Shroud for the Archbishop by Peter Tremayne Read Free Book Online

smiled that urchin grin of hers …
    ‘Very well. Let us find something that we can both agree upon, Fidelma. I know … a little way from here is the church of St Mary of the Snow.’
    ‘Of the Snow?’
    ‘I am told that one August night the Blessed Virgin appeared to Liberius, then Bishop of Rome, and to a patrician named John, telling them to build a church on the Esquiline on the spot where they would find a patch of snow on the following morning. They found a patch of snow covering the exact area where the church was to be built.’
    ‘Such tales are told of many churches, Eadulf, why should this one be of particular interest?’
    ‘There will be a special mass held there tonight for the
memory of the Blessed Aidan of Lindisfarne who died on this day thirteen years ago. Many Irish and Saxon pilgrims will be attending.’
    ‘Then so shall I,’ affirmed Fidelma, ‘but first I would like to visit the Colosseum, Eadulf, so that I may see where the martyrs of the Faith met their end.’
    ‘Very well. And we will talk no more of the differences between Rome, Canterbury and Armagh.’
    ‘It is agreed,’ affirmed Fidelma.
    Some way behind them, the moon-faced monk, carefully concealing himself among the cypress trees, followed their progress along the Via Merulana with narrowed eyes.

Chapter Three
    It seemed to Fidelma that she had only just fallen asleep when her slumber was disturbed by a bell clanging urgently. She moaned softly in protest, turned and tried to chase the elusive comfort of her dream. But she was woken by the continuous clamour of the bell followed by the sound of a caustic voice in the stillness of the night. Already she heard the agitated movements of the brethren awakening and voices raised demanding to know what disrupted their sleep. Fidelma was fully awake now, noticing the darkness of the night. She slipped from her bed, drew on her robe and was about to feel for a candle when there came a timid tapping on the door of her small chamber. Before she had time to open her mouth in reply it swung open to reveal, in the glow of the lamp kept permanently alight in the corridor, the agitated figure of the deaconess, Epiphania. She wrung her hands, twisting them as if to suppress her apparent distress.
    ‘Sister Fidelma!’ Epiphania’s voice was a fearful wail.
    Fidelma stood quietly, examining her apprehensive features.
    ‘Calm yourself, Epiphania,’ she instructed softly. ‘What is the matter?’

    ‘It is an officer of the Lateran Guard, the custodes. He demands that you go with him.’
    Several thoughts went through Fidelma’s mind at that moment; panic-stricken thoughts; thoughts of regret that she had agreed to Ultan’s request to come to Rome at all; guilty thoughts of her criticism of the Holy Father and the trumpery of Roman clerics in making small fortunes from pilgrims. Had someone heard and denounced her? Then she made an effort to inwardly control herself. Her facial expression and outward demeanour had not changed.
    ‘Where does he wish me to go?’ she asked quietly. ‘And for what purpose?’
    The deaconess was abruptly pushed aside and in the doorway of her cubiculum stood a good-looking youthful soldier in the ceremonial uniform of the custodes. He stared arrogantly over her head, avoiding eye contact. She had been in Rome long enough to recognise the emblems of a tesserarius or junior officer of the guard.
    ‘We have orders to take you to the Lateran Palace. At once, sister.’
    The young man’s voice was brusque.
    Fidelma managed a wan smile.
    ‘For what purpose?’
    The young man’s expression remained wooden.
    ‘I have not been informed. I follow orders.’
    ‘Will your orders then allow me to bathe my face and dress?’ she asked innocently.
    The guard’s eyes suddenly focused on her and his wooden expression relaxed for a moment. He looked embarrassed, hesitating only a moment.
    ‘We will await you outside, sister,’ he agreed, withdrawing as abruptly as he