me. As you know, Fidelma, for some years I studied in Ireland, at the great medical school of Tuaim Brecain.’

  ‘What has that to do with the words of Arabian?’

  ‘Perhaps nothing. Just that I, as you realise, know something about the practise of medicine.’

  ‘I still do not follow you.’

  ‘I made a note of the words Osimo Lando translated, just in case they made sense at some future time.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The word “library” was one. The message might have been talking about books. “Sacred disease” were two words together. On the Sacred Disease was a tract by Hippocrates, which argued the distinction between the sensory nerves and motor nerves.’

  ‘You have lost me, Eadulf.’

  Eadulf smiled indulgently.

  ‘The author of a commentary on Hippocrates’ work was Herophilus from Chalcedon, one of the great founders of the medical school of Alexandria. Perhaps his was the name “ophilus” which Osimo Lando could not find the first letters of. The message could have been speaking about Herophilus’ work On the Sacred Disease in a library somewhere.’

  Fidelma sat back with a chuckle.

  ‘Tenuously but well worked out, Eadulf. You may be right. But it does not help us much at the moment.’

  ‘But it may at some future time,’ Eadulf said smugly, clearly satisfied with his exercise in deduction.

  Furius Licinius returned. Before he could say anything he was pushed aside and the austere figure of Abbess Wulfrun swept in. Close up, she was tall, taller even than Fidelma, with a thin, pale face and sharp features. Her nose was prominent giving her an arrogant expression and the thin lips were pinched into a permanent sneer. Her bright eyes sparkled angrily.

  ‘Well?’ she demanded without preamble. ‘What nonsense is this?’

  Fidelma opened her mouth but Eadulf, seeing the dangerous fiery glint in her eye, spoke first, rising awkwardly.

  ‘No nonsense, my lady,’ he said, attempting to remind Fidelma, by adopting a more ceremonial form of address, that Wulfrun was the sister of the queen of Kent. ‘Has not the tesserarius of the palace custodes informed you of our authority from Bishop Gelasius?’

  Abbess Wulfrun sniffed, an inward inhalation of breath which seemed to threaten damage to her nasal passages.

  ‘I have been told but find nothing in the matter which is of concern to me.’

  ‘It does not concern you, then, that your archbishop-designate has been murdered?’ Fidelma’s voice was almost a soft purr, threatening in that quiet almost sibilant tone.

  Abbess Wulfrun shot her an angry lo
ok.

  ‘I mean, and I think I make myself clear, that your questioning does not concern me. I know nothing of the matter.’

  Eadulf smiled in an attempt at placation and gestured to the chair.

  ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to spare us some of your valuable time? A few questions so that we may inform Bishop Gelasius that we have done what he has asked of us.’

  Fidelma ground her teeth at his obsequiousness but she decided that it might be better to allow him to question Wulfrun. A minute with this arrogant woman would be enough to make her lose her temper, in spite of her usual self-control. The abbess seated herself, her left hand tugging in a nervous gesture at her headpiece where it was swept scarf-like round her neck.

  ‘When did you last see the archbishop-designate alive?’ began Eadulf.

  ‘Just after the evening meal yesterday. We exchanged some words about the audience with the Holy Father which had been due to take place today. We were no more than ten minutes together at the door of the refectory. Then I went straight to my chambers. Sister Eafa came and helped me prepare for bed and I turned in early. Only when we were at the morning meal did I hear the news of Wighard’s death.’

  ‘Everyone seems to have gone early to bed that night,’ muttered Fidelma. Eadulf ignored her and pressed on.

  ‘Where was your chamber in relation to those occupied by Wighard?’

  The Abbess Wulfrun frowned a moment.

  ‘I am given to understand it was on the floor below those occupied by the male members of our party. You yourself should know this, Brother Eadulf.’

  ‘I meant, was it directly below Wighard’s chamber? I am merely trying to ascertain if you heard anything,’ he explained smoothly.

  ‘It is not and I did not,’ grunted the abbess.

  ‘And what of Sister Eafa?’

  ‘She has the room next to me, the easier to be at hand when I want her.’

  ‘Is Sister Eafa your servant?’ interposed Fidelma sharply.

  Again came the obstreperous sniff.

  ‘She is one of my community of Sheppey. She is my companion on this journey and assists me.’

  ‘Ah,’ Fidelma said ingenuously, ‘as you assist her when she is in need?’

  Eadulf leant forward hastily.

  ‘You were not disturbed during the night? You heard and saw nothing?’

  Distracted, Wulfrun turned her head back to Eadulf.

  ‘I have said as much,’ she replied shortly.

  ‘I am told that the scuffle when Brother Ronan Ragallach was arrested by the custodes was so loud that it awakened Brother Sebbi,’ Fidelma observed. ‘Yet you heard nothing of this?’

  A flush gathered on the thin prominent cheeks of Abbess Wulfrun.

  ‘You doubt my word?’ her voice rose threateningly. ‘Do you not know, Irish girl, to whom you speak?’

  Fidelma’s gentle smile broadened dangerously.

  ‘I speak to a fellow sister of the Faith and, as courtesy demands between equals of the Faith, I expect an answer.’

  The sniff became a veritable explosion.

  ‘I am Wulfrun, daughter of Anna, King of the East Angles. My sister Seaxburgh reigns as Queen of Kent, wife to Eorcenberht. That is who I am.’

  ‘You are surely the Abbess Wulfrun of the abbey of Sheppey,’ corrected Fidelma quietly. ‘Once you have taken the cloth then you are one with the church and have no rank other than that which is bestowed upon you by the church.’

  Abbess Wulfrun sat bolt upright. For a moment she forgot to fiddle with the scarf-like material around her neck and stared at Fidelma with a look of incredulity.

  ‘You dare speak to me like that?’ Her voice was no more than a whisper. ‘I am a Saxon princess!’

  ‘What you were is of little relevance. What you are is a servant of the Christ.’

  Wulfrun’s mouth opened and closed several times. Then she exploded.

  ‘How dare you, you foreign … foreign peasant! I am a princess of Kent. Do you know who your father is?’

  Eadulf stared aghast at the tinge of red touching Fidelma’s cheeks as she stared back at the contemptuous and insolent woman. For a moment he thought the Irish religieuse was going to erupt in wrath at the insult, then Fidelma managed to control herself and sat back with a tight smile. When she spoke, her voice was softly modulated and even.

  ‘My father, and yours, Abbess Wulfrun, is the God we serve …’

  Abbess Wulfrun’s thin lips accentuated the sneer even more and before she could respond Fidelma continued.

  ‘Nevertheless, if you are so concerned with things temporal, and not with the faith to which you should be committed, let me tell you this. My temporal father was Faílbe Fland mac Aedo, King of Cashel and Munster, and my brother, Colgú, now rules there. That is nothing to boast of. It is who I am that counts. At this moment, I am an advocate of the courts of my land, commissioned by the military governor and nomenclator of this palace to investigate a murder.’

  Eadulf stared at her in surprise. It was the first time that Fidelma had ever referred to her background or family. The religieuse was continuing to gaze calmly on the features of the arrogant Saxon abbess.

  ‘When I entered the service of the risen Christ I accepted His teaching that we are all equal in His sight. Do you know the epistle of Timothy: “Tell the rich and powerful not to be proud or high minded and not to hope for uncertain riches but to set their hopes in the Living God”?’

  Abbess Wulfrun, her face working with anger, sprang up, causing her chair to be flung backwards. In her agitation, her scarf came away revealing part of her neck. Fidelma’s eyes narrowed a fraction as she saw a red mark on the neck. It was the weal of an old wound or sore. Wulfrun was spluttering, unaware of the fallen cloth.

  ‘I refuse to sit and be insulted by … by …’

  Words failed her, and she turned and stormed from the room. Furius Licinius looked on helplessly.

  Brother Eadulf sat back shaking his head.

  ‘You have made an enemy in that one, Fidelma,’ he said ruefully.

  Fidelma seemed outwardly calm but the bright specks of blood remained on her cheeks and her bright eyes glinted and danced with curious fires.

  ‘The person who has never made an enemy will never make a friend,’ she remarked. ‘You can judge a person by their enemies and I would prefer to be judged by having such a one as my enemy than as my friend.’ She turned to Furius Licinius. ‘Try to find Sister Eafa and bring her here without the knowledge of Abbess Wulfrun.’

  The bewildered young tesserarius raised his hand in salute. It was the first time that he had made the military gesture of courtesy to Fidelma.

  ‘Why the secrecy?’ asked Eadulf curiously, after Furius Licinius had left the room.

  ‘This Wulfrun is a very domineering lady. Can she be so stupid or is there some method in her arrogance? Does her insolence exist to conceal something else?’

  The Saxon brother grimaced.

  ‘She boasts very powerful relatives, Fidelma. I would have a care.’

  ‘Powerful among the Saxon kingdoms only. I do not intend to return there when I leave here.’

  Eadulf wondered why he suddenly felt a tinge of anxiety at the idea of her departure.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘Abbess Wulfrun does not seem to add anything to our store of knowledge.’

  Fidelma was thoughtful.

  ‘But she does demonstrate that she is not entirely open and prefers to screen herself behind her arrogance. Wasn’t it Ovid who said that attack was a good defence?’

  Eadulf scowled as he turned the matter over in his mind.

  ‘But what could she be hiding?’

  Fidelma grinned.

  ‘Isn’t that for us to discover?’

  Eadulf half nodded. Then said: ‘But of what relevance to our enquiry would anything be that Wulfrun has to say?’

  Fidelma reached forward and laid a hand on Eadulf’s arm.

  ‘I fear you are simply repeating your question,
Eadulf. Let us consider,’ she sat back. ‘Why would she feel so defensive that she had to attack? Is it her personality, or is it some specific knowledge?’

  Eadulf looked helpless.

  ‘I think,’ Fidelma continued, after a pause, ‘I’d be inclined to believe that it was her personality. I have heard of this King Anna she hails as her father. He was converted from the worship of Woden to the True Faith. I believe that Anna had several daughters and, in his enthusiasm, persuaded them all to serve the church. We know what may happen when fathers force their daughters to follow what the fathers want them to do rather than what daughters desire to achieve for themselves.’

  ‘But daughters have little choice but to obey their fathers,’ replied Eadulf. ‘Didn’t the blessed Paul write: “Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord”?’

  Fidelma smiled softly.

  ‘And didn’t Paul also write: “Fathers, do not provoke your children, lest they become discouraged”? But I forget, sometimes, that we are separated by a different social and law system. Among the Saxons, daughters seemed to be simply chattels to be bought or sold according to the whims of their fathers.’

  ‘But the law of the Saxons is more in keeping with the teaching of Paul,’ Eadulf assured her, knowing from experience how different was the female’s role in Ireland. ‘Paul says “wives, be subject to your husbands, as is fitting to the Lord. For the husband is the superior to the wife as Christ is the head of the church …” We follow that teaching.’

  ‘I would prefer the system of my own land where women have some choice at least,’ Fidelma replied irritably. ‘One does not have to obey Paul in all his opinions for he was a man of his culture, which is not my culture. Besides, not everyone in Paul’s own culture agreed with his teachings. Paul argued for celibacy among the clergy, believing that carnal relationships were an obstruction to the higher aspirations of the soul. Who can believe that is so?’

  Eadulf was embarrassed.

  ‘It must be so for it was the cause of the fall of Adam and Eve.’

  ‘Yet how can be it the cause of sin when reproduction is necessary to the survival of humankind? Are we to believe that God would then have us cast into oblivion by making reproduction a sin? If it is a sin, why give us the means to reproduce?’