Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #Church History, #Clerical Sleuth, #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery, #tpl, #Medieval Ireland

Shroud for the Archbishop (14 page)

BOOK: Shroud for the Archbishop

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‘The abbot became excited and he donned a robe and went to Wighard’s chamber where many people were.’

‘And what did you do?’

‘I went to my own chamber, next door to the abbot’s room, and fell asleep for I was tired and had drank a great deal of the Greek physician’s wine.’

‘Were you not interested in how Wighard had come by his death?’

Brother Eanred shrugged indifferently.

‘We all die sometime.’

‘But Wighard had been murdered.’

The man’s face was expressionless.

‘Brother Sebbi told me to tell the abbot that Wighard was dead. That’s all.’

‘You did not know that he was murdered?’

‘I know now, sister. Since you say so. May I go now? The abbot wanted me to go to his chamber.’

Fidelma looked long and hard at Brother Eanred and then sighed softly.

‘Very well. You may go.’

The monk inclined his head and left the room.

Fidelma turned to Licinius and Eadulf. Eadulf was smiling and shaking his head.

‘Well, now … A simple man, indeed. Yet it strikes me as odd that Cornelius would seek out his company for an
evening’s drinking, let alone to discuss art.’

‘It sounds as though the conversation was all one-sided,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But there are many people who love to talk and are not concerned whether it is in dialogue or monologue. Perhaps our friend Cornelius is one of those. He merely wanted someone to talk at and not with.’

‘It is Abbot Puttoc who does not inspire the Faith,’ observed Furius Licinius sourly.

‘That is truly said. Ambitious, officious …’ Fidelma paused. ‘I wonder how ambitious?’

Eadulf suddenly frowned, looking at the Irish religieuse with a speculative gaze.

‘Come, Fidelma. You are forgetting Brother Ronan Ragallach. You are not surely suspecting the abbot of Wighard’s murder?’

Fidelma smiled briefly.

‘I am not forgetting, Eadulf. But I am still keeping an open mind about Ronan Ragallach. There is still something unresolved here.’

Furius Licinius had been standing with a look of growing impatience on his aristocratic young features.

‘Do you still want to go to Brother Ronan Ragallach’s lodgings?’ he demanded.

‘In a moment, Licinius. I want to examine all the chambers on this floor. Simply because we found nothing here does not mean to say we should ignore the other chambers.’

‘But they were occupied at the time of Wighard’s death.’ Licinius was clearly uncomfortable.

‘Not so,’ replied Fidelma. ‘We now hear from Eanred that his chamber was not occupied for he did not return until after the murder.’

‘You wish to search all the chambers?’ queried Eadulf, with
humour. ‘Puttoc’s chamber for example?’

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.

BOOK: Shroud for the Archbishop

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