Inwardly Eadulf, too, had felt a sympathy for the young sister. Yet in the lands of the Saxons, birth and rank mattered greatly.
‘Who comprised Wighard’s party apart from yourself?’ prompted Fidelma.
‘Well,’ he continued after a moment, ‘as well as Wulfrun and Eafa, there is Brother Ine, who is the personal servant of Wighard and who serves him in all the menial tasks. He wears a face as if he is in permanent mourning and is hard to get close to. Then there is Abbot Puttoc from the Abbey of Stanggrund.’
‘Ah,’ Fidelma interposed, ‘the handsome man with the cruel mouth?’
Eadulf snorted in disgust.
‘Handsome? That is a woman’s perception. He thinks a lot of himself and rumour has it that he is equally ambitious. He is personal envoy of King Oswy of Northumbria. I am told he is a close friend of Wilfred of Ripon.’
‘I see. He is in Rome as a representative of Oswy?’
‘He is, for Oswy is now regarded in Rome as bretwalda, or, as you would call it, high king over the Saxon kingdoms.’
Wilfred of Ripon, as Fidelma knew from her time at Witebia, was the main enemy of the Irish missionaries in Northumbria who had been the leading advocate of Rome during the recent synod.
‘Then Brother Eanred serves as Puttoc’s servant. A placid man but somewhat simple. I am told that Puttoc bought him as a slave and freed him in accordance with the teachings of the Faith.’
Fidelma had long been aware that the Saxons still practised slavery. She could not help the jib: ‘Puttoc freed Eanred from slavery in the outside world so that he might be his slave in his abbey?’
Eadulf stirred uncomfortably and decided not to comment.
‘Then there is Brother Sebbi,’ he went on hurriedly. ‘He is also from Stanggrund Abbey and journeys here as an adviser to Abbot Puttoc.’
‘Tell me of him,’ invited Fidelma.
‘I have never learnt much about him in the time I have been in Rome,’ Eadulf confessed. ‘I believe him to have an excellent mind but also that he is as ambitious as he is astute.’
‘Ambition yet again?’ sniffed Fidelma in disgust. ‘And all Wighard’s party had their rooms within the same building, the domus hospitale, as Wighard?’
‘Yes. In fact, my room was the nearest, for it was on the opposite side of the corridor facing Wighard’s chamber.’
‘Who was in the next apartment to Wighard? His servant Ine?’
‘No. That was empty as are the other rooms on that side of the building. I believe they are merely storerooms.’
‘So where was Ine?’
‘He had the room next to mine. Opposite to Wighard’s room. Next to him was Brother Sebbi’s room; then the room of Abbot Puttoc and next to him, at the far end of the corridor, was Brother Eanred, his servant.’
‘I see. And where were Abbess Wulfran and Sister Eafa lodged?’
‘On the floor immediately below. The second floor of the domus hospitale.’
‘I see,’ reflected Fidelma. ‘So, in fact, your room is the closest to Wighard’s chamber?’
Eadulf smiled mockingly.
‘Therefore it is lucky that I have an alibi being with you at the basilica of Saint Maria.’
‘I had not forgotten,’ Fidelma replied as if serious. For a moment Eadulf looked at her closely but Fidelma’s face was a mask. Yet the eyes were twinkling with mischief.
‘There now,’ Fidelma suddenly stretched herself, ‘if you will lead us back to the Lateran Palace, I suggest we occupy ourselves with questioning some of your brethren and hope the custodes have managed to pick up Brother Ronan Ragallach.’ She suddenly shivered. ‘I hadn’t realised how cold it is in this place.’
Eadulf turned to pick up the candle and gave an abrupt exclamation.
‘We’d better move swiftly, sister. I had no idea that the candle was burning so low.’
Fidelma saw the wax of the candle had almost burnt away and the remaining piece of wick had already begun to splutter.
Eadulf seized her hand and began to hurry along the passageway, through the various twists and right-angled turns. Then, with only a faint hiss to warn them, they were plunged into darkness.
‘Don’t let go of my hand,’ instructed Eadulf’s hoarse voice out of the darkness.
‘That I won’t,’ Fidelma reassured him with some forcefulness. ‘Do you know which way from here?’
‘Straight on … I think.’
‘Then let us move cautiously.’
There was not even a hint of light in the blackness of the man-made tunnels as they slowly felt their way forward.
‘I was an idiot,’ came Eadulf’s tone of self-rebuke. ‘I should have watched the candle.’
‘Well, self-recrimination is of no use to us now,’ Fidelma said regretfully. ‘Let’s get …’
She suddenly halted and exclaimed softly as she felt about with her free hand.
‘What is it?’
‘The passageway divides here. Left and right … which way? Can you remember?’
Eadulf closed his eyes in the darkness. His mind raced as he tried to make a decision. He felt helpless and as he realised that he did not know which way to turn, his thoughts were a vacillating stream of panic-stricken images and his sweat felt cold on his brow.
He felt Fidelma abruptly squeeze his hand.
‘Look!’ came her sibilant whisper. ‘To the left. I think it is a light …’
Eadulf turned and stared into the blackness. He could see nothing.
‘I was sure it was a light,’ came Fidelma’s baffled tone. ‘Just for a minute …’
Eadulf was about to disillusion her when he caught a glimpse of a brief flicker of light. Were his eyes trying to create what his mind wanted to see? He stared longingly into the darkness. No; she was right! There was definitely a flicker in the blackness. He let out a bark of relief.
‘Yes, there it is. You are right! Quickly!’ He began to pull her in the direction of a flickering glow and at the same time calling at the top of his lungs. ‘Hey! Hey!’
There was a silence before a gruff voice could be heard calling, echoing back along the tunnelways.
‘Heia!’
The light grew in strength and then they saw an elderly man moving in their direction, holding up a lantern.
He halted as they came hurrying along the passageway towards him.
‘Heia vero!’ his voice was gruff as he stared from one to the other.
They halted before him slightly breathlessly, feeling like children caught at some foolish prank by an elderly but benign paternal figure. For a moment they could do no more than smile and gasp with relief. The run along the tunnel had deprived them of the breath to speak. The old man shook his head as he gravely regarded them.
‘H’mm. The boy said that you had been down a long time with only one candle. You were silly to tarry.’
‘We didn’t realise the passing of time,’ gasped Eadulf, recovering his voice and feeling foolish at the elderly man’s scornful chastisement.
‘More people perish by such foolishness,’ the old one grunted in reply. ‘Are you both fit to follow me now? I will lead you back to the entrance.’
He turned as they both nodded silently, feeling ridiculously embarrassed at their behaviour. The old man led the way talking over his shoulder.
‘Yes, yes; we have had many deaths in these catacombs. Death among the dead!’ He laughed coarsely. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? People wander off to see the bones of the saints and martyrs and lose themselves. Others, like yourselves, allow themselves to be caught in the darkness and are doomed to wander for eternity unless they are lucky. Lucky, indeed! Why, do you know how far all the catacombs of Rome would stretch if placed as one long tunnel? It is computed that they would stretch nearly six hundred miles. Six hundred miles of tunnel! Some who have disappeared in those passages have never been found. Perhaps their souls still wander down there, down among the dead, among …’
Thankfully they came to the steps which led up i
nto the mausoleum from which they had descended and emerged into the sunlight of the Christian cemetery with blinking eyes.
The small boy sat in front of his basket of candles and gazed at them without expression.
The old man paused to blow out his lamp and set it down by the side of the mausoleum entrance.
He spat reflectively to one side.
‘Had the boy not told me …’ he shrugged.
Fidelma fumbled in her marsupium, the money pouch in the folds of her robes, and handed the boy a silver coin. The boy took it and dropped it in his bowl without a change of expression. Eadulf, meantime, had produced a coin and proffered it to the old man but he shook his head.
‘The coin for the boy is enough,’ he said gruffly. ‘But if you religious value your temporal existence, next time you are in that splendid basilica yonder,’ he gestured to the distant tower of St John of Lateran, rising behind the Aurelian Wall, ‘you might light a candle and say a prayer for the boy.’
Fidelma turned with an expression of interest.
‘You asked nothing for yourself, old man. Why?’
‘The boy needs prayers more than I do,’ grunted the old man, defensively.
‘Why is that?’
‘He will be alone in this world when my time comes. I am old and my course has been navigated these long years. But the boy’s father, who was my son, has already gone ahead of me with his wife. The boy has no one and perhaps a prayer might ensure him a better life than being condemned to sit here and sell candles.’
Fidelma examined the impassive face of the child. The quiet, blank eyes of the boy returned her stare without expression.
‘What would you like to do in this world?’ she asked quietly.
‘It matters little. For all I can do is sit here and dream,’ muttered the boy.
‘But what is your dream?’
For a brief moment the boy’s eyes sparkled.
‘I would like to be able to read and write and serve in some great monastery. But I cannot.’
The child’s eyes fell again and his face became a mask.
‘Because you cannot afford to be tutored,’ sighed the old man. ‘I have no schooling, you see,’ he turned to them apologetically. ‘And I have no money. Selling candles to pilgrims is no more than a means of subsistence. There is none to spare for luxuries.’
‘What is your name, boy?’ asked Fidelma with a kindly expression.
‘Antonio, son of Nereus,’ the boy said with a quiet pride.
‘We will pray for you, Antonio,’ Fidelma assured him. She turned to his grandfather and inclined her head. ‘And for you, old one. Thank you for your timely rescue.’
Chapter Seven
It was still warm and humid although it was late afternoon. Sister Fidelma had returned to the hostel run by the deacon Arsenius and his wife Epiphania, following her return from the cemetery. She was exhausted for she had been up since before dawn. Not only had she wanted to eat but to take a siesta, as it was called locally from sexta, the sixth hour of the day, the hottest period when most citizens of Rome took a rest from the oppressive heat. Now bathed and refreshed by her nap she found the tesserarius, Furius Licinius, waiting to escort her once again to the Lateran Palace where she had promised to meet Brother Eadulf to begin the questioning of Wighard’s entourage.
Her first question of the young palace guard was of the news of the missing Brother Ronan Ragallach.
Licinius shook his head.
‘Not a sign of him since he escaped the cells this morning, sister. Just as likely he is hiding somewhere in the city, though I would have thought he would have been easily noticed with that outlandish tonsure which the male Irish and British religious wear.’
Fidelma inclined her head thoughtfully.
‘You are confident that he is still in the city, then?’
Licinius shrugged as they returned from the oratory of St Prassede and began to walk down the Via Merulana towards the Lateran Palace at the bottom of the hill.
‘We have notified all the gates of the city which are watched by members of the custodes day and night. But Rome is a big city and there are several quarters in which a man might hide for years or even slip out. Along the Tiber, for example, to Ostia or Porto on the coast and from there one can secure passage to the four corners of the earth.’
‘I have a feeling that he has not left the city. He will be found sooner or later.’
‘Deo volente,’ echoed Licinius piously. ‘God willing.’
‘Do you know this city well, Licinius?’ Fidelma changed the direction of the conversation.
Licinius blinked.
‘As well as anyone. I was born and raised on the hill of Aventinus. My ancestors were nobles of Rome at its very foundation, tribunes who brought in the Licinian Laws nine centuries ago.’ Fidelma noticed the proud flush which had come to his youthful features. ‘I might have been a general of the imperial armies in the days of the mighty Caesars and not …’
He caught himself, glancing in annoyance at Fidelma as if blaming her for the unleashing of his suppressed frustration at his role in the custodes, and fell silent.
‘Then perhaps you may clear up something which has puzzled me,’ Fidelma pretended to be oblivious to his outburst of ancestral pride. ‘So many people have told me what a beautiful and rich city this Rome is and yet I find the buildings curiously scarred as if by war. Some buildings are almost falling down while others are open to the weather. They give the impression of recent vandalism as though the city had been threatened by barbarians. I know it is many years since Genseric and his Vandals sacked the city. But surely this damage is new?’
Licinius, to her surprise, gave a snort of laughter.
‘You are perceptive, sister. Except that the barbarian that did this thing was none other than our own emperor.’
Fidelma was bewildered.
‘Tell me about it,’ she invited.
‘You know that the empire has been at war with the Arabians for over twenty years. They have been sending raiding fleets into our seas. They have conquered most of the areas of the former empire in north Africa which they use as bases to attack us. Constans the emperor decided to move from Constantinople to create a strong fortress in Sicily from which to organise the defence against these fanatics …’
‘Fanatics?’ queried Fidelma.
‘Since they have adopted a new religion as followers of a prophet named Mahomet, the Arabians have expanded rapidly westward. They named their faith Islam, submission to God, and those who profess this faith are called Muslims.’
‘Ah,’ Fidelma nodded. ‘I have heard of these people but don’t they accept the tenets of both the faith of the Jews and our own Faith?
‘Yes; but they say that this Mahomet embodied in his person the definitive expression of the divine word of God. They are fanatics,’ Licinius said dismissively. ‘They are causing death and destruction throughout Christendom.’ He paused for a moment before continuing. ‘Well, earlier this year, the Emperor Constans arrived with a large fleet and twenty thousand soldiers from the Asiatic armies of the empire. He came to Taranto and fought several campaigns in the south before paying a state visit to Rome last month. He was here but twelve days and I doubt if even the Muslim army could have inflicted as much damage on the city as our brave emperor of Rome in that time.’
Fidelma frowned at his vehemence. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Constans was greeted in his first visit to this mother city of the empire with all deference. His Holiness took his entire household to the sixth milestone to greet him with all proper solemnity. Feasts were prepared. The emperor then went to the basilica of St Peter’s on the Vatican Hill and then, with his army, which had accompanied him, he went to the basilica of St Maria Maggiore.’
Fidelma suppressed a sigh.
‘I don’t see …’ she began.
The young tesserarius waved his arms around at the surrounding buildings.
‘While the Emperor was prayin
g, his soldiers, at his orders, began to strip the buildings of Rome of all metal parts; the bronze tiles, clamps and ties with which they were bonded; the great statues and artifacts which had stood since the days of the great Roman Republic. Never had there been such savagery which has reduced the city to the pitiful state you see today.’
‘But why?’
‘Why? Because Constans wanted that great mass of metal, riches in antiquary, to melt down for armaments for his army. He had them sent to Ostia and shipped for the port of Syracuse. From there it was said that the metal would be taken to Constantinople.’
He laughed bitterly but stopped when he saw Fidelma staring curiously at him.
‘It is just the irony of the thing,’ he explained with a shrug.
‘Irony?’
‘Yes. The metal never even reached Syracuse. An Arabian raiding fleet intercepted the stolen metal of Rome before Constans’ ships could make the port and the metal was taken to Alexandria.’
‘Alexandria?’
Licinius nodded.
‘It has been in the hands of the Muslims these last twenty years.’ He gave a shrug. ‘That is the answer to your question, sister.’
Fidelma considered the matter thoughtfully.
‘And the Emperor of Rome is now in the south of the country?’
‘Four weeks ago, he left for the south. I understand there is still fighting there with the Muslims.’
‘So that is why there is a nervousness about this place; why the captain of my vessel, on my journey here, leapt at the merest hint of sails on the southern horizon?’
They had come to the steps of the Lateran Palace.
‘The Superista has made a chamber available to serve you by way of an officium in which you and the Saxon brother may conduct your examinations,’ the tesserarius informed her, assuming that Fidelma had answered her own questions. He led the way along the corridor to an apartment near that of the one used by the military governor of the papal household. Fidelma noted that its furnishings were sparse but functional. Brother Eadulf was already inside, rising from his seat as they entered. He looked rested and refreshed.
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