The Spider's Web (7 page)

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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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Brother Eadulf, standing just behind Fidelma, saw her shoulders stiffen and tensed himself waiting for the inevitable blast of wrath from Fidelma. Instead, her voice remained calm, almost too calm.
‘The king of Cashel, my brother Colgú …’ Fidelma paused to allow the emphasis of her words to sink in. ‘My brother asked me to come here to take personal charge of this matter. You may have no fear that I am without knowledge. I am trained to the level of
anruth.
I am tempted to believe that my years and experience will be in excess of your own, tanist of Araglin.’
The level of
anruth
was only one degree below the highest award that the secular and ecclesiastical colleges of Ireland could bestow.
There was a silence as both women stood regarding each other, cold blue eyes gazing deeply into sparkling green ones, each face a mask without emotion. Behind those masks, minds rapidly made assessments of the strengths and weaknesses of each other.
‘I see,’ Crón said slowly, putting a wealth of emotion in the pronouncement of the simple phrase. Then she returned to her sharp manner. ‘And what is your name, sister of Colgú?’
‘I am Fidelma.’
The cold gaze of the blonde woman now turned quizzically to Eadulf.
‘This brother appears to be a stranger in our land.’
‘This is Brother Eadulf …’ introduced Fidelma.
‘A Saxon?’ queried Crón in surprise.
‘Brother Eadulf is emissary of the archbishop of Canterbury at my brother’s court in Cashel. He has been trained at our colleges and knows our country well. But he has expressed an interest to see how our legal processes work.’
It was not the entire truth but it would do for Crón.
The chieftainess regarded Eadulf sourly, inclining her head in greeting, no more than for etiquette’s sake, before turning back to Fidelma. She made no attempt to invite them to sit neither did she attempt to do so herself.
‘Well, this matter is a simple one. I, as tanist, could have dealt with it. My father was stabbed to death. The killer, Móen, was discovered still standing over his body with the knife in his hand, Móen’s hands and clothes were covered in my father’s blood.’
‘I am told that someone else was also found dead at the same time?’
‘Yes. My aunt, Teafa. She was found later. She had been stabbed to death, too. Móen had dwelt in her house and had been raised by her.’
‘I see. Well, I shall wish to gather the basic facts. But, firstly, perhaps you would instruct someone to show us to your guests’ quarters where we may clean ourselves after our journey? Food would not go amiss as it is after midday. When we have washed and eaten then we can start to question those involved in this matter.’
A flush crossed Crón’s features at thus being instructed in her duties as host for such an action could be regarded as an insult had it been uttered by anyone of lesser rank than Fidelma. There was a steely glint in the cold blue eyes. For a moment Eadulf was sure that the young tanist was going to refuse. Then she shrugged and turned to a side table on which stood a small silver handbell. She picked it up and tinkled it loudly.
A moment or so passed in uncomfortable silence before an elderly woman, slightly stooped with greying hair, though it had once been fair, appeared through a side door. Her features were gaunt, the skin yellowing where once it had been tanned by a life spent mainly outdoors. The eyes were pale and suspicious. They darted here and there like the eyes of a nervous cat. In spite of her age, she gave the impression of strength, a woman used to the
harsh life of farming. Her broad hands bore the callouses of years of toil. She moved with an anxious gait to Crón and bobbed her head.
‘Dignait, please see to the needs of our … guests. Sister Fidelma is here to investigate the murder of my father. They will require accommodation, water to wash and food.’
The woman, Dignait, glanced towards Fidelma and Eadulf. Fidelma had the momentary impression that her eyes were startled and fearful. Then it was as if the lids hooded them.
‘If you will both accompany me … ?’ Dignait invited them almost woodenly.
Crón turned away with a suspicion of a sniff.
‘When you are ready,’ she called over her shoulder as she began to walk back towards the curtain behind her chair of office, ‘I will explain to you the details of what took place.’
Dignait conducted them through a small side door out of the hall and across an open yard to the guests’ hostel. It was a simple, single storey wooden building at the back of the hall of assembly, consisting of a single large room, partitioned into several sleeping cubicles by simple screens of polished deal. Behind each screen was a pallet of straw. A carved log of polished wood served as a pillow, a linen sheet and woollen rugs provided the bed coverings. Dignait ensured that they approved of the comfort of their beds. An open section of the building stretched before the cubicles, containing several benches with a table where guests could eat and which generally was used as living quarters. There was a hearth but no fire had been lit. When Dignait remarked on this fact, Fidelma said the weather was too clement for the need of a fire.
The wash room and privy were found beyond a second door at the far end of the guests’ house. The door was marked with a small iron cross. Fidelma presumed that this was a sign of the work of Father Gormán for the privy was called a
fialtech,
or veil house, by certain religious who had picked up the concept from Rome. They believed the Devil dwelt within the privy and it
became the custom to make the sign of the cross before entering it.
When Fidelma pointed out the needs of their horses, Dignait assured her that she would asked Menma, who was in charge of the stables, to wash and feed them.
Fidelma then expressed satisfaction with the accommodation but called Dignait to stay a moment when she would depart. Dignait seemed to pause with obvious reluctance.
‘You must have been in service here for many years,’ Fidelma opened the conversation.
The old woman’s expression increased in suspicion. The eyes continued to be hooded but she did not refuse to answer.
‘I have served the family of the chieftain of Araglin for just over twenty years,’ she replied stiffly. ‘I came here as servant to the mother of Crón.’
‘And did you know Móen? The one who is accused of killing Eber?’
For a second Fidelma thought she saw that flicker of fear again.
‘Everyone in the
rath
of Araglin knows Móen,’ she commented. ‘Who would not? Only a dozen families live here and most are related to the other.’
‘And was Móen related to everyone?’
The old stewardess shivered perceptibly and genuflected.
‘He was not! He was a foundling. Who knows from whose womb he sprang or whose seed cursed the womb? The lady Teafa, peace be upon her misguided soul, found him as a baby. That was a day of ill-fortune for her.’
‘Is it known why Móen would kill Teafa, then, or Eber, the chieftain?’
‘Surely only God would know that, sister? Now forgive me …’ She turned away abruptly to the door. ‘I have work to see to. While you have your wash, I will instruct Menma about your horses and see that food is brought to you.’
Fidelma stood staring at the closed door for a few seconds after the old woman had hurried away.
Eadulf looked questioningly at her.
‘What troubles you, Fidelma?’
Fidelma lowered herself into a seat, reflectively.
‘Maybe nothing. I have the distinct impression that this woman Dignait is afraid of something.’
When they had cleansed themselves of the dust of the morning’s travel and had eaten the midday meal, they returned to the hall of assembly and found Crón, who had been forewarned of their return, awaiting them. She had seated herself in her chair of office while seats had been arranged facing her below the dais.
Crón rose unwillingly as Fidelma and Eadulf entered. It was a small but reluctant token of respect due to the fact that Fidelma was the sister of the king of Cashel.
‘Are you refreshed now?’ queried Crón as she motioned them to the seats prepared for them.
‘We are,’ Fidelma replied, as she seated herself. She felt slightly irritated for she disliked being placed in a position where she had to look up to where Crón sat. Fidelma’s rank as a
dálaigh,
and the degree of
anruth,
allowed her to speak on a level with kings let alone petty chieftains; and even in the presence of the High King at Tara, she could sit on the same level when invited and converse freely. Fidelma jealously guarded the observances of such etiquette but only when others made a point of their position which overlooked her status. However, there was no way of asserting her correct standing at this moment without causing outright hostility, and she wanted to be able to collect the facts of the case. So she resigned herself to the situation.
Eadulf followed her example and sat in the chair next to her, raising his interested gaze to the young female tanist.
‘Now we may listen to the facts, as you know them, concerning the death of your father, Eber,’ Fidelma said, leaning back in her chair.
Crón settled herself a moment, inclining forward a little in her chair, hands folded together, and allowed her eyes to focus on some object in the middle distance, between Fidelma and Eadulf.
‘The facts are simple,’ she intoned as if the subject wearied her. ‘Móen killed my father.’
‘You were witness to this act?’ Fidelma prompted sharply after Crón made no attempt to amplify her statement.
Crón frowned in annoyance and glanced down at her.
‘Of course not. You called for the facts. I gave them to you.’
Fidelma allowed her lips to thin in a smile.
‘I think that it is best, and it serves the interests of justice, for you to tell me how this affair unfolded but from your own perspective only.’
‘I am not sure that I know what you mean.’
Fidelma disguised an expression of impatience.
‘At what point did you know that Eber had been slain?’
‘I was awakened in the night …’
‘Which was how many days ago?’
‘It was six nights ago. Just before sunrise if you want me to be precise.’
Fidelma ignored the sneer in the young woman’s voice.
‘It is in everyone’s interest in this matter to be as precise as one can,’ she replied with icy politeness. ‘Continue. Six nights ago you were awakened. By whom?’
Crón blinked as she picked up on the acid sweetness of the tone. It was clear that Fidelma was not going to be intimidated by her. She hesitated and then shrugged as if she conceded the skirmish of wills to Fidelma.
‘Very well. Six nights ago I was awakened shortly before sunrise. It was the commander of my father’s bodyguard, Duban, who woke me. He had …’
‘Merely confine yourself to what he actually told you,’ cut in Fidelma in sharp warning.
Crón’s voice came almost between clenched teeth. ‘He reported
that something terrible had happened to Eber. He said that he had been slain by Móen.’
‘Were those the exact words he used?’ Eadulf could not resist posing the question.
Crón glanced at him with a frown and turned back to Fidelma without deigning to reply.
‘I asked him what had happened and he told me that Móen had stabbed my father to death and that he had been caught in the act.’
‘What did you do?’ Fidelma asked.
‘I rose and asked Duban what he had done about Móen. He told me that Móen had been restrained and taken to the stables where he has been kept ever since that night.’
‘And then?’
‘I asked Duban to fetch Teafa.’
‘Teafa? Your aunt? Why would you do that?’ Fidelma knew well that both Crón and Dignait had told her that Teafa had raised Móen from babyhood but she wanted to go over the story fact by fact.
‘I was told that Móen was raging and Teafa is … was the only person who could handle him.’
‘Because Teafa raised him?’ queried Fidelma.
‘Teafa has taken care of Móen since childhood.’
‘And how old is Móen now?’ demanded Eadulf.
Crón was about to ignore him again but Fidelma raised an eyebrow in query.
‘It is a valid question,’ she said pointedly.
‘Twenty-one years old.’
‘He is an adult, then?’ Fidelma was surprised. From the way Crón and Dignait had been speaking of him, it had sounded almost as if Móen was but a child. ‘Is he a difficult person?’ she hazarded.
‘That will be for you to judge,’ replied Crón sourly. Fidelma bowed her head and conceded the point.
‘That is true. So you felt that Teafa might be able to calm Móen? And what happened then?’
‘Dubán found …’ Crón hesitated and rephrased her response pointedly. ‘Dubán returned within a few minutes and told me that he had discovered Teafa’s body. She had also been stabbed to death. Móen had clearly killed her first before …’
Fidelma raised her hand to interrupt.
‘I am to be the judge of what happened. This is your speculation. We will proceed as the law tells us to.’
Crón sniffed in annoyance.
‘My so-called speculation is correct.’
‘That we shall eventually see. What happened after Teafa’s death was reported to you?’
‘I went to rouse my mother and tell her the news.’
‘Your mother?’ Fidelma leaned forward with interest. ‘Eber’s wife?’
‘Of course.’
‘I see. Then she did not know of the death of her husband at this time?’
‘I have said as much.’
‘But this event happened before sunrise. Where was your father found?’
‘In his bed chamber.’
Fidelma followed the logic grimly.
‘Then your mother was not with Eber?’
‘She was in her own bed chamber.’
‘I see,’ Fidelma said softly. She decided not to press the point. ‘And what happened after that?’
Crón shrugged almost indifferently.
‘Little more that bears relevance. Móen, as I have said, has been safely locked away. Without my knowledge, my mother sent a young warrior named Critan to Cashel to inform the king of the tragedy. She apparently thought a Brehon should be sent to investigate rather than let her daughter exercise the role of tanist. My mother did not want me to be tanist.’
Fidelma noted a slight bitterness in the girl’s voice.
‘Crítán returned two days ago to say that the king was sending someone. Thus we buried my father, as custom dictates, in our mound of chieftains. Teafa also. In accordance with the law I, as heir-elect, have taken charge. I could have dispensed justice as well without all these complications.’
‘That is not so, tanist.’ Fidelma’s voice was soft but firm. ‘You will not be chieftain until your
derbfhine
meets to confirm you in office and that is not for twenty-seven days after the death of the chieftain. A qualified Brehon needs to be the authority in such an investigation.’
The young tanist made no reply.
‘Well,’ Fidelma said at length, ‘the facts seem clear as you have presented them. Did Duban make the discovery of your father’s body himself?’
Crón shook her head.
‘It was Menma who heard his death cry and burst into my father’s chamber to discover Móen in the act of slaughter.’
‘Ah. Menma. And who is Menma?’ queried Fidelma, trying to remember where she had heard the name before.
‘He is the head of my father’s,’ Crón paused and corrected herself, ‘head of
my
stables.’
Fidelma remembered that Dignait had mentioned the name.
‘So far as your own knowledge is concerned,’ Fidelma continued after a moment, ‘the facts of this matter are clear and simple? You have not been troubled or mystified by them?’
‘There is no mystery. The facts are clear.’
‘What reason do you offer as to why Móen would kill both Eber and Teafa?’
The reply came without hesitation.
‘No logical motive. But then logic would not be part of Móen’s world.’ Her voice was bitter.
Fidelma tried to fathom her meaning.
‘As I understand it, Teafa had raised Móen from a baby. He had much to be grateful to her for. Are you saying logic did not
play any part in this deed? Then what do you ascribe the motive as, for surely there must be a motive?’
‘Who can tell what passes in the dark still mind of one such as Móen?’ replied the tanist.
For a moment, Fidelma wondered whether to press her for an explanation of her choice of words. She felt that she should not bias herself before she had spoken with Móen. However, there was one person to see before she spoke with Móen and that was the person who had discovered him in the act of killing Eber.
‘I will now speak with Menma,’ she announced.
‘I could save you trouble,’ replied Crón sharply, ‘for I know all the details of this matter as Menma and Duban told them to me.’
Fidelma smiled tightly.
‘That is not the way a
dálaigh
works. It is important that I gather the facts at first hand.’
‘What is of importance is that you pronounce the legal punishment that Móen must suffer. And pronounce it soon.’
‘So there is no doubt in your mind that Móen did this deed?’
‘If Menma says that he found Móen in the act of doing it, then he did so.’
‘I do not question it,’ Fidelma said, rising to her feet, with Eadulf following. Fidelma turned to the door.
‘What will you do with Móen?’ demanded Crón, nonplussed, for she was unused to people rising in her presence and leaving before she had formally dismissed them.
‘Do?’ Fidelma paused and gazed back at the tanist for a moment. ‘Nothing, as yet. Firstly, we must speak to all the witnesses and then hold a legal hearing, allowing Móen to make his defence.’
Crón startled them by letting out a peal of laughter. It sounded slightly hysterical.
Fidelma waited patiently for it to subside and then asked: ‘Perhaps you will tell us where we may find the man, Menma?’
‘At this hour you will find him at the stables just beyond the
guests’ hostel,’ Crón replied, between giggles.
As they were about to leave the hall of assembly, Crón managed to control her amusement and called to stay them a moment more. She became serious.
‘It would be a wise course to give judgment in this matter as soon as possible. My father was well liked among his people. Kind and generous. There are many among my people who feel that the old laws of compensation are inadequate to cope with this crime and that the words of the new Faith, the creed of retribution, are more suited. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, burning for burning. If Móen is not dealt with swiftly by you, there may be willing hands to exact justice.’
‘Justice?’ Fidelma’s voice was icy as she spun to face the young tanist. ‘You mean mob vengeance? Well, as chieftain-elect of this clan … presuming that you are confirmed in office by your
derbfhine
… you may pass this word on from me – if anyone lays hands on Móen before he is tried and judged in accordance with the law, they will find themselves being judged in turn. I promise that, no matter what station they hold in life.’
Crón swallowed hard as she met the cold blast of anger from the religieuse.
Fidelma returned the gaze of the hostile blue eyes of the woman with equal coldness.
‘One more thing, I would like to know,’ she added. ‘Who has preached a creed of retribution in the name of the Faith?’
The tanist thrust out her chin.
‘I have already told you that we have only one person here who attends to the needs of the Faith.’
‘Father Gormán?’ offered Eadulf.
‘Father Gormán,’ confirmed Crón.
‘This Father Gormán seems out of step with the philosophy of the laws of the five kingdoms,’ Fidelma observed quietly. ‘And where is this gentle advocate of the Faith to be found? In his church?’
‘Father Gormán is visiting some outlying farmsteads. He will be back here tomorrow.’
‘I shall look forward to meeting with him,’ Fidelma replied grimly as she led the way from the hall.

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