‘So? A tapestry. What else?’
‘Oswy of Northumbria sent a book, a Gospel of Luke, illuminated by the monks of Lindisfarne. Eadulf of East Anglia sent a jewelled casket. Wulfhere of Mercia sent a bell, worked in gold and silver, while Cenewealh of the West Saxons sent two silver chalices wrought by craftsmen of his kingdom. Then, of course, there was the gift of Canterbury itself.’
‘Which was?’
‘The sandals and staff of Canterbury’s first bishop, Augustine.’
‘I see. And all these objects were placed in this trunk?’
‘Exactly. Along with five gold and silver chalices to be blessed by His Holiness and distributed to the cathedrals of the five kingdoms of the Saxons together with a sack of gold and silver coins for votary offerings. And none of these precious objects is there now.’
‘Such a treasure,’ reflected Fidelma slowly, ‘such a treasure would take some moving.’
‘The objects taken were worth the ransom of a king,’ Eadulf said.
‘So, at this time,’ mused Fidelma, ‘we are asked to consider two motives for the murder of Wighard. The first motive, which Bishop Gelasius suspects on the evidence of the arrest of Brother Ronan, is that Wighard was slain by a malcontent of the Columban church angered by Canterbury’s victory at Witebia. The second motive is that Wighard was slain during the course of a robbery.’
‘The two motives might well be one,’ argued Eadulf. ‘The artifacts of Augustine were beyond price. If a malcontent of the Columban church killed Wighard then what a blow it would be to Canterbury to have the relics of Augustine go missing!’
‘An excellent point, Eadulf. Those artifacts were only beyond price to someone who knew what they were and of the Faith. Other than that, they were worthless.’
There was a discreet knock on the door of the apartment and Furius Licinius entered. Another member of the custodes followed him in. Fidelma had the impression of a rather pleasant-looking man. He was of medium height with broad, powerful shoulders, a strong face and dark, well-tended wavy hair. His appearance, Fidelma noted, was meticulous, the hands scrubbed and fingernails clean. In her native Ireland, clean fingernails were considered a mark of rank and beauty.
‘The decurion Marcus Narses, sister,’ Licinius announced.
‘You have been informed of our authority and our intention?’ Fidelma asked.
The custos nodded. His movements seemed vigorous and his expression a hearty one.
‘I am told that it was you who discovered Wighard’s body and later arrested Brother Ronan.’
‘That is so, sister,’ agreed the decurion.
‘Then tell us in your own words how this came about.’
Marcus Narses glanced from Fidelma to Eadulf, paused a moment as if to collect his thoughts, and then turned his gaze back to Fidelma.
‘It happened last night, or rather in the early part of this morning. My watch was to end during the first hour. The duty of my decuria …’
‘A company of ten men of the custodes, sister,’ interrupted Licinius, eager to explain. ‘The custodes of the Lateran Guard are so divided.’
‘Thank you,’ Fidelma, who knew quite well, replied solemnly. ‘Continue, Marcus Narses.’
‘My decuria were to guard the grounds of the domus hospitale, the guest quarters where the foreign dignitaries, who were personal guests of His Holiness, were assigned.’
‘I had the same guard duty on the previous night,’ interposed Licinius again. ‘The Superista, the military governor, was especially concerned for the welfare of the Saxon archbishop and his entourage.’
Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at the young man.
‘Was he now?’ she asked softly. Then to the impatient decurion: ‘Go on, Marcus Narses.’
‘The watch was very boring. Nothing untoward had occurred. It was the hour for the Angelus. I heard the bell chiming in the basilica. I was walking across the courtyard …’ he pointed down through the tall window of the chamber, ‘ … that same courtyard as you see below … when I thought that I heard a noise coming from this building.’
‘What sort of noise?’
‘I am not sure,’ frowned the decurion. ‘It sounded like a piece of metal dropping on a hard surface. I was not even sure which direction it came from.’
‘Very well. What then?’
‘I knew the archbishop-designate to be quartered here, so I entered and ascended the stairs to the corridor outside. I wished to check that all was well.’
The young custos paused and swallowed, as if moistening a drying throat.
‘I had reached the head of the stairs and was staring along the corridor outside when I saw a figure, dressed in the habit of a religious, hurrying away from me towards the stairs at the far end. There are two flights of stairs that ascend to the corridor, one from this end of the building, from that courtyard, and the other from the far end into a smaller courtyard and garden.’
‘Was the corridor in darkness or was it lit when you reached it?’ asked Eadulf.
‘It was lit by three torches in their holders. I …’ Marcus Narses paused and then smiled. ‘Ah, I see what you mean, brother. Yes; the corridor was lit well enough for me to recognise Brother Ronan Ragallach.’
Fidelma raised a surprised eyebrow.
‘Recognise?’ she repeated with emphasis. ‘You knew Brother Ronan Ragallach?’
The custos flushed and shook his head immediately with embarrassment and corrected himself.
‘What I meant was that the person I saw hurrying away from me down the corridor, I later saw again and arrested. At that point I knew him to be Brother Ronan Ragallach.’
Licinius nodded in melancholy agreement.
‘He was the same person who called himself Brother “Ayn-dina” when …’
His voice trailed away at Fidelma’s slim upraised hand.
‘We are, at this moment, hearing testimony from Marcus Narses,’ she chided softly. ‘Continue, decurion. Did this Brother Ronan Ragallach give you his correct name when you apprehended him?’
‘Not at first,’ answered the custos. ‘He tried to give me the name Brother “Ayn-dina”. But one of my men recognised him as a scriptor working in the Munera Peregrinitatis …’
‘The Foreign Secretariat,’ supplied Furius Licinius quickly.
‘The guard recalled his name … Ronan Ragallach. It was then that the brother admitted his identity.’
‘We seem to have raced ahead,’ Fidelma said. ‘Let us return to where you first saw the man who later you knew to be Brother Ronan. You say that you saw him at the far end of the corridor in which Wighard’s chamber was situated? Is that so?’
The decurion nodded agreement.
‘Did you call upon the brother to stop?’ prompted Eadulf. ‘Did you think he was behaving suspiciously?’
The decurion took the cue eagerly.
‘Not at first. As I reached the corridor and noticed the brother at the far end, I simultaneously saw that the door to the archbishop-designate’s apartment was slightly ajar. I called out to the archbishop-designate and when there was no reply I pushed it open, calling again. On receiving no reply, I entered.’
‘Was the apartment lit?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Well lit, sister. Candles were burning in both rooms.’
‘And what did you see?’
‘On entering I detected no disturbance but saw that the lid of the chest was raised,’ he gestured towards the chest which had contained the treasure. ‘There was nothing in the chest, nor sign of anything in the vicinity which looked as if it had been removed from it.’
‘Very well. And then?’ prompted Fidelma again, when he paused.
‘Again I called to the archbishop-designate. I moved to his bed chamber. Then I saw his body.’
‘Describe how the body was lying?’
‘I will show you, if I may?’
Fidelma nodded and the decurion led the way into the bed chamber and knelt down, towards the foot of the bed, in almost the sam
e posture as demonstrated by Cornelius of Alexandria.
‘The archbishop-designate was sprawled with his torso on the bed, face downwards. I saw a knotted cord around his neck. I reached forward to check for a pulse. The skin was cold to the touch and I knew him to be dead.’
‘Cold, you say?’ Fidelma demanded eagerly. ‘The skin was cold to the touch?’
‘It was,’ confirmed Marcus Narses rising to his feet. As he rose, the point of his scabbard snagged on the coverlet and dragged it a little. Fidelma’s eyes caught sight of something under the bed but she allowed her features to remain composed and her face turned attentively to the young decurion.
‘Go on,’ she invited, for he had paused once more.
‘It was obvious that the archbishop had been strangled with the cord. Murdered.’
‘What was your immediate thought?’ Fidelma was interested. ‘Your immediate thought when you knew Wighard to be dead?’
Marcus Narses stood for a moment, pursing his lips as he reflected upon the question. ‘That the person I had seen hurrying along the corridor might be the murderer, naturally.’
‘Quite so. And what of the empty chest? What was your thought about that?’
‘I thought that perhaps a robbery had been committed in which the archbishop had disturbed the thief and been slain for his pains.’
‘Perhaps. The figure you saw hurrying away, was it carrying a sack or other means of transporting bulky objects such as those that were stored in this chest?’
The custos reluctantly shook his head.
‘I do not recall.’
‘Come. You have been fairly specific until now,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘You can surely continue to be specific?’
The decurion blinked at the sudden, unexpected belligerence in her voice.
‘Then I have to say that I did not observe any sack or bag being carried.’
‘Just so. And the body was cold when you touched it. Did you deduce anything from that?’
‘Simply that the man was dead.’
‘I see. Go on. What did you do?’
‘I shouted to raise the alarm and ran in pursuit of the figure which by then had disappeared down the stairway.’
‘Where did you say that this stairway at the far end of the passageway led to?’
‘To a second quadrangle at the back of this building. As luck would have it, two of the decuria were passing through the courtyard and had observed the figure of the brother making his hurried exit from the building. They called on him to halt. He did so.’
‘He did so?’ Fidelma was surprised.
‘There was little else he could do when faced by two armed custodes,’ smiled the decurion cynically. ‘They asked him to identify himself and his business. He gave this name of “Ayn-dina” and he was almost persuading them to let him go when they heard my voice raising the alarm. Then they held on to the man until I arrived. There is little else to say.’
‘They held on to him?’ queried Eadulf. ‘Do you mean he tried to escape?’
‘At first, yes.’
‘Ah,’ Eadulf smiled triumphantly. ‘Not the action of an innocent man.’
Fidelma ignored him and asked: ‘Did you ask the brother what he was doing in the vicinity of the archbishop-designate’s chambers?’
The decurion grinned sardonically.
‘As if he would confess that he had murdered the archbishop-designate!’
‘But did you ask?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘I told him that I had seen him fleeing from the chambers where the archbishop-designate had been murdered. He denied having anything to do with the murder. I marched him off to the cells in the guard house and reported the matter immediately to Marinus, the military governor. Marinus came and questioned Brother Ronan who simply denied everything. That is all I have to say.’
Fidelma rubbed the bridge of her nose thoughtfully with her slender finger.
‘Yet what you told him was inaccurate, wasn’t it?’ she asked almost sweetly.
The decurion frowned.
‘I mean,’ went on Fidelma, ‘that you had not seen him fleeing from the archbishop-designate’s chamber. You say that you first saw him only at the end of the corridor in which the archbishop-designate’s chambers were situated. Is that not so?’
‘If one wishes to be precise, but it is obvious …’
‘A witness must be precise and not draw conclusions. That is the task of the judge,’ Fidelma admonished. ‘Now, you say your men arrested him as he ran out of the domus hospitale?’
‘That is correct,’ Marcus Narses replied with pique in his voice.
‘And was he carrying anything?’
‘No, he was not carrying anything.’
‘Has a search been instigated for the missing items from Wighard’s trunk? We know that many precious items have been stolen from these chambers. The supposition is that whoever killed the archbishop-designate stole these items. But you did not observe Brother Ronan Ragallach carrying anything in the corridor and now you confirm that he was not carrying anything when he was arrested.’
Fidelma smiled thinly at the decurion.
‘So has a search been made for the lost treasures?’ she spelt out her question carefully and with patience.
‘A search was made, of course,’ replied Marcus Narses. ‘A search of the vicinity; anywhere that he might have dumped them during his flight.’
‘But nothing was found?’
‘Nothing. Marinus ordered that we search Brother Ronan’s chambers at the Munera Peregrinitatis and also his lodgings.’
‘And still nothing was found, of course?’ Fidelma asked, assuming the answer.
‘Nothing,’ confirmed Marcus Narses, with growing irritation at Fidelma’s prescience.
‘And was this chamber searched?’ Fidelma asked innocently.
Both Licinius and Marcus Narses exchanged a derisive grin with each other.
‘If the treasures were stolen from here then the thief would hardly be likely to hide them in the very room he was taking them from,’ the decurion sneered.
Without a word, Fidelma crossed to the bed and knelt down to where she had seen Marcus Narses’ sword scabbard drag the coverlet away. She reached forward before their astounded gaze and drew forth a stick and a pair of leather sandals, together with a heavy leather-bound book. Beyond these was a rolled up tapestry which she also dragged out. Then she rose turning a bland gaze on them.
Eadulf was smiling broadly behind his hand at their sudden chagrin.
‘I would presume that these are some of the missing items. The staff and sandals of Augustine and the book from Lindisfarne and the tapestry made by the ladies attending the Queen of Kent.’
Eadulf moved forward and eagerly examined them.
‘There is no doubt that these are the items from the treasure,’ he confirmed.
Licinius was shaking his head like a pugilist recovering from a blow.
‘How …?’ he began.
‘Because no one searched thoroughly,’ Fidelma replied evenly, enjoying their discomfiture. ‘It seems whoever took the treasure was only interested in the items of immediate mercenary value. The thief wanted nothing that could not be quickly converted into exchangeable currency.’ Fidelma could not help a sly dig at Eadulf. ‘It somehow weakens the point you made that these artifacts were what the thief wanted as a means of hurting the authority of Canterbury.’
Eadulf pulled a face. He was far from convinced. Instead he turned to Marcus Narses and asked in tones of innocence: ‘Perhaps, the decurion Marcus Narses should make another and more thorough search of all the chambers on this floor?’
Marcus Narses mumbled something which Fidelma was charitable enough to accept as assent.
‘Good. Now while you do that, Furius Licinius can conduct us to see Brother Ronan Ragallach.’
‘I think it would be the next logical step,’ Eadulf agreed solemnly.
‘And at least,’ Fidelma smiled mischievously, ‘we can report to the Bish
op Gelasius that not all of Wighard’s treasures have been stolen.’
They were turning towards the door when it burst abruptly open. The agitated figure of the Superista, Marinus, stood framed in the portal. His face was flushed and his breath came quickly from the exertion of running. His eyes moved rapidly over the group until they came to rest on Sister Fidelma.
‘I have just heard from the guard house … Brother Ronan Ragallach has escaped from his cell and is nowhere to be found. He has vanished.’
Chapter Six
The last notes of the chant echoed into silence against the great vaulted roof of the austere round basilica of St. John of Lateran. Massive oriental granite columns towered upwards on either side of the short nave, above which brightly coloured frescoes depicted scenes from both Old and New Testaments. The smell of incense and the fragrance of beeswax candles, in their opulent gold and silver stands, mixed into a heavily scented aroma which created a stifling atmosphere. Marble was omnipresent, blending in with the stones and granite which supported a tower above the ostentatious high altar approached by a variegated pavement of semi-precious stones inserted into mosaic form. Little chapels led off from the main domed area of the basilica; unobtrusive little chapels compared with the splendour of the area of the high altar. Here were some of the remarkably modest sarcophagi of the Holy Fathers of the Roman Church, although the custom now was, whenever possible, to have their remains interred in the basilica of St Peter to the north-west of the city.
Before the richly endowed high altar, resting on trestles, was the opened wooden coffin of Wighard, the late archbishop-designate of Canterbury. A dozen bishops and their attendants sat to one side and behind them a score or more of abbots and abbesses, while on the other side of the altar sat the official mourners from the band of Saxon religious, who had followed the Kentish priest to Rome for his ordination. Now they were witnesses to his funeral rites.
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