Shroud for the Archbishop by Peter Tremayne

reaching a solution where he thought there was none. He had been more than impressed by the affair at Witebia, in Northumbria. But surely this case was so simple. Why didn’t she see that?
    ‘Very well, Fidelma. I believe Ronan is guilty. His actions proclaimed it. I am prepared to report as much to Gelasius. However, I am willing to listen to any arguments you may have against that conclusion …’
    He became aware of some of the lingering mourners examining them curiously, watching the animated faces of their disagreement.
    Brother Eadulf took Fidelma’s arm and guided her through the cemetery towards a tall mausoleum with a marble edifice.
    ‘I know a place where we may get some peace to exchange our views on the matter,’ he grunted.
    To her surprise, Fidelma saw a young boy squatting outside the entrance to the mausoleum with a basket of candles before him. Eadulf placed a coin into the bowl which the lad held out and selected a candle. The boy had flint and tinder and struck a light for the candle.
    Without a word, Eadulf led Fidelma inside. She found herself in a small stairwell in the crypt leading down into the darkness.
    ‘What is this place, Eadulf?’ Fidelma asked, as the Saxon monk began to descend a series of carved stone stairs.

    ‘This is one of the catacombs where the early members of the Faith were buried,’ he explained, holding the candle aloft as he guided her downward some twenty feet or more into a large corridor which had been carved through the stone. ‘There are sixty of these cemeteries within the immediate vicinity of Rome which were used until the end of the last century. It is said that some six million Christians were buried in these places during the last four or five centuries.’
    The tunnel, Fidelma could see, led into a network of subterranean galleries, generally intersecting each other at right angles, though sometimes taking on a very sinuous course. They were six feet wide and rose sometimes as high as ten feet.
    ‘These tunnels seem to be cut through solid rock,’ she observed, pausing to run her hand over the walls.
    Eadulf smiled and nodded assent.
    ‘The countryside about Rome consists of volcanic rocks, sometimes used as building stone. The stone is dry and porous and can be easily worked. The galleries which our brethren made were not unsuitable for living in and were often used as retreats during the great persecutions.’
    ‘But how could people breathe underground?’
    Eadulf pointed to a small aperture above their heads.
    ‘See? The builders ensured that openings were made at distances of two or three hundred feet.’
    ‘They must be immense constructions if this is but one of sixty.’
    ‘Indeed,’ Eadulf agreed. ‘They were greatly extended during the reigns of the emperors Aurelius Antoninus and Alexander Severus.’
    They suddenly came upon a wider space with long recesses cut into the walls. Several were empty but more than a few were blocked in by carved stone.

    ‘Here we have the vaults of the dead ones,’ Eadulf explained. ‘The niche is called a loculus in which the body is placed. Each family had such a chamber called an arcosolia where they buried their dead.’
    Fidelma gazed with some admiration at the beautifully coloured frescoes that were painted on the outside of some of the tombs. There was some writing on the archway above.

    ‘Hic congesta jacet quaeris si turba Piorum,
‘Corpora Sanctorum retinent venereanda sepulcra …’

    ‘If you would know,’ echoed Eadulf, translating to Irish, ‘here are piled together a host of holy ones, these venerated sepulchres enshrine the bodies of the saints.’
    Fidelma was impressed.
    ‘It is very fascinating, Eadulf. I thank you for showing me this.’
    ‘There are even more interesting catacombs elsewhere in Rome, such as the one under Vatican Hill itself, where Peter and Paul repose. But the largest of all is the tomb of the blessed Calixtus, pope and martyr, on the Appian Way.’
    ‘I