Shroud for the Archbishop Read Free Page A

habit to enter. The newcomer carefully shut the door behind him; then, folding his arms in his broad sleeves, he hurried to the table at which the man sat, his flat-soled slippers slapping hollowly on the mosaic floor of the hall as he seemed to waddle, almost duck fashion.
    ‘Beneficio tuo,’ the monk bowed his head and uttered the ritual opening.
    The older man sat back and sighed, not returning the ritual but simply waving his hand for the monk to state his business.
    ‘By your leave, Venerable Gelasius, there is a young sister in the outer chamber who demands to be received.’
    Gelasius raised a dark eyebrow threateningly.
    ‘ Demands ? A young sister, you say?’
    ‘From Ireland. She has brought the rule of her monastery to be received and blessed by the Holy Father and bears some personal messages from Ultan of Armagh to His Holiness.’
    Gelasius smiled thinly.
    ‘So the Irish still seek the blessing of Rome even when they argue against the practices of Rome? Is that not a curious contradiction, Brother Donus?’
    The monk contrived to shrug with his arms still folded in his voluminous sleeves.
    ‘I know little of these outlandish places, save that I believe the people follow the heresy of Pelagius.’
    Gelasius pursed his lips.
    ‘And the young sister demands … ?’ He accented the word for the second time.
    ‘She has been waiting to be received these five days, Venerable Gelasius. Some bureaucratic muddle, no doubt.’
    ‘Well, as this sister brings us word from the archbishop of Armagh we should receive her at once, especially as our young sister has journeyed all this way to Rome. Yes, let us see her and the rule she brings and hear her arguments as to whether the Holy Father should receive her. Does this young sister have a name, Brother Donus?’
    ‘Indeed,’ replied the young monk. ‘But it is some peculiar name which I cannot quite pronounce. It is similar to either Felicity or Fidelia.’
    A wan smile spread over Gelasius’ thin lips.
    ‘Either may be a portent, for Felicitas was the goddess of
good fortune in Rome, while Fidelia means one that can be trusted – faithful and steadfast. Bid her enter.’
    The young monk bowed and slapped his way across the expanse of the echoing hall to the door.
    Gelasius set his papers aside and sat back in his carved wooden chair to watch the entrance of the young foreigner announced by his factotum, Brother Donus.
    The door opened and a tall figure in the robes of a religieuse entered. The dress was obviously foreign to Rome, Gelasius observed; the undyed wool camilla and white linen tunica placed the wearer as someone newly arrived in Rome’s warmer climate. The woman crossed the mosaic floor of the hall with a youthful spring to her step that seemed at odds with the demure posture required by the religious habit. But her manner of approach was not ungraceful. Gelasius noted that while she was tall, her figure was well proportioned. Rebellious strands of red hair streaked from under her headdress. His dark eyes alighted on the young, attractive features of her face and stayed fascinated by the bright green of her eyes.
    She halted before him, frowning slightly. Gelasius remained seated in his chair and stretched out his left hand, on whose third finger was a large gold band inset with an emerald stone. The young woman hesitated and then stretched forth her right hand to grip Gelasius’ hand gently, jerking her head forward stiffly from the neck.
    Gelasius controlled his surprised features. In Rome a member of the religious would have knelt before him and kissed his ring in token of recognition of his high office. This strange young foreigner had merely bowed her head in acknowledgment of his office and not in obsequiousness. Her
expression was slightly fixed as if to disguise her irritation.
    ‘Welcome, Sister … Fidelia … ?’ Gelasius hesitated over the name.
    The young woman’s expression did not change.
    ‘I am Fidelma of Kildare in the