Shroud for the Archbishop (30 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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‘Because Osimo, after waiting for Ronan to follow him, became worried and made his way back to Eanred’s
cubiculum.
He found the abandoned sack there and heard the sounds of commotion. Realising that Ronan had been spotted he decided to take the second sack and hastened back to his
officium.
Then he removed the sacks to his lodgings and waited for Cornelius to set about the disposal of the silver and gold.’
Fidelma stood regarding them for a moment or two to gauge their reactions.
‘The theft of Wighard’s treasure was coincidental to his murder and nothing to do with it.’
‘Then who murdered Wighard?’ demanded Marinus, speaking for the first time. ‘You tell us that Ronan Ragallach is not guilty? Now you tell us Brother Eanred is not guilty. Someone must be guilty. Who then?’
Fidelma glanced at the military governor.
‘Do you have some water? My throat is dry.’
Furius Licinius moved hastily forward to a table on which a pottery jug stood with some goblets. He poured the water and took the goblet to Fidelma. She smiled her thanks quickly at the young
custos
and sipped slowly at the contents. They waited impatiently.
‘It was the late Ronan Ragallach who presented me with an essential clue,’ she said at last.
Even Eadulf was leaning forward now, a frown on his features as his mind raced over the information they had gathered, wondering what he had missed.
‘Ronan Ragallach, according to Cornelius, had been happy to join the conspiracy to rob Wighard because of Ronan’s contempt for the man.’ Fidelma put down the goblet on a side table. ‘Ronan had told Osimo a story which Osimo had passed on to Cornelius.’
Gelasius gave a sudden intake of breath; a sharp breath which startled several of those in the room.
‘Can’t we get to the point? Someone tells a story who tells it to someone else who tells it …’
Fidelma turned with a raised eyebrow and his voice trailed off.
‘I can only get to the point in my own way, Bishop Gelasius.’
The sharpness of her response caused Gelasius to blink rapidly. The bishop hesitated and then raised his hand in a gesture of resignation.
‘Very well. But continue as quickly as you can.’
Fidelma turned back to the others.
‘Ronan had encountered Wighard’s name before. Several years ago he had left Ireland and travelled to the kingdom of Kent where he had served at the church of St Martin’s in Canterbury. One night seven years ago, a man came to make his confession; a man who was dying. This man was a thief and hired assassin. But one crime above all others troubled his conscience. Years before, a cleric had come to him and paid him a sum of money if the assassin would slaughter his wife and children.’
Gelasius leant forward with a frown.
‘Why would a cleric do this?’ he demanded.
‘Because,’ Fidelma went on, ‘this cleric was very ambitious. With a wife and children he could not hope to be appointed in your Church of Rome to the rank of abbot or bishop. Ambition was substituted in this man’s mind for morality.’
Abbess Wulfrun’s face began to turn bright red.
‘I cannot sit here and listen to a cleric of Kent being slighted by a foreigner!’ she suddenly exploded, standing up, her hand at her throat, tugging at her head scarf.
Fidelma’s eyes held Wulfrun’s in a cold grip.
‘The assassin carried out the cleric’s orders.’ She went on evenly, not turning her gaze from Wulfrun. ‘The assassin came one night while the cleric was away performing his duties. He slaughtered the cleric’s wife, making it appear that a party of Picts had landed nearby to pillage the area. But when it came to the children, the assassin’s greed took the better of him. He could sell them for more money – the Saxons have a habit of selling unwanted children into slavery,’ she added for the benefit of Gelasius. ‘The assassin took the children and rowed them across the great river Tamesis to the kingdom of the East Saxons where he sold them to a farmer, pretending that he was simply a poor man in need of money. There were two children; a boy and a girl.’
She paused for dramatic effect and left them in utter silence. Then she said softly: ‘The name of the cleric who paid for his wife and his son and daughter to be slaughtered was none other than Wighard.’
There was a chorus of cries of horror from the assembly.
Abbess Wulfrun’s face was a mask of anger.
‘How can you let this foreign girl cast such an accusation at a pious bishop of Kent?’ she fumed. ‘Bishop Gelasius, we are guests in Rome. It is your duty to protect us from such venom.
Moreover, I am not unconnected with the royal family of Kent. Have a heed that these aspersions do not bring the wrath of our people on Rome. I am a princess of the Saxon kingdoms and I demand …’
Gelasius was looking worried.
‘You must choose your words carefully, Fidelma,’ he advised hesitantly.
‘Is that enough to rebuke this foreigner?’ Wulfrun continued to shout. ‘I would have her whipped for such insolence to the memory of the pious archbishop. It is an insult to the royal house …’
Fidelma suddenly smiled directly at her.
‘
Io Saturnalia
!’ she said almost under her breath.
The abbess stopped in mid-flow and looked puzzled.
‘What did you say?’ she demanded.
Even Eadulf was not sure what Fidelma meant. He tried to remember why Fidelma had been so interested in the pagan Roman feast of Saturnalia.
‘There was once a Saxon princess who had a female slave of whom she was fond,’ began Fidelma conversationally, as if changing the subject. ‘When the princess was betrothed to a neighbouring king, she, naturally, moved her household to that kingdom. The princess was very pious and wanted to involve herself in the good works of Christendom within that kingdom. She founded an abbey on a little island – it was called the island where the sheep are kept – and it occurred to her to free her female slave and appoint her as abbess. She had been very close to this female slave … almost as close as a blood sister.’
Wulfrun’s face was now the colour of snow. Her hand was clutched around her neck. Her eyes were wide with horror as
she gazed at Fidelma. There was no sound; no movement as the abbess stood watching the Irish religieuse.
The spell was broken by Gelasius who, like most of the others in the room, had no understanding of what Fidelma was talking about. Only Brother Ine sat smiling in enjoyment of the abbess’ discomfiture.
‘This is a laudable tale,’ Gelasius said irritably. ‘But what has it to do with the matter we are examining? How many freed slaves have made their way to greatness within the church? It is surely not a matter for comment, least of all in the middle of our deliberation about Wighard.’
‘Oh,’ Fidelma pursed her lips, her sparkling eyes never leaving the unfathomable orbs of the abbess. ‘I merely wanted to add that the sin of pride can destroy the best intentions. On the feast of Saturnalia, I am told it was the custom for slaves to dress in the clothes of their masters and mistresses. This freed slave had been generously called “sister” by her mistress and she tried to make that a reality for she felt ashamed of her slave’s background. But the result was that she treated everyone around her as slaves, pretending a royal rank, instead of treating everyone with justice and humility.’
Eadulf swallowed with amazement as he slowly realised what the meaning of the curious by-play with Wulfrun meant. He examined the haughty abbess with a new light as the tall woman sat back on her chair abruptly, her eyes bulging with a terrified expression.
So Wulfrun had been a slave? She had always fingered the scarf at her neck nervously. Would the removal of that scarf reveal the scars left by a slave’s collar? Then Eadulf turned back to Fidelma wondering how she would follow up this revelation, but it seemed none of the others had understood
what Fidelma had meant; certainly not Gelasius.
‘I am having difficulty following this,’ Bishop Gelasius was saying. ‘Can we return to the assassin who told Ronan Ragallach this story?’
Fidelma nodded emphatically.
‘By all means. Ronan heard the man’s confession before the assassin died. Shortly afterwards Ronan left the kingdom of Kent and came to Rome. He never betrayed that confessional or the name of the cleric who had sought a position in the church by the destruction of his family. That was until he saw Wighard here in Rome and not only as a mere pilgrim, but archbishop-designate of Canterbury, an honoured guest of the Holy Father, lauded and about to be ordained by him. Ronan felt that he could no longer keep the terrible secret to himself. So he told Osimo Lando, who was his
anam chara
, or “soul friend” as you would call it. In our church, you see, we confess our sins and problems to “soul friends” but Osimo Lando was also Ronan’s lover. It was that confession which led to a terrible vengeance being visited on Wighard.’
Fidelma paused to take another sip of water.
‘The next step was when Cornelius sought Osimo’s assistance for his plan. Osimo asked that Ronan should be brought into it for he knew Ronan would not have any scruples about relieving Wighard of his wealth. When Cornelius asked Osimo to explain, Osimo could not keep Ronan’s secret and he told Cornelius in order to explain why Ronan would come happily into the conspiracy.’
‘And Cornelius felt obliged to tell Puttoc,’ interrupted Eadulf, leaping ahead. ‘Cornelius felt it was sacrilege that such a man could benefit by high office in the church and he urged Puttoc to protest to the Holy Father … as if Puttoc would
need to be urged. Puttoc himself coveted the archbishop’s throne at Canterbury.’
Gelasius stared at him for a moment and then turned to Fidelma with a look of understanding.
‘You see, Gelasius,’ Fidelma went on, before he could speak, ‘I realised that you had been informed that Wighard had been married because you told us so yourself.’
Gelasius nodded slowly as he remembered. ‘Abbot Puttoc told me that Wighard had been married with two children. He presented the information as something which might debar Wighard from the episcopacy of Canterbury. When the matter was taken up with Wighard, he offered me assurances that his wife and children had died many years ago in a Pictish raid on the Kentish kingdom.’
‘Doubtless Puttoc would not have let the matter remain there. He would have eventually revealed more of the information Cornelius had supplied him with,’ Eadulf said.
‘But events overtook him,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘And here we have one of those coincidences which happen in life more frequently than they are given credit for.’
Her eyes were resting on Sebbi. The Saxon cenobite suddenly smiled as realisation came to him. He threw back his head and chuckled. His merriment caused the others to stare at him in surprise.
‘Surely you don’t mean that Puttoc had saved Wighard’s son from a hanging?’ he chortled, trying to control his humour.
Fidelma regarded him in seriousness.
‘The assassin, having sold Wighard’s children into slavery in the kingdom of the East Saxons, had departed back to Kent. The children grew up as slaves on the farm to which they had been sold. The assassin confessed to Ronan Ragallach the
name of the farmer who had bought them. I shall, at this time, write down that name and give it into the safe keeping of the
Superista,
Marinus.’
She gestured to Eadulf whom she had advised to bring clay tablets and stylus. He handed them to her. She wrote rapidly and handed the tablet to Marinus, telling him not to examine it. Then she turned back to Sebbi.
‘Sebbi, I want you to repeat for the company the story you told me about how Puttoc bought the freedom of Brother Eanred. How Eanred had garrotted his master and was about to be hanged.’
Brother Sebbi quickly explained the story in roughly the same words as he had originally told Fidelma.
‘So,’ concluded Fidelma, ‘Eanred had been raised on a farm as a slave with his sister ever since he was four years old. When Eanred’s sister came to puberty and their master, the farmer, raped her, Eanred garrotted him. Only Puttoc’s intervention freed him from the inevitable consequence under Saxon law. Eadulf will hand you a clay tablet, Sebbi. I want you to write down the name of the farmer who was killed by Eanred. Then give the tablet to Marinus.’
With an air of curiosity, Sebbi did as he was bid.
‘Does this charade lead anywhere?’ demanded Marinus gruffly as he accepted the second tablet.
‘In a moment, we will come to a conclusion,’ Fidelma assured him.
‘Your conclusion being,’ interposed Gelasius, ‘that Eanred was the son of Wighard.’
It was Eadulf who responded with positive eagerness to affirm the conclusion.
‘That being so,’ Gelasius said, ‘then surely Eanred was the killer?’
Fidelma looked annoyed.
‘It is true that the names written on those tablets will demonstrate that the farmer to whom Wighard’s children were sold and the farmer Eanred slew were one and the same. Thus Eanred was Wighard’s son. However, it does not mean that Eanred was the slaughterer of his father or of Ronan and Puttoc.’

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