Shroud for the Archbishop

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘How do you propose to approach Cornelius?’ demanded Eadulf as Furius Licinius, still a little surly, pointed out the villa.

  Fidelma hesitated. In truth she had no idea. In fact, secretly she was regretting her impulse to rush upon Cornelius’ villa without a decuria of the palace guards as suggested by Licinius. Dusk was creeping westward over the city. She should have simply sent the custodes to bring Cornelius to her at the officium for questioning. But there were still many things which she could not understand. Each step forward seemed to raise half-a-dozen new questions.

  ‘Well?’ prompted Eadulf.

  The matter resolved itself even before she opened her mouth in response.

  They were standing at a corner on the opposite side of the street to the villa walls. About ten metres beyond them were the wooden gates leading into the villa’s gardens. Clearly, Cornelius of Alexandria lived well. Now these were suddenly thrown open and two bearers carrying a lecticula trotted through. Fidelma, Eadulf and Licinius automatically pressed back into the shadows. Cornelius himself was reclining in the chair and, conspicuously on his lap, there was a sack.

  The bearers trotted westward from the villa down the hill towards a beautifully built church standing at its foot.

  ‘He’s taking the sack somewhere,’ Fidelma observed unnecessarily. ‘We will follow.’

  They had to walk rapidly to keep up with the trotting lecticula bearers. Now and again they even had to break into an undignified trot themselves in order to keep up. For all the hair-raising manoeuvring of the carriage, Fidelma wished they still had the single horse cart to pursue their quarry. They crossed the small square in front of the church and came to the bottom of the Palatine Hill.

  Cornelius’ bearers were now moving rapidly along the roadway running along the valley floor which went on the eastern side of a spectacular building which seemed to go on forever.

  ‘What is this place?’ demanded Fidelma, as they breathlessly sought to keep pace.

  ‘The Circus Maximus,’ grunted Licinius. ‘A site of much martyrdom in the days of the imperial Caesars.’

  They confined their breath now to keeping up with the lecticula ahead. It moved along the apparently endless wall, skirted the disused circus and headed north towards the River Tiber. Then it made an abrupt turn, round the bottom of the Hill of Aventinus and turning south-west. Fidelma could not believe that two men carrying a third man in a weighty wooden vehicle, however strong, could move so rapidly and with such ease. It was exhausting to keep up with the trained chair bearers. Fidelma observed that they would walk rapidly for a while and then, at the instruction of the man at the rear of the chair, they would begin to trot. In such a manner they followed the bank of the river with its shanty houses, quays and store houses.

  Furius Licinius suddenly stumbled in the darkness and swore.

  Eadulf reached forward to help the young tesserarius back to his feet.

  ‘You may halt a moment,’ gasped Fidelma. ‘Look, the lecticula has stopped.’

  Licinius bit his lip and looked around in the gloom. He eased his sword in its scabbard.

  ‘And in the worst place. We’ve come back to Marmorata.’

  Fidelma had seen enough to realise that Cornelius’ journey had indeed returned them to the same area of the city to which they had followed Puttoc only a few hours before. Dusk was rapidly spreading itself over the slum area.

  Fidelma sucked in a disgusted breath as the loathsome smells of the slum and its festering sewerage assailed her nostrils. They were in a dark and threatening area of decaying buildings. Dogs and cats were roaming the streets searching for food in the form of offal and other discarded matter.

  Cornelius’ lecticula had halted outside what seemed to be an ancient storehouse backing on to the rough wooden quays that ran alongside the river. The bearers had put down the chair and were lounging against it, though Fidelma noticed that they were not so oblivious to their surroundings to remove their hands from the knives they wore in their belts.

  Fidelma, Eadulf and Licinius were watching them for many minutes before Fidelma suddenly exclaimed softly. Cornelius had already left the lecticula and disappeared.

  ‘He must have gone into the storehouse,’ Eadulf suggested when Fidelma pointed out that he had vanished.

  ‘It is obvious that his bearers are waiting to pick him up again,’ Licinius observed optimistically.

  Fidelma found herself chewing her lip.

  ‘Whoever he is meeting, he is meeting them in that storehouse.’ She made up her mind quickly. ‘Licinius, you go to the front of the storehouse and wait. Will the lecticula bearers be a problem?’

  Licinius shook his head.

  ‘They will have respect for my uniform.’

  ‘Very well. If you hear me call for help, come immediately. If they try to prevent you, you must use your weapon. Eadulf, you will come with me now.’

  Eadulf was puzzled.

  ‘Where to?’ he demanded.

  ‘The storehouse backs on to the river. There is a wooden quay just there. You can see it in the moonlight through that passage along the side of the building. We will make our way down and enter the storehouse from that direction. My aim is to see what Cornelius is involved in.’

  Fidelma began to put her instructions into action and moved quickly down the alley with Eadulf trailing behind. Licinius watched them go with some surprise at Eadulf’s meekness in taking orders from a woman. Then he loosened his gladius and sauntered towards the lecticula.

  The bearers stiffened at his approach. One of them had lit a lantern in preparation for the journey back. But when they saw his uniform they seemed to relax. Obviously, thought Licinius, they did not appear aware of any wrong doing on the part of their master.

  Meanwhile, Fidelma and Eadulf crept cautiously along the side of the wooden storehouse and on to the quay.

  They could already hear voices, tense and argumentative.

  Fidelma eased her way over the wooden boards of the quay, thankful for the noisy slap of river against the wooden supports of the quay which seemed to deaden the sound of their approach.

  She paused at the door which, to her surprise, was ajar. From inside the voices rose and fell in apparent altercation. The language was totally strange to her and she looked through the gloom to Eadulf and gave an exaggerated shrug. He raised a shoulder and let it fall in return, to indicate that he, too, had no understanding of the language.

  Fidelma was aware of a dim light inside and she risked widening the aperture of the storehouse door a fraction.

  The storehouse was large and almost empty.

  At the far side were three men seated around a table on which a lamp was spluttering and giving an eerie low light. An amphora, obviously filled with wine, stood on the table with some vessels of pottery. Cornelius was sipping nervously at the vessel he held in his hand. The other two men were not drinking. In the gloom of the flickering light there appeared to be something familiar about them.

  It took Fidelma but a moment to recognise the Arabians by their loose costumes and dark features.

  It was clear that they were arguing in their own language which Cornelius also understood and spoke with fluency.

  Suddenly one of them put something wrapped in a cloth down on the table. He motioned Cornelius to examine it. The Greek physician bent forward and unwrapped it. Fidelma saw that it was a book. From the side of his chair, Cornelius brought forth a sack, reached in and pulled out a single chalice.

  Fidelma smiled grimly.

  It was obvious that some exchange was taking place and the puzzle suddenly began to clear in her mind.

  While Cornelius was examining the volume, one of the Arabians was examining the chalice.

  Eadulf, crouching behind Fidelma and unable to see precisely what was going on, was stirred into an exclamation of protest when Fidelma suddenly rose to her feet and pulled the door fully open, striding into the storeroom.

  ‘Stay still!’ she shouted.


  Eadulf quickly stumbled into the room behind her, blinking as he took in the scene.

  Cornelius of Alexandria was sitting transfixed, his face ghastly pale as he realised that he had been discovered.

  ‘Tauba!’ exclaimed one of the Arabians, starting up, a hand going to a large curved knife at his belt.

  ‘Stop!’ cried Fidelma again. ‘This place is surrounded. Licinius!’

  Licinius had given an answering cry from outside.

  The two Arabians exchanged a glance and, as if on a signal, one of them swept the lamp from the table while the other grabbed towards the sack. Fidelma heard the table turn over in the sudden darkness. She could see the dull light outside as the door opened and she heard Furius Licinius yell in pain.

  ‘Eadulf, a light! Swiftly as you can!’

  She heard the scraping of flint and Eadulf emerged in the gloom with a candle held high.

  The Arabians were gone but Cornelius still sat on his chair, his shoulders slumped. He was still clutching at the book. The table had indeed been overturned but there was no sign of the sack.

  Fidelma went forward and bent to take up the book from Cornelius’ shaky hands. As she expected, it was a medical tract written in Greek which appeared ancient.

  ‘Find out if Furius Licinius is hurt, Eadulf,’ Fidelma said, setting the table upright.

  Eadulf glanced anxiously at Cornelius.

  ‘I have nothing to fear from Cornelius,’ she told him. ‘But I’m afraid young Licinius may be in trouble.’

  Eadulf moved hurriedly to the door.

  She heard him exchanging words with, she imagined, the two bearers who were uncertain and confused at what was happening. She stood silently, watching the dejected Cornelius. Eadulf ordered the bearers to wait where they were.

  ‘He can’t be hurt badly for he has gone up the road chasing the two that left here,’ Eadulf explained when he returned a moment later.

  ‘Well, Cornelius of Alexandria,’ Fidelma said quietly, ‘you have some explaining to do, don’t you?’

  The physician’s shoulders slumped further and he sunk his chin into his chest with a deep sigh.

  Licinius returned a second later with an annoyed shake of his head.

  ‘They are gone like rabbits into a warren,’ he said disgustedly.

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘No,’ Licinius replied ruefully. ‘They bruised and winded me a little when they burst out of the door. I was nearly knocked over. We will not catch them now unless this one talks.’

  He prodded the Greek with the tip of his gladius.

  ‘No need for that, tesserarius,’ muttered Cornelius. ‘In truth, I do not know where they have gone. You must believe me!’

  ‘Why should we believe you?’ Furius Licinius demanded, digging his sharply again.

  ‘By the Holy Cross, I do not know why you should except that I am telling you the truth. They contacted me to arrange places of meeting. I do not know where they come from.’

  Fidelma saw that the man was not lying. He was too shocked at the discovery. The brashness had gone from him.

  Eadulf had picked up the fallen lamp, discovered that not all the oil had been spilt and relit it from his candle.

  ‘Eadulf, give the good physician some wine to revive his spirits,’ Fidelma instructed.

  Wordlessly, Eadulf poured some wine from the amphora which, luckily, had not been broken during its tumble from the table and handed it to the Greek. The physician raised it in mock salute. ‘Bene vobis!’ he toasted sarcastically, as if recovering something of his old spirit, before gulping it almost in a single mouthful.

  Fidelma suddenly bent to the floor and recovered a chalice which had obviously fallen from the sack which one of the Arabians had seized when he had leapt to his feet. It was apparent that the Arabians had made sure of their loot as they fled. Fidelma took a seat opposite Cornelius while Eadulf stood at her side.

  Furius Licinius, his sword still held in his hand, placed himself by the door.

  Fidelma sat for some moments in silence, turning the chalice around in her hand as she examined it thoughtfully.

  ‘You will not deny that this is from the treasure of Wighard? I am sure Eadulf can easily identify it.’

  Cornelius shook his head in a quick, nervous motion.

  ‘No need. It is one of the chalices brought by Wighard to be blessed by His Holiness,’ he confirmed.

  Fidelma said nothing for a moment, allowing the tension to build in the physician.

  ‘I see. You were using this stolen treasure in order to buy books offered to you for sale by these Arabians?’

  ‘So you knew? Yes; books from the Alexandrian Library,’ agreed Cornelius, readily enough. A slight tone of defiance rose in his voice. ‘Rare and priceless medical texts which would otherwise be lost to the civilised world.’

  Fidelma reached forward and placed the chalice on the table between them.

  ‘I know some of your story,’ she said, bringing forth looks of surprise from both Eadulf and Licinius. ‘Now you had best tell me all of it.’

  ‘I suppose it matters little now,’ agreed Cornelius dolefully. ‘Young Osimo and his friend Ronan are dead. I am caught but at least I have saved several books.’

  ‘Indeed you have,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘You left several in Osimo Lando’s lodging while Ronan had another hid at his place of work. And here is yet another. And the priceless possessions that belonged to Wighard? What remains of them?’

  Cornelius shrugged.

  ‘The remaining pieces were in that sack which the Arabians took.’

  ‘And, in return, the only treasure that you have received is old books?’ Furius Licinius was incredulous.

  A brightness came into Cornelius’s eyes.

  ‘I don’t expect a soldier to understand. The books are far more valuable than base metal. I have Erasistratus of Ceos’ work on the origin of diseases; Galen’s Physiology, and several works by Hippocrates such as his On the Sacred Disease, on Epidemics and his Aphorisms as well as Herophilus’ commentaries on Hippocrates.’ There was-a total satisfaction in his voice. ‘These are the great treasures of medical literature. How can I expect you to understand what value they represent? Value beyond the mere gold and jewels that I have exchanged for them.’

  Fidelma smiled gently.

  ‘But the gold and jewels you exchanged were not yours to do so. They belonged to Wighard the archbishop-designate of Canterbury. Tell us how this came about?’

  Cornelius gazed back at her, glancing slowly from Eadulf to Licinius. Then he said simply: ‘I did not kill Wighard.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Let me tell you that I, Cornelius, am an Alexandrian first and foremost.’ The physician swelled with pride as if this statement would explain all. ‘The city was founded nine centuries ago by the great Alexander of Macedon. Ptolemy the First founded the famous library which, according to Callimachus, once possessed seven hundred thousand volumes. But when Julius Caesar was in Alexandria the main library was burnt and many of its books were destroyed. It could never be proved, but rumour had it that the destruction was caused by petty Roman spite for that great treasure. However, the library has been rebuilt and restored and during these last six centuries continues to be regarded as the greatest library in the world.’

  ‘What has this to do with Wighard’s death …?’ interrupted Eadulf impatiently, speaking more to Fidelma than Cornelius, for she seemed to be following his discourse as if it were totally relevant.

  Fidelma raised a hand to silence him and motioned for Cornelius to continue.

  The physician grimaced in annoyance at the interruption but made no reference to it.

  ‘The library at Alexandria was the greatest in the world,’ he repeated stubbornly. ‘I was a student in Alexandria many years ago; a student at the great school of medicine which was founded by Herophilus and Erasistratus almost at the same time that the library was founded. In that library were countless literary treasures. I had finish
ed my initial studies and was practising in Alexandria, having been appointed as a professor in the school of medicine, when the terrible disaster overtook us and the world went mad.’

  ‘What disaster was this, Cornelius?’ demanded Fidelma.

  ‘The Arabian followers of the new religion of Islam, founded by the Prophet Mahomet but a few decades ago, began to spread westward in a war of conquest out of the eastern peninsular where they had dwelt. Their leaders had raised a cry of jihad, a holy war, against all those who would not turn to the new faith, those they called kafirs. Twenty years ago they swept into Egypt, came down upon the city of Alexandria and burnt it. Many of us fled, seeking refuge elsewhere in the world. I managed to get a berth on a ship bound for Rome and the last sight of my homeland was of the great white walls of the Library of Alexandria being devoured in flames and smoke together with the vast treasures of man’s intellectual endeavours it had once safeguarded.’

  Cornelius paused and held out his goblet to Eadulf in silent instruction.

  Reluctantly the Saxon cenobite poured him another drink from the amphora and Cornelius took it eagerly, swallowing it back in large mouthfuls. Having satisfied his thirst he continue: ‘Not long ago I was contacted by a merchant, an Arabian merchant, who told me that he had heard that I had once been a physician in Alexandria and knew its library well. He had something to show me. It was the book of Erasistratus, written in the physician’s own hand. I could not believe it. The merchant said that he would sell me the work, plus twelve others which he had. The sum he named was ridiculous; a sum beyond my dreams, although I am considered wealthy by Roman standards. The merchant said he would wait a while and when I could meet his price we would make the exchange.