Shroud for the Archbishop Read Free Page B

kingdom of Ireland.’
    Gelasius noted her voice was firm and not awed by the tapestried splendour of her surroundings. Strange, he reflected, how these foreigners seemed unaffected by the might, wealth and sanctity of Rome. Britons and Irish reminded him of the stiff-necked Gauls he had read about in Caesar and Tacitus. Wasn’t there a king of the Britons, brought by Claudius as a captive to Rome, who, looking on the mighty splendour, had not been struck with dread but merely said: ‘And when you have all this, do you still envy us our hovels in Britain?’ Gelasius was a man proud of his Roman patrician past and often wished he had been born in the golden days of the empire of the early Caesars. He stirred uncomfortably at the thought which was at odds with the humble ambition of his faith and brought his mind back to the figure before him.
    ‘Sister Fidelma?’ he repeated the name carefully.
    The young woman gestured gracefully in acknowledgement of his pronunciation.
    ‘I have come here at the request of the archbishop Ultan of Armagh to bring …’
    Gelasius held up his hand to still the tide of words that came rushing out.
    ‘Is this your first visit to Rome, sister?’ he asked softly.
    She paused and then nodded, wondering if she had made some error of protocol in address to this senior figure of the church whose name the factotum had not even informed her of.

    ‘How long have you been in our beautiful city?’
    Gelasius wondered if he had heard that young woman repress a sigh? There was a slight movement, an exaggerated rise and fall of her bosom.
    ‘I have been seeking audience with the Bishop of Rome for five days … I regret that I have not been informed of your name or position.’
    Gelasius’ thin lips trembled with the hint of a smile. He admired the young woman’s directness.
    ‘I am Bishop Gelasius,’ he replied. ‘I hold the office of nomenclator to His Holiness. My function is to receive all petitions to the Holy Father, assess whether he is to see them and offer my advice to him.’
    Sister Fidelma’s eyes lightened.
    ‘Ah, now I see why I have been sent before you,’ she commented, the square set of her shoulders dropping slightly as she relaxed a little. ‘It is difficult to respond adequately when no one tells you of the rituals of office here. You will forgive me if I make mistakes and blame it merely on my foreign birth and upbringing?’
    Gelasius inclined his head in humorous solemnity.
    ‘Nicely said, sister. You speak an excellent Latin for one whose first visit it is to our city.’
    ‘I am also versed in Greek and have a little Hebrew. I have a small facility with languages and even speak some of the tongue of the Saxons.’
    Gelasius stared hard at her in case she was gently mocking him. There was no boast to the woman’s tone and Gelasius was impressed by her continued directness.
    ‘And where did you achieve these accomplishments?’
    ‘I studied as a noviate at Kildare, in the house established
by the Blessed Brigid, and later with Morann at Tara.’
    Gelasius frowned in surprise.
    ‘You studied and learnt your languages only in Ireland? Well, I have heard of your schools but now I have proof of their excellence. Be seated, sister, and let us discuss the reason for your visit here. The journey from Ireland must have been long and tiring and fraught with dangers? Surely you did not make it alone?’
    Fidelma glanced round in the direction Gelasius had indicated, saw a small wooden chair nearby and moved it into position facing the bishop. She sat down and settled herself before replying.
    ‘I journeyed here in the company of Brother Eadulf of Canterbury who is scriba to Wighard, the archbishop-designate of Canterbury in the Saxon kingdom of Kent.’
    Gelasius raised a quizzical brow.
    ‘Surely I am told that you Irish have little in common with Canterbury or are you one of the few Irish brethren who has accepted the rule of Rome rather than that of