Authors: Peter Tremayne
Tags: #_rt_yes, #Church History, #Fiction, #tpl, #_NB_Fixed, #Mystery, #Historical, #Clerical Sleuth, #Medieval Ireland
The Spider's Web (2 page)
The tolling of the deep baritone bell of the abbey signalled the reconvening of the court. It was early afternoon but the atmosphere was not warm. The cool grey granite walls of the building protected the interior from the sun. The small side chapel of the abbey, which had been given over to the legal hearings, was almost empty. Only a few people had taken their seats on the wooden benches there. Yet until the previous day the chapel had been filled to bursting point with supplicants, with the accused and their witnesses. But this afternoon, the last of the cases to be heard before the court was scheduled for judgment. Justice had already been dispensed in the numerous matters that had been previously heard.
The half a dozen or so participants in this final affair of the court rose respectfully as the Brehon, the judge, entered and took a seat at the head of the hall. The judge was female, in her mid-to late-twenties, and she wore the robes of a sister of the religious. She was tall, with attractive features, red hair tumbling from beneath her headdress. The colour of her eyes was difficult to identify exactly for they appeared ice blue on occasions or, at times, held a strange green fire depending on her moods. Her youthful appearance did not accord with the general idea of an experienced wise and learned judge but, over the last few days, as she had examined and shifted evidence in the various legal claims, this youthful looking woman had impressed those appearing before her with her knowledge, logic and compassion.
Sister Fidelma was, in fact, a qualified
dálaigh,
an advocate of the law courts of the five kingdoms of Éireann. She was
proficient to the degree of
anruth
which meant that she could not only plead cases before judges but, when nominated, she could sit to hear and adjudicate in her own court on a range of applications that did not require the presence of a judge of higher rank. It was as a judge that Fidelma had been chosen to preside over the court at the abbey of Lios Mhór. The abbey lay outside ‘the great fortification’ after which it took its name. Lios Mhór stood on the banks of the impressive river simply known as Abhainn Mór, ‘the great river’, south of Cashel, in the kingdom of Muman.
dálaigh,
an advocate of the law courts of the five kingdoms of Éireann. She was
proficient to the degree of
anruth
which meant that she could not only plead cases before judges but, when nominated, she could sit to hear and adjudicate in her own court on a range of applications that did not require the presence of a judge of higher rank. It was as a judge that Fidelma had been chosen to preside over the court at the abbey of Lios Mhór. The abbey lay outside ‘the great fortification’ after which it took its name. Lios Mhór stood on the banks of the impressive river simply known as Abhainn Mór, ‘the great river’, south of Cashel, in the kingdom of Muman.
The
scriptor
of the abbey, who acted as the clerk of the court and kept a record of all its transactions, remained on his feet while Fidelma and the others seated themselves. He had a melancholy voice which caused Fidelma to think he would do well as a professional mourner.
scriptor
of the abbey, who acted as the clerk of the court and kept a record of all its transactions, remained on his feet while Fidelma and the others seated themselves. He had a melancholy voice which caused Fidelma to think he would do well as a professional mourner.
‘This court is now in session. The claim of Archú, son of Suanach, against Muadnat of the Black Marsh continues.’
As he sat down, he cast an expectant glance towards Fidelma and raised his stylus, for the record of the proceedings was made on wet clay inset in wooden frames and at the end of the sessions these records would then be transcribed to more permanent form in vellum books.
Fidelma was seated behind a large ornately carved oak table, her hands placed palm downward before her. She leant back in her chair and looked steadily round at those who sat on the benches in front of her.
‘Archú and Muadnat, please come and stand before me.’
A young man rose hastily. He was no more than seventeen years old, his expression eager, like a dog seeking a favour from a master, mused Fidelma as she watched him hurry forward. The second man was in his middle years, old enough to be the youth’s father. He was a sombre faced man, almost dour in his expression. There was little humour in his countenance.
‘I have listened to the evidence presented in this case,’ Fidelma
began, glancing from one to another. ‘Let me see if I can put the facts fairly. You, Archú, have just reached the age of seniority, the age of choice. Is this so?’
began, glancing from one to another. ‘Let me see if I can put the facts fairly. You, Archú, have just reached the age of seniority, the age of choice. Is this so?’
The youth nodded. Seventeen years was the age, according to the law, when a boy became a man and able to make his own decisions.
‘And you are the only child of Suanach, who died a year ago? Suanach, who was daughter to Muadnat’s uncle?’
‘She was the only daughter of my father’s brother,’ affirmed Muadnat in a gruff unemotional tone.
‘Indeed. So you are cousins to each other?’
There was no answer. Obviously there was no love lost between these two whatever their relationship.
‘Such close relatives should not need recourse to law to settle their differences,’ admonished Fidelma. ‘Do you still insist upon the arbitration of this court?’
Muadnat sniffed sourly.
‘I have no wish to be here.’
The youth flushed angrily.
‘Nor I. Far better it would have been for my cousin to do what was right and moral before it reached this pass.’
‘I am in the right,’ snapped Muadnat. ‘You have no claim on the land.’
Sister Fidelma raised her eyebrow ironically.
‘It seems that is now a matter for the law to decide as neither of you appear to agree. And you have brought the matter before the court so that it may make that decision. And the decision that this court makes on the matter is binding on you both.’
She sat back, folded her hands in her lap and examined each of them carefully in turn. There was anger in both of their storm-ridden faces.
‘Very well,’ she said, at last. ‘Suanach, as I understand it, inherited lands from her father. Correct me if I am wrong. She later married a man from beyond the seas, a Briton called Artgal
who, being a stranger in this land, had no property to bring into the marriage.’
who, being a stranger in this land, had no property to bring into the marriage.’
‘An impecunious foreigner!’ grunted Muadnat.
Fidelma ignored him.
‘Artgal, who was Archú’s father, died some years ago. Am I correct?’
‘My father died fighting the Ui Fidgente in the service of the king of Cashel.’ It was Archú who interrupted and the boy spoke proudly.
‘A mercenary soldier,’ sneered Muadnat.
‘This court was not asked to make a judgment on the personality of Artgal,’ Sister Fidelma observed waspishly. ‘It is asked to adjudicate on law. Now, Artgal and Suanach were married …’
‘Against the wishes of her family,’ interposed Muadnat again.
‘I have already discerned that much,’ Fidelma agreed blandly. ‘But married they were. On the death of Artgal, Suanach continued to work her land and raise her son, Archú. A year ago, Suanach died.’
‘Then my so-called cousin came and claimed that all the land was his.’ Archú’s voice was bitter.
‘It is the law.’ Muadnat was smug. ‘The land belonged to Suanach. Her husband being a foreigner held no land. When Suanach died, then her land reverted to her family and in that family I stand as her next of kin. That is the law.’
‘He took everything,’ the youth complained bitterly.
‘It was mine to take. And you were not of the age of choice anyway.’
‘That is so,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘For this last year, under the law, as senior member of your family, Muadnat has been your guardian, Archú.’
‘Guardian? Slave master, you mean,’ scowled the youth. ‘I was forced to work on my own land for nothing more than my keep; I was treated worse than a hired worker and forced to eat and sleep in the cattle-pens. My mother’s family do not even accord
me the treatment they give to those they hire to work the land.’
me the treatment they give to those they hire to work the land.’
‘I have already noted these facts,’ Fidelma sighed patiently.
‘We have no legal obligation to the boy,’ grunted Muadnat. ‘We gave him his keep. He should be grateful for that.’
‘I will not comment on that,’ Fidelma replied coldly. ‘The sum of Archú’s case against you, Muadnat, is that he should inherit some of the land which belonged to his mother. Is this not so?’
‘His mother’s land returns to her family. He can only inherit that which belonged to his father and his father, being a foreigner, had no land in this country to leave him. Let him go to his father’s country if he wants land.’
Fidelma continued to sit back in her chair, hands before her, her gaze now concentrated on Muadnat. Her fiery eyes had become slightly hooded and her expression seemed purposely bland.
‘When a person who is an
ocáire,
that is a small farmer, dies, then one seventh of the land is subjected to tax and paid to the chieftain for the upkeep of the clan territory. Has this been done?’
ocáire,
that is a small farmer, dies, then one seventh of the land is subjected to tax and paid to the chieftain for the upkeep of the clan territory. Has this been done?’
‘It has,’ interrupted the
scriptor,
looking up from making his record. ‘There is a disposition to that effect from the chieftain, Eber of Araglin, sister.’
scriptor,
looking up from making his record. ‘There is a disposition to that effect from the chieftain, Eber of Araglin, sister.’
‘Good. So the decision that this court has to make is now a straightforward one.’
Fidelma turned slowly to Archú.
‘Your mother was the daughter and only child of a small farmer, an
ocáire.
On his death she stood as female heir and is entitled to a life interest in her father’s land. Normally, she cannot pass this land on to her husband or sons and on her death it reverts to the next of kin within her own family.’
ocáire.
On his death she stood as female heir and is entitled to a life interest in her father’s land. Normally, she cannot pass this land on to her husband or sons and on her death it reverts to the next of kin within her own family.’
Muadnat drew himself up and for the first time his disgruntled features loosened in a satisfied expression. His eyes darted triumphantly at the younger man.
‘However,’ Fidelma’s voice suddenly took on an icy note which cut through the hall of the abbey, ‘if her husband was a foreigner, and in this case he was a Briton, he would have no land within
the clan territory. He can therefore leave nothing to his son. In these circumstances, the law is clear and it was our great judge, Brig Briugaid, who set the judgment which became the law on this matter. That is, in such circumstances, the mother is entitled to pass on the land to her son but with qualification. Of her lands, she can only bequeath land to the value of seven
cumals
which is the minimal property qualification for an
ocáire
or small farmer.’
the clan territory. He can therefore leave nothing to his son. In these circumstances, the law is clear and it was our great judge, Brig Briugaid, who set the judgment which became the law on this matter. That is, in such circumstances, the mother is entitled to pass on the land to her son but with qualification. Of her lands, she can only bequeath land to the value of seven
cumals
which is the minimal property qualification for an
ocáire
or small farmer.’
There was a silence as both plaintiff and defendant tried to understand the judgment. Sister Fidelma took pity on their puzzled expressions.
‘The judgment is in your favour, Archú,’ she smiled at the young man. ‘Your cousin occupies the land unlawfully now that you are of age. He must relinquish to you an amount of land to the extent of seven
cumals.’
cumals.’
Muadnat’s jaw dropped.
‘But … but the land scarcely extends seven
cumals
as it is. If he has seven
cumals
there will be nothing of it left for me.’
cumals
as it is. If he has seven
cumals
there will be nothing of it left for me.’
Fidelma’s voice took on the manner of a master lecturing a pupil.
‘According to the
Crith Gablach,
the ancient law, seven
cumals
is the property qualification of an
ocáire
which is the right of Archú to receive,’ she intoned. ‘Further, for acting in violation of the law to the extent that Archú had no recourse but to come before me with this claim against you, you must pay a fine of one
cumal
to this court.’
Crith Gablach,
the ancient law, seven
cumals
is the property qualification of an
ocáire
which is the right of Archú to receive,’ she intoned. ‘Further, for acting in violation of the law to the extent that Archú had no recourse but to come before me with this claim against you, you must pay a fine of one
cumal
to this court.’
Muadnat’s face was white. His expression had become a mask of rage.
‘This is an injustice!’ he growled.
Fidelma met his fury calmly.
‘Speak not of injustice to me, Muadnat. You are kin to this youth. When his mother died, it was your duty to nurture and protect him. Yet you sought to deprive him of his lawful dues, sought to make him work for you without payment, forcing him to live in worse conditions than a slave. I doubt whether you have
an understanding of justice. It would be justice if I made you pay further compensation to him for what you have done. As it is, I am tempering justice with mercy.’
an understanding of justice. It would be justice if I made you pay further compensation to him for what you have done. As it is, I am tempering justice with mercy.’
The words came coldly from Fidelma, causing the dour faced man to blink as if physically assaulted by the flood of her contempt.
He swallowed hard.
‘I will appeal to my chieftain, Eber of Araglin, against this ruling. The land is mine! You have not heard the last of me.’
‘Any appeals can only be directed to the chief judge of the king of Cashel,’ interrupted the
scriptor
dryly, as he finished writing the judgment. He laid down his stylus and endeavoured to explain to the disgruntled litigant. ‘Once a Brehon makes a judgment, it is not up to you to rail against the Brehon. If you want to object, then you must do so in the proper manner. In the meantime, Muadnat of the Black Marsh, you must obey the judgment and withdraw from the land leaving your cousin Archú to occupy it. If you do not, within nine days from now, you may be physically evicted. Is that understood? And your
cumal
fine must be paid by the rising of the next full moon.’
scriptor
dryly, as he finished writing the judgment. He laid down his stylus and endeavoured to explain to the disgruntled litigant. ‘Once a Brehon makes a judgment, it is not up to you to rail against the Brehon. If you want to object, then you must do so in the proper manner. In the meantime, Muadnat of the Black Marsh, you must obey the judgment and withdraw from the land leaving your cousin Archú to occupy it. If you do not, within nine days from now, you may be physically evicted. Is that understood? And your
cumal
fine must be paid by the rising of the next full moon.’
Without a word, Muadnat turned and strode silently and swiftly from the chapel. A short man, with a small, wiry frame and a shock of chestnut hair, rose and joined him sheepishly in the exodus.
Archú, his expression showing that he was scarcely able to believe the ruling, leaned forward across the table and held out his hand, grabbing Fidelma’s own and pumping it rapidly.
‘Bless you, sister. You have saved my life.’
Fidelma smiled thinly at the enthusiastic young man.
‘I have merely given judgment according to the law. Had the law been otherwise, I would have had to give judgment against you. It is the law which speaks in this court, not I.’
She disengaged her hand. The young man seemed hardly to have heard her but, still grinning, turned and hurried to the back of the chapel where a young girl rose and almost ran into his arms. Fidelma
smiled wistfully as she observed the way the two youngsters clutched at each other’s hands and gazed upon one another.
smiled wistfully as she observed the way the two youngsters clutched at each other’s hands and gazed upon one another.
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