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Authors: Peter Tremayne

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

Shroud for the Archbishop (24 page)

BOOK: Shroud for the Archbishop
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Abbess Wulfrun stood staring at Fidelma, still dangling her hand in the fountain apparently unconcerned at the anger of the abbess of Sheppey’s face.
‘This is outrageous!’ she began.
Eadulf shook his head, gathering courage.
‘Abbess Wulfrun, my colleague, Fidelma of Kildare, is absolutely right to inform you of the procedure.’
The belligerent abbess turned on him, regarding him as if he were a species of an unpleasant animal life.
‘I will see Bishop Gelasius about this,’ she said contentiously.
‘That is your prerogative,’ acknowledged Eadulf. ‘But, as a matter of interest, did you intend to make the journey back to the kingdom of Kent alone?’
‘And why should Sister Eafa and I not journey by ourselves?’
‘Surely you must know of the dangers of such travel? At Massilia there are gangs who prey on lonely pilgrims, especially on women, and take them into slavery, many to be sold among the brothels of the Germans.’
Abbess Wulfrun grimaced with haughty disdain.
‘They would not dare. I am of royal blood and …’
‘The matter will not arise,’ Fidelma said firmly, rising to her feet. ‘You and Sister Eafa will have to remain here until the investigation is complete. After that you are free to travel wherever and however you wish. But, when that time comes, you would be wise to take Brother Eadulf’s advice.’
If looks could have slain, then Fidelma would have been dead under the abbess’ withering glance.
‘It is true, lady,’ Eadulf added, seeking to placate her. ‘Best to wait until a whole band of pilgrims are returning to Kent or the other Saxon lands and go with them.’
Without another word, Abbess Wulfrun turned and walked away with the same scornful bearing as she always displayed.
Fidelma smiled and rubbed her chin.
‘I am truly sorry for Sister Eafa to be a companion to such an arrogant mistress as that one,’ she said, and not for the first time. ‘Still one cannot help but wonder why the Abbess Wulfrun is so eager to leave Rome after being here only a week or so.’
Eadulf chuckled critically.
‘Probably for the same good reasons that you suggested to me the other day – you were eager to get back to your own country.’
A sigh of impatience brought both their heads round to Furius Licinius, whom they had almost forgotten. The young
tesserarius
of the palace
custodes
had been silent for a long time.
Furius Licinius was clearly bored.
‘Surely, if we find these Arabians we will solve this puzzle?’ he offered.
‘How would we set about finding them?’ Fidelma asked.
‘There are many trading ships that put in at our ports. Many merchants from the lands of the Arabians live in Rome. In fact, there is a quarter among the
emporia,
the storehouses and markets, along the Tiber. It is a slum area of the city. That is where many of them are to be found. We call it Marmorata.’
‘The place of marble?’ queried Fidelma.
Furius Licinius nodded.
‘In ancient times it was where the stonemasons worked in
preparing the marble to build the city.’
‘I did not know this,’ Eadulf grumbled, slightly annoyed. He had prided himself on his knowledge of the city since his years of study in Rome.
‘It is not a place where people go now without an escort,’ Licinius explained. ‘It is full of sailors from many lands, particularly from Spain and North Africa and Judea. One part of the area is given over to a large rubbish dump where broken and useless
amphora
and
testae
have been dumped in a huge mound. Ships offload their cargoes and the city merchants just dump the containers. They only care for their profits and not for the pollution they create.’
‘Is it worth a visit?’ demanded Eadulf eagerly. ‘Perhaps you can spot your Arabians there?’
Fidelma shook her head.
‘It is useful to know that the area exists, that these Arabians might have come from there. But without further information, I fail to see what purpose the knowledge could serve. I certainly would not recognise the two men again. Indeed, I do not even know why I am looking for them. The key must surely lie with Brother Osimo Lando, perhaps he can tell us why Ronan Ragallach would be in contact with them. Which reminds me, it is time that the young
custos
returned with news about him.’
They retraced their footsteps back through the corridors of the Lateran buildings and into the
atrium
of the palace. It was still as busy as ever, still full of waiting dignitaries, impassive
custodes
, and priests and religious of all ages, sexes, nations and manners. Furius Licinius left them to see if there was any news of Brother Osimo Lando while they continued on to the office near the military governor’s chambers.
As Fidelma and Eadulf were crossing the hall, the mournful Brother Ine was pushing his way in an opposite direction. A broad smile crossed Fidelma’s face and she reached forward a hand to stay the Saxon religieux.
‘You are the very person that I was about to seek out,’ she told him.
Ine stood frowning with suspicion.
‘What do you wish of me?’ he asked cautiously.
‘You have been among the religious of Kent for many years, have you not?’
Ine acknowledged that he had, looking from Fidelma to Eadulf with a puzzled expression.
‘I told you that I was given to the church at the age of ten by my father.’
‘Indeed you did. You must know a lot about the church in your kingdom of Kent?’
Ine smirked with pride.
‘There is little I do not know, sister.’
Fidelma’s smile was even more encouraging.
‘I am told that Seaxburgh, the queen of Kent, established the monastery on Sheppey. Is this so?’
‘It is. She raised the house there nearly twenty years ago soon after she came from the land of the East Anglians to marry Eorcenberht our king.’
‘She was a daughter of Anna, I am told.’
Ine confirmed it at once.
‘Anna had several daughters. Seaxburgh was very interested in the Faith. She is a saintly woman and much loved in Kent.’
Fidelma leant closer in confidence.
‘Tell me this, Ine, is Abbess Wulfrun equally as loved as her sister?’
‘
Sister
!’ The word shot out of Ine like an oath. Then he
smiled knowingly. ‘When Seaxburgh brought Wulfrun to Kent their relationship was not
that
close. Many think that Seaxburgh made a mistake in placing Wulfrun as abbess in Sheppey’
‘What do you mean by saying that their relationship was not close?’ demanded Fidelma.
Ine grimaced shrewdly.
‘Have you heard of the pagan Roman feast of Saturnalia, sister? Ask what is the custom at that feast and solve the puzzle yourself.’
With an intensification of his melancholy expression, Ine turned away into the crowd leaving Fidelma bewildered.
‘Well?’ she demanded of Eadulf, ‘what happened at the feast of Saturnalia?’
Eadulf looked scandalised at the idea that he should have knowledge about an ancient pagan Roman festival.
Fidelma sighed and resumed her journey across the
atrium
with Eadulf following her.
‘So far as I can see,’ Eadulf remarked, as they pushed their way across the hall towards the offices of the military governor, ‘our only hope lies in finding these Arabians. Only they will be able to reveal what is behind this mystery. It was surely one of the Arabians or their confederates who attacked you and took the papyrus and chalice.’
‘How do you make that out?’ queried Fidelma as they reached the room which had become their
officium
.
‘Why else would they want the papyrus written in their language?’
‘And why take the chalice?’
‘Maybe Ronan Ragallach was selling the treasures of Wighard to them.’
Fidelma stood still and blinked rapidly.
‘Sometimes, Eadulf,’ she whispered in surprise, ‘sometimes you make intuitive leaps that make sense where others must struggle with logic.’
Eadulf was unsure whether he was being flattered or insulted. He was about to demand an explanation when the door opened hurriedly and Furius Licinius came blundering in with an excited expression on his features.
Before Fidelma could ask him the meaning of his animation, Licinius blurted: ‘I was at the main gate just a moment ago and Abbot Puttoc came hurrying out. He did not see me.’ He pulled a face for a moment. ‘I suppose one
custos
may look much like another to a foreigner.’
‘What is it?’ demanded Fidelma impatiently.
The young man swallowed hastily.
‘The Abbot Puttoc hired a
lecticula.
I thought you might be interested to hear where he asked the bearers to take him.’
‘It is not the time to play games, Licinius,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘Speak plainly.’
‘Abbot Puttoc asked to be taken to the very place that I was speaking of. To Marmorata. The area where the Arabian merchants are to be found.’
Sister Fidelma clung to one side of the small one-horse carriage which Furius Licinius drove at a rapid pace along the narrow roadway. He seemed impervious to the people flying this way and that before it, leaving them shouting after the vehicle with shaking fists and a variety of curses which Fidelma was thankful she could not translate. On the opposite side of the carriage, pale-faced, and hanging on for dear life was a very unhappy Brother Eadulf. His knuckles showed white as he held tightly to the wickerwork of the carriage as it bucked and swayed over the cobbled paving.
It had been Fidelma’s idea. Some instinct drove her to decide that the information must be acted upon at once. As soon as Furius Licinius had reported the departure of the Abbot Puttoc for Marmorata of all places, her intuition told her that they should immediately follow him for there was no valid reason why Puttoc should be going to such an area. But if this was, as Furius Licinius had reported, the area where the Arabian merchants were to be found, then it looked highly suspicious.
Neither Licinius nor Eadulf could argue with her as she almost ran from the palace to the main gate. She had noticed
that the
lecticula
carriers travelled at a fast pace through the ancient narrow streets and that it would be difficult to catch up with Puttoc’s
lecticula
on foot. Licinius, somewhat unwillingly, was prompted into asking the loan of a single horse carriage from a fellow officer of the palace guards. It was almost a chariot. But Licinius offered to drive them in pursuit of Puttoc to Marmorata.
It was a breathtaking drive and on a few occasions Fidelma thought the bucking vehicle would overturn but Licinius held it firmly to the road, balancing with his legs firmly astride, both hands holding tightly to the reins, while they clung on behind.
They had followed the base of the Hill of Caelius and crossed the Valle Murcia, with its magnificent circus, to the south west and started up a hill which Licinius informed them was the hill of Aventinus, the southernmost of the seven hills. The road ascended quickly through beautiful villas, the palatial homes of the Roman aristocracy.
Fidelma found time to gaze at the grand buildings and gardens with some surprise.
‘Is this the way to the slum area you spoke of?’ she called to Licinius, for the idea of slums seemed miles away from this incredibly elegant area.
The
tesserarius
grunted in acknowledgment as he continued to flick the reins to urge the horse to greater effort.
‘If my guess is right,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘then Puttoc’s
lecticula
will be carried along the Valle Murcia by the Circus Maximus.’ He indicated down the northern slope of the hill, which they were ascending. ‘The bearers will skirt the hill and then turn south along the bank of the Tiber for it is easier than the way we are going, over the hill itself. Then it is straight south into Marmorata which lies over there along
the banks of the Tiber where the ships anchor.’
The carriage continued its rapid progress upwards but moving across the northern shoulder of the hill of Aventinus towards a small exquisite basilica. Here Licinius halted, for the basilica overlooked the broad tawny stretch which was the ancient river Tiber, sedately pushing its way through the north of the city along its western border and south to empty into the Mediterranean between the twin ports of Ostia and Porto.
Licinius climbed down and went to a low wall beyond which the ground fell rapidly down to the stretch of land which separated the base of the hill from the river itself.
‘Any sign?’ called Eadulf, moving gingerly from his position and stretching his cramped limbs.
Furius Licinius shook his head.
‘Can we have missed them?’ Fidelma asked anxiously, also taking the opportunity to stretch herself.
‘Not unless Puttoc has changed his mind about his destination,’ Licinius replied confidently. Fidelma stood and peered around the small square in which they had halted. Her gaze turned to the little basilica with appreciative eyes. She had to admit that there were many beautiful little churches in Rome. She never ceased to admire the embellishments of nature that surrounded the Roman houses, and budding blossom, scented flowers and shrubberies, with streets twisting through deep evergreen groves of the ilex, laurel and cypress whose tall spiral forms rose above all other trees and contrasted with the drooping, pale weeping willows. This hill of Aventinus seem to excel more than the other areas of Rome, bathing in the bright gold rays of the sun which blazed from the deep blue skies. Nothing, she felt, could be more in harmony than the grandeur of the buildings and memorials with
the luxuriant motionless beauty of sunbaked nature.
Furius Licinius gave an abrupt cry.
‘There is Puttoc’s
lecticula
now! Come on, we can cut them off before they enter Marmorata.’
‘No!’ Fidelma halted him, as he clambered back into the carriage. ‘I do not want Puttoc to know we are following him.’
Licinius paused and looked bewildered.
‘What then, sister?’
‘Keep him in sight and see where he goes,’ Fidelma replied. ‘If he makes contact with the Arabians then we may be able to spring a trap.’
The young
tesserarius
’ eyes lightened as he saw Fidelma’s plan and he grinned.
‘Get up then, we will follow them along the hillside here and then fall in behind as they enter the
emporia
area.’
‘
Emporia
?’ queried Eadulf, reluctantly scrambling back into the carriage and gripping the side.
‘Yes. We call it the place of trade, it is a market around which Marmorata has spread, but only slaves are sent there to conduct business for it is not an area that people of good quality go willingly to,’ explained Licinius.
He urged the horse forward and the beast trotted gently down the southern slopes of the hill. They could see below them the two burly
lecticula
bearers carrying the ornate chair in which the recognisable form of the Abbot Puttoc was slouched. The bearers seemed untired by their long trek across the city.
Fidelma could see now how the buildings were changing character. The stucco opulence was now giving way to shacks of rotting wood with the occasional stone-built construction. Gradually, the grandeur vanished and she realised with some
surprise that the colours of the city had become dowdy and dull. A moment ago she was basking in the beauty of the city but now …
The day appeared to grow abruptly dark, grey and brooding.
Licinius suddenly halted the carriage at a cross road.
Fidelma was about to ask him why when the
lecticula
came into sight, the bearers trotting at right angles to them across the road.
After a moment or two Licinius flicked his whip over the head of his horse, setting the beast into motion, turning the carriage after the
lecticula.
Fidelma was aware of a tang in the air which scent informed her of the nearness of a river. It was soon mixed with putrid odours which caused her to wrinkle her nose in distaste.
‘This is Marmorata,’ grunted Furius Licinius unnecessarily.
They were in an area of dark, narrow streets. People pushed this way and that in all manner of costumes which marked them as strangers from every corner of the world, even if their voices had not proclaimed their foreign origins.
Eadulf grinned across at Fidelma and gestured at the noise of the many languages about them.
‘“Go to, let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another’s speech,” ’ he quoted unctuously.
‘Indeed,’ replied Fidelma seriously, ‘as Genesis relates, it was God who created all the languages of the world by scattering the people of Shem and languages have become the pedigrees of our nations.’
The smells were pretty vile as they followed the narrow slum roads into a large covered market area which was hot
and noisy and oppressive. Dirty stalls and houses peopled by brawling men and women and screaming children lined the road which was now no more than an alleyway. Women and men mauled each other in half-drunken caresses as they spilled from taverns; caresses which brought the blood to tinge Fidelma’s cheeks. From the sewer-like gutters, a murky torrent of animal and vegetable offal in every state of putrefaction spread itself with loathsome vapours.
Furius Licinius halted his carriage. Through the stalls and make-shift shelters they could see the
lecticula
had halted and the tall figure of the Abbot Puttoc had descended. He tossed a coin to the bearers and said something. He then turned and made his way into a nearby building.
Fidelma saw the bearers grin at one another and go into a nearby enclosure, leaving their
lecticula
outside. There were chairs and tables in front of this building and it was obvious that the place was a
caupona,
a cheap tavern of sorts. The bearers, free from their labours, sprawled in chairs and called for drinks.
‘Look!’ whispered Eadulf.
A short man in flowing robes which almost covered his head and a bushy black beard was walking rapidly through the crowd towards the building into which Puttoc had disappeared. He paused outside and peered suspiciously around. Then, seeming to assure himself that he was not being observed by anyone in particular, he pushed swiftly into the building.
‘Is he an Arabian?’ Fidelma asked Furius Licinius.
The
tesserarius
grimly affirmed it.
‘If there is war between you people, why are they allowed to come to Rome?’ demanded Eadulf.
‘The war is only with those that follow the new prophet,
Mahomet,’ replied Licinius. ‘There are many Arabians who have not been converted by the new faith. We have traded with these eastern merchants for many years and the practice continues.’
Fidelma was examining the rambling building into which Puttoc and now the Arabian had disappeared. One of the few stone structures in the area, it rose two storeys in height and all its windows were shuttered, each shutter drawn so that no one could peer inside. It had probably been a wealthy villa before the shanty town had grown up around it, a once attractive building on the banks of the winding Tiber.
‘Do you know this building, Licinius?’
The young
custos
shook his head vigorously.
‘I do not frequent this area of the city, sister,’ he said, a little irritated by the implication which he saw in her question.
‘I did not ask that,’ Fidelma responded firmly. ‘I asked whether you had any idea what the building is – whether it is owned by the merchants?’
Furius Licinius answered negatively.
‘Look!’ hissed Eadulf abruptly.
He pointed to the second floor of the building, to a window at the extreme right of the frontage.
Fidelma sucked in her breath.
The Abbot Puttoc, for clearly it was he, was leaning out to open the shutter a little. It was a momentary appearance.
‘Well, at least we know which room Puttoc is in,’ she muttered.
‘What do we do now?’ asked Licinius.
‘Knowing Puttoc is there and the Arabian has gone in, I suggest we simply go in and confront our friend, the Abbot of Stanggrund.’
Furius Licinius grinned broadly and dropped his hand to his
gladius
, easing it in its scabbard. This was the sort of action he liked, he could understand this, not all that questioning and intellectualising.
They clambered out of the carriage.
Licinius looked around and chose an evil-looking, pock-marked individual who was passing by. He was a burly man, the sort few people would think of starting an argument with.
‘You, what is your name?’
The heavy man halted and blinked at being so addressed by a youth, albeit a youth dressed as an officer of the
custodes.
‘I am called Nabor,’ he replied in a growling voice.
‘Well, Nabor,’ relied Licinius, unperturbed by the man’s threatening appearance, ‘I need you to stand guard over this horse and carriage. If I return and it is here with you still guarding it, then you will receive a
sestertius.
If I return and it is gone, then I will come looking for you with my
gladius.’
The man named Nabor stared at the youthful officer and his twisted features slowly broke into a grin.
‘A
sestertius
will be more welcome than your
gladius,
young one. I’ll be here.’
They left him standing by the carriage chuckling to himself at the idea of earning such easy money.
Fidelma cast an appraising glance at Licinius. The young man could be quick-witted at times. She had not considered the fact that leaving the carriage unattended in this quarter would immediately lead to its disappearance. Horses and carriages were valuable commodities in Rome and this was certainly not the place to leave one without a guard.
BOOK: Shroud for the Archbishop
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