Shroud for the Archbishop (27 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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‘He must have gone into the storehouse,’ Eadulf suggested when Fidelma pointed out that he had vanished.
‘It is obvious that his bearers are waiting to pick him up again,’ Licinius observed optimistically.
Fidelma found herself chewing her lip.
‘Whoever he is meeting, he is meeting them in that storehouse.’ She made up her mind quickly. ‘Licinius, you go to the front of the storehouse and wait. Will the
lecticula
bearers be a problem?’
Licinius shook his head.
‘They will have respect for my uniform.’
‘Very well. If you hear me call for help, come immediately. If they try to prevent you, you must use your weapon. Eadulf, you will come with me now.’
Eadulf was puzzled.
‘Where to?’ he demanded.
‘The storehouse backs on to the river. There is a wooden quay just there. You can see it in the moonlight through that passage along the side of the building. We will make our way down and enter the storehouse from that direction. My aim is to see what Cornelius is involved in.’
Fidelma began to put her instructions into action and moved quickly down the alley with Eadulf trailing behind. Licinius watched them go with some surprise at Eadulf’s meekness in taking orders from a woman. Then he loosened his
gladius
and sauntered towards the
lecticula.
The bearers stiffened at his approach. One of them had lit a lantern in preparation for the journey back. But when they
saw his uniform they seemed to relax. Obviously, thought Licinius, they did not appear aware of any wrong doing on the part of their master.
Meanwhile, Fidelma and Eadulf crept cautiously along the side of the wooden storehouse and on to the quay.
They could already hear voices, tense and argumentative.
Fidelma eased her way over the wooden boards of the quay, thankful for the noisy slap of river against the wooden supports of the quay which seemed to deaden the sound of their approach.
She paused at the door which, to her surprise, was ajar. From inside the voices rose and fell in apparent altercation. The language was totally strange to her and she looked through the gloom to Eadulf and gave an exaggerated shrug. He raised a shoulder and let it fall in return, to indicate that he, too, had no understanding of the language.
Fidelma was aware of a dim light inside and she risked widening the aperture of the storehouse door a fraction.
The storehouse was large and almost empty.
At the far side were three men seated around a table on which a lamp was spluttering and giving an eerie low light. An
amphora,
obviously filled with wine, stood on the table with some vessels of pottery. Cornelius was sipping nervously at the vessel he held in his hand. The other two men were not drinking. In the gloom of the flickering light there appeared to be something familiar about them.
It took Fidelma but a moment to recognise the Arabians by their loose costumes and dark features.
It was clear that they were arguing in their own language which Cornelius also understood and spoke with fluency.
Suddenly one of them put something wrapped in a cloth
down on the table. He motioned Cornelius to examine it. The Greek physician bent forward and unwrapped it. Fidelma saw that it was a book. From the side of his chair, Cornelius brought forth a sack, reached in and pulled out a single chalice.
Fidelma smiled grimly.
It was obvious that some exchange was taking place and the puzzle suddenly began to clear in her mind.
While Cornelius was examining the volume, one of the Arabians was examining the chalice.
Eadulf, crouching behind Fidelma and unable to see precisely what was going on, was stirred into an exclamation of protest when Fidelma suddenly rose to her feet and pulled the door fully open, striding into the storeroom.
‘Stay still!’ she shouted.
Eadulf quickly stumbled into the room behind her, blinking as he took in the scene.
Cornelius of Alexandria was sitting transfixed, his face ghastly pale as he realised that he had been discovered.
‘
Tauba
!’ exclaimed one of the Arabians, starting up, a hand going to a large curved knife at his belt.
‘Stop!’ cried Fidelma again. ‘This place is surrounded. Licinius!’
Licinius had given an answering cry from outside.
The two Arabians exchanged a glance and, as if on a signal, one of them swept the lamp from the table while the other grabbed towards the sack. Fidelma heard the table turn over in the sudden darkness. She could see the dull light outside as the door opened and she heard Furius Licinius yell in pain.
‘Eadulf, a light! Swiftly as you can!’
She heard the scraping of flint and Eadulf emerged in the gloom with a candle held high.
The Arabians were gone but Cornelius still sat on his chair, his shoulders slumped. He was still clutching at the book. The table had indeed been overturned but there was no sign of the sack.
Fidelma went forward and bent to take up the book from Cornelius’ shaky hands. As she expected, it was a medical tract written in Greek which appeared ancient.
‘Find out if Furius Licinius is hurt, Eadulf,’ Fidelma said, setting the table upright.
Eadulf glanced anxiously at Cornelius.
‘I have nothing to fear from Cornelius,’ she told him. ‘But I’m afraid young Licinius may be in trouble.’
Eadulf moved hurriedly to the door.
She heard him exchanging words with, she imagined, the two bearers who were uncertain and confused at what was happening. She stood silently, watching the dejected Cornelius. Eadulf ordered the bearers to wait where they were.
‘He can’t be hurt badly for he has gone up the road chasing the two that left here,’ Eadulf explained when he returned a moment later.
‘Well, Cornelius of Alexandria,’ Fidelma said quietly, ‘you have some explaining to do, don’t you?’
The physician’s shoulders slumped further and he sunk his chin into his chest with a deep sigh.
Licinius returned a second later with an annoyed shake of his head.
‘They are gone like rabbits into a warren,’ he said disgustedly.
‘Are you hurt?’
‘No,’ Licinius replied ruefully. ‘They bruised and winded me a little when they burst out of the door. I was nearly knocked
over. We will not catch them now unless this one talks.’
He prodded the Greek with the tip of his
gladius.
‘No need for that,
tesserarius,’
muttered Cornelius. ‘In truth, I do not know where they have gone. You must believe me!’
‘Why should we believe you?’ Furius Licinius demanded, digging his sharply again.
‘By the Holy Cross, I do not know why you should except that I am telling you the truth. They contacted me to arrange places of meeting. I do not know where they come from.’
Fidelma saw that the man was not lying. He was too shocked at the discovery. The brashness had gone from him.
Eadulf had picked up the fallen lamp, discovered that not all the oil had been spilt and relit it from his candle.
‘Eadulf, give the good physician some wine to revive his spirits,’ Fidelma instructed.
Wordlessly, Eadulf poured some wine from the amphora which, luckily, had not been broken during its tumble from the table and handed it to the Greek. The physician raised it in mock salute. ‘
Bene vobis
!
’
he toasted sarcastically, as if recovering something of his old spirit, before gulping it almost in a single mouthful.
Fidelma suddenly bent to the floor and recovered a chalice which had obviously fallen from the sack which one of the Arabians had seized when he had leapt to his feet. It was apparent that the Arabians had made sure of their loot as they fled. Fidelma took a seat opposite Cornelius while Eadulf stood at her side.
Furius Licinius, his sword still held in his hand, placed himself by the door.
Fidelma sat for some moments in silence, turning the chalice around in her hand as she examined it thoughtfully.
‘You will not deny that this is from the treasure of Wighard? I am sure Eadulf can easily identify it.’
Cornelius shook his head in a quick, nervous motion.
‘No need. It is one of the chalices brought by Wighard to be blessed by His Holiness,’ he confirmed.
Fidelma said nothing for a moment, allowing the tension to build in the physician.
‘I see. You were using this stolen treasure in order to buy books offered to you for sale by these Arabians?’
‘So you knew? Yes; books from the Alexandrian Library,’ agreed Cornelius, readily enough. A slight tone of defiance rose in his voice. ‘Rare and priceless medical texts which would otherwise be lost to the civilised world.’
Fidelma reached forward and placed the chalice on the table between them.
‘I know some of your story,’ she said, bringing forth looks of surprise from both Eadulf and Licinius. ‘Now you had best tell me all of it.’
‘I suppose it matters little now,’ agreed Cornelius dolefully. ‘Young Osimo and his friend Ronan are dead. I am caught but at least I have saved several books.’
‘Indeed you have,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘You left several in Osimo Lando’s lodging while Ronan had another hid at his place of work. And here is yet another. And the priceless possessions that belonged to Wighard? What remains of them?’
Cornelius shrugged.
‘The remaining pieces were in that sack which the Arabians took.’
‘And, in return, the only treasure that you have received is old books?’ Furius Licinius was incredulous.
A brightness came into Cornelius’s eyes.
‘I don’t expect a soldier to understand. The books are far more valuable than base metal. I have Erasistratus of Ceos’ work on the origin of diseases; Galen’s
Physiology
, and several works by Hippocrates such as his
On the Sacred Disease
, on
Epidemics
and his
Aphorisms
as well as Herophilus’ commentaries on Hippocrates.’ There was-a total satisfaction in his voice. ‘These are the great treasures of medical literature. How can I expect you to understand what value they represent? Value beyond the mere gold and jewels that I have exchanged for them.’
Fidelma smiled gently.
‘But the gold and jewels you exchanged were not yours to do so. They belonged to Wighard the archbishop-designate of Canterbury. Tell us how this came about?’
Cornelius gazed back at her, glancing slowly from Eadulf to Licinius. Then he said simply: ‘I did not kill Wighard.’
‘Let me tell you that I, Cornelius, am an Alexandrian first and foremost.’ The physician swelled with pride as if this statement would explain all. ‘The city was founded nine centuries ago by the great Alexander of Macedon. Ptolemy the First founded the famous library which, according to Callimachus, once possessed seven hundred thousand volumes. But when Julius Caesar was in Alexandria the main library was burnt and many of its books were destroyed. It could never be proved, but rumour had it that the destruction was caused by petty Roman spite for that great treasure. However, the library has been rebuilt and restored and during these last six centuries continues to be regarded as the greatest library in the world.’
‘What has this to do with Wighard’s death …?’ interrupted Eadulf impatiently, speaking more to Fidelma than Cornelius, for she seemed to be following his discourse as if it were totally relevant.
Fidelma raised a hand to silence him and motioned for Cornelius to continue.
The physician grimaced in annoyance at the interruption but made no reference to it.
‘The library at Alexandria was the greatest in the world,’ he
repeated stubbornly. ‘I was a student in Alexandria many years ago; a student at the great school of medicine which was founded by Herophilus and Erasistratus almost at the same time that the library was founded. In that library were countless literary treasures. I had finished my initial studies and was practising in Alexandria, having been appointed as a professor in the school of medicine, when the terrible disaster overtook us and the world went mad.’
‘What disaster was this, Cornelius?’ demanded Fidelma.
‘The Arabian followers of the new religion of Islam, founded by the Prophet Mahomet but a few decades ago, began to spread westward in a war of conquest out of the eastern peninsular where they had dwelt. Their leaders had raised a cry of
jihad,
a holy war, against all those who would not turn to the new faith, those they called
kafirs.
Twenty years ago they swept into Egypt, came down upon the city of Alexandria and burnt it. Many of us fled, seeking refuge elsewhere in the world. I managed to get a berth on a ship bound for Rome and the last sight of my homeland was of the great white walls of the Library of Alexandria being devoured in flames and smoke together with the vast treasures of man’s intellectual endeavours it had once safeguarded.’
Cornelius paused and held out his goblet to Eadulf in silent instruction.
Reluctantly the Saxon cenobite poured him another drink from the
amphora
and Cornelius took it eagerly, swallowing it back in large mouthfuls. Having satisfied his thirst he continue: ‘Not long ago I was contacted by a merchant, an Arabian merchant, who told me that he had heard that I had once been a physician in Alexandria and knew its library well. He had something to show me. It was the book of Erasistratus, written
in the physician’s own hand. I could not believe it. The merchant said that he would sell me the work, plus twelve others which he had. The sum he named was ridiculous; a sum beyond my dreams, although I am considered wealthy by Roman standards. The merchant said he would wait a while and when I could meet his price we would make the exchange.
‘What could I do? I spent an entire night in sleepless thought. Finally, I confided in Brother Osimo Lando, who, like me was an Alexandrian. He had no hesitation. If we could not raise the money by fair means, then we must use foul means. We both swore that those great treasures of Greek intellect must be saved for posterity.’
‘For posterity … or for yourself?’ Fidelma asked coldly.
Cornelius was not abashed. His voice was proud.
‘Who else but I, I as an Alexandrian physician, could really appreciate the wealth contained in those books? Even Osimo Lando could only see it intellectual terms while I … I could commune with the ages, with the great minds that inscribed their words.’
‘So you killed Wighard for his treasure to provide you with the money?’ sneered Eadulf.
Cornelius shook his head vehemently.
‘That is not so.’ His voice immediately dropped almost to a whisper.
‘How was it, then?’ demanded Furius Licinius.
‘It is true that we stole Wighard’s valuables but we did not kill him,’ Cornelius protested, the sweat standing out on his brow as he stared from one to another of them, willing them to believe him.
‘Take your time,’ Fidelma said coolly ‘How did it come about?’
‘Osimo was a close friend of Ronan Ragallach …’ Cornelius gave her a hard look. ‘Do you know what I mean? A close friend.’ He repeated it with emphasis.
Fidelma understood. The relationship had been obvious to her.
‘Well, Osimo decided that we should draw Ronan into the affair. We heard that Wighard had arrived to be ordained as the archbishop of Canterbury by His Holiness. More importantly, we knew that Wighard had brought considerable wealth from the Saxon kingdoms. It was exactly what we needed. In fact, Ronan Ragallach had encountered this Wighard before and had no liking for the man. It appealed to his sense of humour that we should deprive him of this wealth.’
Fidelma made to speak but changed her mind.
‘Go on,’ she instructed.
‘Everything was fairly simple. Ronan first made a survey of Wighard’s chambers, that was the night he was nearly caught by a
tesserarius.
Ronan told the man his name was “No one”, but in his own language. Which the guard believed.’
Licinius sucked the air between his teeth in an expression of embarrassment.
‘I was the
tesserarius
,’ he curtly confessed. ‘I did not appreciate your friend’s sense of humour.’
Cornelius’ glance was expressionless.
‘Poor Brother Ronan was a bad conspirator for he shouldn’t have been caught at all.’
‘No crime had been committed then,’ Licinius said. ‘Wighard was murdered the next night.’
‘Just so,’ Cornelius agreed. ‘Osimo and Ronan decided that they would carry out the robbery between them for I am well known about the palace. They decided to enter by the
chamber next to the one occupied by the Abbot Puttoc …’
‘The room where Brother Eanred was sleeping?’ Fidelma asked.
‘It was the only chamber by which to gain easy entrance to the building. You see, a broad ledge runs around the courtyard from the building of the
Munera Peregrinitatis
to the
domus hospitale.
’
‘I have seen this broad ledge. It leads only to the room where Eanred slept.’
Cornelius stared thoughtfully at Fidelma for a moment before confirming it.
‘You have a keen eye, sister. Truly, the ledge was a means of entering the
domus hositale
unobserved. The problem was how to ensure that Saxon servant was out of the way when Osimo and Ronan committed the robbery.’
‘That was where you came in,’ smiled Fidelma confidently, ‘and why you invited the simple-minded Eanred to your villa and plied him with drink until you thought that the theft had been committed by your confederates.’
Cornelius nodded slowly, his eyes wide with surprise at Fidelma’s knowledge.
‘While I kept Eanred out of the way – believe me, it was a hard task to occupy that simpleton – Osimo and Ronan made their way along the ledge to the
domus hospitale.
Osimo remained on watch while Ronan went to Wighard’s chambers to see if he was asleep.’
‘And Wighard was awakened by Ronan who killed him?’ concluded Eadulf sharply.
‘No!’ snapped Cornelius. ‘I have told you as much. Neither Ronan nor Osimo killed Wighard.’
Fidelma gave a warning frown in Eadulf’s direction. ‘Let
Cornelius tell this story in his own way,’ she instructed a little sharply.
Cornelius paused to collect his thoughts before continuing: ‘There was no sound in the chambers and so Ronan entered. He went softly to the bedroom and there he saw Wighard, already slain. Unnerved, he was about to leave when it occurred to him that if Wighard was dead then, the valuables were his for the taking. Ronan screwed up his courage and returned from Wighard’s chambers with the sack, which he had brought in order to carry away the hoard, now filled with the precious metal cups. The valuables were heavy and cumbersome and so Ronan took one sack to Osimo, waiting in Eanred’s chamber, and then had to return for the second.
‘Osimo set off back along the ledge to take it to their room in the
Munera Pereginitatis
while Ronan gathered the second sackful. He brought this back to Eanred’s room …’
‘Tearing the sack on a splinter in the door frame,’ Fidelma said thoughtfully, almost to herself.
Cornelius paused a moment, not understanding. Then, as she did not explain further, he continued: ‘He was about to follow Osimo back along the ledge when he realised that he had not properly secured Wighard’s chamber door. Lest the body be discovered and a hue and cry raised before they were ready, he set down the sack by the window, and returned. It was a foolish action for it was the very thing which caused him to be caught. As he told us the story later, he had just left the room and was starting back along the corridor to Wighard’s chamber when a
decurion
of the
custodes
suddenly appeared and called on him to halt.
‘Ronan had the sense to turn away from Eanred’s room, which would have led the
custodes
to his companion Osimo,
and he attempted to leave by the stairway at the other end of the building. But he stumbled straight into the arms of the two guards in the garden below.’
‘He stood more chance of escaping through Eanred’s chamber and back along the ledge,’ observed Eadulf.
Cornelius stared sourly at him.
‘As I explained, he realised that if he did so he would lead the
decurion
straight to the second sack of treasure and point the way after his friend Osimo. He therefore tried to escape through the gardens.’
‘So what happened to the second sack, the one he had left in Eanred’s chamber?’ Fidelma asked. ‘Where did that disappear to? I presume Osimo returned for it?’
‘A correct presumption,’ agreed Cornelius, in appreciation at her quick mind. ‘Having taken the first sack to their office and waited for Ronan, Osimo became worried when he did not appear. After a short while Osimo made the journey back to Eanred’s room. He found the second sack and then heard the commotion. Realising that Ronan had been caught, he grabbed the sack and returned to his office. At that point he decided to hide the treasure in his own lodgings. We did not know what to do but Ronan escaped from the cells the next morning, due to the inattention of a guard …’
‘Who has now been disciplined,’ muttered Furius Licinius grimly.
‘And Ronan came directly to you?’ Fidelma concluded.
Cornelius made an affirmative gesture.
‘And you hid him?’
‘The plan was to smuggle him out of the city. We would have smuggled him on a boat. But Ronan was a moral person. Yes, when it came to murder, he was moral,’ repeated Cornelius,
as if they would disagree with him. ‘He learned that you, Fidelma of Kildare, were investigating the murder of Wighard of which he stood accused. To Ronan, theft was one thing but murder was another and he told us that you had a reputation in your own land. He had seen you once at the court of your High King in Tara. And he recognised you in the Via Merulana on the very day of the robbery and followed you for a while to make sure he was not mistaken.’
Eadulf nodded as he recalled the incident.
‘So Ronan Ragallach was the Irish cenobite that I observed following us?’
No one answered his rhetorical question.
‘He said that you, Fidelma of Kildare, were an advocate of your country’s law courts and renowned as a solver of puzzles, a person who sought out the truth,’ Cornelius repeated. ‘While Osimo and I advised him against it, he decided that he wanted to clear his name with you; to convince you that he was not responsible for Wighard’s death.’
Furius Licinius gave a harsh laugh.
‘Do you expect us to believe that? You have already admitted your guilt in robbing Wighard. Whoever robbed him also killed him.’
Cornelius turned a pleading look on Fidelma.
‘This is not true. We were not responsible for the Saxon’s death. We robbed him, yes. And for a purpose of which I am not ashamed. If you are the just advocate Ronan believed you to be, you will know this.’
There was a sincerity in Cornelius’ face that Fidelma found herself believing.
‘And so Ronan contacted me asking for the meeting in the catacombs in order to tell me this story?’
‘That was his intent. Of course, he was not going to reveal that Osimo and myself were connected with the matter. But he wanted you to clear his name.’
‘And he was killed for his pains.’
Cornelius nodded.
‘I advised against this meeting. Indeed, I did not know about the meeting until Osimo told me and I hastened off to the cemetery to intercept Ronan.’

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