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outside waiting for orders.
    ‘Also,’ Fidelma went on turning to Marinus, ‘I would be indebted if I could have the services of one of your palace
guard as a symbol of my authority. It is always better to have an immediately recognisable symbol of authority. This young man might do.’
    Marinus pursed his lips wondering whether he ought to protest but then he slowly nodded.
    ‘Tesserarius!’
    The young guard sprang to attention.
    ‘At your service, Superista!’
    ‘You will take your orders from Sister Fidelma or from Brother Eadulf until I personally relieve you of that duty. They act with the authority of myself, Bishop Gelasius and the Praetor Peregrinus.’
    The young man’s face was a picture of astonishment.
    ‘Superista?’ he stammered as if he doubted that he had heard correctly.
    ‘Have I made myself clear?’
    The tesserarius coloured hotly and swallowed hard.
    ‘By your command, Superista!’
    ‘Good. I will send the authority after you, Sister Fidelma,’ Marinus assured her. ‘Do not hesitate to call upon me if I am needed.’
    Fidelma, followed by Eadulf, swept from the room, followed by a bewildered young officer of the guards.
    ‘What are your orders, sister?’ the young man asked as they entered the courtyard. The sky was light now with the pale grey shades of dawn and the birds were beginning to make a noisy chorus which offset the gushing of the central fountain.
    Fidelma paused in mid-stride and examined the young man who had brought her so rudely from her bed. In the light of day he still looked slightly arrogant and in the richness of his attire, even though it was the ceremonial of the Lateran
Guard, he was every inch a Roman noble. Fidelma suddenly smiled broadly.
    ‘What is your name, tesserarius ?’
    ‘Furius Licinius.’
    ‘Of an old patrician family of Rome, no doubt?’
    ‘Of course … yes,’ the young man frowned, missing her sarcasm.
    Fidelma sighed softly.
    ‘That is good. I may need someone who will advise me closely on the customs of this city and of the Lateran. We are charged with investigating the death of the archbishop-designate Wighard.’
    ‘But an Irish monk did it.’ The young man seemed perplexed.
    ‘That is for us to ascertain,’ Fidelma said sharply. ‘But you obviously know about the death?’
    The young man cast a long and curious glance at Fidelma and then shrugged.
    ‘Most of the guards do, sister! But I know that the Irish monk is guilty.’
    ‘You seem very certain, Furius Licinius. Why?’
    ‘I was on duty in the guard room when my comrade, the decurion Marcus Narses, came in with the Irish monk, Ronan Ragallach. The body of Wighard had just been discovered and this Ronan was arrested in the vicinity of his chamber.’
    ‘That would be called an evidence of circumstance,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Yet you say you are certain. How so?’
    ‘Two nights ago, I was on guard duty in the courtyard where Wighard’s chambers are situated. Someone was skulking there about midnight. I chased the person and came upon this same Irish monk who denied being the person I had chased.
In doing so he lied to me. He gave me a false name – Brother “Ayn-dina” …’
    ‘Brother Aon Duine?’ Fidelma queried, gently correcting the pronunciation and when the tesserarius nodded his assent she turned slightly to hide the grin which split her features. Even Eadulf, having a good knowledge of Irish, could share the joke hidden to the young officer.
    ‘I see,’ she said solemnly, having composed herself. ‘He told you then that he was “Brother No-one”, for that is what it means in my tongue. What then?’
    ‘He claimed that he had come from some chambers which I later knew to be as false …’
    ‘ … as his name?’ Eadulf asked with an air of innocence.
    ‘By the time I realised his lies, he had fled. This is why I am convinced he is guilty.’
    ‘But guilty of what?’ Fidelma observed. ‘Whether it proves him guilty of the murder has yet to be