Shroud for the Archbishop by Peter Tremayne Page B

deprecatingly.
    ‘I fail to see why.’
    It was Marinus, having been silent for a while, who now answered her.

    ‘I asked you if you knew a monk named Ronan Ragallach.’
    ‘I have not forgotten,’ Fidelma replied.
    ‘It was he who killed Wighard.’
    Fidelma’s eyebrow raised slightly.
    ‘Then,’ her voice was still even, ‘why, if this fact is known, do you ask me and Brother Eadulf to investigate? You already have your culprit.’
    Gelasius raised his hands helplessly. It was clear that he was far from happy with the situation.
    ‘For politics,’ he answered earnestly. ‘To avoid war. That is why we seek your assistance, Fidelma of Kildare. Wighard was Rome’s man. Wighard is murdered in the very palace of the Holy Father. Questions will be asked among the Saxon kingdoms who have agreed to accept Rome’s rule and look to Canterbury as their ecclesiastical centre, rejecting the missionaries of Ireland. In reply to those questions, Rome will claim that an Irish monk slew Wighard. The Saxons will be angered. And will not Ireland say that this was too convenient an explanation coming in the wake of their defeat, perhaps another move to discredit them? Perhaps the Saxons will react against all the Irish clerics still in their kingdoms. At best they might drive them from the land or, at worst …’ He left the sentence unfinished. ‘Perhaps outright warfare will ensue. There are many possibilities, none of them pleasant.’
    Sister Fidelma gazed at the troubled face of Gelasius.
    For the first time she found herself examining the face of Bishop Gelasius carefully. Previously, she had mentally registered Gelasius as a man of age, not old but certainly of the age when a person looks on all change as a worsening of life. But now she was aware of his vitality, the energy and emotion which she expected only in youth; a determined man
lacking the meekness, patience and humility which one usually assumed with venerable age.
    ‘Your hypotheses are reasonable ones, but possibilities only,’ she observed.
    ‘Rome is concerned to stop them even becoming possibilities. We have had too many internecine wars between Christian factions. We need allies throughout Christendom, especially now the followers of Mahomet are raiding through the Mediterranean, devastating our trade and ports.’
    ‘I still follow your logic, Gelasius,’ Fidelma replied as Gelasius looked to her expecting an answer.
    ‘Good. What better way to defuse the animosities that will inevitably arise than if you, Sister Fidelma, a law expert from Ireland, and Brother Eadulf here, a Saxon learned in his own law, both with the reputation brought from Witebia, examine this case? If you both came to an agreement as to the culprit, who could accuse either of you of bias? Yet if we of Rome make an assertion as to guilt or innocence, it would be argued that we had much to gain by pointing the finger of guilt to those who disagree with us.’
    Fidelma began to see the subtleness of Gelasius’ thinking. Here was the sharp mind of a politician as well as churchman.
    ‘Has this Ronan Ragallach admitted that he killed Wighard?’
    ‘No,’ Gelasius was dismissive. ‘But the evidence against him is overwhelming.’
    ‘So you want to be able to announce that this crime was resolved by Eadulf of Canterbury and Fidelma of Kildare agreeing in unison in order to prevent a possible conflict arising?’
    ‘You have understood perfectly,’ Gelasius said.

    Fidelma looked at Eadulf and the monk grimaced faintly at her.
    ‘Are you agreed on this matter, Eadulf?’ she asked.
    ‘I was witness to how you resolved the murder of the Abbess Étain. I have agreed to assist you in any way I can in the resolution of Wighard’s death to prevent the spilling of blood between our peoples.’
    ‘Will you undertake the task, Fidelma of Kildare?’ pressed Gelasius.
    Fidelma turned back to gaze at his thin, hawk-like features and again noticed anxiety in the dark eyes of the