Shroud for the Archbishop (4 page)
Read Shroud for the Archbishop Online
Authors: Peter Tremayne
Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #Church History, #Clerical Sleuth, #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery, #tpl, #Medieval Ireland
‘Not so. You have put those two years of your life here in Rome to good use by attaining knowledge. But in your praise of these buildings you neglected to mention that the original Lateran palace was destroyed and that Melchiades constructed his buildings on their ruin. You forgot to say that those buildings have been rebuilt twice during the last two hundred years, especially after their destruction by Vandals two centuries ago. So where is the continuity with history of which you speak? These are but temporary monuments.’
Eadulf gazed at her in chagrined surprise.
‘So you knew its history all the time?’ he demanded accusingly, ignoring the point she had made.
Fidelma shrugged eloquently.
‘I asked one of the keepers at the basilica. But as you were so eager to impart your knowledge …’ She grimaced and then smiled apologetically at his petulant expression, reaching forward and laying a hand on his arm. A sudden urchin grin of mischief spread over her features.
‘Come, Brother Eadulf. I merely make the point that buildings are temporary cathedrals to the greater cathedral of nature, which man often destroys with his own miserable constructions. I have recently wondered what the seven hills of this remarkable city looked like before they were submerged by buildings.’
The Saxon monk’s face remained a study of petulance.
‘Don’t be angry, Eadulf,’ Fidelma cajoled contritely, regretting that she had pricked his ego. ‘I must be true to myself, but I am interested in all that you have to tell me about Rome. I am sure there is much more in this city that you can usefully instruct me about. Come, walk with me a while and show me what you may.’
She turned down the broad steps and made her way through the beggars clustered at the bottom, held back by grim-faced
custodes
. Dark haunted eyes in skeletal faces followed them, thin, bony hands were held out in mute supplication. It had taken Fidelma several days to get used to the sight as she passed from her lodging to the ornate palace of the Bishop of Rome.
custodes
. Dark haunted eyes in skeletal faces followed them, thin, bony hands were held out in mute supplication. It had taken Fidelma several days to get used to the sight as she passed from her lodging to the ornate palace of the Bishop of Rome.
‘That is a scene that you would not see in Ireland,’ she remarked, nodding to the beggars. ‘Our laws provide for the relief of the poor without their recourse to such straits to provide for themselves and their families.’
Eadulf was silent knowing, from his years in Ireland, that she spoke truthfully. The ancient laws of the
Fenechus
administrated by the Brehons, or judges of Ireland, were, he knew, a code by which the sick did not fear illness nor did the destitute fear starvation. The law provided for all.
Fenechus
administrated by the Brehons, or judges of Ireland, were, he knew, a code by which the sick did not fear illness nor did the destitute fear starvation. The law provided for all.
‘It is sad that so many have to beg to live in the shade of such affluence, especially when the opulence is dedicated to a god of the poor,’ Fidelma continued. ‘Those bishops and clerics who dwell in such splendour ought to read more closely John’s epistle in which he said: “But whoso hath this world’s riches and sees his brother has need, and closes his heart and his ears to him, having no compassion, how can he say that he loves God?” Do you know this passage, Eadulf?’
Eadulf bit his lip. He glanced around, worried for the outspoken Irish religieuse.
‘Careful, Fidelma,’ he whispered, ‘lest you be accused of following the Pelagian heresy.’
Fidelma snorted in annoyance.
‘Rome considers Pelagius a heretic not because he forsook the words of Christ but because he criticised Rome for disregarding them. I simply quote from the first epistle of John, chapter three, verse seventeen. If that is heresy then I am indeed a heretic, Eadulf.’
She paused to rummage in her pocket, dropping a coin in the outstretched hand of a small boy who stood apart from the other beggars, gazing into space with sightless eyes. The hand closed over the coin and a small grin split the pock-marked and ravaged face of the child.
‘Do et des,’
Fidelma smiled, uttering the ancient formula. ‘I give that you may give.’ She walked on, glancing at Eadulf who fell in step beside her. They were passing through a quarter of slum dwellings, which lay at the bottom of the Esquiline Hill, the highest and most extensive of the seven hills of Rome with its four summits. Fidelma crossed the Via Labicana and turned along the broad thoroughfare of the Via Merulana which led up to the summit known as the Cispius. ‘“Give to the person that begs from you, and do not refuse a person who would borrow,” ’ she quoted solemnly at Eadulf who had watched disapprovingly as she had given to the beggar.
Fidelma smiled, uttering the ancient formula. ‘I give that you may give.’ She walked on, glancing at Eadulf who fell in step beside her. They were passing through a quarter of slum dwellings, which lay at the bottom of the Esquiline Hill, the highest and most extensive of the seven hills of Rome with its four summits. Fidelma crossed the Via Labicana and turned along the broad thoroughfare of the Via Merulana which led up to the summit known as the Cispius. ‘“Give to the person that begs from you, and do not refuse a person who would borrow,” ’ she quoted solemnly at Eadulf who had watched disapprovingly as she had given to the beggar.
‘Pelagius?’ Eadulf asked, troubled.
‘The Gospel of St Matthew,’ replied Fidelma seriously. ‘Chapter five, verse forty-two.’
Eadulf gave a deep and restive sigh.
‘Here, my good Saxon friend,’ Fidelma halted in mid-stride and laid a hand on his arm, ‘you see the fundamental nature of our argument between the rule of Rome and the rule which
we in Ireland and, indeed, the kingdoms of the Britons, follow?’
we in Ireland and, indeed, the kingdoms of the Britons, follow?’
‘The decision to follow the rule of Rome has been taken by the Saxon kingdoms, Fidelma. You will not convert me. I am but a simple cleric and no theologian. So far as I am concerned, when Oswy of Northumbria made his decision at Streoneshalh to follow Rome, that was the end to any argument. Don’t forget I am now the archbishop’s secretary and interpreter.’
Fidelma regard him in silent amusement.
‘Have no fear, Eadulf. I am simply amusing myself for I have not yet agreed that Rome is correct in all its arguments. But, for friendship’s sake, we will discuss the subject no more.’
She continued her walk down the wide road with Eadulf falling in step beside her. In spite of their differences of attitude, Fidelma had to admit that she felt some comfort in being with Eadulf. She could tease him over their contrasting opinions and he would always rise good-naturedly to the bait but there was no enmity between them.
‘I understand that Wighard has been well received by the Holy Father,’ she commented after a while.
Since arriving in Rome seven days ago Fidelma had hardly seen Eadulf. She had heard that Wighard and his main entourage had already arrived a few day’s previously in the city and had been invited to lodge at the Lateran Palace as personal guests of the Holy Father, Vitalian. Fidelma suspected that the Bishop of Rome had been overjoyed at the news of Canterbury’s success over the Irish faction at Streoneshalh.
Having parted company with Eadulf on arriving in Rome, Fidelma had been recommended to a small hostel in a side street off the Via Merulana next to the oratory erected by Pius I to the Blessed Prassede. The community in the hostel
was transitory for it consisted mainly of pilgrims whose periods of stay in the city varied. The household was run by a Gaulish priest, a deacon of the church, Arsenius, and his wife, the deaconess, Epiphania. They were an elderly couple without children but were as a father and mother to the foreign visitors, mainly Irish
peregrinatio pro Christo
, who sought lodging with them.
was transitory for it consisted mainly of pilgrims whose periods of stay in the city varied. The household was run by a Gaulish priest, a deacon of the church, Arsenius, and his wife, the deaconess, Epiphania. They were an elderly couple without children but were as a father and mother to the foreign visitors, mainly Irish
peregrinatio pro Christo
, who sought lodging with them.
For over a week now all Fidelma had seen of the great city of Rome was the modest house of Arsenius and Epiphania and the magnificence of the Lateran Palace with the varying poverty of the streets that separated them.
‘The Holy Father has treated us well,’ Eadulf confirmed.
‘We have been given excellent chambers in the Lateran Palace and have already been received in audience. Tomorrow there is going to be a formal exchange of gifts followed by a banquet. In fourteen days, the Holy Father will officially ordain Wighard as archbishop of Canterbury.’
‘And then you will commence the journey back to the kingdom of Kent?’
Eadulf nodded. ‘And will you be returning to Ireland soon?’ he asked, quickly glancing sideways at her.
Fidelma grimaced.
‘Just as soon as I can deliver the letters from Ultan of Armagh and have the rule of my house of Kildare blessed. I have been too long away from Ireland.’
For a while they walked in silence. The street was hot and dusty in spite of the shelter of fragrant, resinous cypress trees under whose shade traders gathered to buy and sell their wares. The traffic up and down the thoroughfare, one of the main streets of the city, was continuous. Yet still, above the bustle of its traffic, Fidelma could hear the chirping noise of
the
gryllus,
the grasshoppers, as they tried to keep cool in the stifling heat. Only when a cloud passed across the sun did the strange noise abruptly cease. It had taken Fidelma some time to discover the meaning of the sounds.
the
gryllus,
the grasshoppers, as they tried to keep cool in the stifling heat. Only when a cloud passed across the sun did the strange noise abruptly cease. It had taken Fidelma some time to discover the meaning of the sounds.
The slopes of the Esquiline beyond was a region of few inhabitants, an area of rich houses, vineyards and gardens. Servus Tullius had built his ornamental oak grove here, Fagutalis had planted a beech grove, it was home to the poet Virgil, Nero had built his ‘Golden House’ and Pompey had planned his campaign against Julius Caesar. Eadulf, in his two years of Rome, had come to know it well.
‘Have you seen much of Rome yet?’ Eadulf suddenly asked, breaking their companionable silence.
‘Since I am here I should try to understand why a church of the poor bedecks itself with such riches … no,’ she laughed as she saw his brows draw together, ‘no, I will not speak of that anymore. What would you have me see?’
‘Well, there is the basilica of Peter on the Vatican Hill, where the great fisherman himself is buried, the keyholder to the kingdom of heaven. Nearby lies the body of the Blessed Paul as well. But one has to approach the tombs in great penitence for it is said terrible things befall men and women who approach without humility.’
‘What terrible things?’ demanded Fidelma suspiciously.
‘It was said that when the Bishop Pelagius – not he of the heresy who was never a Bishop of Rome, but the second Holy Father to bear the name – wished to change the coverings of silver which are placed over the bodies of Peter and Paul, he received an apparition of considerable terror as he approached them. The foreman in charge of the improvements died on the spot, and all the monks and servants of the
church who saw the bodies died within ten days. They say it was because the Holy Father bore the name of a heretic and therefore it has been decreed that no pope will ever bear the name Pelagius in future.’
church who saw the bodies died within ten days. They say it was because the Holy Father bore the name of a heretic and therefore it has been decreed that no pope will ever bear the name Pelagius in future.’
Fidelma’s eyes narrowed as she examined the complacent features of the monk.
Was he subtly repaying her by the introduction of this story?
‘Pelagius …’ she began, the tone of her voice dangerous, but Eadulf suddenly guffawed, unable to keep his face solemn.
‘Let us quit, Fidelma. Though I swear the tale is true. Let there be a peace between us.’
Fidelma pursed her lips in annoyance, and then let her features relax into a smile.
‘We will save the pilgrimage to the tomb of the Blessed Peter for another day,’ she replied. ‘The deaconess of the house where I am lodged did take me and some others to a place where it is said that Peter was imprisoned. It was astounding. In the cell were a pile of chains and a priest stood by ready with a file which, for some incredible price, he would make filings from – assuring us that these were the chains worn by Peter. Holy pilgrimage to Rome seems to have become a business in which great sums of money are made.’
She had been aware of the Saxon monk casting glances over his shoulder for a short while now.
‘Sister, there is a round-faced monk with a tonsure which might make him Irish or a Briton following us. If you glance quickly behind to your right, you will see him standing under the shade of a cypress tree on the opposite side of the road. Do you know him?’
Fidelma gazed at Eadulf for a moment in surprise and then turned quickly in the direction he had indicated.
For a moment her eyes met the astonished widened dark eyes of a middle-aged man. He was, as Eadulf had described him, bearing a tonsure which placed his origin as either from Ireland or Britain, shaved at the front of his head on a line from ear to ear. He wore poor homespuns and his face was round and moon-like. He froze at Fidelma’s gaze and then turned quickly away, the colour on his face deepening, and vanished suddenly into the crowds behind the line of cypress trees at the far side of the street.
Fidelma turned back with a puzzled frown.
‘I do not know him. Yet he certainly seemed interested in me. You say that he was following us?’
Eadulf nodded quickly. ‘I was aware of him on the steps of the Lateran Palace. As we began to walk up the Via Merulana, he followed. I thought at first it was coincidence. Then I noticed that when we stopped a moment ago, he also stopped. Are you sure that you do not know him?’
‘No. Perhaps he is of Ireland and heard my speech. Maybe he wanted to speak with me of home and had not the courage?’
‘Perhaps.’ Eadulf was not convinced.
‘Well, he is gone now,’ Fidelma said. ‘Let us walk on. What were we speaking of?’
Reluctantly, Eadulf followed her example.
‘I think you were being disapproving of Rome again, sister.’
Fidelma’s eyes sparkled.
‘Yes, I was,’ she admitted. ‘I even find, at our community where I lodge, that there are books to guide pilgrims to the places of interest where shrines and catacombs may be found and at which pilgrims are persuaded to part with what money they have to take away relics and remembrances. There is
such a guide book kept at the community entitled
Notitia Ecclesiarum Urbis Romae
…’
such a guide book kept at the community entitled
Notitia Ecclesiarum Urbis Romae
…’
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