The Spider's Web (30 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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‘A dead man?’ he repeated bewilderedly.
‘Yes. Menma.’
The young farmer showed his astonishment.
‘But Menma was here this morning with a message.’
‘What was this message?’ Fidelma leant forward in surprise.
‘Something about Dignait being missing. I was to warn Dubán’s men to look out for her.’
‘Is this another attempt to blacken our name and drive us from the Black Marsh?’ demanded Scoth, clinging to Archú’s arm.
‘We must presume that some trail has been laid for me to follow. Let us see what we can find.’
‘By all means search the farmstead.’ Archú threw out his arms eloquently. ‘We have nothing to hide.’
Fidelma took the vellum from his hands and rolled it up.
‘The message appears specific when it says “look beneath the farmstead”, Archú,’ she pointed out. ‘What lies beneath the farmstead?’
The young man thought for a moment.
‘Nothing lies underneath the farmstead.’
‘Is there no area of recently dug earth that you have noticed? Perhaps …’
Archú suddenly startled them by snapping his fingers.
‘I think I know what is meant.’
‘What?’ demanded Scoth.
‘I have remembered something my mother told me about a subterranean chamber. This farmstead was built on an ancient site when, in the times past, they built underground chambers for storing food to prepare against any period of hardship or inclement weather.’
‘Have you ever seen it?’
‘I can’t remember it. My mother said it was closed when I was a few years old because one of the children of a servant here was caught down there and died. Father Gormán was visiting at the time and it was he who fetched the child out and suggested the chamber be sealed up. So far as I know, it has never been opened since then. I had almost forgotten all about it until you prompted me.’
Fidelma sniffed slightly.
‘It seems that the author of this letter has not. We must search out the entrance to it.’
‘That is impossible. I do not know where to start.’
‘Not so impossible. Our letter writer expects us to find it. Therefore it must have been in use recently.’
The floor of the farmhouse was stone-flagged and some time spent tapping the stones revealed nothing. There was no hollow sounding echo nor was there any looseness of the flags.
‘Perhaps it is outside?’ Scoth suggested.
They walked around the farmhouse but nothing seemed to invite them to investigate further.
‘What of that barn?’ demanded Fidelma, pointing to a nearby outhouse. It stood next to the one that was now a charred ruin.
‘It has not been cleaned and converted yet,’ Archú assured her.
‘It was used for keeping pigs in.’
‘Then this might be the best place to look,’ Fidelma suggested, leading the way to it.
The place stank and the obnoxious odours caught at her throat. Archú had been right when he said that it had been used as a pigsty and barely cleaned.
In spite of the fact that it was daylight, the place was gloomy and dank.
‘I have moved the pigs out and have been meaning to clean the place,’ Archú explained as Fidelma stood hesitating in the gloom.
‘Best get a lamp.’
‘I will get one,’ offered Scoth.
It was some moments before she returned.
Fidelma, holding the lamp high, entered the foul smelling barn and peered about. The floor was similarly flagged with stones. They seemed firm enough but then Fidelma noticed that in a corner of the straw covered floor there was a raised area of planking. Scraping the wet straw away with her foot she discovered it was a trapdoor. Bolts held it down to the floor.
‘This must be the entrance,’ she observed in satisfaction. ‘Hold this lamp, Scoth. Give me a hand, Archú. Let us clear this area and open the trapdoor.’
It took them a while before the large wooden square was unbolted and raised back against one wall. Below, as she had guessed there might be, was a flight of rough hewn stone steps leading downwards. The man-made cavern was lined with dry stone walling surmounted by large lintels forming the roof.
Fidelma took the lantern from Scoth and descended without a word. The steps led into a main passage, too low to stand up in but not so low that one would have to crouch on all fours. As Archú had said, in olden times these places were called
uaimh talamh,
an underground cave in which food was placed for storage to be used in hard times. The main passage was called a ‘creep way’ from which little chambers led off. The place smelled vile and its lack of use was certainly evident.
Fidelma did not have to go far to see what she had come for. She was expecting something but was still not quite prepared for the body which revealed itself in the light of her lamp.
It was Dignait. Her throat was cut. It needed no expert to see that. The wound was still red and gaping, even though the blood was congealing. Dignait had been dead for some hours. Fidelma forced herself to examine the wound carefully. It was but a single wound caused by a sharp implement almost severing the head from the neck. She had seen this type of wound twice before and
again she was reminded of the slaughter of some animal.
Archú helped extract the body from the underground storage space. Its removal was difficult but they finally hauled it up the stone steps and into the pigsty. Scoth had gone to fetch a lantern and by its light Fidelma carefully examined the body for anything which might explain this gruesome mystery. There was nothing.
It was obvious to Fidelma that Menma must have brought the body of Dignait to this spot. She recalled how he had ridden out of the
rath
early that morning leading the ass with the heavy pannier on its back. She ground her teeth. Dignait’s body must have been in that pannier.
‘Was Menma left alone while he was here?’ she demanded.
‘After he delivered the message to Dubán’s men, who were with me in the high meadow, he came back to the buildings here on his own. But Scoth was here.’
‘I was in the house,’ Scoth affirmed. ‘Menma came to the house to make his farewell.’
‘Did you observe him arrive from the high field?’
Scoth shook her head.
‘I was doing some washing and did not notice him until he called out to me.’
‘Then plenty of time for him to come back from the high meadow, see he was not observed and take Dignait’s body from the pannier and put it into the underground chamber before calling out to Scoth.’
Scoth stared in horror at Fidelma.
‘The body was in the pannier? But how did Menma know where to put it? He must have known where the underground chamber was.’
‘Menma was related to Muadnat,’ Archú pointed out. ‘Muadnat knew this farm as well as his own.’
They were interrupted by the sound of a horse cantering along the track.
Archú swung round nervously but he immediately relaxed.
‘It is only Dubán,’ he said, adding unnecessarily, ‘that is why his men did not warn us of his approach.’
Fidelma had an immediate feeling of unease as she saw the burly warrior approaching. She was still unsure of his motive for killing Menma.
Dubán swung off his horse and greeted them with a warm smile. Then he saw the body at their feet.
‘What happened?’ he demanded. ‘It’s Dignait!’
‘We found her in an underground storage space,’ Archú announced.
The warrior crouched down to examine the body. Then he straightened up.
‘Well, that ends one mystery,’ he breathed softly. ‘I was told this morning that Dignait had disappeared after, apparently, feeding the Saxon poisonous mushrooms. What does this mean, sister?’
Fidelma forced herself to appear at ease with the warrior.
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
‘How did you make the discovery?’
‘I discovered this piece of vellum.’ Fidelma hastened to explain before anyone could mention Menma. She held it out to Dubán, watching his face closely. It seemed clear from his lack of reaction that he had not seen it before.
‘I do not understand,’ he commented. ‘This tells you to come here to search. But how does the discovery of Dignait’s body explain the mystery of the deaths in Araglin?’
‘Perhaps,’ Fidelma carefully retrieved the vellum, ‘perhaps I am supposed to believe that Dignait was responsible for the deaths.’
‘Well that can’t be,’ Dubán pointed out. ‘It is obvious that the same hand who killed Muadnat also slew Dignait. The knife wounds are too similar for it to be a separate hand.’
‘You are observant, Dubán,’ Fidelma agreed quietly.
‘War and death are my profession, sister. I am used to observing wounds. But whoever wrote that vellum gave us an unintentional clue.’
‘A clue?’
‘It is written in Latin. Few people in Araglin know Latin.’
‘Ah, just so,’ mused Fidelma. ‘And certainly, as I pointed out to Scoth, Agdae does not. So that rules him out. Do you know Latin, Dubán?’
The warrior did not hesitate.
‘Of course. Most educated people know some. Even Gadra knows Latin as pagan as he is.’
Fidelma turned to Archú.
‘I want you and Scoth to come into the
rath
at noon tomorrow,’ she told him and while he was attempting to protest she went on. ‘Dubán will instruct his warriors to escort you.’ She turned to Dubán. ‘And you will also instruct your warriors to bring in Agdae …’
‘We have not been able to find Agdae,’ protested Dubán.
‘You will find him at the brothel of Clídna. Make sure he has been sobered up by the time he reaches the
rath.
Oh, and bring Clídna with you as well.’
Dubán was shocked.
‘Do you know what you are requesting?’ he demanded.
‘Exactly. Tomorrow I think we will be able to sort out the entire mystery.’
Dubán’s eyes widened perceptibly.
‘Is this so?’
Fidelma smiled without humour.
‘Will you instruct your men now about escorting those I have mentioned?’
The warrior hesitated then inclined his head in agreement before moving off into the gloom hailing his men as he went.
Fidelma turned quickly towards her horse.
‘Wait, sister!’ called Scoth. ‘Surely you do not mean to leave us. Why it is dusk. You will not get back to the
rath
until long after nightfall.’
‘Do not worry about me. I know the way by now. And there
are things that I must do. I will see you and Archú at the
rath
tomorrow at midday.’
She swung into the saddle and sent her horse into the enveloping gloom, urging it forward in a quick trot.
She had not ridden more than half a mile into the darkness when she heard the sound of galloping behind her. She glanced about seeking shelter but the road here was long and open. There was not even a hedgerow behind which she could find cover.
‘Hóigh! Sister!’
It was Dubán’s voice. Reluctantly she halted and turned in her saddle.
Dubán drew up sharply alongside her.
‘It is not wise to ride off in the darkness,’ he admonished. ‘The finding of Dignait’s body does not make this valley safe.’
Fidelma smiled thinly but her expression was lost in the gloom.
‘I did not think it would be,’ she replied.
‘You should have waited. I am going back to the
rath,
anyway. We will go together.’
Fidelma would have preferred her own company rather than have to proceed in Dubán’s after what she had witnessed at the mine but there was no excuse. She must accept Dubán’s company or challenge him with her suspicions and her knowledge that he had killed Menma.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘But I can handle most two-legged predators.’
‘So I have heard,’ Dubán agreed with a laugh. ‘However, I was thinking of four-legged beasts. Archú tells me that there has been trouble from wolves in the last day or so through the Black Marsh.’
‘Wolves are the least of my trouble.’
They began to walk their horses leisurely together.
‘Ah, you are thinking of Agdae …’
‘More of Crítán,’ she spoke abruptly. ‘Remember, I had a fight with that young man and he may wish revenge.’
Was there a hesitation in Dubán’s tone when he finally spoke?
‘Of course. I had forgotten. You need have no fear of Crítán. I am told that he has left Araglin for Cashel. Do you really mean it when you say that you think matters might be resolved after tomorrow?’

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