“I see.”
“Sister, this is a great mystery to me. Why should anyone attempt to poison the wine and cause the death of all the communicants in the church today?”
Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at him.
“Do you think that the wine was meant to be taken by all the communicants?”
“What else? Everyone would come to take the bread and wine. It is the custom.”
“But not everyone did. The poison was so quick in its action that undoubtedly only the first person who took it would die and his death would have served as a warning to the others not to drink. That is precisely what happened.”
“Then if the wine were meant only for the Gaul, how could the person who poisoned the wine know that he would be the first to come forward to take it?”
“A good point. During the time that the Gaul attended the services here, did he take communion?”
“Yes.”
“Was he always in the same place in the church?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“And at what point did he usually come forward to take the wine and bread?”
Cornelius’s eyes widened slightly as he reflected on the question.
“He was always the first,” he admitted. “His sister was second. For they were both in the same position before the altar.”
“I see. Tell me, did you enter the church via the sacristy?”
“Yes.”
“Was the deacon, Tullius, already there?”
“Yes. Standing by the door trying to estimate the numbers attending the service.”
“Had he poured the wine into the chalice?”
“I do not know,” confessed Father Cornelius. “Tullius told me that Miseno had arrived and I went to see him. I think Tullius had the jug in hand as I left the sacristy.”
Fidelma rubbed her chin thoughtfully.
“That is all, Father. Send Abbot Miseno across to me.”
The Abbot came forward, smiling, and seated himself.
“What news? Are you near a resolution?”
Fidelma did not return his smile.
“I understand that you wished to remove Father Cornelius?”
Abbot Miseno pulled a face. A curious, protective gesture.
“I have that authority,” he said defensively. “What has that to do with this matter?”
“Has Father Cornelius failed in his duties?” Fidelma ignored his question.
“I am not satisfied with them.”
“I see. Then the reason you wish him removed has nothing to do with Father Cornelius’s personal beliefs?”
Abbot Miseno’s eyes narrowed.
“You are clearly a clever investigator, Fidelma of Kildare. How do you come to know so much?”
“You said that you knew the manner in which a
“In truth, I am liberal about these matters,” replied Abbot Mis-eno. “However, Cornelius will tell you otherwise.”
“Why, then, do you wish him removed?”
“Cornelius has been here three years. I do not believe that he has fulfilled his functions properly. There are stories that he keeps a mistress. That he flouts more than one doctrine of our church. His deacon, a worthy soul, keeps this flock together in spite of Father Cornelius. And now Christ Himself has demonstrated clearly that Cornelius is unworthy of the priesthood.”
“How so?” Fidelma was intrigued at the Abbot Miseno’s logic.
“The matter of the poisoned Eucharist wine.”
“Do you accuse Father Cornelius of being the poisoner?” Fi-delma was astonished at the apparent directness of the accusation.
“No. But if he had been a true priest, then the transubstantiation would have taken place and the wine would not have been poisoned. It would have become the blood of Christ even though it contained poison, for the blessing would have purified it.”
Fidelma was nonplussed at this reasoning.
“Then it would, indeed, have been a miracle.”
Abbot Miseno looked annoyed.
“Is not the fact of transubstantiation a miracle, Sister, one that is performed every day in all churches of Christendom?”
“I am no theologian. I was taught that the matter was a symbolism and not a reality.”
“Then you have been taught badly. The bread and wine, when blessed by a true and pure priest, truly turns into the blood and flesh of Our Savior.”
“A matter of opinion,” observed Fidelma distantly. She indicated the corpulent and richly attired man who sat apart from everyone else. “Tell that man to come to me.”
Abbot Miseno hesitated.
“Is that all?”
“All for the moment.”
With a sniff of annoyance at being so summarily dismissed, the Abbot rose and made his way to the corpulent man and spoke to him. The man rose and came hesitantly forward.
“This matter is nothing to do with me,” he began defensively.
“No?” Fidelma looked at the man’s pouting features. “And you are …?”
“My name is Talos. I am a merchant and have been a member of this congregation for many years.”
“Then you are just the person to answer my questions,” affirmed Fidelma.
“Why so?”
“Have you known Father Cornelius for some time?”
“Yes. I was attending this congregation before he became priest here.”
“Is he a good priest?”
The Greek merchant looked puzzled.
“I thought this questioning was to be about the poisoning of the wine?”
“Indulge me.” Fidelma smiled. “Is he a good priest?”
“Yes.”
“Are you aware of any complaints about him? Any conduct that would not become his office?”
Talos looked awkwardly at his feet. Fidelma’s eyes glinted.
“I am personally not aware of anything.”
“But you have heard some story?” she pressed.
“Tullius has told me that there have been complaints, but not from me. I have found Father Cornelius to be a conscientious priest.”
“Yet Tullius said that there were complaints? Was Tullius one of the complainants?”
“Not that I am aware. Yet I suppose that it would be his job to pass on the complaints to the Abbot. He must also be conscientious in his job. Indeed, he would have cause to be.”
“I do not understand.”
Talos grimaced.
“Tullius has been studying for the priesthood and will be ordained on the day after tomorrow. He is a local boy. His family were not of the best but he had ambition enough to overcome that. Sadly, the gods of love have played him an evil trick.”
“What do you mean by that?”
