“That’s nonsense, Archdeacon.”
Renatus reddened at being contradicted. “I’ve been told that snips of hair from a martyr’s head, drunk in a cup of water, is an effective purgative to cast out evil.”
“Another of those superstitions—”
“Getorius, don’t bore us with your work,” Arcadia interposed, to avoid an argument. “I’m sure the Archdeacon has another reason for his visit.”
“Yes.” Renatus settled back and took a sip of wine, seemingly relieved at her intervention. “Surgeon, I….ah…heard that you recently were sent to examine the body of a Hibernian monk who died.”
“Behan?”
“That’s the name. You brought his belongings here, did you not?”
“We didn’t want bandits to make off with them,” Arcadia said quickly.
“Of course, my child.” Renatus reached over to pat her hand. “I’m not implying anything, but the monk’s worldly goods are the property of Mother Church.”
“Don’t they belong to his Order?” Getorius asked, still annoyed over the churchman’s nonsense about curing disease. “Someone from his abbey is coming to claim the body and arrange a funeral.”
“Quite. How did the unfortunate man die?”
“Behan evidently drowned while in a penitential trance.”
“In the Holy Spirit, then.” Renatus finished the cake, took a sip of wine, and cleared his throat. “Did he…did this Behan have a ring on one of his fingers?”
“A ring?”
“Perhaps a signet of his Order?”
“No. I didn’t notice a ring.”
“There was a white circle around a finger,” Arcadia said, “as if he had worn a ring. I didn’t think to mention it at the time.”
Renatus’ straight brows rose in surprise. “You were there, Domina?”
“She insisted on going over my objections,” Getorius answered for Arcadia. “My wife trains with me.”
“I’d forgotten.” Renatus’ curt tone betrayed his disapproval. “Surgeon, what did you bring back that belonged to the monk?”
“The only things of value were his writing desk and clothes chest.”
“Any books? Surely, they would be valuable.”
“A Latin testament. The rules of his Order…a few pamphlets against heresies.”
“Tell the Archdeacon about the manuscripts on Behan’s desk,” Arcadia said. “As a churchman he might have some idea about what they mean.”
Getorius gave her a sidewise glance—he had not intended to mention the documents.
Renatus put down his wine cup and leaned forward. “Manuscripts? What manuscripts?”
“Three,” Getorius admitted. “Two were written in Celtic. According to Theokritos, they were only word games to pass the time.”
“The librarian has seen these?”
“I asked him to translate them. I was curious.”
“As was Eve in the Garden,” Renatus reminded him. “I suspect Theokritos has been seduced by the Gnostic heresy, I’ve seen that Abraxas amulet he wears.” Renatus suddenly stood up and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “These manuscripts. Nothing of importance, you say?”
“Evidently not,” Getorius replied, unsure of the penance for lying to a churchman.
“Still, Bishop Chrysologos wishes Behan’s things brought to the episcopal residence until he hears from his abbot. I’ll send servants tomorrow to pick everything up.”
“Fine, Archdeacon.” Getorius stood up to guide him out.
Renatus paused at the door and asked as an afterthought, “Was there…ah…an animal sharing the monk’s cell?”
“Animal?” Getorius chuckled. “Why would he have a pet?”
“Monks are reported to communicate with God though such creatures. It’s often a wild creature…a fox or raven. Noah of course first sent a raven to see if the floodwaters had subsided. Behan kept a rooster, perhaps?”
“I didn’t notice one, but the Augustus was there the day before. He and his guards discovered the body.”
“Valentinian brought his two Huns with him?”
“They were hunting. I asked Optila to look around, but we didn’t come back to Ravenna with any animals.” Getorius took Renatus by the elbow, wondering why the man was so interested in a rooster. “Let me show you out, Archdeacon.”
After her husband returned, Arcadia asked, “Why would Renatus come with questions about an obscure monk? Especially when he already seemed to know a lot about him.”
“Renatus did seem agitated when he heard about the two manuscripts, but forgot to ask about the third, the Latin one. Come to think of it, he ended his questions abruptly.”
“And what was that about a ring? And a cockerel?”
“I don’t know.” Getorius sat down again and took a gulp of wine. “Perhaps he just came to tell us about storing Behan’s furniture and was curious about the death.”
“Didn’t you think you heard a rooster outside the hut…and asked Optila to look for it?”
“Arcadia, I could have been mistaken.”
“You showed me the drawing of a cockerel on the Latin manuscript,” she reminded him, “and now one is figuring in this mystery again.”
“A symbol. You think that’s important?”
“Remember when Sigisvult was explaining about symbols to us? He said a cock stands for watchfulness, vigilance.”
“So?”
“So? Husband, if I recall the story of Peter’s denial of Christ, the bird also stands for betrayal.”
“In this case, betrayal of whom?” Getorius asked bluntly. His head was beginning to ache, the first sign of a possible hot-cold humor imbalance.
“You’re the one who’s been reading the manuscripts. You and that Feletheus.”
“He agrees that the triad riddles are word exercises, but not about the meaning of the prophecy verses.”
“With all the sick who have come into the clinic lately, I’ve forgotten,” Arcadia admitted. “What is this alleged prophecy about?”
“That some momentous event will happen soon. The key is evidently in the writings of the Apostle John.”
Arcadia took a sip of lukewarm wine, thought a moment, and then put down the cup.
“Getorius, a prophecy needs a prophet. That could have been Behan, but because he accidentally drowned he wasn’t able to announce…proclaim it.”
“That might explain why Renatus came,” Getorius speculated. “He could have been looking for some kind of information he didn’t have because of Behan’s accident.”
Or murder, Arcadia thought. “You think the Archdeacon is involved in…in whatever’s going on?”
“Behan’s death might have upset some plan.” Getorius rubbed his temples. “I’m getting a headache with all this, and being invited to the Gothic Queen’s dinner isn’t helping.”
“Let me…” Arcadia massaged his forehead. Her hand was cool and he held it there until she pulled away. “I’ll get you a dose of spirea. As for the Gothic Queen, I prophesy that she’ll
