Chairs had been provided for the Abbess Wulfrun, for Sister Eafa and for Brothers Sebbi and Ine. The Abbess appeared fidgety as if bored with the proceedings. She was continually adjusting the scarf at her neck. At her side sat Sister Eafa with a slightly bewildered expression as if she did not know why she was part of the company.
Brother Ine was even more subdued, his eyes focused intently on the floor while Brother Sebbi, seated alongside him, was looking his usual smug self. A cynical smile played over his features. Fidelma, on entering, had a momentary picture of Sebbi as a cat about to devour a bowl of cream. Of course, Sebbi undoubtedly believed that he was near to fulfilling his ambition. He had obviously reasoned that there was no one else qualified to step into the shoes of the late, but apparently unlamented, Abbot of Stanggrund.
Eadulf, who had entered the room with Fidelma, took up a position just inside the door of the officium. His face carried a slightly tense expression. He was surprised that Fidelma had not discussed matters with him since the death of Brother Eanred earlier that evening. That irritated him. Especially when she refused to accept that the obvious conclusion to the recent events was that Eanred was responsible for the deaths of Wighard, Ronan Ragallach and now the Abbot Puttoc. However, Fidelma had placated him by stating that her idea was just a hypothesis based on the evidence, but conclusive proof could only come about if her summation of the facts forced an admission from the person she suspected. Nevertheless, she had refused to confide in Eadulf the name of the person whom she suspected. She insisted that the same hand that had garrotted Wighard had ended the lives of Ronan and Puttoc, of that she was sure. Yet, she further insisted, that hand had not belonged to the late Brother Eanred.
As she entered the officium Gelasius had lifted his head and smiled wanly at her. The bishop-nomenclator of the Lateran Palace seemed fatigued.
‘Well, sister,’ Gelasius raised one hand, as if in a gesture of greeting to her, but let it fall back into position when she halted several paces away from his chair. He had almost grown accustomed to her steadfastly ignoring the Roman custom of kissing his ring of office. ‘There is little need for detailed explanations. It seems that all our mysteries have been solved with the death of Eanred. It remains for us to congratulate you and Brother Eadulf on your vigilance.’
There was a mumble of approval from Marinus and the Brothers Sebbi and Ine. Neither Wulfrun nor Eafa registered any emotion.
Fidelma gazed around at the company with a humourless smile.
‘It remains, Gelasius,’ she said, choosing her words carefully, ‘to resolve the matter of Wighard’s death by revealing who killed him. For the same person, to cover up that death, has also killed Brother Ronan Ragallach and the Abbot Puttoc.’
There was a sudden tension in the room. She had their close attention now. Everyone wore an expression of shocked surprise, of uncertainty. Their eyes watched her like rabbits observing a snake. Behind one of those masks was a troubled soul, full of guilt. Fidelma hoped that her deductions were accurate but that remained to be seen.
Sister Fidelma took up a position with her back to the fireplace, between Gelasius and Marinus and facing the company with her hands folded demurely before her.
Bishop Gelasius appeared disturbed as he regarded her in silence for a moment. Then he made a rasping noise as he cleared his throat.
‘I don’t understand, sister? Surely you caught Brother Eanred in the very execution of the deed? I understood from Licinius that Eanred was caught actually standing over the body of his victim, the late abbot, when you and Brother Eadulf burst into the chamber. Isn’t this so?’
‘I need but a few moments of your time,’ Fidelma said, without replying to his question. ‘There have been many mysteries in the matter of the death of Wighard. Many things have happened which have obscured the reality. We must now examine them clearly and thereby separate the wheat from the chaff.’
Bishop Gelasius glanced at the military governor as if for approval, but Marinus sat stony-faced, his facial muscles apparently frozen to hide his impatience. Gelasius turned and made a motion with his hand towards Fidelma, half an invitation to continue but also an expression of his utter bewilderment.
‘Very well,’ Fidelma said, accepting the gesture as approval for her to proceed. ‘As you must already know, there were two mysteries to be solved. Two mysteries which caused much confusion when Brother Eadulf and I first began to examine this matter because we, naturally, thought that they were but two aspects of the same single mystery. But they were, in fact, unconnected, co-existing without being part of one another.’
They struggled to follow her but were clearly confused. Fidelma began to elucidate.
‘The first mystery was simple. Wighard was murdered. Who murdered him? It was the second mystery which complicated the first. Wighard was robbed of his treasure, the precious items which he had brought with him as gifts to His Holiness and the chalices of the Saxon kingdoms which were to be blessed by the Bishop of Rome. Who robbed Wighard? At first we all thought that the mystery was: Wighard was murdered and robbed. Whoever killed Wighard also robbed him. Or rather, whoever robbed him also killed him.
‘But that was not the question nor in it lay the solution. The two actions were separate and unconnected.’
Gelasius inclined his head gravely as he perceived the logic of what she was saying.
‘Are you saying that the person who robbed Wighard did not kill him?’ His voice was heavy as he strove to emphasise his understanding of her conclusion.
Fidelma glanced at him and smiled agreement.
‘Yes. Yet this was not realised at first and this wrong assumption was what held us back. Brother Ronan Ragallach and Brother Osimo Lando were in a plot to take the treasures brought by Wighard of Canterbury to Rome and use them to buy certain valuable books, once held in the great Christian Library of Alexandria. We know that the followers of Mahomet captured that Library of Alexandria some twenty years ago and with it some of the most priceless books of the ancient Greek world.
‘A week or so ago an Arabian merchant arrived in Rome with a dozen of the rare medical texts which had been rescued from the destruction at Alexandria. Works by Hippocrates, by Herophilus, Galen of Pergamum and others: several invaluable books which had existed only in Alexandria. This enterprising merchant contacted one of the most distinguished medical men in Rome, a person who had been a student at Alexandria and fled the city when the followers of Mahomet captured it. That man, the merchant knew, would understand the value of the books he offered for sale. It was, of course, Cornelius of Alexandria.’
She paused. No one said anything. The news of Cornelius’ arrest had already started to spread through the Lateran Palace.
‘Cornelius was well placed as the personal physician to Vitalian. However, he was not so wealthy that he could raise the ransom demanded by the Arabian. The money which the Arabian trader wanted was far beyond his means. But he coveted those books. He knew the value of these great medical texts, texts that would be lost forever to civilisation if he did not find the means to secure them.’
‘Why didn’t he come to us that we might raise the money?’ demanded Gelasius. ‘Heaven knows we have little enough money here to spare but we could have raised it somehow to rescue these works for Christendom.’
It was Eadulf who decided to add to the explanation. He spoke slowly without moving from his position behind the door.
‘In a word – greed. Cornelius desired the books for himself. If he owned those texts, he would become wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. But he saw wealth not in terms of pecuniary matter. He saw the books as objects of wealth in themselves. He had to have them. He had to possess them.’
Fidelma nodded appreciatively and continued: ‘He therefore took a fellow Alexandrian, Brother Osimo Lando, into his confidence. Cornelius already had a plan to rob the wealthy to ransom the books. Osimo, as sub-praetor working in the foreign secretariat, had information about foreign potentates in Rome and thei
r wealth.
‘Wighard and his entourage had just arrived and with a treasure which would easily meet the demands of the Arabian merchant. Between them they decided to relieve Wighard of those precious items. Perhaps Osimo was persuaded that it was God’s work, rescuing great treasures from the infidels. Perhaps Cornelius did not tell him that he was going to keep the books in his personal possession.’
She paused, smiling as she saw their bewildered expressions.
‘Very well,’ she went on, after a moment or two in which no one spoke, ‘Osimo Lando had a lover in the person of Brother Ronan Ragallach. Osimo persuaded Cornelius that he should be brought into the conspiracy. Three heads were better than one or even two, so Cornelius agreed. The idea was to steal the treasure while Wighard slept. Ronan decided to reconnoitre the domus hospitale to form a plan …’
‘That was the evening before Wighard’s murder,’ interposed Furius Licinius, confidently speaking for the first time. ‘On that occasion I nearly caught him lurking in the courtyard outside the domus hospitale.’ He shrugged and smiled self-consciously. ‘He fooled me on that occasion and escaped.’
‘Just so,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘He was surveying the chambers. Now, at the back of the building there is another, smaller courtyard. Just outside the windows is a small ledge. But where the newer building joins the one in which Wighard was lodged, a broader ledge runs almost directly to what was Brother Eanred’s room. In that new building, as luck would have it for the conspirators, was the very officium of the Munera Peregrinitatis. This was obviously the best way into the domus hospitale because there were palace guards stationed in the courtyard and on the stairs.
‘To obtain entry, of course, Eanred had to be removed from his room. Cornelius persuaded Eanred to return to his villa on the chosen night and he plied him with drink until after the hour in which Osimo and Ronan would enter the domus hospitale and seize the treasure. The plan worked. To an extent …’
She paused and examined their expressions carefully.
Marinus was still staring woodenly into the middle distance but Gelasius was beginning to look interested.
‘To an extent?’ he repeated. ‘How so?’
‘The plan was that Ronan Ragallach would enter the chamber of Wighard while Osimo remained in Eanred’s cubiculum. Ronan would fill a sack and bring it to Osimo. Osimo would then traverse the ledge back to the other building while Ronan would collect a second sack and rejoin him,’ Eadulf explained, encouraged by Fidelma’s attitude to his first response.
‘But when Ronan entered Wighard’s chamber he found him dead,’ Fidelma continued. ‘Ronan was about to flee when it occurred to him that this did not detract from the plan to steal the precious items. There they were in the wooden chest. Ronan filled a sack, hiding the items that were not needed … he and his conspirators only wanted items that were of immediate monetary value. He took this sack to Osimo who went back along the ledge while Ronan returned for the rest of the goods.
‘He was about to climb from Eanred’s cubiculum on to the ledge with his second sack when he realised that he had not secured the door of Wighard’s chamber. Foolishly, in retrospect for him, he decided to return. Leaving the second sack by the window, he entered the corridor and found the decurion Marcus Narses had found the door open. This was the very thing Ronan had feared – Narses had discovered Wighard’s body. Ronan was spotted. Quick-witted, he attempted to leave the building by the stairway, leading the trail away from his friend Osimo and the sacks of treasure.’
Fidelma paused and then gave a tired smile.
‘Marcus Narses himself unwittingly gave me a clue that Ronan could not have been leaving the scene of the crime directly after the murder. He told me that when he found Wighard’s body, the body was cold. If Ronan had killed Wighard but a moment before, then the body would have been warm still. Wighard had been dead at least an hour or more.’
Gelasius cleared his throat, frowning in thought.
‘Why was the second sack of precious items not discovered when the search was made for the missing treasure?’
‘Because Osimo, after waiting for Ronan to follow him, became worried and made his way back to Eanred’s cubiculum. He found the abandoned sack there and heard the sounds of commotion. Realising that Ronan had been spotted he decided to take the second sack and hastened back to his officium. Then he removed the sacks to his lodgings and waited for Cornelius to set about the disposal of the silver and gold.’
Fidelma stood regarding them for a moment or two to gauge their reactions.
‘The theft of Wighard’s treasure was coincidental to his murder and nothing to do with it.’
‘Then who murdered Wighard?’ demanded Marinus, speaking for the first time. ‘You tell us that Ronan Ragallach is not guilty? Now you tell us Brother Eanred is not guilty. Someone must be guilty. Who then?’
Fidelma glanced at the military governor.
‘Do you have some water? My throat is dry.’
Furius Licinius moved hastily forward to a table on which a pottery jug stood with some goblets. He poured the water and took the goblet to Fidelma. She smiled her thanks quickly at the young custos and sipped slowly at the contents. They waited impatiently.
‘It was the late Ronan Ragallach who presented me with an essential clue,’ she said at last.
Even Eadulf was leaning forward now, a frown on his features as his mind raced over the information they had gathered, wondering what he had missed.
‘Ronan Ragallach, according to Cornelius, had been happy to join the conspiracy to rob Wighard because of Ronan’s contempt for the man.’ Fidelma put down the goblet on a side table. ‘Ronan had told Osimo a story which Osimo had passed on to Cornelius.’
Gelasius gave a sudden intake of breath; a sharp breath which startled several of those in the room.
‘Can’t we get to the point? Someone tells a story who tells it to someone else who tells it …’
Fidelma turned with a raised eyebrow and his voice trailed off.
‘I can only get to the point in my own way, Bishop Gelasius.’
The sharpness of her response caused Gelasius to blink rapidly. The bishop hesitated and then raised his hand in a gesture of resignation.
‘Very well. But continue as quickly as you can.’
Fidelma turned back to the others.
‘Ronan had encountered Wighard’s name before. Several years ago he had left Ireland and travelled to the kingdom of Kent where he had served at the church of St Martin’s in Canterbury. One night seven years ago, a man came to make his confession; a man who was dying. This man was a thief and hired assassin. But one crime above all others troubled his conscience. Years before, a cleric had come to him and paid him a sum of money if the assassin would slaughter his wife and children.’
Gelasius leant forward with a frown.
‘Why would a cleric do this?’ he demanded.
‘Because,’ Fidelma went on, ‘this cleric was very ambitious. With a wife and children he could not hope to be appointed in your Church of Rome to the rank of abbot or bishop. Ambition was substituted in this man’s mind for morality.’
Abbess Wulfrun’s face began to turn bright red.
‘I cannot sit here and listen to a cleric of Kent being slighted by a foreigner!’ she suddenly exploded, standing up, her hand at her throat, tugging at her head scarf.
Fidelma’s eyes held Wulfrun’s in a cold grip.
‘The assassin carried out the cleric’s orders.’ She went on evenly, not turning her gaze from Wulfrun. ‘The assassin came one night while the cleric was away performing his duties. He slaughtered the cleric’s wife, making it appear that a party of Picts had landed nearby to pillage the area. But when it came to the children, the assassin’s greed took the better of him. He could sell them for more money – the Saxons have a habit of selling unwanted children into slavery,’ she added for the benefit of Gelasius. ‘The assassin took the children and rowed them across the great river Tamesis to the
kingdom of the East Saxons where he sold them to a farmer, pretending that he was simply a poor man in need of money. There were two children; a boy and a girl.’
She paused for dramatic effect and left them in utter silence. Then she said softly: ‘The name of the cleric who paid for his wife and his son and daughter to be slaughtered was none other than Wighard.’
There was a chorus of cries of horror from the assembly.
Abbess Wulfrun’s face was a mask of anger.
‘How can you let this foreign girl cast such an accusation at a pious bishop of Kent?’ she fumed. ‘Bishop Gelasius, we are guests in Rome. It is your duty to protect us from such venom. Moreover, I am not unconnected with the royal family of Kent. Have a heed that these aspersions do not bring the wrath of our people on Rome. I am a princess of the Saxon kingdoms and I demand …’
Gelasius was looking worried.
‘You must choose your words carefully, Fidelma,’ he advised hesitantly.
‘Is that enough to rebuke this foreigner?’ Wulfrun continued to shout. ‘I would have her whipped for such insolence to the memory of the pious archbishop. It is an insult to the royal house …’
Fidelma suddenly smiled directly at her.
‘Io Saturnalia!’ she said almost under her breath.
The abbess stopped in mid-flow and looked puzzled.
‘What did you say?’ she demanded.
Even Eadulf was not sure what Fidelma meant. He tried to remember why Fidelma had been so interested in the pagan Roman feast of Saturnalia.
‘There was once a Saxon princess who had a female slave of whom she was fond,’ began Fidelma conversationally, as if changing the subject. ‘When the princess was betrothed to a neighbouring king, she, naturally, moved her household to that kingdom. The princess was very pious and wanted to involve herself in the good works of Christendom within that kingdom. She founded an abbey on a little island – it was called the island where the sheep are kept – and it occurred to her to free her female slave and appoint her as abbess. She had been very close to this female slave … almost as close as a blood sister.’
Shroud for the Archbishop Page 26
