The Spider's Web (26 page)

Read The Spider's Web Online

Authors: Peter Tremayne

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

BOOK: The Spider's Web
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‘I would have a care, Eadulf,’ she admonished as her companion allowed his mug to be refilled. ‘This is a potent distillation.’
Archú grimaced mirthlessly.
‘At least Muadnat had the goodness to leave a few barrels of this cider behind.’
Scoth was deprecating.
‘Well, it was my own hands that brewed it on his behalf. Better is it that I taste the fruits of my own labour than Muadnat had quaffed it all.’
Fidelma took another sip and turned her gaze to Archú.
‘Have you spent all your life in this valley?’
Archú was surprised by the question.
‘Yes. I was born in this very farmstead and raised here until my mother died. Then Muadnat took over and I was sent to sleep in the barns with the animals until I reached the age of choice and brought my claim to Lios Mhór. I knew nowhere else apart from this valley until I came to Lios Mhór. Why do you ask?’
‘How about the land on the other side of the hill?’
‘You mean the hill which we saw you riding over?’
‘I do.’
‘I know that the hill belongs to this farm.’
‘I thought the farm consisted of seven
cumals
of valley land?’
‘There are only four
cumals
in the valley itself. There are three divisions of land on the farm: the arable land which you see around the farm; the land of the three roots—’
Eadulf looked up from his drink fascinated.
‘The what?’ he asked. ‘I have never heard of that expression before.’
‘You’ll find it in our laws,’ Fidelma explained. ‘According to our ancient classification you will see that the richest soil of a farm is known by the presence of three weeds remarkable for their large roots; that is the thistle, ragwort and the wild carrot. If the land is rich enough for them to grow, then it is highly prized land and can produce many things.’
Eadulf shook his head in bewilderment.
Fidelma was turning back to Archú.
‘But that hill belongs to the farm, you say?’
‘It is the part of the farm called the axe-land. If anything is to grow on the hill apart from the furze and trees, it would require much labour to clear it for cultivation.’
‘But the hill does belong to this farm?’
‘Oh yes. Even Muadnat would not dispute the boundary of it.’
‘I see. Do you know the hill well?’
‘I know it.’
‘But have you explored it?’
Archú sat back clearly bewildered.
‘Why would I want to explore it?’
‘It rises on one side of your arable land and is part of your farmstead.’
‘I have only just been granted leave to run this farm, as you know, sister. When have I had time to explore the hills surrounding it?’
‘When you were a child?’
‘A child?’ He shook his head. ‘I did not wander over those hills as a child.’
‘What do you know of caves in this area?’
To Archú the question seemed an abrupt change of conversation. He shrugged.
‘I have heard of caves to the north of here. There is the Cave of the Grey Sheep which my mother used to tell me about. She
told me that once a grey lamb came forth out of the cave and was reared by a local farmer. The lamb grew into a sheep and the sheep eventually produced her own lambs. But the day came when the farmer decided to slaughter one of her lambs for food and the sheep gathered her remaining lambs and vanished with them into the cave. They were never seen again.’
Fidelma was impatient.
‘How about mines? Did you ever hear of mines in these hills?’
Archú thought carefully before shaking his head.
‘There may be mines but I could not point you to one. What is all this about?’
‘We found …’ began Eadulf but winced on receiving a sharp kick under the table from Fidelma.
Archú and Scoth gazed at Eadulf in surprise.
‘We found that we wanted to know some of the geography of the area,’ Fidelma said before turning to regard Eadulf with concern. ‘You appear to have had a sharp pain, brother. Did I not warn you that the cider was potent?’
Eadulf grimaced in annoyance.
‘It is nothing,’ he muttered. ‘Perhaps a cramp from walking.’
‘It has been a long day and we have not eaten. We should return to the
rath
.’
‘But you must stay and eat with us,’ Scoth invited.
Reluctantly, Fidelma shook her head.
‘Alas, we cannot. If we don’t leave now we shall not return until after nightfall. Not a time to be abroad on unknown roads.’
They made their farewells and began to ride back towards Araglin.
‘You did not have to kick me so hard, Fidelma,’ admonished Eadulf sulkily. ‘You should have told me if you did not want the young ones to know what we had discovered on the hill.’
‘I am sorry, Eadulf. But it is best that we keep our own counsel for a while. It is clear that someone wanted to keep that mine a secret. The logical answer is, as it is on Archú’s land, that Muadnat
was trying to operate the mine without anyone knowing, especially young Archú. The path to the mine leads from his land. So have we stumbled across the real reason why Muadnat was so desperate to cling to ownership of his cousin’s property?’
Eadulf whistled softly.
‘I see. Muadnat was trying to keep the land in order to exploit the mine.’
‘A mine belongs to the person on whose land it is. The permission of that person must be given before it can be worked by anyone else,’ agreed Fidelma.
‘Yes, but that does not get us anywhere near solving the mystery of the murder of Eber and Teafa.’
‘Perhaps not. But it is strange that Menma seems to keep appearing in this mystery and …’
She halted so abruptly that Eadulf wondered if she had spotted some new danger and anxiously searched the surrounding countryside.
‘What is it?’ he demanded after a while.
‘I am a fool!’
Eadulf was quiet.
‘I should have spotted this before.’
‘Spotted what?’ Eadulf tried to keep his curiosity in check.
‘Menma. Remember how I said it was Menma who led the attack on Bressal’s hostel?’
‘Yes.’
‘And now Menma appears at the mine?’
‘Yes. But I do not see …’
‘What was the connection between Bressal and mines?’ demanded Fidelma.
Eadulf appeared to be thinking carefully.
Fidelma almost ground her teeth with frustration at his slowness.
‘Bressal had a brother …’
Memory returned to Eadulf.
‘Morna who was a miner. He had a collection of rocks …’
‘More importantly,’ interrupted Fidelma, ‘Morna had returned home recently saying he had made some discovery which would make him rich. He took Bressal a rock.’
Eadulf rubbed his chin.
‘I am not sure that I follow.’
Fidelma was patient.
‘I believe that the rock came from the cave on Archú’s land. That was the spot which Morna had found contained gold and which he believed would make him rich. I believe that Menma attacked Bressal’s hostel in order to recover the rock.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the find was meant to be kept a secret. Bressal’s brother Morna betrayed the secret.’
‘Are you saying that Menma is in charge of this mine? I would not have thought him intelligent enough.’
‘I think you are right. Someone else is behind this affair. It comes back to Muadnat. Menma was merely ordered to ensure that whatever Morna had told and shown his brother Bressal remained a secret. It was a coincidence that we were at the hostel at the time and were able to drive off the attack.’
Eadulf shook his head as he digested this.
‘I had suspected that the attack was inspired by Muadnat to get rid of Archú,’ he said. ‘For Muadnat would have known Archú would have been staying there that night on his return.’
‘I thought of that at first but then Muadnat knew that Archú and Scoth had no money to stay in a hostel. Also, being on foot, they would hardly have reached the hostel that night. But we carried them on our horses. Remember that I also paid for their lodgings? No, there was another motive and we have found it.’
‘Then the reason was simply to keep the secret of whatever riches have been discovered in that cave?’
‘I am sure. I think that I became sure yesterday.’
Eadulf looked helpless.
‘You have lost me, Fidelma,’ he confessed.
‘Yesterday we discovered an unknown body on Archú’s farm. It was a body of someone who was neither farmer nor warrior. The calloused hands, the dust of hewn rock which lay on the man’s clothing told me that he belonged to one particular profession.’
Eadulf’s eyes lit up.
‘You recognised that he was a miner?’
‘I also asked you whether he reminded you of anyone.’
‘He did not.’
‘You should be more observant, Eadulf. He had the same features as Bressal. The unfortunate corpse was Morna, the brother of Bressal, the hostel keeper.’
Fidelma lapsed into a contemplative silence as they continued their journey through the valley of Araglin to the
rath.
Crón appeared to be anxiously awaiting their arrival, standing by the door of the assembly hall to receive them.
Crón hailed them immediately they entered the
rath.
Fidelma and Eadulf dismounted and Eadulf led the horses off to the stable. Fidelma joined Crón at the door of the hall of assembly. There was no one about except the old servant Dignait, who was tidying up the hall.
‘Leave us, Dignait,’ Crón called.
The old woman glared suspiciously at Fidelma, turned and left through a side door.
Fidelma sat down on a bench and the tanist, hesitating a moment, sat near her. For a few moments no one spoke and then Fidelma prompted her.
‘You wish to see me?’
Crón raised her ice blue eyes to Fidelma for a moment and then dropped them.
‘Yes.’
‘Dubán has spoken to you, I suppose?’
Crón coloured hotly and nodded.
‘I have told Dubán that I am no simpleton,’ Fidelma said carefully. ‘Did you think that you would be able to feed me on half truths for ever? I know that you hated your father. I want to know why?’
‘It was a matter of shame,’ Crón replied after a short pause.
‘Best if the truth were out, for suspicion and accusation fester in dark secrets.’
‘Teafa also hated my father.’
‘Why?’
‘My father abused his sisters.’
Fidelma had already expected such an answer based on the information Father Gormán had told her.
‘Did he physically abuse them?’ she asked for clarification’s sake.
Crón sniffed: ‘If by physical abuse you mean that he made them lie with him – then, yes.’
‘Was it Teafa who told you this?’ Fidelma solicited.
‘Some years ago,’ she agreed. ‘There; I have said why I hated my father. But I did not hate him enough to kill him. Truly, it does not seem that you are any closer to solving the murder of my father or Teafa.’
‘Oh, but I am,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘In fact, what you have told me means …’
‘Am I disturbing you?’ The soft male voice cut in as Fidelma was about to lean forward confidentially.
Father Gormán stood on the threshold.
Fidelma caught the warning look in Crón’s eyes which told her that no further mention was to be made of the matter. She suppressed a sigh of irritation and stood up.
‘I was about to leave anyway. I have had a long, tiring day. I will speak with you tomorrow about this, Crón, after I have rested.’
 
The breakfast had already been brought to the hostel when Fidelma emerged from the wash room. Eadulf was seated and doing the meal full justice. Fidelma moved to her seat, said a silent
gratias
and examined the plate of bread, cold meat and garnishes. She picked up her knife.
Eadulf said: ‘We must hasten back to the mine today with what men Dubán can spare. Perhaps we will be able to resolve all these mysteries?’
Fidelma was sunk into her own thoughts. She was only half concentrating. Yet some part of her mind found itself being drawn to the dish of mushrooms on the table. Some distant alarm bell was ringing in the back of her mind. The mushrooms had pale
yellowish brown skins with sponge-like cups all over the cap. She had often eaten
miotóg bhuí,
the species of edible fungus which grew in the long grass in damp riverside meadows in spring. They were usually presented, however, having been blanched in water, for the raw taste was sharp. Blanched they were considered a delicacy. Why had they been served raw?
A cold feeling suddenly ran down her back making her shiver violently as she examined the pieces more closely. Whereas she had thought the yellowish head had merely darkened with age, she realised now that this was not so. The mop-like head had been brown. She glanced in alarm to where Eadulf was about to place a piece of the fungus in his mouth, reached across and slapped it out of his hand.
He started back in surprise, smothering an exclamation.
‘How much of that have you eaten?’ she demanded.
He gazed at her stupidly.
‘How much?’ she thundered again.
‘Most of what was on my plate,’ confessed Eadulf, bewildered. ‘What’s wrong? I know what it is, we have it in the land of the South Folk. It’s called morel.’
‘Dia ár sábháil!’
cried Fidelma, springing up. ‘It is false morel.’
Eadulf paled visibly.
The false morel, which looked so like the edible morel, was deadly poisonous when eaten raw.
‘God save us, indeed.’ Eadulf was aghast.
Fidelma was on her feet.
‘There is no time to lose. We must purge you, make you vomit. It is the only way.’
Eadulf nodded. He had not studied at the great medical college of Tuaim Brecain without learning something of the working of poisonous fungi.
He rose and made his way to the
fialtech,
the ‘veil house’ or privy, even forgetting in his haste to genuflect before entering to ward off the wiles of the Devil who did his best work in such places.
‘Drink as much water as you possibly can,’ Fidelma called after him.
He did not reply.
Fidelma turned to gaze at the plates.
This was no mistake. Someone had deliberately tried to poison them both. Why? Were they so near the solution to the deaths in Araglin that they had to be eliminated? In anger she scooped up the plates of food and took them to the door of the hostel, throwing them out. She did the same with the mugs of mead which had been provided.
She could hear Eadulf retching in the
fialtech.
Her lips thinned angrily and she strode off to the kitchens in search of Grella who usually brought their food. The kitchens were deserted. She went into the hall of assembly and saw the young girl engaged in her cleaning tasks.
The girl seemed flustered as Fidelma came up to her.
‘Tell me, who brought the food to the guests’ hostel this morning?’
‘I did, sister, as I always do. Was there something wrong?’
The guileless eyes of the girl told Fidelma that she would have to look elsewhere for the culprit.
‘Who prepared the food this morning?’
‘Dignait, I suppose. She is in charge of the kitchen.’
‘Did you see her prepare the food?’
‘No. When I arrived Dignait was in the hall of assembly talking with the lady Cranat. Dignait told me that I should go straight to the kitchen where I would find the tray ready with your breakfast and that I should take it straight to you and the Saxon brother.’
‘So, as far as you know, Dignait prepared the breakfast?’
‘Yes. You frightened me, sister, what is wrong?’
‘Do you recall what the meal consisted of?’
‘The meal?’ She was surprised at such a question. ‘Did you not eat it?’
Fidelma grimaced a little bitterly.
‘What did it consist of?’ she repeated.
‘Colds meats, bread, oh and some mushrooms and apples and a jug of mead.’
‘The mushrooms were poisonous. They were false morel.’
The girl paled. There was shock in her features but no sign of guilt.
‘I did not know,’ she gasped in horror.
‘Where is Dignait?’
‘She is not here. I think she went to her room after breakfast. Shall I show you where her cabin is?’
The girl turned and scurried fearfully before Fidelma, leading her from the hall of assembly, through some more buildings to a ramshackle cabin of wood.
‘This is where she dwells.’
Fidelma called through the door.
There was no answer.
She hesitated a moment before trying the handle. The latch lifted easily and she pushed into the single-roomed building. She was surprised at the shambles which met her eye. Bedding and items of clothing were strewn here and there among personal possessions.
Grella exclaimed in amazement as she peered over Fidelma’s shoulder.
Fidelma stood on the threshold and peered around with keen eyes. Someone had been looking for something. Was it Dignait who had made the untidy search of her own chamber? Or was it someone else? If so, where was Dignait? Her eyes dropped to a table. They narrowed suddenly. There was a thin smear of red across the edge of the table. Fidelma did not have to examine further to realise that it was blood.
There was little else that could be learnt from Dignait’s deserted room.
She turned to where Grella was standing, open-mouthed with agitation.
‘You’d best get back to your work, Grella. When you have finished I want you to go and stay with the Saxon brother. He may need your help. He has eaten some of the poisonous morel.’
The girl let out a soft exclamation and genuflected.
‘He is already taking a purge,’ explained Fidelma, ‘but he might need someone to help him later. I must be in search of Dignait and do not want him left alone. When you have finished your work here, go and stay at the hostel and watch him carefully. Do you understand?’
Grella signalled her compliance with a jerk of her head and scurried away.
Fidelma closed the door of Dignait’s chamber and made her way back to the hostel.
Eadulf was sitting with a pale face, still drinking water.
She glanced at him with an unarticulated question. He nodded slowly.
‘How do you feel?’ she asked softly.
Eadulf shrugged ruefully.
‘Ask me that in a few hours’ time. That will be when the poison takes effect if it is going to. I hope I have vomited most of it out. You never can tell.’
‘Dignait is missing. Her room is in disorder and there is a stain of blood on her table.’
Eadulf’s eyes widened.
‘You think that Dignait … ?’
‘She is a logical person to question as it was she who apparently prepared the food and told Grella to bring it to us. I have asked the young girl to keep an eye on you while I am away.’
‘I am coming with you to find Dignait,’ Eadulf protested. Fidelma gazed at him almost tenderly and shook her head firmly.
‘My friend, you must sit and continue to purge yourself. I will go to find out what I can.’
Eadulf began to object but observing the steely glint of fire in Fidelma’s eyes thought better of it.
Fidelma found Crón in the hall of assembly looking morose. She straightened up a little as Fidelma approached her.
‘Is it true?’ she demanded. ‘I have just spoken with Grella.’
‘True enough,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Do you have any idea where Dignait might have gone?’
Crón shook her head.
‘I saw her earlier today. Grella says that you have already searched her apartment?’
‘She seems to have disappeared. Her chamber is deserted and in disarray and there is a smear of blood on the table there.’
‘I do not know what to advise. She must be somewhere within the
rath.
I will ask that a search be made immediately.’
‘Where is your mother, Cranat? I am told she knows Dignait better than anyone and she was speaking with her earlier this morning.’
‘My mother has gone for her usual morning ride in the company of Father Gormán.’
‘Let me know when she returns.’
Fidelma’s next stop was at the cabin of Teafa.
Gadra opened the door, saw Fidelma’s worried expression and silently stood aside so that she might enter.
‘You are abroad early, Fidelma, and bear an expression of ill-favour on your face.’
‘How is your charge?’
‘Móen? He is still asleep. We were late to bed for we were discussing matters of theology.’
‘Discussing theology?’ She was startled.
‘Móen has a profound grasp of theology,’ Gadra assured her. ‘We were also discussing what might be his future.’
‘I suspect that he does not want to stay here?’
Gadra chuckled cynically.
‘After all that has happened?’
‘I suppose not,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But what will he do?’
‘I have suggested to him that he might like to find sanctuary from the evils of the world in a religious cloister – perhaps at Lios Mhór. He needs the order that a life among the religious can give him and many will be able to communicate with him there for, as you yourself have shown, a knowledge of the ancient Ogam can quickly be adapted to a method of communication.’
‘It sounds a reasonable idea,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But one that hardly fits in with your philosophy.’
‘My world is dying. I have already admitted this. Móen needs to be part of the new world, not the old.’ Gadra suddenly frowned. ‘But I can see that you are preoccupied. You did not come here to talk of Móen. Has anything else happened?’

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