Shroud for the Archbishop (16 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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Furius Licinius smiled tolerantly.
‘The
decurion
Marcus Narses has already looked for any place where things could have been hidden.’
‘Nevertheless …’ Eadulf returned the smile and began to examine the walls carefully, tapping gently on them with his knuckles and listening to the sound of the knocking. They waited until he had covered the walls and the floor and returned with a sheepish smile.
‘The
decurion
Marcus Narses was right,’ he grinned at Licinius. ‘There are no places where Brother Ronan Ragallach could hide the stolen valuables from Wighard’s trunk.’
Fidelma had collected Brother Ronan Ragallach’s belongings and put them in the
sacullus,
which she had taken from the wall.
‘We will take these with us for safe keeping, Furius Licinius. You may tell the woman that when we are satisfied, they will be returned in default of any outstanding payment. But the deacon Bieda must come to claim them and present his accounts for the room at the same time.’
The young
tesserarius
smiled approvingly.
‘It shall be as you say, sister.’
‘Good. I was hoping to question Brother Sebbi before the evening meal and, hopefully, Abbess Wulfrun and Sister Eafa
afterwards. But I think the hour grows too late.’
‘Would it not be a good idea to find out more about this Ronan Ragallach?’ queried Eadulf. ‘We have been concentrating on those close to Wighard but information about the very man accused of killing him has not been examined at all.’
‘Since Ronan Ragallach has fled his prison, this would be hard to achieve,’ replied Fidelma dryly.
‘I did not mean the questioning of Ronan,’ Eadulf said. ‘I thought, perhaps, the time had come to see the place where Ronan Ragallach worked and question his companions.’
Fidelma realised that Eadulf was absolutely correct. She had been overlooking matters.
‘He was employed in a minor role in the
Munera Peregrinitatis –
the Foreign Secretariat,’ interposed Licinius.
Fidelma silently rebuked herself. She should have examined Ronan Ragallach’s place of work before now.
‘Then,’ she said with studied tone, ‘we must by all means examine this Foreign Secretariat next.’
 
In the chamber which the military governor had set aside for them, Eadulf had taken up his clay tablets and stylus and was jotting down the notes concerning the salient points of the Abbot Puttoc’s interview and the questioning of Brother Eanred. On returning to the palace they learnt that the department of the
Munera Peregrinitatis,
in which Ronan Ragallach had been employed as a
scriptor,
was closed and its superior was at
cena,
the evening meal.
To her annoyance, Fidelma discovered that no arrangements had been made for them to eat in the main refectory of the palace and so Furius Licinius was sent to secure something for them to eat and drink while they returned to the chamber.
While Eadulf busied himself with his note taking, Fidelma stored the items gathered from the lodging house. Having done so, she returned to the table and, sitting down, placed two items on it and examined them with curiosity. The piece of sackcloth picked up from the splinter on Eanred’s door and the torn piece of papyrus.
Eadulf looked up from his writing and paused with a frown.
‘What are those?’ he demanded.
‘I wish I were sure,’ replied Fidelma frankly. ‘They probably have nothing to do with this inquiry.’
‘Oh, the sackcloth,’ Eadulf made a dismissive grimace as he recognised it. ‘And the other?’
Fidelma was apologetic.
‘Sorry, I forgot to mention it. A piece of papyrus found on the floor of Ronan’s room. I can make nothing of it.’
She slid it across to Eadulf.
‘It has writing on it,’ he observed.
‘Strange hieroglyphics,’ Fidelma sighed. ‘I have no idea of what they are.’
Eadulf smiled broadly.
‘Easily answered. It is the language of the Arabians. Those who follow the prophet Mahomet.’
Fidelma stared at him in almost speechless surprise.
‘How do you know this?’ she demanded. ‘Can it be that you are proficient in this tongue?’
Eadulf’s face wore a smug expression.
‘I cannot pretend that much. Alas, no. I will not deceive you. But I have seen such writing before, when I was previously living in Rome. The hieroglyphics are distinctive and I have not forgotten their shape. It may be another language entirely using the same form of lettering but I would say that
it is probably the writing used by the Arabians.’
Fidelma looked at the papyrus and pursed her lips thoughtfully.
‘Where in Rome would we be able to find someone able to decipher what is written here?’
‘There should be someone, perhaps in the
Munera Peregrinitatis
…’
Fidelma gave him a quick glance. Eadulf abruptly realised what he said.
‘The very office in which our friend Ronan Ragallach worked,’ he mused. Then he shrugged. ‘But is that significant?’
There was a discreet knock on the door.
Fidelma took up the pieces of papyrus and sackcloth and put them back into her
marsupium.
‘That we shall see,’ she said, before calling, ‘enter!’
A thin, wiry man, with dark hair and a sallow complexion entered. One of his dark eyes was slightly cast, so that Fidelma felt, at times, an embarrassment as to which eye she should focus on. The face was familiar but Fidelma could not place him.
Eadulf recognised the religieux immediately.
‘Brother Sebbi!’
The wiry man smiled.
‘I heard from a
custodes
that you wished to speak with me and, as I had finished my evening meal, I asked where you might be found.’
‘Come in and be seated, Brother Sebbi,’ invited Fidelma. ‘You have saved us the task of sending for you. I am Fidelma …’
Brother Sebbi nodded as he seated himself.
‘Fidelma of Kildare. I know. I was at Witebia when you and
Brother Eadulf cleared up the mystery of the death of the Abbess Étain.’ He paused and grimaced awkwardly. ‘This is a bad business, very bad.’
‘Then you know what we are about, Sebbi?’ Fidelma asked.
Sebbi drew his thin lips back in a grin.
‘It is common talk all over the Lateran Palace, sister. The Bishop Gelasius has empowered you and Brother Eadulf to investigate the circumstances of Wighard’s death, just as Oswy commanded you to find the murderer of Abbess Étain at Witebia.’
‘We would like to know your whereabouts at the time of Wighard’s death,’ Eadulf added.
Sebbi’s smile seemed to broaden.
‘Asleep, if I had sense.’
Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at him.
‘And did you have sense, Brother Sebbi?’
Sebbi’s face was serious a moment and then the grin came back.
‘I see you have a sense of humour, sister. I was in bed asleep. I was awakened by some noise in the corridor. I went to the door to see several
custodes
around the door of Wighard’s chamber. I asked what was wrong and was told.’
‘Was there anyone else about? I mean Puttoc, for example?’
Sebbi shook his head.
‘But the noise woke you?’
‘Yes.’
‘So it was loud?’
‘Of course. There was shouting and stamping feet.’
‘Did it not surprise you that the Abbot Puttoc, whose chamber is next to your
cubiculum,
was sleeping through all this?’
Eadulf cast a worried glance at Fidelma, clearly concerned
that she was still casting doubts on Puttoc’s statement in retaliation for the abbot’s treatment of her.
‘No,’ Sebbi leant closer across the table. ‘The Abbot is known to take sleeping draughts, for he suffers from insomnia. He takes medications as another takes food.’
‘Is this hearsay, Sebbi, or do you know it as a fact?’ demanded Fidelma.
Sebbi made a small gesture with his hand.
‘I have served under the abbot at Stanggrund for fifteen years. I should know. But ask Eanred, his servant. It is a fact. Eanred always carries a bag of medications. Each evening Eanred has to mix a concoction of mulberry leaves, cowslip and mullein into a wine which Puttoc drinks.’
Fidelma glanced at Eadulf who nodded understanding.
‘A sleeping draught not uncommonly used.’
Sebbi continued.
‘Puttoc lives on his medicines. That is probably why he bought Eanred here in the first place. Only Eanred is capable of producing cures for Puttoc’s insomnia. Puttoc never wanders far without his servant.’
Fidelma was curious.
‘A servant?’
‘Eanred was a slave before Abbot Puttoc bought and freed him in keeping with the Faith of the Holy Church. But Eanred still considers himself as Puttoc’s man, even though he is a freeman.’
‘How did this come about, Sebbi?’ prompted Fidelma.
‘Well, during the days of Swithhelm, who ruled the East Saxons, few in the kingdom kept the Faith. Seven years ago, Puttoc decided to journey to that land in an attempt to recall the lost sheep back to the one true God. Because I was raised
there … in fact, I was named after the prince Sebbi who now rules that land … the Abbot Puttoc chose me to accompany him. It was when we arrived at Swithhelm’s court that we found Eanred as a slave awaiting execution.’
Sebbi paused for a moment and when they made no comment he went on:
‘It arose in conversation with Swithhelm that the king regretted the forthcoming death of this slave for Eanred had a reputation as a herbalist and healer. But if a slave kills a master, there is an end to it. He must forfeit his life unless someone else compensate the kin of the slain master by paying them his
wergild
and then buying the slave. But who wants to buy a slave who has already killed his master?’
‘So Eanred was Swithhelm’s slave?’ Fidelma queried.
‘Oh no. Eanred belonged to a farmer named Fobba near the northern banks of the River Tamesis.’
‘How did this Eanred become a slave?’ asked Eadulf. ‘Was he captured or was he born to it?’
‘His parents sold him into slavery when he was a child during a time of great famine so that they might have the means to live,’ Sebbi replied. ‘In our lands a slave is a piece of property, like a horse or other livestock, which can be bought and sold for profit.’ He grinned wryly at Fidelma’s disgusted expression. ‘The Faith abhors this practice but the law of the Saxons is older than their conversion to the Faith and so the Church has to tolerate …’
Fidelma made an impatient gesture with her hand. She knew as much from her own experiences of the problems which Irish missionaries faced in the conversion of the heathen Saxons. It was scarcely seventy years since the Saxons had begun to give up their gods of war and bloodshed and
converted to Christianity. Many still clung to their old beliefs while even the Christians intermixed the new faith with old customs.
‘So Eanred was sold into slavery and grew up to kill his master?’
‘Indeed. Puttoc, who was ever sensitive about his health, and always looking for potions to arrest his ailments, was intrigued. Eanred, though apparently simple and slow-witted, was, so we were told, a genius when it came to searching for herbs and plants with healing properties. People from all over the kingdom would go to Fobba’s
tun
to pay Fobba for the cures which Eanred provided.
‘After some thought, Puttoc put a proposal to Swithhelm. He asked the king to delay the execution for a further day. He told the king that he suffered from sleeplessness at night. If that evening, Eanred could concoct a potion which would cause him drowsiness then he, Puttoc, would be prepared to buy Eanred and pay the
wergild.’
‘This
wergild
you speak of, what is that?’ asked Fidelma.
‘It is the means by which a man’s social position is defined,’ interposed Eadulf, who had once been a hereditary
gerefa
or magistrate of his people. ‘It is the means by which a
gerefa
can fix the size of compensation to be paid to the kinsmen of a slain man or fix other means of legal recompense. For example, a noble
eorlcund
has a
wergild
of three hundred shillings.’
‘I see. We have the same method of measurement in Ireland where the fine is called an
eric
fine, in which a
eneclann
or “honour price” is fixed on the rank of all citizens. In our society the “honour price” decreases, as a punishment, if anyone is found guilty of a crime or misdemeanour. Yes, I understand this
wergild
now. Continue.’ She sat back in
satisfaction at her new knowledge.

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