Shroud for the Archbishop (15 page)

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Authors: Peter Tremayne

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

BOOK: Shroud for the Archbishop
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‘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.’
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.
‘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!’
‘Doubtless, you have already made sure there is nothing of value?’ asked Fidelma dryly.
‘Of course I have …’
The woman suddenly snapped her mouth shut.
Furius Licinius frowned with anger.
‘You were ordered not to enter his room until you were told,’ he said threateningly.
The woman brought her chin up aggressively.
‘All very well for you to give orders. I’ll warrant that you have never gone short of a meal.’
‘Did you remove anything from Brother Ronan Ragallach’s room?’ Fidelma asked sharply. ‘Tell the truth or you will regret it.’
The woman brought a startled gaze back to Fidelma.
‘No, I have not touched …’
Her voice died away under Fidelma’s penetrating scrutiny and she dropped her eyes.
‘One must live, sister. These are hard times. One must live.’
‘Brother Eadulf, go with this woman and find out what she has removed from Ronan Ragallach’s room. If you are not honest, woman, you will be discovered and lies are not only rewarded by punishment in this world.’
The woman hung her head sullenly.
Brother Eadulf glanced with a suppressed smile to Fidelma, knowing that her harsh tone was often feigned. He nodded briefly and turned to the woman.
‘Come now,’ he said sternly. ‘Show me what you have taken and be sharp about it.’
Furius Licinius turned back and continued his ascent of the stairs in response to Fidelma’s gesture to continue.
‘These damned peasants!’ he muttered. ‘They would rob you if you lay ill and dying. I have no time for them.’
Fidelma decided not to reply but followed him silently to a small room on the next floor. It was dark and dismal with a smell of stale sweat and cooking odours.
‘I wonder how much they demanded for this hovel?’ mused Licinius, swinging back the door and motioning Fidelma to enter. ‘There are too many of these thieves who rent rooms to pilgrims to Rome and acquire great fortunes by overpricing them.’
‘You did tell me that this hostel was not under the control of the church,’ Fidelma said. ‘But surely the church has some say about rents in the city?’
Licinius smiled thinly.
‘Bieda is a fat little businessman who makes a fortune from
various properties. In each he hires a
quae res domestic
dispensat
…’
‘A what?’ demanded Fidelma.
‘Someone to run the house for him, like the woman downstairs. The good Bieda is probably deducting the cost of this empty room from her salary.’
‘Well, it is wrong of the woman to take things from this room but I would not like to see her suffer if her income depends on keeping the room occupied.’
Furius Licinius sniffed deprecatingly.
‘The likes of her will survive anyway. What did you wish to see?’
Fidelma looked into the shadowy darkness of the room. Even though the shutters were not closed, the tiny window let little light into the room, the sky being blotted out by the towering aqueduct outside.
‘Simply to be able to see would be my first priority,’ she complained. ‘Is there a candle here?’
Licinius managed to locate a stub of a candle by the bed and lit it.
There was scarcely a thing in the room apart from a rough wooden bed, with a sweat-stinking blanket and a pillow, and a small table and chair by its side. A large
sacculus
was slung on a hook hammered into one wall. Fidelma took it down and poured the contents on to the bed. There was nothing of interest but Brother Ronan’s spare clothes and sandals. His shaving tackle was placed on the table by the bed.
‘He lived a frugal life, eh?’ grinned Licinius, allowing himself some pleasure at the disappointment on Fidelma’s face.
Fidelma did not reply but stuffed the clothes back into the
sacculus
and rehung it on the hook. Then she examined the
room carefully. There certainly was nothing to show that someone had lived for some months in this place. She went to the bed and began to strip it with care. Ten minutes later there was still nothing to show for her labours.
Furius Licinius stood leaning against the door post, watching her with interest.
‘I told you that nothing had been found,’ he said. However, the relief in his voice was obvious after the humiliation in Wighard’s chambers.
‘So I understood.’
She bent down and peered round the floor. Nothing but dust. She started as she saw black beetles scurrying this way and that. What were they? Large, ugly creatures!
‘Scarabaeus,’
Furius Licinius identified laconically, as he saw the object of her consternation. ‘Cockroaches. These old houses are riddled with them.’
Fidelma was about to rise to her feet in disgust when she saw something half hidden by the bed. She bent forward, trying to ignore the scurrying beetles. It was a small scrap of papyrus. She knew from the texture that it was not vellum. It had been well trodden on so that it was covered in dirt and scarcely discernible against the grime of the floor.
She raised the stub of candle and peered closely at it.
The papyrus was clearly torn from a larger piece. It was a jagged piece not more than a few inches square. There were some strange hieroglyphics on it which she was unable to recognise. The characters were neither Greek nor Latin or even the ancient Ogham script of her own land.
She handed it to the mortified Furius Licinius with a tight smile.
‘What do you make of these characters? Can they be identified?’
Furius Licinius peered at the torn papyrus and then shook his head.
‘I have not seen this sort of writing before,’ he said slowly. Then he added, lest the
custodes
be humiliated by this woman yet again, ‘Do you think it matters?’
‘Who knows?’ Fidelma shrugged and put the slip of papyrus into her
marsupium.
‘We shall see. But you were right, Furius Licinius; there is nothing which seems immediately of help to us in this room.’
There came the sound of footsteps on the stair. Eadulf came in with a smile and carried a small pile of objects.
‘I’m afraid it took some time to retrieve everything. At least, I think this is everything. We were just in time to prevent these items being sold by the good lady downstairs,’ he grinned.
One by one he placed the items on the bed: a string of prayer beads; a crucifix of red Irish gold, not very well worked but certainly of some value; an empty
crumena
or purse without anything in it; several objects of veneration presumably purchased from local shrines, and two small testaments, one of Matthew and one of Luke.
Furius Licinius gave a cynical chuckle.
‘A month’s rent, eh? This would have covered three months or more in this hovel. Not to mention the coins that must have gone missing from the
crumena.’
Fidelma was examining the two testaments very carefully, turning them page by page as if expecting something to fall out of them. They were in Greek but not of good workmanship. There was nothing compressed within their leaves. She
gave up with a sigh as she finished her task.
‘You found nothing?’ Eadulf asked, glancing round the room.
Fidelma shook her head, thinking he meant between the pages of the testaments.
‘Hidden panels?’
Fidelma realised that he was referring to their search of Brother Ronan’s room.

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