Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_rt_yes, #Church History, #Fiction, #tpl, #_NB_Fixed, #Mystery, #Historical, #Clerical Sleuth, #Medieval Ireland

The Spider's Web (18 page)

BOOK: The Spider's Web

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Cranat stared in surprise at her daughter, her mouth snapping shut with an audible sound.

‘Proceed, Sister Fidelma,’ Crón ordered after a moment. Fidelma went on:

‘Secondly, bearing in mind that Archú assumed the ownership only four days ago, one may assume that he has had no time to secure the fences.’

‘The law is clear,’ cried Muadnat obstinately. ‘Time does not matter. He is responsible for the fence.’

‘Not so,’ Fidelma replied, still speaking directly to Crón. ‘Time does matter. The
Bretha Comaithchesa
is exceedingly precise. The possessors of adjacent farms are both responsible for a fence between their property, the fence is the common property so that each must execute their own part of the joint work.’ She turned to the burly farmer. ‘What have you done to rebuild the common fence which you destroyed in the first place, Muadnat?’

Muadnat was red in the face. He could no longer bring himself to speak. He had the sense to realise that somehow he was losing once more and yet was not possessed of the intellect to understand why.

‘None, I presume from your silence,’ remarked Fidelma dryly. ‘As for time not being a consideration, that time is a principal factor for the law is clear. When a person comes into possession of a farmstead, three days are allowed for marking out the perimeters; in ten days the fence should be completed. No one is directly compelled to raise a fence in that there is no fine if it is not so completed. However, there is indirect compulsion by reason of possible law suits for animal and human trespass.’

Fidelma paused before turning once more to Crón.

‘That is the advice I have to give on the matter of law. The judgment is with you, Crón, and has to be made in accordance with the law.’

Crón grimaced wryly.

‘Then it is obvious that the judgment must be that Muadnat is unable to proceed in this matter. Archú has had no time, the time allowed by the law, to put up fences.’

Muadnat stood up slowly; he was quivering with outrage.

‘But I say he allowed his pigs to trespass with neglect and malice.’

‘The neglect cannot be charged,’ replied Crón. ‘As for malice, I will not entertain that argument. You are equally responsible for the construction of your boundary fence, Muadnat. In fact, Sister Fidelma has shown generosity in her interpretation of the law when she suggests that you be absolved from culpability of the fact that you tore down the boundary fences in the first place. I may not be that generous. Ensure that these fences are raised and by the prescribed time.’

Muadnat was scowling at Fidelma. His hatred was clear. He seemed about to speak when Agdae, his nephew, caught at his arm and seemed to shake his head in warning.

‘And one thing more,’ added Crón. ‘In bringing this serious charge without due consideration of all the implications and of true knowledge of the law, you will pay one
sed
to me and one
sed
to Sister Fidelma for her advice on the law. That fine, either in coin or in the equivalent of two milch cows, will be given to my steward at the end of this week.’

Muadnat half turned to leave when Crón stayed him.

‘There is still the matter of the fine for insulting a
dálaigh
which you did at the beginning of this hearing.’

She turned to Fidelma and looked questioningly.

Fidelma’s face was expressionless as she replied to Crón’s . unarticulated question. ‘In token of that insult, which in full would be my honour-price, I will allow Muadnat to donate the value of one milch cow to the local church for its upkeep or the equivalent value in labour in repairing the fabric of the building of the church. Whichever he chooses.’

Muadnat almost exploded in wrath.

‘Do you think I am blind to your self-interest, tanist?’ he shouted. ‘Tanist, indeed! Tanist by bribery and corruption. You are no true …’

Father Gormán rose suddenly and came forward.

‘Muadnat! You forget yourself!’ he admonished.

The priest laid a hand on the angry farmer’s arm and Agdae assisted in propelling Muadnat out of the hall of assembly. They could hear him shouting even from outside the hall. Cranat waited only a few moments more and then rose, in almost indecent haste, and left the hall.

Crón looked across to where Archú and Scoth were embracing each other and grinning wildly.

‘You are dismissed Archú but let me give you some advice …’

Archú turned expectantly, trying to reform his features into a more respectful countenance.

‘You have an unforgiving enemy in Muadnat. Be wary.’

Archú bobbed his head in acknowledgment of his tanist’s advice and then grinned broadly towards Fidelma. He and Scoth joined hands and hurried from the hall.

Crón sat back with a deep sigh and turned to regard Fidelma with some admiration.

‘You make the maze of the law texts seem a straightforward path, Fidelma. I wish I had your knowledge and gift.’

Fidelma was indifferent to the compliment.

‘That is what I am trained to do.’

‘My warning to Archú equally applies to you. Muadnat is unforgiving. He was a distant cousin and friend of my father. Perhaps I should not have been so harsh with him. My mother disapproved of me today.’

‘Your mother clearly regards Muadnat as a close friend.’

‘A chieftain cannot have close friends. I cannot make judgments based on friendship.’

‘You can only do as the law instructs,’ observed Fidelma. ‘As
must I. A Brehon or a chieftain must be above friendships in the interpretation of the law.’

‘I know what you say is right. But Muadnat has been a power in Araglin. He also remains a good friend of Father Gormán. They are often together.’

Fidelma was thoughtful.

‘You mentioned that Muadnat was a relative and friend of your father, Eber?’

‘Yes. They grew up as young men and went off to fight the Ui Fidgente together.’

Fidelma considered the matter a moment. Then she gave a mental shrug. At least Muadnat could not be concerned in her inquiry into Eber’s death for he had been in her court in Lios Mhór at the time of his murder. She stood up and glanced to where Dubán had been standing stiffly.

‘Perhaps there is now time to go in search of this hermit, Gadra?’

Crón rose. For the first time since Fidelma had arrived at the
rath
she was effusive with goodwill. In spite of what she had said, she seemed to have enjoyed defeating Muadnat and she was flushed with excitement.

‘Fidelma, I have seen your diligence with the law. I realise, perhaps belatedly, that you will be equally diligent in discovering the truth behind my father’s death. I just wish …’ It was the nearest that she came to an apology for her behaviour. She hesitated and then continued: ‘I would like you to know that I will do all I can to help in your inquiry.’

Fidelma raised an eyebrow in query.

‘Is there something more that you think I should know now?’

For a moment, she thought she saw a look of anxiety cross the pale eyes of the tanist of Araglin.

‘Something more? I do not think so. I speak merely because I acted too proudly when you came here. Courtesy should be freely given for it costs nothing.’

‘If you bear that in mind, then you will become a just chieftain of your people in Araglin,’ Fidelma replied gravely. ‘And that is more important than a cloak of office.’

Crón looked self-conscious and fingered the golden brooch which fastened her cloak to her shoulder.

‘It is the custom, here in Araglin, that all the chieftains and their ladies wear the parti-coloured cloak and gloves as their badge of office.’ She smiled briefly.

‘It is a great responsibility to be elevated into such a position,’ Fidelma observed. ‘Sometimes it takes time to adjust to a change in life.’

‘It is still no excuse for arrogance. This mention of Gadra reminds me of one teaching he gave when he was staying in the
rath
when I was a little girl. I was small but I remember his words well. He said that the proud place themselves at a distance from others and observing others across that distance they believe that they are little and insignificant. Yet the same distance makes them also appear equally small and insignificant to others.’

Fidelma smiled appreciatively.

‘Then Gadra is a man of wisdom. Truly, if you do not raise your eyes you will always believe that you stand on the highest point. Come, Dubán, let us go in search of this sage.’

‘If he still lives,’ added Dubán pessimistically.

Chapter Eleven

Dubán and Fidelma led the way along the narrow track that wound through the great oaks of the forest which spilled through the mountain passes. Brother Eadulf rode behind them. His eyes were watchful. With all this talk of raiding brigands, it occurred to him that whole warbands could hide in such gloomy places and not be noticed by wayfarers who might pass their concealment within yards and not even notice them, so dense and impenetrable were the rich woodlands that spread across the mountains which surrounded Araglin. So close together did the trees grow that they shut out all sight of the blue canopy of the sky and the warm spring sunshine. The air felt chill and Eadulf observed that few spring flowers were blooming but there were plenty of dark evergreens and plants that liked the cold dark musty atmosphere of the woodlands.

Eadulf rode with watchful eyes but his body was at ease, letting his mount match the leisurely walking pace of the lead horses.

The quiet was almost oppressive. Now and then something rustled through the underbrush and Eadulf had noticed that few bird songs trilled through the woodland.

‘A bleak, black place to dwell,’ Eadulf called, breaking the silence in which they had ridden since first entering this part of the woodlands.

Dubán half turned with a brief smile.

‘It is the nature of hermits to dwell in places that others are not attracted to, Saxon,’ he replied.

‘I have known healthier places,’ Eadulf responded. ‘What is the point of dwelling as a hermit if it costs you your health?’

‘A good argument, Saxon,’ the warrior chuckled. ‘Yet they say that Gadra has lived over four score years. And, if he continues to live, I shall be surprised.’

‘So you keep telling us,’ intervened Fidelma wearily. ‘Tell us some more of your knowledge of Gadra. We know he is a hermit and we know that he appears to be a man of wisdom. What else do you know of him?’

‘Little to tell. Gadra is Gadra. He has always been the same age to me.’

‘Is anything known of his origin?’ pressed Fidelma.

Dubán shrugged.

‘They say that he was a religious of the pagan times.’

‘A Druid?’ demanded Fidelma. It was true that here and there among the five kingdoms were still to be found followers of the old gods. Fidelma herself had encountered such members of the recluse; those who still clung to the old ways, the old beliefs. Even Fidelma found herself admiring many of their philosophies. The new Faith of Christ had not been long enough established in the land for the old ways to be anachronistic.

‘I suppose one would call him so. We were told stories of old Gadra when I was a boy. He has always been old to us. We were warned to stay away from him because the priest said he performed human sacrifices to ancient gods in these fierce oak forests.’

Fidelma sniffed deprecatingly.

‘There is always talk of human sacrifice when one does not understand the truth of a religious cult. The founder of my own house at Kildare, Brigid of blessed name, was a Druidess and the daughter of a Druid. There is nothing to fear from such as they. But tell me more about this Gadra. Is it known when he came to this place?’

‘Not in Eber’s time, that’s for sure,’ replied Dubán. ‘I think he came when Eber’s father was a little boy. He had the gift of healing and of wisdom.’

‘How could he have a gift of healing unless he believed in the
True Faith?’ interrupted Eadulf a little indignantly.

Fidelma grinned at her companion.

‘One cannot argue with such logic,’ she replied mischievously.

Eadulf was not sure whether she was making fun of him.

‘Does he perform his healing in the name of the Christ Saviour?’ he demanded.

‘He simply heals those who go to him with affliction. He does so in the name of no one,’ replied Dubán. ‘Of course, Father Gormán used to denounce any he found who had sought a cure from Gadra. But I have not heard of Gadra for some years now. I say he is dead and we waste time on this journey.’

Eadulf was about to speak further when Dubán suddenly raised a hand to bid them draw rein on their horses.

‘I see a clearing ahead. I think we are close to the glade where he once dwelt.’

Fidelma peered forward eagerly.

‘Is this the spot where Gadra lives?’

Dubán nodded.

‘Stay here. Let me go first,’ he said softly, ‘for if he still lives, I think he will recognise me.’

He manoeuvred his horse in front of her and began to walk it carefully along the track towards the bright area of the clearing before them.

Fidelma saw that the clearing was only a small glade and she could hear, in the silence of the forest, the gushing and gurgling of a stream. Fidelma thought she saw a wooden building ahead through the trees.

Suddenly Dubán’s voice echoed loudly back.

‘Gadra! Gadra! It is Dubán of Araglin! Do you still live?’

There was silence for a while.

Then they heard a voice reply. It was a voice of age, yet deep and resonant.

‘If I do not, Dubán of Araglin, then it is surely a wraith who answers you.’

Dubán’s voice came again, lower in tone. Neither Fidelma nor Eadulf could hear what was being said. After a while, Dubán’s voice called loudly upon them to come forward into the glade.

On a level piece of land by a surging, tumbling mountain stream, stood a wooden cabin, well built and thatched. The glade showed signs of cultivation. A small garden of herbs and vegetables and some fruit trees surrounded it. Dubán had dismounted and tied his horse to a nearby bush and was standing a few feet from another figure. He was a short, elderly figure, with a shock of white hair, leaning on a staff of polished blackthorn. He looked, at first sight, frail. But Fidelma realised that the frailness was misleading. He was thin but sinewy. He wore loose robes dyed with saffron and round his neck was a golden circlet bearing ancient symbols the like of which Fidelma had not seen before.

Fidelma swung from her horse and handed the reins to Eadulf and moved forward towards the elderly figure. She halted a few paces away.

‘Blessings on you, Gadra,’ she greeted, inclining her head slightly.

She found herself looking into a kindly face, whose nut-brown, weather-tanned skin was highlighted by piercing bright eyes. They seemed grey rather than blue. The cascade of snow-white hair surrounded the face. It was shoulder length from the head and merged indivisibly into a silken-like beard that was cut short so that the circlet showed where it hung on his chest. That Gadra was old was not in dispute but it was impossible to estimate his age for his face was still youthful and unlined and only the rounded shoulders gave an impression of the passing years.

She found the face regarding her with good humour.

‘You are well come to this place, Fidelma, daughter of Failbe Flann.’

Fidelma started a little.

‘How did … ?’

She saw the man laughing and she caught herself and smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

‘What else did Dubán tell you?’

Gadra nodded approvingly.

‘You have a quick mind, Fidelma.’ He glanced across her shoulder to where Eadulf was tying the horses to a bush. ‘Come forward, Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. Come forward and let us sit ourselves down and speak for a while.’

Fidelma, as she used to do when she was a young pupil of Morann of Tara, sank cross-legged on the grass before the old man, like a novice before a master. Gadra smiled approvingly. Brother Eadulf, more awkwardly, preferred to prop himself up on a nearby rounded boulder, using it as an uncomfortable seat. Dubán similarly seemed to think his dignity would be affronted to be seated on the ground and found another boulder. Gadra, as if he were still youthful, squatted down on the grass before Fidelma.

‘Before we talk,’ Gadra began, at the same time raising his hand to finger the golden crescent which hung around his neck, ‘does this bother you?’

Fidelma glanced at the emblem.

‘Why should it bother me?’

Gadra pointed to her own crucifix.

‘Is it not at odds with that?’

Fidelma slowly shook her head.

‘Your crescent stood as a symbol of light and knowledge among our people for countless centuries. I have no need to fear it. Why should it offend me?’

‘Yet it offends many who embrace the New Faith.’

Eadulf stirred uncomfortably for he found it distracting to be in the company of someone wearing a symbol of a pagan faith.

‘You have not embraced the Faith of Christ?’ he demanded.

Gadra looked up at him and smiled softly.

‘I am an old man, brother Saxon. In me, the ancient gods and goddesses of our people take a long time a dying. Yet I do not grudge you your new ways, your new thoughts and your new hopes. It is in the nature of things that the old should die and the new
should live. It is also the danger of this world as well as its blessing. That is the nature of the children of Danu, the Mother Goddess. Life dies and is reborn. Life is reborn and it dies. It is a never ending cycle. The old gods die, the new are born. The time will come when they will also die and new gods will arise.’

Fidelma heard Eadulf’s splutter of indignation but she said hastily: ‘We are all the prisoners of our times.’

Gadra chuckled approvingly.

‘You have perception, Fidelma. Or is it merely sensitivity? Can you tell me what is swifter than the wind?’

‘Thought,’ replied Fidelma at once, knowing immediately the game that the old man was playing.

‘Ah. Then what is whiter than snow?’

‘Truth,’ she replied sharply.

‘What, then, is sharper than a sword?’

‘Understanding.’

‘Then we understand one another well, Fidelma. I am the repository of the old and much will be lost when I am gone. But that is the way of it. And that is why I have come to the forests to die.’

Fidelma was silent a moment.

‘Has Dubán told you the news from Araglin?’

‘He has told me who you are. That and no more. That you have come to seek something from me is obvious.’

‘Eber, the chieftain of Araglin, has been murdered.’

Gadra did not appear surprised.

‘In my time we would celebrate the death of a soul in this world for it meant that a soul was reborn in the Otherworld. It was the custom to mourn birth, for it meant a soul had died in the Otherworld.’

‘The death of Eber is of more concern to me, Gadra, for I am an advocate of the courts of the five kingdoms.’

‘Forgive me if I spoke as a philosopher. Of course, the manner of his going to the Otherworld is of concern. I presume that Muadnat is chieftain of Araglin now?’

Fidelma stared in surprise.

‘Crón is tanist and will be chieftain when the
derbfhine
of her family confirm her as such.’

Gadra gave her a curious sideways glance but made no further reference to Muadnat.

‘So Eber is dead? Murdered? And you, child, are a
dálaigh,
an advocate of the courts come to investigate?’

For once Fidelma did not mind being called ‘child’ by this elderly mystic.

‘This is so.’

‘What would you have of me?’

‘Móen was found by Eber’s body with a bloody knife in his hand.’

For the first time, the calm humour of the old man’s face was creased by an expression of amazement. But it was quickly gone. He had tremendous control.

‘Are you telling me that Móen is supposed to have murdered Eber?’ His voice was still composed.

‘He stands accused of that murder,’ Fidelma confirmed.

‘If I had not lived a long life and seen many things, I would say that the boy was not capable of taking life.’

Fidelma frowned, leaning forward.

‘I am not sure that I follow. Do you accept that he committed the murder?’

‘In special circumstances even the most docile of human beings will turn to kill. Móen is the most docile of human beings.’

Fidelma made a wry face.

‘Docile is not a word that others would use.’

Gadra sighed softly.

‘Believe me, the boy is sensitive and of a calm nature. I know for I have watched him grow from a baby. Teafa and I taught him all he knows.’

Fidelma regarded the old man for a few minutes.

‘You
taught
him?’ she prompted with emphasis.