Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at the building.
‘Why is this holy place barred to us?’ she asked.
‘It contains a dark room with one iron grating for a window. But no women,’ he laid emphasis on the word, ‘are ever admitted to it. There is a holy altar there where not even the Holy Father may perform the mass.’ Fidelma smiled thinly.
‘Indeed? Then such an altar can serve no purpose.’
Furius Licinius looked outraged for a moment. Then he found himself shrugging in agreement. An altar where not even His Holiness could perform a mass was logically useless. He continued to conduct them in silence along the wooden walkway which turned at right angles from the building holding the Sancta Sanctorum and crossed another courtyard one storey above the ground into a small chapel.
‘Here is the chapel of the Blessed Helena, mother of Constantine, who collected the holy relics which are displayed here for the veneration of pilgrims,’ Furius Licinius explained.
The walkway ended at a door which was secured on the outside by a bored-looking member of the palace custodes. He respectfully saluted Licinius and bent to unlock the door and let them inside.
They entered the chapel on to a wooden gallery, high above the mosaic floor of the circular building. The sound of whispering echoed around its dark, vault-like interior. It was an intense sound which caused Fidelma to reach forward and grip Furius Licinius’ arm to halt him. She gestured him and Eadulf to silence. Frowning, she went to the edge of the wooden gallery rail overlooking the main floor of the chapel and the tables displaying the holy relics for the examination of pilgrims.
Almost immediately below them stood two figures. A slightly stooping religieuse but with the appearance of no great age and the upright figure of a cenobite. They seemed locked in an intense and intimate conversation. The woman was doing most of the talking while the man stood merely nodding. Fidelma did not know what had made her signal to her companions to remain quiet and not reveal their presence in the chapel. There was something familiar in the whispering voices and now that familiarity was endorsed by the figures themselves. She stared down quizzically, trying to pick up the words but the whispering echoes distorted them and rendered them unintelligible.
Then, to her surprise, the religieuse suddenly reached up and embraced the man, kissing him on the cheek before leaving hurriedly.
Fidelma’s eyes widened abruptly.
The light now fell on the man. It was the softly spoken and ingenuous Brother Eanred.
After the chapel door had closed on them, Licinius turned to Fidelma. His smile was slightly cynical.
‘Liaison between religious, while not encouraged, is still not forbidden here, sister,’ he observed.
Fidelma did not say anything. Licinius was already leading the way down a short spiral staircase from the wooden gallery into the main chapel. It was now deserted. Licinius proudly pointed to the relics as they passed by. Most of the items were laid out in reliquary boxes. Some of them were closed. Licinius began a commentary as they passed between the tables containing the boxes.
‘In there is a lock of the Virgin Mary’s hair and a piece of her petticoat. That is a robe of Jesus sprinkled with his blood. That phial there has drops of his blood in it and in the other is some of the water which flowed from the wound in his side.’
Fidelma cast a distrustful glance at them.
‘And that old piece of sponge?’ She nodded to an opened reliquary whose only content seemed a disintegrating piece of fibrous material which Fidelma identified as porous aquatic growth used for swabbing liquids.
‘The very sponge which was soaked in vinegar and given to Him on the cross,’ replied Licinius reverently. ‘And here is the table at which our Saviour ate the last supper …’
Fidelma smiled cynically.
‘Then it was more miracle than I had allowed for only two people could sit at this table let alone twelve apostles and the Christ.’
Licinius was oblivious to her doubt.
‘And what are those stones?’ inquired Fidelma, pointing to the small altar which was flanked by some rock-hewn pieces.
Encouraged, Licinius said: ‘The left one is a piece of stone of the holy sepulchre while the other is the identical porphyry pillar on which the cock was perched when it crowed after Peter had denied Christ.’
‘And all these things the blessed Helena collected and brought back to Rome?’ asked Fidelma doubtfully.
Licinius nodded, pointing, ‘These towels she found here in the city; the very towels with which the angels wiped the face of the blessed martyr Lawrence when he was boiling on the gridiron. And those are the rods of Moses and of Aaron …’
‘How did Helena know these relics were genuine?’ Fidelma interrupted, irritated by the idea that these objections of veneration, which attracted adoring pilgrims from the four corners of the world, were nothing more than a clever confidence trick by an adroit merchant.
Licinius gaped at her. No one had dared to ask such a question before.
‘It strikes me,’ went on Fidelma, ‘that Helena was a pilgrim in a strange land and when the merchants of that land heard that she was looking for holy relics they found things for her, having first ascertained that she was willing to pay, of course.’
‘That is a sacrilege!’ Licinius protested indignantly. ‘Christ was with her to protect the blessed Helena against such charlatans! Are you saying that Helena was tricked and deceived by cunning merchants and these are worthless?’
‘I have been in Rome just over a week and I have seen similar relics being sold to credulous pilgrims by the score, all willing to part with money for a piece of the genuine chain worn by St Peter! And all these relics, we are told, are genuine. I tell you, Licinius, if all the wood of the true cross now being sold in Rome were put together it would form the most miraculous and largest cross you ever saw.’
Eadulf caught her by the sleeve and cautioned her with his eyes to be more prudent with her scepticism.
Licinius continued to be outraged.
‘All these items were authenticated by the blessed Helena,’ he protested.
‘I do not doubt it,’ replied Fidelma confidently.
‘We have little time to dwell on these matters at the moment,’ interrupted Eadulf with concern. ‘We can return here another time and debate the journey of Helena to the Holy Land.’
The young tesserarius bit his lip and then suppressed his annoyance with a single great intake of breath, continuing to lead the way through the chapel to the side gate in the wall surrounding the Lateran Palace. It brought them out directly opposite to the great aqueduct of Claudia.
The same sluttish woman met them at the entrance of the dingy hostel owned by the deacon Bieda, near the Aqua Claudia and, again, a torrent of abuse sprang from her lips.
‘How is one to live when you are causing all my lodgers to be killed off and when you then forbid me to let their rooms? Where is my rent, where is my living?’
Furius Licinius replied roughly to her and the woman disappeared with a muttered curse into a side room, having yielded to Licinius’ order to point the way to Osimo Lando’s room. Fidelma was not surprised to see that it was opposite Ronan’s room but kept with more neatness than the Irish brother’s dwelling. Though it was as dark and as dingy, Osimo Lando had tried to make the best of it. There was even a vase of dying flowers in a corner of the room and, framed above the bed, were some Greek words which brought a smile to Fidelma’s lips. Obviously, Brother Osimo Lando had possessed a sense of humour. The lines were from Psalm 84, verse 4: ‘Blessed are they that dwell in thy house: they will be still praising thee.’
She wondered what praise the tenants of this hostel could have for the terrible conditions and the manner of the slatternly woman who ran it.
‘What are we looking for?’ demanded Licinius, as he stood by the door watching her.
‘I am not quite sure,’ Fidelma admitted.
‘Osimo was well read,’ grunted Eadulf, opening a
cupboard. ‘Look here.’
Fidelma’s eyes widened a little as she saw two books on the shelf with some written papers.
‘They are old texts,’ she said, taking one of the books and peering at its title. ‘Look at this, De Acerba Tuens. This is a study by Erasistratus of Ceos.’
‘I have heard briefly of it,’ Eadulf confessed with some surprise. ‘But it was supposed to have been lost during the great destruction of the library of Alexandria in the time of Julius Caesar.’
‘These books ought to be removed to a place of safekeeping,’ Fidelma suggested.
‘I will see to it,’ Licinius said stiffly. He was obviously still thinking about the slight to the memory of the blessed Helena.
Fidelma continued to shuffle through the papers. It was obvious that Osimo and Ronan had formed a close relationship. The writings were poetry, concerned with love and fealty mostly written by Osimo and dedicated to Ronan. There was little reason to question that Osimo, hearing of Ronan’s death, could not bear to be in this world without him. Fidelma felt sad for them both.
‘Let everything you do be done in love,’ she whispered, gazing at the sheets of poetry.
Eadulf frowned.
‘What did you say?’
Fidelma smiled and shook her head. ‘I was just thinking of a line from Paul’s epistle to the Corinthians.’
Eadulf gazed at her a moment more in bemusement then, understanding, he resumed his examination of the room.
‘There is little more here, Fidelma,’ he said. ‘Nothing to throw any light on our mystery.’
‘Could Osimo have been involved in the death of Ronan?’ Licinius asked mystified.
‘Not as a culprit,’ Fidelma assured him. She was about to say that they could do no more when something caught her eye.
‘What is that, Eadulf?’ she asked, pointing.
The Saxon looked in the direction to which she indicated. It was an object on the floor half hidden by the rough wooden cot. He bent to retrieve it.
As he examined it, he let out an exclamation of astonishment.
‘It’s a broken base from a golden chalice. I recognise it. This was the chalice which Cenewealh of the West Saxons gave to Wighard to have blessed by His Holiness. See the inscription on the base?’
‘“Spero meliora” ’, read Fidelma. ‘“I hope for better things.” ’
‘Cenewealh asked Wighard to choose a suitable motto to engrave on his chalice. The top part has become broken off by ill use but I recognise it.’
Licinius was looking more perplexed.
‘So the valuables of Wighard were kept in this room? Were Osimo and Ronan partners in this crime?’
Fidelma chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. She was falling into this unconscious habit and it annoyed her every time she realised she was doing it. She stopped and compressed her lips for a moment.
‘Ronan and Osimo certainly had access to the stolen treasure of Wighard,’ she admitted.
‘So they must have been party to the killing,’ exclaimed Eadulf, leaping to a conclusion.
‘There is something strange …’ Fidelma seemed still lost in thought. Then she drew herself up. ‘We can do no more here. Licinius, bring those books with you. And, Eadulf, take care of that metal base. There is much to be thought over.’
Eadulf exchanged a puzzled look with Licinius and then shrugged.
Downstairs the woman accosted them again.
‘When am I able to offer these rooms again to pilgrims? It is not my fault that these guests have died. Am I to be penalised?’
‘Another day or two, woman,’ Furius Licinius assured her.
The woman grunted in disgust. Then said: ‘I see that you are removing belongings that rightfully should come to me in distraint.’
Fidelma stared at the woman’s unexpected use of the Latin law term bonorum veditio.
‘Have you had many guests whose goods you have had to seize for non payment of their rent?’ she asked.
The woman strained to understand her carefully articulated but foreigner’s Latin.
She pursed her thin lips and shook her head.
‘Never. My guests have always paid.’
‘So where did you learn this phrase … bonorum veditio?’
The slatternly woman frowned.
‘What’s that to do with you? I know my rights in law.’
Licinius scowled. ‘You have only the rights that I say you have,’ he said threateningly. ‘Speak civilly, and answer the question. How did you learn such a technical phrase?’
The woman cowered fearfully before his angry tone.
‘It is true,’ she whined. ‘The Greek said those are my rights and at least he gave me a coin when he removed the sack from the dead brother’s room.’
She had Fidelma’s full attention now.
‘A Greek? Whose room did he remove a sack from?’
The woman blinked realising that she had said more than she should have.
‘Out with it, woman,’ snapped Licinius. ‘Otherwise it will be the cells for you and it will be a long while before you will be able to discuss your rights again.’
The woman trembled slightly.
‘Why … why, he searched Osimo Lando’s room and left with a sack.’
‘A Greek, you say?’ pressed Licinius. ‘The owner of this hostel, you mean? The Greek deacon Bieda? Did you not tell him of the order not to remove anything until he has our permission?’
‘No, no,’ the woman replied rapidly with a shake of her head. ‘I do not mean that bastard Bieda. I mean the Greek physician from the Lateran. Everyone knows him.’
Fidelma felt her body pushed back in involuntary surprise.
‘The Greek physician from the Lateran? Do you mean Cornelius? Cornelius of Alexandria?’
‘The same,’ affirmed the woman with a defensive scowl. ‘He told me of my rights.’
‘When did he come and search Osimo Lando’s room?’ Fidelma demanded.
‘Scarcely an hour ago.’
‘As soon as he heard of Osimo’s suicide, I’ll warrant,’ Eadulf offered.
‘And when he left the room, he was carrying a sack?’
The woman nodded unhappily.
‘What size sack? Large or small?’
‘A medium-sized sack. I’d say there was metal in it, for it clanked as he walked,’ offered the woman, anxious now to restore herself to grace in their eyes. ‘He told me that he would give me five sesterius if I would go to Osimo Lando’s room and take the five books that I would find and hide them in my room until he was able to return for them. I had removed three of them when you arrived. You have the other two.’
‘Why would he do that?’ asked Fidelma.
‘Because he could not carry the books as well as the sack,’ replied the woman, misunderstanding her question.
Fidelma was about to open her mouth to explain her question when Eadulf broke in triumphantly: ‘So Cornelius was part of this murder and theft all along?’
‘We shall see,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Fetch the three books which you took from Osimo Lando’s room, woman.’
Reluctantly the woman did as she was bid. They were old books. Greek books. And they were, as Fidelma suspected, easily identifiable as medical texts. She shook her head in bewilderment. The path to Wighard’s murderer seemed strewn with ancient Greek medical texts.
‘Do you know where Cornelius lives?’ Fidelma asked Licinius.
‘Yes. He has a small villa near the Arch of Dolabella and Silanus. Shall I alert the custodes?’
‘No. We are a long way from unravelling this mystery yet, Licinius. After we have stored our finds in a place of safety in our officium, we will go to Cornelius’ villa and see what he has to say about this matter.’
The woman was gazing from one to the other, trying to follow the meaning of their exchange.
‘What of me?’ she demanded, a little more assertively now that she knew she was not immediately being marched off to prison as Licinius had asserted.<
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‘You mind your tongue,’ Licinius snapped. ‘And if I come back and find anything else disturbed in the rooms of Ronan and Osimo, even so much as a hair missing from a blanket or a cockroach from the wall, I will ensure that you will not have to worry about collecting your rents ever again. You will be living rent free from the rest of your life in the worst prison I can find for you. Is that understood?’
The woman muttered something inaudible and withdrew into her own room.
Outside Fidelma rebuked him gently: ‘You were unduly harsh on her.’
Licinius scowled.
‘It is the only way to treat such as she. All they want, these peasants, is to get as much money as they can in life.’
‘It is surely the only way they can escape from their poverty,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘Their rulers have shown them that salvation comes only by the acquisition of wealth. Why criticise them for following this example until a better example is provided?’
Licinius was disapproving.
‘I have heard that you Irish hold to such radical notions. Was this the teaching of the heretic Pelagius?’
‘I thought we held only to the teachings of our Lord Christ. “And he said unto them, Take heed, and beware of covetousness; for a man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.” That is the word of our Lord, according to Luke.’
Licinius flushed and Eadulf, sensing his awkwardness, pushed forward.
‘Let us hurry and get these books to the officium, then we can go in search of Cornelius.’
‘Yes. We must keep them safe,’ agreed Fidelma, ‘for I have a feeling that they are a considerable part of this mystery.’
They both stared at her for a moment but she did not make any amplification.
The villa of Cornelius of Alexandria was not very far away on the Hill of Caelius where the emperor Nero had once converted the single ancient arch dedicated to Dolabella and Silanus to build an aqueduct to the neighbouring Palatine Hill. The northern slopes of the hill overlooked the spectacular Colosseum and Cornelius’s villa looked out across a small valley to the Palatine Hill with all its ancient and spectacular buildings. Eadulf had told Fidelma that this four-sided Palatine hill was where the first city of Rome had arisen. Here was where all the prominent citizens of the republic had lived and, later, where the despotic Caesars had built their gaudy palaces; where the Ostrogoth kings had ruled and where now Christian churches were replacing their pagan temples.
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