The Spider's Web (20 page)

Authors: Peter Tremayne

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

BOOK: The Spider's Web

6.77Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

‘It is a full half a day quicker to reach Lios Mhór by this road than by Bressal’s hostel,’ confirmed the old man.

‘Whoever those men were,’ interposed Eadulf, ‘surely they would not harm us? I may be a stranger here but this I have learnt, it is not the custom to offer violence to those wearing the cloth of the Faith.’

‘My Saxon brother,’ Gadra laid a thin hand on Eadulf’s arm, ‘given a strong incentive, even the most established of customs may be broken. For protection you should rely only on your own common sense and not on what clothes you wear.’

‘Good advice,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘For we have met at least one of these men before.’

Eadulf’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

‘We have?’ he asked.

‘Where?’ demanded Dubán.

‘The one with his arm in the sling,’ went on Fidelma, unperturbed by their consternation, ‘was one of those shot by Eadulf two mornings ago when the hostel of Bressal was attacked. The arrow bit deep.’

‘Eadulf shot the attacker with an arrow?’

Old Gadra was gazing at Eadulf in unconcealed amazement. Then he began to chuckle.

Eadulf sniffed in annoyance.

‘Sometimes I rely on other means apart from the clothes I wear to defend myself,’ he said dryly.

Gadra clapped him on the shoulder.

‘I think I shall like you, brother Saxon. Sometimes I forget the need for the pragmatic. You cannot row across a river unless you have oars to do so.’

Eadulf was not quite sure how to interpret the old man’s remark but decided it was meant as something complimentary.

Dubán was still looking serious.

‘Are you sure that these are the men who attacked Bressal’s hostel?’

Fidelma nodded affirmatively.

‘We were witnesses to it.’

‘I think we must get back to the
rath
of Araglin as quickly as possible.’

‘What of Menma?’ Eadulf began, only to be silenced by Fidelma with a look of anger that made him blink.

Dubán turned to him with a frown, missing her warning glance.

‘What about Menma?’ he asked.

‘Eadulf was thinking of the need to protect the
rath
if these bandits attacked,’ Fidelma explained hastily.

Dubán shook his head.

‘Menma will not be of much help. But there is young Crítán and other of my warriors there. However, those outlaws are riding away from the direction of the
rath
so I would have no concern for the safety of it, brother.’

Eadulf shrugged, realising that for some reason or other Fidelma wanted to keep to herself her belief that Menma had been one of the raiding party at Bressal’s hostel. Fidelma gave him a withering look and began to lead her horse after Dubán.

Eadulf realised that Gadra was examining him with a knowing expression.

He turned irritably and began to lead his horse after Dubán and Fidelma, back to the track.

This time Dubán led them at a much faster pace than before, breaking into a canter whenever the path through the narrow defiles
and under the low, overhanging branches allowed an easy passage.

It was after some minutes that Gadra, hanging on behind Eadulf, moved his mouth close to his ear.

‘Be comforted, my Saxon brother,’ the old man called so that only he could hear. ‘If you think twice before you speak, you will speak twice the better.’

Eadulf’s mouth closed in a tight line and he silently cursed the old man’s prescience.

Chapter Twelve

Crítán brought Móen into the guests’ hostel which Fidelma had deemed as the most appropriate place to question him, away from the environment of his imprisonment in the stables. Apart from Fidelma and Eadulf only Gadra was there. Dubán was discussing the matter of the cattle raiders with Crón.

There was a silence as the young warrior, still displaying his surly arrogance, led, almost dragged and propelled, the unfortunate Móen into the room. Fidelma noted with satisfaction that at least Crítán had continued with his attempts to keep Móen clean and with a semblance of human dignity. She could feel sympathy for the poor creature as he was pushed into the room for his face showed abject fear, not knowing, not understanding, what was happening around him.

Crítán forced him to be seated and he half-sprawled in the chair, head to one side. Crítán glanced at them with a smirk.

‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘What now? What tricks are you going to make him perform?’

Gadra moved forward, his breath an angry hiss. For a moment, Fidelma thought the old man was going to physically strike the arrogant youth.

Then a curious thing happened.

Móen began to sniff, raising his head and scenting the air. For the first time, Fidelma saw an expression of hope form on his features and he started to make a soft whimpering sound.

Gadra went straight to his side, seated himself on an adjacent chair and gripped his hand.

Fidelma could not believe that the creature’s face could become
so altered. It lit up in recognition and joyful pleasure. She saw Gadra grasped the young man’s left hand. It seemed, at first, a ritual, for Móen held his hand palm outward, straight and upright. She watched with surprise as Gadra began to trace motions of his hand on the young man’s palm. Then, with equal surprise, the young man gripped the hand of Gadra and began to make the same motions back. Fidelma realised that this was what the young man had tried to do with her hand in the stables. There was little doubt in her mind that an entire conversation was now taking place. The finger gestures flew fast and furious.

Suddenly, Móen began to groan as if in physical anguish, rocking back and forth on his seat as if in pain. Gadra put his arms around the creature’s shoulders. He looked up sadly at Fidelma.

‘I have just told Móen of the death of Teafa. He regarded her as his mother.’

‘How did he take the news of the death of Eber?’ asked Eadulf.

‘Without surprise,’ replied Gadra. ‘I think he knew of that. I have told him what has happened and what he is suspected of.’

‘Told him?’ It was Crítán who spoke, his voice a bark of cynical laughter. ‘Come now, old one. A joke is a joke but …’

‘Quiet!’ Fidelma’s voice was icy. ‘You will leave us now. You may remain outside until we send for you.’

‘I have been placed in charge of the prisoner.’The young warrior flushed angrily. ‘It is my duty to …’

‘It is your duty to do as you are told.’ Fidelma’s voice was testy. ‘Go and tell Dubán, your commander, that I do not want you near this prisoner again. Go now!’

‘You cannot …’ began Crítán indignantly.

It was Eadulf who rose and, with studied gentleness, took the young warrior by the arm. Only the sudden gasp of pain and tightened jaw showed them just how much pressure Eadulf exerted.

‘Yes, we can,’ Eadulf said pleasantly. ‘You are no longer required here.’

He propelled him to the door almost in the same way that Crítán had brought his prisoner in. When Eadulf closed the door behind the young warrior he found Gadra grinning at him.

‘Pragmatic, indeed. I am sure that I like you, brother Saxon!’

Fidelma had taken no further notice but was gazing thoughtfully at Móen. She turned to Gadra.

‘While he is composing himself, I would like to know what method you are using to communicate with him. I must know whether this communication is genuine.’

Gadra grunted in annoyance.

‘Do you think I have invented all this, child?’

Fidelma gave a swift shake of her head.

‘No, I did not mean that. But I must rightly seek an assurance that this is a genuine communication from the boy for if I have to present it before a court of law then I must have a full understanding of it.’

Gadra regarded her for a moment or two and shrugged indifferently.

‘As an advocate you probably know something of the ancient Ogam alphabet.’

Fidelma’s eyes widened.

‘You use the Ogam alphabet to communicate?’

Ogam was the earliest form of writing among the people of the five kingdoms and consisted of short lines drawn to, or crossing, a base line representing the twenty characters of the alphabet. The ancients claimed that the god Ogma, patron of literacy and learning, had come to the south-west of Muman, the place of all primal beginnings, and instructed the wise ones in the use of the characters, so that they could journey through the land and even across the seas to show people how they might write. The alphabet was often inscribed on wands of hazel or aspen and many grave markers of stone were inscribed in Ogam. It had
fallen into disuse with the introduction of the new Latin learning and alphabet into the kingdoms. Fidelma had studied the old system and alphabet as part of her education for many texts were still to be found written in the archaic form.

She could suddenly see how such a simple form of alphabet might be used as a means of communication by manual gestures.

Gadra was watching her changing expression as she realised the simplicity of the form.

‘Do you want to test it for yourself?’ he asked.

Fidelma nodded eagerly.

Gadra turned to Móen and there was a quick exchange.

‘Take his palm. Hold it upright and use the line of the second digit as the base line down to the heel of the hand. Introduce yourself by writing your name in the Ogam characters.’

Fidelma cautiously took the youth’s hand.

Three strokes to the right of the base line for ‘F’; five dots on the base line with the tip of her finger for ‘i’; two strokes to the left of the base line for ‘d’; four dots on the line for ‘e’; two strokes to the left for ‘l’; a diagonal stroke across it for ‘m’ and a single dot for ‘a’. She made the movements fairly slowly and cautiously. Then she paused, awaiting a response.

The young man, an eager smile on his lips, took the left hand, which she offered him, and held it palm up. Then came his finger against the palm. A diagonal for ‘M’; two dots on the line for ‘o’; a slight pause before four dots for ‘e’ and then four strokes to the right for ‘n’. Móen.

It was so simple. And this sentient creature had been treated as if he were no more than an animal. Fidelma felt a thrill of outrage as she realised the enormity of it.

Slowly Fidelma began to spell out on Móen’s palm.

‘I am an advocate of the courts, come to investigate the murder of Eber and Teafa. Do you understand?’

‘Yes. I did not kill them.’

‘I want you to tell me what happened so far as you know.’

At once the youth began to use his fingers rapidly against her palm. So rapidly that she had to interrupt him.

‘You are too fast. I am unused to this means of communication. Speak with Gadra here and he will translate what you have to say more rapidly.’

‘Very well.’

Fidelma sat back and explained to Gadra who immediately took over. The door opened abruptly. Fidelma glanced up as Dubán entered and stood watching the proceedings in amazement. He stirred uneasily as he caught her inquiring gaze.

‘Crítán has protested to me that you …’ he began but Fidelma cut him short.

‘I am well aware of what Crítán might have reported,’ she said.

Dubán grimaced.

‘I am not without an understanding of that young man’s faults. I will see to it that he no longer stands guard over Móen, if that is your wish.’ He glanced towards Gadra and Móen. ‘It is true, then. Can he really communicate?’

‘As you see, Dubán, we can communicate with him and he with us. Would you mind waiting outside? We must accord Móen the same privacy in this interrogation that any one of us is entitled to under the law.’

Though disappointment showed on his face, the commander of the guard jerked his head in agreement and left the room.

Fidelma and Eadulf now turned back to watch with some awe and amazement as Móen’s fingers worked rapidly over Gadra’s palm. The old man would halt the flow now and then and presumably asked a question for the sake of clarification. As he did so, he began to interpret between Fidelma and Móen.

‘Tell us, Móen, did you kill Teafa or Eber?’

‘I did not.’ A pause. ‘I loved Teafa. She raised me as my mother.’

‘Will you tell us what happened that night, the time when you were made prisoner?’

‘I will try.’

‘Take your time and try to put in as much detail as you can remember.’

‘I will try. I sometimes have difficulty in sleeping. It is then I rise and go for a walk.’

‘A walk at night?’

‘Night or day makes no difference to me.’

Fidelma with a start realised that Móen was actually smiling at the joke that he had made.

‘Did you do so that night?’

‘I did.’

‘You do not know at what hour this was?’

‘Alas, I do not. Time is meaningless to me except I know when it is hot and when it is cold, when I scent certain flowers and when I scent others. I can only tell you that it was cold when I went for my walk and there was a scent of dampness but no flowers. I rose and went to the door of our cabin. I am adept at moving about quietly.’

Fidelma realised that this could be a mark against Móen. She decided to ask for amplification.

‘How well could you move around the village by yourself?’

‘Unless someone has left some object discarded on the paths, something which should not be in the way of the passes between the buildings, then I usually have no difficulty. Once or twice I have fallen over a box or something of that sort which has been left lying about. Then I rouse the dogs and people get angry. Usually I manage very well.’

‘Where did you go for your walk?’

‘I cannot tell you. I can show you by repeating it, if you like.’

‘Later. What did you do on your walk?’

‘I did little except I sat by the water where the scents are often so beautiful and caress your mind and body and soul. But there were no scents at that time.’

‘You sat by the water?’

‘Yes.’

‘Flowing water?’

‘Yes. Teafa calls it a river.’

‘Have you done this before?’

‘Many times. It is an enjoyment in life especially when it is warm and there is a scent upon the air. I can sit there and just reflect.’

Fidelma swallowed at the sensitivity of the young man who everyone thought was a mere animal.

‘Then what did you do?’

‘I began to return to the cabin.’

‘To Teafa’s cabin?’

‘That is so. It was when I was at the door that someone reached for my arm. They thrust a piece of wood into my hand. They took my other hand and ran it along the wood. I think they did this to make sure I understood that there was writing on it.’

‘Writing?’

‘The carved symbols in the manner in which we are speaking now.’

‘Do you know who it was?’

‘I do not. Their scent was unknown to me.’

‘What did the symbols say?’

‘It said, “Eber wants you now.” Meaning I was to go to Eber.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I went.’

‘Did you not think of waking Teafa to tell her?’

‘She would not have approved of my going to Eber.’

‘Why was that?’

‘She thought that he was a bad man.’

‘And what did you think?’

‘Eber was always nice to me. Several times he gave me food and tried to communicate with me. I felt his hand on my head and face but he did not have the knowledge. I once asked Teafa to instruct him on the means of communication but she would not.’

‘Did she explain why she would not?’

‘Never. She simply said he was a very bad man.’

‘So when you received the message, you must have thought that he had discovered the means of communication?’

‘I did. If Eber could use the symbols to communicate by the stick, then he had obviously found the means.’

There was no faulting the logic.

‘So what did you do with the stick?’

There was a pause.