Shroud for the Archbishop

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Were there any special events during that feast?’ pressed Fidelma.

  Cornelius let the corners of his mouth turn down as if to suggest he had little knowledge.

  ‘The feast began with a sacrifice at the temple and a public banquet was open to everyone. People were even allowed to gamble in public. Oh, and the slaves would don their masters’ clothes, being freed from their duties, while the masters would wait upon the slaves.’

  Fidelma’s eyes shone with green fire and a smile split her face.

  ‘Thank you, Cornelius,’ she said, the solemnity of her tone betrayed by the mask of delight at the information. She stood up abruptly.

  ‘What will happen to me?’ demanded Cornelius, also rising wearily to his feet.

  ‘That I do not know,’ Fidelma admitted. ‘I will make my report to the Superista and he, undoubtedly, will present the matter to the city magistrates for consideration. I am not skilled in the laws of Rome.’

  ‘In the meantime,’ grunted Furius Licinius with satisfaction, ‘you will be placed in the cells of the custodes and you will not find it so easy to escape from them now as your confederate Ronan Ragallach did. Of that I can assure you.’

  Cornelius shrugged. It was a defiant gesture.

  ‘At least I have rescued several great works for posterity when they would otherwise have been lost. That is my compensation.’

  Licinius motioned him to the door.

  As Cornelius moved a new thought crossed Fidelma’s mind.

  ‘One moment!’

  Cornelius turned back to her in expectation.

  ‘Did Ronan or Osimo tell anyone else about this strange tale of the alleged murder of Wighard’s wife and the selling of his children; of Wighard’s responsibility for that terrible deed?’

  Cornelius frowned and shook his head slowly.

  ‘No. According to Osimo, Ronan told only him and he in secret. But Osimo told me for the reasons that I have already recounted.’

  His expression abruptly changed as a memory stirred. Fidelma was quick to spot it.

  ‘But you passed on that knowledge?’ she prompted. Cornelius was troubled.

  ‘I thought it so ungodly an act, so heinous a crime, if it were true, that I worried over it for several days. Here was a man about to made archbishop, ordained by His Holiness, and yet it had been told by the confession of a dying man that he had paid for his wife and children to be slain. I could not leave it … even though I broke the confidence of my friend Osimo. But I told only a churchman of rank and honour.’

  Fidelma felt a tingle at the back of her neck.

  ‘You could not remain quiet. That I can understand,’ she agreed impatiently. ‘So whom did you tell?’

  ‘I thought I should see if one of Wighard’s entourage knew anything about the matter and could advise whether the matter could be investigated … I sought the advice of someone in authority who could bring the matter to the ear of His Holiness before the ceremony of ordination. In fact, it was the day before Wighard’s death that I brought the matter to the attention of one of the Saxons prelates.’

  Fidelma closed her eyes and sought for a moment to control her impatience. Eadulf, now realising the importance of what Cornelius was saying, stood white-faced, waiting.

  ‘So who did you tell?’ Fidelma repeated sharply.

  ‘Why, the Saxon abbot, of course. The Abbot Puttoc.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Puttoc,’ muttered Brother Eadulf, as they hurried through the grounds of the Lateran Palace towards Abbot Puttoc’s chamber in the domus hospitale. ‘It was that lying, lecherous son of a whore the whole time.’

  Fidelma gave a critical sideways glance at the vehement expression on her companion’s features.

  ‘Your language does not become you, Eadulf,’ she reproved softly.

  ‘I am sorry. It is just that my blood runs hot when I think of that lascivious priest who is supposed to instruct others on morality. That he was the murderer … ah, but I see that it fits now as I think back.’

  ‘You think so?’ she asked.

  ‘In retrospect, of course,’ affirmed Eadulf, worried at the slightly amused tone in her voice. Was she mocking him now they had the answer, whereas he had been so blind before? Even at the start of this investigation he would have condemned Ronan Ragallach and not bothered to proceed further. ‘Yes, it was obviously Puttoc all along. Although, having learnt the dark secret of Wighard, with his burning ambition to ascend the throne of Augustine of Canterbury, Puttoc decided to kill Wighard and claim that prize instead. Ambition, naked ambition, is the key to this entire mystery.’

  Fidelma gave an inward sigh. Eadulf had a fine mind but, as a fault, he tended to pursue only one path at a time and forget that all the minor detours needed to be checked.

  She found herself wondering about Eadulf. Since she had met him at Witebia she had often felt an almost chemical reaction between them. She enjoyed being in his company, enjoyed the banter and the half-serious arguments. Moreover, she was not indifferent to Eadulf’s masculinity.

  At twenty-eight years old, Fidelma had reached the age when she considered herself long past the age for matrimony in a society where most marriages took place between sixteen and twenty years of age for girls. It was not that Fidelma had ever consciously rejected the idea of marriage, of forsaking the temporal world for the spiritual life. It had simply happened this way. And it was not that she was without experience.

  When she was in her second year of studying law at the school of Morann, the Chief Brehon at Tara, she had met a young man. He was a young chieftain of the Fianna, the bodyguard of the High King. The attraction, in retrospect, was no more than physical and the affair was passionate and intense. It ended without drama when the young man, Cian, had left Tara with another young girl; a girl who simply wanted a home and who would not pose any intellectual threat to him. For Fidelma was deep into her studies, always poring over the ancient texts. Cian was purely a physical person whose life was measured in actions and not thoughts.

  As Fidelma had reflected, even the Book of Amos said: ‘Can two walk together, except they be agreed?’ Yet in spite of her rationalisation at the ending of the affair, it had left its mark on Fidelma. When she had met Cian, she had been young and carefree. Cian’s rejection of her had left her disillusioned and, although she did her best to hide it, she also felt some bitterness at the experience. She had never really recovered from it. She had never forgotten it nor, perhaps, had she ever allowed herself to.

  So she had put her zest for life into her studies and the attainment of knowledge and its application. She had never allowed herself to get close to a man again. That was not to say that she had refused all passing affairs. Fidelma was of her culture and did not envy the ascetics of the Faith who denied themselves such natural pleasures. Denial of one’s body was unnatural to her. Celibacy was not a concept she believed in as a matter of rule; it was a matter of personal choice and not of religious dogma. But her amours were neither deep nor lasting. Each time she had hoped for more, had almost convinced herself of the sincerity of feeling between herself and her partner but each time the affair ended in disappointment.

  She found herself speculatively regarding the Saxon cenobite; trying to work out the feelings of warmth, pleasure and comfort that she always felt in his presence which were strangely at odds with the clash of their personalities and cultures. She remembered that her friend, the Abbess Étain of Kildare, had attempted to explain to her once why she was giving up her office to marry. ‘Sometimes you know what is right, instinctively, Fidelma. It happens when a man and woman meet and know that they understand and can be understood. The act of meeting becomes the ultimate intimacy between them, for there is no need for a lengthy friendship and gradual discovery of one another. It is as if two parts have suddenly become as one.’ Fidelma frowned. She wished she could be as sure as poor Étain had been.

  She suddenly realised that Eadulf had finished speaking and seemed to be exp
ecting an answer.

  ‘Puttoc’s ambition? Do you think so?’ she finally asked again. She shook her head and brought her mind back to the matter in hand. ‘Why didn’t Puttoc simply bring his accusations to the Holy Father? How would Wighard have become archbishop once his terrible secret was known?’

  Eadulf smiled indulgently.

  ‘But where was Puttoc’s proof? He had the word only of Osimo who had it from Ronan, already a condemned thief. Without a credible witness, he would not have been able to prove such an accusation.’

  Fidelma conceded the point.

  ‘Then,’ continued Eadulf, ‘Puttoc also had a dark secret which was certainly known to Brother Sebbi. His own lascivious character. If he made accusations against Wighard, then counter-accusations could easily have been made against himself.’

  ‘This is true,’ Fidelma accepted. ‘But would Puttoc’s ambition take him to the extent of garrotting the archbishop-designate? And why kill Ronan Ragallach, the very source of the story?’

  Eadulf shrugged.

  ‘Brother Sebbi confirms that Puttoc was a ruthless man,’ he said, a little lamely.

  They reached the domus hospitale and began to hasten up the stairs.

  Eadulf paused abruptly at the head of the stairs with a restraining hand on Fidelma’s arm.

  ‘Don’t you think we should wait for Furius Licinius and his custodes to join us before we confront Puttoc?’

  They had left Licinius taking Cornelius to the cells of the custodes before joining them at Puttoc’s chamber.

  Fidelma shook her head impatiently.

  ‘If Puttoc is the guilty one, I doubt whether he will do anything to harm the two of us.’

  Eadulf’s expression was one of perplexity.

  ‘Do you still doubt Puttoc’s involvement after what Cornelius had to say?’

  ‘I do not doubt Puttoc’s involvement,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But to what extent he was involved has yet to be proven.’

  Fidelma led the way along the corridor and paused outside the Abbot of Stanggrund’s room.

  She leaned forward and tapped gently on the door.

  It was only faint, but a sound of movement came from behind the door. Then there was silence.

  ‘Abbot Puttoc! It is I, Fidelma of Kildare.’

  There was no reply to her call. Fidelma glanced with raised eyebrows at Eadulf and slowly moved her head in a gesture which Eadulf correctly interpreted.

  The Saxon monk reached forward and, gently turning the handle, threw open the door abruptly.

  As they crossed the threshold, Fidelma and Eadulf were halted in astonishment at the scene inside the room.

  Across the bed lay the figure of the Abbot Puttoc stretched on his back, his ice-blue eyes staring towards the ceiling in the glazed unseeing stare of death. There was little reason to doubt the cause of his death. The prayer cord was still twisted around his sinewy neck, its noose tight, almost cutting through the flesh. A blackened tongue protruded between his lips, adding to the grotesquely comic expression of surprise on his features. The hands were claw-like, grasping at the empty air and, though they had now fallen to rest by his sides, the tension in them had not abated. Abbot Puttoc of Stanggrund had been garrotted in the same manner as Wighard and Brother Ronan Ragallach.

  The picture was impressed on the eyes of Fidelma and Eadulf in a fleeting moment of time.

  But it was the figure bending over the corpse which caused them both to cry out almost in unison.

  As they came into the chamber, Brother Eanred whirled round, his face ghastly as he stared at them. Fidelma had a momentary sensation of facing a cornered animal.

  The tableau seemed to remain locked in immobility for an eternity. It was but a split second of time. Then Eanred, with an inarticulate cry, leapt across the room towards the only exit; the window which looked out on the small courtyard three floors below. But, Fidelma realised, it was the small ledge that ran along the side of the building that Eanred was making for.

  Eadulf sprang across the room but the tall, ex-slave turned and felled him with one blow. Eadulf went staggering back several paces, collided with a wall and slumped down with a groan of pain.

  Fidelma impulsively moved forward.

  Eanred, pausing astride the ledge of the window, noticed her movement, reached within the folds of his habit and drew a knife. Fidelma saw its glint and had only a split second to throw herself to one side before it flashed silver-like across the room to embed itself into the door jamb behind her.

  While she was thus distracted, Eanred swung over the sill of the window and balanced on the ledge.

  With a grunt of disgust, Eadulf picked himself up, shook his head and realised that his quarry was escaping. He hurled himself across the room but Eanred was moving rapidly along the ledge.

  Fidelma joined Eadulf at the window as he was attempting to climb out. She restrained him.

  ‘No. It is too narrow and not safe. I saw as much the other day,’ she commanded. ‘The plaster is old and insecure.’

  ‘But he’ll escape,’ protested Eadulf.

  ‘To where?’

  Eadulf pointed at the broad ledge which Eanred was trying to reach.

  ‘That leads to the Munera Peregrinitatis,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Eanred will not get far. No need to endanger yourself, Eadulf. We will alert the custodes’

  They were turning from the window when they heard the crumbling of masonry and a wild scream.

  Eanred, finding the plaster of the ledge crumbling beneath his feet, had attempted to leap from his tiny perch across a space of four feet to the broader ledge. But he was too late, for the dry masonry disintegrated before he could make the jump.

  With another piercing shriek the former Saxon slave plunged headlong into the stone courtyard three storeys below.

  Fidelma and Eadulf peered downwards.

  The head of Eanred was twisted at a peculiar angle. There was a dark stain spreading over the stones. There was no need to ask if he were dead.

  Eadulf pushed himself back into the room with a deep exhalation of breath and shook his head in bewilderment.

  ‘Well, that seems to be that. You were right all along, Fidelma. I did Puttoc an injustice. It was Eanred all the time. The solution seemed too obvious when Sebbi told us that Eanred had garrotted his former master.’

  Fidelma said nothing in reply. She drew back into the room and examined it with narrowed eyes.

  He paused and scratched his head.

  ‘But would Eanred have done this thing on his own account? He was a simple man. No, perhaps I was not wrong about Puttoc. Perhaps Eanred was acting on the orders of the abbot? That seems more likely,’ Eadulf said, with satisfaction. ‘And then Eanred, in disgust, turned and slew his master, Puttoc. Indeed, as he had slain his former master when he was a slave. What do you say?’

  He turned to gaze at Fidelma but she was not listening. She was still standing seemingly lost in thought. Eadulf sighed audibly.

  ‘Perhaps I’d better go and inform Furius Licinius what has happened here?’ Eadulf voiced it as a suggestion.

  Fidelma nodded absently. Eadulf could see that she was preoccupied with her own thoughts as she gazed down at the Abbot of Stanggrund’s body.

  ‘You’ll be all right?’ Eadulf asked anxiously. ‘I mean, waiting here until I return?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she replied vaguely, not looking up as she examined the corpse.

  Eadulf hesitated and then shrugged, leaving her to go in search of Furius Licinius. Already he could hear the faint cries of concern from outside the building. People had begun to gather in the courtyard below around Eanred’s body.

  Left alone, Fidelma continued her examination of the body of Puttoc. There was something which she had registered in her first sight of the body which had been pushed to one side by the immediate excitement of Eanred’s attempted flight.

  She closed her eyes and conjured back the memory. Eanred had been crouched over the body. Crouched over it, trying to pris
e something out of one of the dead claw-like hands of the abbot. Yes, that was it. She opened her eyes and bent down to examine the hand. Clutched in it was a piece of torn cloth. There was something else. Still pinned to the cloth was a bent piece of copper. It had once been part of a brooch, copper and some red glass.

  Fidelma managed to prise it loose after a few minutes. Where had she seen the brooch before? Then she remembered. Slowly a smile of satisfaction crossed her features. At last everything began to fall into place.

  She was still standing in the middle of Puttoc’s chamber, the object clutched in her hand, when Eadulf returned with Furius Licinius.

  ‘So,’ Licinius grunted happily, ‘we have finally made a solution to this mystery.’

  ‘Indeed we have,’ agreed Fidelma, with firm assurance. ‘Has Cornelius of Alexandria been placed in the cells here?’

  The tesserarius affirmed that he was.

  ‘Then I must see him a moment. In the meantime, Furius Licinius, would you request the military governor, Superista Marinus, to request that Bishop Gelasius invite Abbess Wulfrun, Sister Eafa and Brothers Sebbi and Ine to his officium? You should tell Marinus that the invitation is mandatory, lest the Abbess start objecting.’

  ‘Very well,’ the young officer of the guards agreed.

  ‘Excellent. You go with him, Eadulf. I will see Cornelius and attend shortly. Then, when we have all gathered, I shall explain the mystery in its entirety And what a tale of evil and vengeance is here, my friend.’

  With an abrupt grimace of repugnance, she turned and vanished from the room, leaving Eadulf and Licinius somewhat bewildered.

  Chapter Seventeen

  As Sister Fidelma had requested, they had all gathered in the chamber used as an officium by the military governor of the palace, the Superista Marinus. Bishop Gelasius sat dominating the group in a chair before the ornate fireplace, his elbows resting on its arms and his hands fingertip to fingertip, almost resting his chin on them as if in a parody of prayer. His saturnine, hawk-like features gave the impression of a bird of prey, watching and waiting for its quarry from beady black eyes. On the other side of the fireplace sat Marinus, looking distinctly irritable and impatient. He was clearly a man of action, unused to long periods of inactivity. To his side and slightly behind, standing with arms folded and a somewhat bland expression on his features, was the tesserarius Furius Licinius.