Hemlock at Vespers

Talos looked surprised and then he smiled complacently.

“We are people of the world,” he said condescendingly.

“You mean that he prefers the company of his own sex?”

“Exactly so.” She saw the Greek’s eyes glance disapprovingly across the ecclesia and, without turning her head, followed the direction of the look to the young custos.

Fidelma sniffed. There were no laws against homosexuality under the auspices of the Brehons.

“So when he is ordained,” she went on, “he will move on to his own church?”

“That I would not know. I would presume so. This church cannot support two priests. As you see, it boasts only a small congregation, most of whom are well known to each other.”

“Yet the Gauls are strangers here.”

“That is true. But the dead religieux and his sister were staying in a hostel across the street and had been attending here during the week. The other, he had been here once. There was only one other complete stranger here today-you.”

“You have been most helpful, Talos. As you return to your place, would you ask Enodoc, the Gaul, to come here?”

Talos rose and left hastily, performing his task perfunctorily on the way back to his position.

The Gaul had been comforting the girl. Fidelma watched as the young man leant forward and squeezed the arm of the girl, whose head hung on her breast, as if she were asleep. She had ceased her sobbing.

“I know all about the advocates of the Brehon laws,” remarked the young man pleasantly, as he seated himself. “We, in Gaul, share a common ancestry with you of Ireland as well as a common law.”

“Tell me about yourself,” Fidelma invited distantly, ignoring the friendly overture.

“My name is-”

“Yes, that I know. I also know from whence you come. Tell me what is your reason for visiting Rome.”

The young man still smiled pleasantly.

“I am the captain of a merchant ship sailing out of the city of the Veneti in Armorica. It is as a trader that I am in Rome.”

“And you knew the monk named Docco?”

“We came from the same village.”

“Ah. And you are betrothed to the girl, Egeria?”

The young man started with a frown.

“What makes you ask this?”

“The way you behave to her is that of a concerned lover, not a stranger nor that of a mere friend.”

“You have a perceptive eye, Sister.”

“Is it so?”

“I want to marry her.”

“Then who prevents you?”

Again Enodoc frowned.

“Why do you presume that anyone prevents me?”

“Because of the way you defensively construct your sentence.”

“Ah, I see. It is true that I have wanted to marry Egeria. It is true that Docco, who is the head of his family, did not want her to marry me. We grew up in the same village but there is enmity between us.”

“And yet here you are in Rome standing together with Docco and his sister before the same altar,” observed Fidelma.

“I did not know Docco and Egeria were in Rome. I met them by chance a few days ago and so I made up my mind to argue my case further with Docco before I rejoined my ship to sail back to Gaul.”

“And was that what you were doing here?”

Enodoc shrugged.

“In a way. I was staying nearby.”

“Forgive me, but the port of Ostia, the nearest port of Rome, is a long way from here. Are you telling me that you, the captain of your ship, came to Ostia and then, hearing by chance that Docco and Egeria were in Rome, made this long journey here to find them?”

“No. I had business to transact in Rome and left my ship at Ostia. I needed to negotiate with a merchant for a cargo. Yet it is true that I found Egeria and Docco simply by chance.”

“I am told that you have been to this ecclesia before.”

“Yes; but only once. That was yesterday when I first encountered Egeria and Docco in the street and followed them to this place.”

“It was a strange coincidence.”

“Coincidences happen more often than we give them credit. I attended the service with them yesterday.”

“And was your plaint successful?”

Enodoc hesitated.

“No, Docco was as firmly against my marriage to Egeria as ever he had been.”

“Yet you joined them again today?”

“I was leaving for Ostia today. I wanted one more chance to plead my case with Docco. I love Egeria.”

“And does she love you?”

Enodoc thrust out his chin.

“You will have to ask her that yourself.”

“I intend to do so. Where did you meet them this morning? Did you come to the ecclesia together, or separately?”

“I had some business first and then went to their lodgings. They had already left for the church and so I followed.”

“At what time did you get here?”

“A moment or so before the service started.”

“And you came straight in and joined them?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Ask Egeria to come and sit with me.”

Clearly despondent, Enodoc rose to his feet and went back to the girl. He spoke to her but seemed to get no response. Fidelma noticed that he put his hand under her arm, drew her to her feet and guided her to where Fidelma was sitting. She came unpro-testingly but was apparently still in a stupefied state.

“Thank you,” Fidelma said, and reached forward to take the girl’s hand. “This is a great shock for you, I know. But I need to ask some questions. Be seated now.” She turned and gazed up at Enodoc. “You may leave us.”

Reluctantly the Gaulish seaman departed.

The girl had slumped on the stool before Fidelma, head bowed.

“Your name is Egeria, I believe?”

The girl simply nodded.

“I am Fidelma. I need to ask some questions,” she repeated again. “We need to discover who is responsible for this terrible deed.”

The girl raised her tear-stained eyes to Fidelma. A moment or two passed before she seemed to focus clearly.

“It cannot bring back Docco. But I will answer, if I can.”

“You were very fond of your brother, I take it?”

“He was all I had. We were orphans together.”

“He was protective of you?”

“I am… was younger than he and he raised me when our parents were killed during a Frankish raid. He became the head of my family.”

“What made you come to Rome?”

“It was a pilgrimage that we had long talked about.”