Authors: Peter Tremayne

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

The Spider's Web (21 page)

BOOK: The Spider's Web

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‘I dropped it, I think. No, I must have caught it on something for it seemed to be pushed out of my hand. I do not think I bothered to bend down to search for it. I was intent on going to Eber.’

‘So then you found your way to Eber’s apartments?’

‘It was not hard. I can find my way very well.’ He paused.

‘Continue,’ Fidelma pressed.

‘I went to the door. I tapped on it as Teafa has taught me. Then I lifted the latch and went in. No one approached me. I stood for a while, thinking that if Eber was there he would make himself known. When he did not, I moved forward, realising that there must be another chamber. I moved along the boundary of the wall and eventually found the second door and I tapped on this. The door did not open and so I sought out and lifted the latch on it and managed to enter.’

‘What then?’

‘Nothing. I stood for a while, expecting Eber to approach me. When he did not, I wondered if there was yet another chamber. I began to move along the wall. Holding one hand out before me. I had not gone far when my hand encountered something hot, uncomfortable. I believe it to be what you call a lamp. Something which burns by which you are able to see in the dark.’

Fidelma nodded and then realising the futility of it responded: ‘Yes. There was a lamp alight on the table. What then?’

‘I moved around the table and my feet encountered something on the floor. I recognised this as a mattress. I decided to crawl
over it and continue my journey using the wall as my guide on the other side of the room. I was intent on finding a door to another chamber. I went on my hands and knees and began to climb over what I thought was the mattress …’

The tapping fingers paused. Then: ‘I realised that there was a body lying there. I touched it with my hand. It was wet and sticky. The wet had a salty taste and made me feel ill. I reached forward again to touch the face but my hand encountered something cold and also wet. It was very sharp. It was a … a knife.’

The young man shuddered.

‘I knelt there not knowing what to do. I knew Eber’s scent. I smelt that this was Eber before me and the life had gone from him. I think I moaned a little. I was making up my mind to seek a way out and rouse Teafa when rough hands gripped me. I feared for my life. I thrashed out. Other hands hit me, hurt me, and I was bound. I was dragged somewhere. It smelled vile. No one came near me. No one tried to communicate with me. I spent an eternity in purgatory not knowing what to do. I worked out that Eber must have been killed with a knife, the same that I had found and held. I also worked out that those who had seized me were either his killers or, worse, that they must have thought that I had killed Eber myself.

‘I tried to find something to carve a message to Teafa on. I could not understand why she had abandoned me. Now and then I was thrown scraps of food. There was a bucket of water. Sometimes I managed to eat and drink but often I could not find the scraps they threw me. No one helped me. No one.’

There was a pause before the finger tapping continued.

‘I do not know how long had passed. It seemed forever. Finally, I smelled a scent, the scent I smell now … The person called Fidelma. After that, hands, though rough, cleaned me, fed me and gave me water. I was still shackled but I was given a comfortable straw palliasse and the place smelled sweeter. Yet
the time sped on. It is only now that I can talk and only now that I realise fully what has taken place.’

Fidelma gave a long sigh as Gadra finished the translation from the tapping, moving fingers of the young man.

‘Móen, a great injustice has been done,’ she said at last. Gadra dutifully translated. ‘Even had the guilt been yours you should not have been treated like an animal. For that we must beg your forgiveness.’

‘You have nothing to be forgiven for, Fidelma. It is you who have rescued me from this plight.’

‘Not rescued yet. I fear that you will not be rescued until we have proved your innocence and identified the one who is guilty.’

‘I understand. How can I help you?’

‘You have helped enough for the present, though I will talk with you again. You will return to live in the cabin which you shared with Teafa, as this will be familiar to you. If Gadra is willing, he will be there to take care of you until our search for the guilty one is over. For your own protection I would urge you not to walk abroad unless you are accompanied.’

‘I understand. Thank you, Sister Fidelma.’

‘There is one more thing,’ she suddenly added, as the thought struck her.

‘Which is?’ prompted Móen through Gadra after she had paused.

‘You say that you were able to smell me?’

‘That is so. I have had to develop the senses that God left me. Touch, taste and smell. I can also feel vibrations. I can feel the approach of a horse or even a lesser animal. I can feel the course of a river. These things can tell me what is happening round me.’

He paused and grinned, looking, so it seemed, straight towards Brother Eadulf.

‘I know you have a companion, Fidelma, and that he is a male.’

Eadulf shifted awkwardly.

‘This is Brother Eadulf,’ interposed Gadra, and turning to
Eadulf, said: ‘If you do not know Ogam, squeeze Móen’s hand in acknowledgment.’

Cautiously, Eadulf reached forward, took the young man’s hand and squeezed it. He felt an answering pressure.

‘Blessings on you, Brother Eadulf,’ Móen’s finger movements were quickly traced by Gadra.

‘Let us return to your sense of smell,’ cut in Fidelma. ‘Cast your mind back, Móen. Remember the time when the person grabbed your hand and placed into it the stick with the Ogam instructing you to go to Eber? You said that you did not recognise the scent. Can you confirm that there was a scent?’

Móen thought for a while.

‘Oh yes. I have not thought of it since. It was a sweet scent of flowers.’

‘A scent of flowers? Yet it was cold, as you say. To us this would be night and judging from the time you were found at Eber’s apartments, this certainly seems so. There are few flowers that give out scent in the early hours of the morning.’

‘It was a perfume. At first I thought the person who handed me the stick was a lady by the scent. But the hands, the hands that touched mine were coarse and calloused. It must have been a man. Touch does not lie; it was a man who passed me the stick with the writing on.’

‘What type of perfume was it?’

‘I can identify smells but I cannot give them labels as you know them. However, I am sure that the hands were those of a man. Rough and coarse hands.’

Fidelma exhaled softly and sat back in her chair as if deep in thought.

‘Very well, Gadra,’ she said eventually to the old man, ‘I am placing Móen in your custody. You are to look after him and confine him to Teafa’s house for the time being.’

Gadra regarded her anxiously.

‘Do you believe that the boy is innocent of the crimes which he stands accused of?’

Fidelma was dismissive.

‘Believing and proving are two different things, Gadra. Do your best to see he is comfortable and I shall keep you informed.’

Gadra assisted Móen to his feet and led him to the door.

Dubán was still standing outside. He stood back to allow Gadra and his charge to pass after Fidelma had told him her wishes.

‘There will be some in this
rath
who will not like this decision, Fidelma,’ the warrior muttered.

Fidelma’s eyes flashed angrily.

‘I certainly expect the guilty to be unhappy,’ she replied.

Dubán blinked at her sharp tone.

‘I will inform Crón of your decision about Móen. However, I came to inform you of some news which may interest you.’

‘Well?’ she asked, after he had paused.

‘A rider has just come into the
rath
with the news that one of the outlying farms was attacked early this morning. I am taking some men immediately to see what assistance we can render. I thought that you might be interested to know whose farm it was which was attacked.’

‘Why?’ demanded Fidelma. ‘Get to the point, man. Why would I be interested?’

‘It was the farmstead of the young man Archú.’

Eadulf pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

‘A raid on Archú’s farmstead? Was anyone hurt?’

‘A neighbouring shepherd brought us the news and reported that he had seen cattle being run off, barns set alight and he thinks someone was killed.’

‘Who was killed?’ demanded Fidelma.

‘The shepherd was unable to tell us.’

‘Where is this shepherd?’

‘He has left the
rath
to get back to his unattended sheep.’

Eadulf turned to Fidelma with a troubled look.

‘Archú told us that there was only himself and the young girl, Scoth, working the farm.’

‘I know,’ Fidelma replied grimly. ‘Dubán, when are you and your men leaving for Archú’s farmstead?’

‘At once.’

‘Then Eadulf and I will accompany you and your men. I have grown to have an interest in the welfare of those young people. Has the whereabouts of Muadnat been established? I would have thought that he could well resort to attacking Archú and throwing suspicion onto your cattle raiders.’

‘I know you do not like Muadnat but I cannot believe that he would do anything so stupid. You misjudge him. Besides, we have seen the bandits with our own eyes.’

Eadulf was thoughtful.

‘It is true, Fidelma. You cannot deny the presence of bandits.’

Fidelma glanced scornfully at him before returning her gaze to Dubán.

‘We did, indeed, see the horsemen. But, if you recall, they were heading south and we saw no cattle with them. All we saw were asses loaded with heavy panniers. Where were the cattle if they were cattle raiders? Come, let us ride for Archú’s farmstead.’

Chapter Thirteen

Dubán had gathered half a dozen riders; all were well armed. Fidelma was relieved to see that the arrogant young Crítán was not one of them. Fidelma noticed that neither Crón nor her mother, Cranat, came to observe their departure from the
rath.
In a column of twos, with Fidelma and Eadulf bringing up the rear, they turned through the gates of the
rath
and proceeded at a gentle trot along the river’s southern bank towards the eastern end of the fertile valley of Araglin with its grain fields and grazing cattle herds. Dubán did not hurry the pace but kept the column moving at a steady rate.

They had not gone more than a few miles when the track came to a bend in the river which looped in such a way as to create a sheltered peninsula with the river forming a natural barrier on three sides. It was a small haven of land that also had the protection of trees. Flowers grew in abundance here and rising on the land was a picturesque single-storeyed cabin built of wooden logs and planks. There was a garden before it. Standing in this garden, watching them pass, obviously disturbed in the process of tending to the flowers, was a small, fleshy blonde woman.

They passed too far away for Fidelma to note the details of her features. The woman stood making no effort to raise her hand in greeting but continued to watch them as they rode by. Fidelma noticed with curiosity that a couple of Dubán’s men exchanged sly, grinning glances and one of them even gave an audible guffaw.

Fidelma eased her horse towards the front of the small column to where Dubán rode.

‘Who was that?’ she asked.

‘No one of importance,’ replied the warrior gruffly.

‘This no one of importance seems to create an interest among your men.’

Dubán looked uncomfortable.

‘That was Clídna, a woman of flesh.’

‘Woman of flesh’ was a euphemism for a prostitute.

‘I see.’ Fidelma was thoughtful. She pulled her horse out of the line and waited while the other warriors rode by. Eadulf caught up with her and she eased her horse alongside his. She briefly passed on the explanation. He sighed and shook his head sadly.

‘So much sin in so beautiful a spot.’

Fidelma did not bother to reply.

At the end of the large valley they began to ascend through the shelter of the surrounding forests but here the track was well cut and broad enough for wagons. They ascended the steep gradient between two hills, climbing upward into a second valley on a higher elevation. As they moved into this, Fidelma pointed wordlessly and Eadulf followed her outstretched hand. A column of smoke was rising some way away across the shoulder of the hills.

Dubán turned in his saddle, and noting that Fidelma had already seen the tell-tale sign waved her to come forward.

‘This is the valley of the Black Marsh. Where that smoke is rising is Archú’s farmstead. To your left, the valley lands belong to Muadnat.’

Fidelma noted the cultivated fields, the cattle and deer herds and rich pastureland. It was a farmstead that was worth far more than seven
cumals,
she noted. Muadnat’s farm was clearly a rich one. She placed it at five times the value of the land which he had been forced to give back to Archú.

The road ran alongside the boundary of Muadnat’s farmstead, slightly above it on a track worn in the side of the rolling hills. It was sometimes lined with trees and scrubland while at other times open to stretches of grassland which had been shortened by deer
herds or other herbivores. In the valley below there seemed no sign of activity on Muadnat’s farmstead.

‘I would imagine Muadnat and his farm hands have already ridden to Archú’s,’ explained Dubán, guessing what was passing through her mind.

Fidelma smiled thinly but made no other comment. Certainly the column of smoke would have been easily seen from Muadnat’s farmstead.

Dubán ordered the pace to increase to a canter.

The column of horses moved rapidly along the hillside track, which twisted down the slopes moving with the contours of the hill.

Fidelma realised that the part of the valley in which Archú dwelt almost constituted a separate valley to the area occupied by Muadnat. This area seemed to twist off from the main valley of the Black Marsh at a forty-five degree angle, hiding much of its lands from the track along which they had come. Soon the descent to the valley became so precipitous they had to slow down to a walk.

‘How well do you know this area, Dubán?’ called Fidelma.

‘Well enough,’ replied the warrior.

‘Is this the only track in or out of this valley?’

‘This is the only easy route but men, even with horses, might find a way over the peaks.’

Fidelma raised her eyes to the rounded hilltops.

‘Only in desperation,’ she observed.

Eadulf leaned forward.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.

‘Oh, just that a band of men on horseback riding to Archú’s farmstead must surely have ridden across or by the land of Muadnat and have been observed.’

They came as quickly as they could down to the valley floor. The main group of farm buildings were easily recognisable; a dwelling house, a kiln for drying corn standing just beyond it.
There was a barn and a pigsty. A little way beyond these was the smoking ruin of another barn, charred and blackened, from which the spiral of smoke was still ascending.

There were a few cattle in a pen, one of which was giving vent to an irritated lowing.

Dubán made directly for the dwelling house.

‘Halt! If you value your lives!’

The voice was almost a high-pitched scream.

It caused them all to jerk upon their reins and come to an unceremonious halt before the main building.

‘We are armed,’ called the voice, ‘and many of us. Go back from whence you came or …’

Fidelma edged her way forward.

‘Archú!’ she shouted, having recognised the voice of the youth. ‘It is I, Fidelma. We have come to assist you.’

The door of the main building opened abruptly. Archú stood there staring at them. All he held in his hand was a rusty sword. Behind him the young girl, Scoth, peered fearfully over his shoulder.

‘Sister Fidelma!’ Archú gazed from her to Dubán and the rest of the company. ‘We thought the raiders had returned.’

Fidelma swung herself down, followed by Dubán and Eadulf. The other men remained mounted, staring suspiciously about the countryside.

‘We heard that bandits had raided your farmstead. A shepherd rode to the
rath
to bring word.’

Scoth pushed forward.

‘That was Librén. It is true, sister. We were not even awake when they attacked. Their shouts and the lowing of our cattle disturbed us. We managed to barricade ourselves in here. But they did not assault us; they rode off with some cattle and set fire to one of the barns. It was barely light and we could hardly see what was going on.’

‘Who were they?’ demanded Fidelma. ‘Did you recognise them?’

Archú shook his head.

‘It was too dark. There was a great deal of shouting.’

‘How many raiders were there?’

‘I had the impression it was less than a dozen.’

‘What made them break off their attack?’

Archú frowned at Dubán’s sudden question.

‘Break off?’

‘I see only one barn burnt down,’ the warrior observed. ‘You have several cattle still in the pen there and I hear sheep and pigs. You are unharmed and so is your house. Obviously the raiders decided to break off their attack.’

The young man looked wonderingly at the warrior.

Fidelma gave Dubán a glance of appreciation for making a logical observation.

Scoth’s mouth compressed for a moment.

‘I wondered why they made no attempt to break into the farmhouse or even burn it down. It was as if they merely wanted to frighten us.’

‘Perhaps it was the shepherd, Librén,’ Archú suggested. ‘When he saw the flames of the barn from the hillside, he sounded his shepherd’s horn and came running down to help us.’

‘A brave man,’ muttered Eadulf.

‘A foolish man,’ corrected Dubán.

‘Yet still brave,’ affirmed Eadulf stubbornly.

‘It is thanks to him they only made off with two of the cattle,’ Scoth pointed out.

‘Two cattle? And all because a shepherd comes running to your help?’ Dubán was cynical.

‘It is true,’ insisted Archú. ‘When Librén sounded his horn, they herded the cattle before them and rode off.’

‘That is all? Two milch cows?’

Archú nodded.

‘Which path did they take?’ Eadulf asked.

Scoth immediately pointed down the valley in the direction of Muadnat’s farmlands.

‘Librén said they disappeared in that direction.’

‘That is the path that leads through the bogland, the Black Marsh itself. It only goes to the lands of Muadnat,’ Dubán explained uneasily.

‘It certainly leads nowhere else,’ Archú grimly assured him.

‘Where is this Librén, the shepherd?’ Fidelma asked.

Scoth turned and pointed to the southern hillside.

‘Librén tends his flocks above there. He came and stayed with us until dawn, in case the raiders came back. Then he borrowed one of our horses, for Archú did not want to leave me, and rode to the
rath
to tell you of the raid. He returned just half an hour ago and told us that you were on the way.’

‘Why didn’t he wait?’

‘He had neglected his flocks since this morning,’ Archú pointed out. ‘There is no need for him to stay now.’

Fidelma was looking around as if searching for something.

‘This Librén said that someone was killed. Who was killed and where is the body?’

Dubán clapped a hand to his forehead and groaned.

‘Fool that I am. I had forgotten.’ He turned to Archú. ‘Who was killed?’

Archú looked uncomfortable.

‘The body is over there, by the burnt-out barn. I do not know who it is. No one saw it happen. It was only when we were trying to douse the flames later that we discovered it.’

‘A man is killed on your farm during a raid and you know nothing about it?’ Dubán was still cynical. ‘Come, lad, if it is one of the attackers then you have nothing to fear in punishment. You were only acting in self-defence.’

Archú shook his head.

‘But truly, we did not kill anyone. We did not have the weapons. We barricaded ourselves in during the attack and saw nothing.
Librén, also, was surprised and did not recognise the man.’

‘Let us examine this body,’ Fidelma urged, realising that there was nothing to be gained from talk.

One of Dubán’s men had already discovered the corpse. He pointed wordlessly to the ground as they approached.

The body was that of someone in their thirties. An ugly looking man with a scarred face and a bulbous nose, flattened as if by a blow. The eyes were dark, wide and staring. The clothes were bloodstained and covered in a curious fine white dust. His throat had been cut, almost severing the head from the neck. It reminded Fidelma of the way a goat or some other farm animal might be butchered for its meat. One thing was for certain, he had been killed in no skirmish but had been deliberately murdered. She looked at the wrists and saw the burn mark of ropes there. The man’s hands had been tied together until recently. She glanced at Dubán with raised eyebrows.

‘I have never seen this man in Araglin before,’ he interpreted the implied question correctly. ‘He is a stranger to this valley so far as I am aware.’

Fidelma thoughtfully rubbed her chin.

‘This gets more confusing. There is a raid. The raiders kill a strange captive or one of their own. They depart with only two milch cows and make no further attempt at pillage. Why?’

‘Easily explained if they were Muadnat’s men,’ observed Scoth resentfully.

‘Why do you think this body was a captive or one of their own men?’ asked Dubán, examining the corpse.

‘It seems a likely assumption,’ Fidelma responded. ‘He had his hands tied behind him until recently which might explain how his throat was cut without him putting up a struggle, for there are no other wounds. That he was a captive of the raiders or one of them is also obvious. He certainly did not appear out of thin air, did he?’

She suddenly bent down and examined the man’s forearms and hands with a frown.

‘What is it?’ asked Eadulf.

‘This man is one used to rough work. Look at the callouses on his hands; look at the scars and the dirt under his fingernails.’

She suddenly peered closely at the dead man’s face and turned to Eadulf.

BOOK: The Spider's Web

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