The Spider's Web

Chapter Nine

That evening they bathed and ate their meal alone. Crón had not invited them to dine in the hall of assembly, as protocol would naturally dictate. Eadulf was not particularly surprised at their isolation. When he considered the day’s events he realised that if Fidelma had made a friend of anyone in the rath of Araglin it was only the poor creature Móen. She had certainly not endeared herself to any of the others. That Crón and her mother, Cranat, did not want to associate themselves with her company was hardly a matter for wonder.

It was a nervous young girl who brought the trays of food to the guests’ hostel. She was dark-haired, about sixteen years old, almost unnaturally pale and seemed afraid of them. Fidelma did her best to reassure her by making friendly overtures.

‘What is your name?’

‘I am Grella, sister. I work for Dignait in the kitchens.’ Fidelma smiled encouragingly.

‘Are you happy in your work, Grella?’

The young girl frowned slightly.

‘It is the work I do,’ she said simply. ‘I was raised in the kitchens of the chieftain. I have no parents,’ she added, as if this would explain everything.

‘I see. You must have been saddened by the death of your chieftain, then, having been raised in his house.’

To Fidelma’s surprise the girl shook her head vehemently.

‘No … no, but I was saddened by the lady Teafa’s death. She was a kind lady.’

‘But Eber was not kind?’

‘Teafa was kind to me,’ the girl replied anxiously, apparently not wishing to speak ill of the dead chieftain. ‘The lady Teafa was kind to everyone.’

‘And Móen? Do you like Móen?’

Grella looked puzzled again.

‘I was uneasy when he was about. Teafa was the only one who could tell him what to do.’

‘Tell him?’ Fidelma immediately seized upon the phrase. ‘How did she tell him?’

‘She had some way of communicating with him.’

‘Do you know what it was?’ interrupted Eadulf eagerly.

The young girl shook her head.

‘I have no idea. Some form of finger-tapping it was said that both understood.’

Fidelma was intrigued.

‘Did you ever see it? Did Teafa ever tell you how it was done?’

‘I saw her doing it many times but I did not understand it. Perhaps it was just the familiar touch of a hand which calmed him.’

Fidelma was disappointed.

Grella held her head to one side in thought, as if dredging her memories. Then she smiled briefly.

‘I recall; she said that it was Gadra who taught her the art.’

‘Gadra? Who is Gadra?’ Hope sprang up again.

Grella shuddered and genuflected.

‘Gadra is a bogeyman. They say he steals the souls of naughty children. Now I must go or Dignait will be looking for me. I shall be in trouble.’

When she had gone they ate, for the most part in meditative silence. Eventually Eadulf felt courage enough to chance her displeasure by raising the matter which had long been troubling him.

‘Is it wise,’ he asked reflectively, ‘to purposefully arouse the ire of everyone?’

Fidelma raised her head from a contemplation of the food on her plate.

‘I hear the sound of disapproval in your tone, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham,’ she observed solemnly, although there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Eadulf grimaced as if in apology.

‘Forgive me, but I feel that sometimes a little tact and discretion might achieve the same ends as …’

‘You think I am unduly rude?’ interrupted Fidelma earnestly, like a pupil seeking the advice of a master.

Eadulf felt awkward. He did not trust Fidelma in such a mood and shook his head negatively.

‘My mother once told me that you cannot unpick a piece of embroidery with an axe.’

Fidelma stared at him in genuine surprise.

‘You have never mentioned your mother before, Eadulf.’

‘She no longer lives. But she was a wise woman.’

‘I accept her wisdom. Sometimes, however, when you find a thick wooden door of arrogance closed against you, you have to take the axe and splinter it before you can talk to the person inside. Often common courtesy is mistaken by arrogant people for weakness and even sycophancy.’

‘Have you really splintered your way through to the truth?’

Fidelma held her head to one side.

‘I have managed to get nearer the truth than I would otherwise have done if I had allowed the doors to remain shut. Yet I would agree that the complete truth is still very far away.’

‘Then how is it to be reached?’

‘When we have finished our meal I shall seek out Dubán. Perhaps we can find out whether this bogeyman, Gadra, truly exists. If he does and is able to show me a means of communicating with Móen then we may be that much nearer the truth. If we can discover what Móen knows …’

Eadulf was sceptical.

‘It was merely a child’s fairy tale. A bogeyman stealing children’s souls, indeed!’

‘There is usually a truth behind each fairy tale, Eadulf.’

‘You are presuming much, Fidelma.’

‘How so?’

‘You are presuming that this bogeyman exists. You are presuming that the child, Grella, reported correctly that this being, Gadra, taught Teafa a means of communication with Móen. You are even presuming that there is some means of communication with the creature. You are further presuming that there is also a mind in that unfortunate being. You are also presuming that he will tell you something that will cast a light on the matter. You are finally presuming that he is innocent.’

Fidelma sat back, placing her hands palm downward on the table on either side of her plate, and regarded Eadulf for a moment or two before responding.

‘My presumption is a faith in his innocence. I cannot explain it neither do I have the evidence to demonstrate it. It is a feeling, a belief that what seems false to my senses is, indeed, false. The logic being that which is argued as the truth, yet feels false, is false.’

Eadulf pursed his lips.

‘Is it not true that the greatest deception is self-deception?’

‘You believe that I am deceiving myself?’

‘I am trying to suggest that what seems so, may well be so.’

Fidelma chuckled softly, reached out a hand and laid it on his arm.

‘Eadulf, you are the voice of conscience. When I am too enthusiastic, you curb my intemperance. Nevertheless, we shall seek out this Gadra, the bogeyman, if he exists.’

Eadulf sighed.

‘I had no doubt that we would,’ he said in resignation as she rose and went in search of Dubán.

It was Crítán, standing on guard duty by the stables, whoeventually informed her that Dubán was not in the rath of Araglin. The brash young man was not very forthcoming for he had to be prompted several times before he explained.

‘He had to leave with some warriors and go to the high pastures.’

‘Is anything wrong?’ demanded Fidelma. ‘Why did they ride off at this hour with darkness descending?’

Crítán was sullen.

‘Nothing is wrong. You need have no fear while there are men to guard this rath, sister.’

Fidelma restrained herself from an angry retort.

‘Nevertheless, what caused Dubán to ride off?’ she pressed.

‘Word came of a cattle raid against one of the isolated farmsteads across the mountains.’

‘A raid?’ She was interested at once. ‘Is it known by whom?’

‘That is what they went to discover. Presumably by the same raiders who made a foray into this valley a few weeks ago. I should have gone with Dubán but, instead, I have been instructed to remain here and look after the creature, Móen. It is not fair.’

Fidelma thought the young warrior appeared more like a sulky child than a grown man.

‘To be a warrior,’ Fidelma said carefully, ‘you are not bound by duty unless you have freely accepted it as your obligation.’

Crítán looked annoyed.

‘I do not understand what you mean.’

‘Exactly so. Tell me, Crítán,’ she changed the subject quickly. ‘Tell me, does the name Gadra mean anything to you?’

The young man grimaced with ill-temper.

‘He is said to be a bogeyman who steals children’s souls. People here about use his name to frighten their children.’

‘Does he have a real existence?’

‘I have heard Dubán speak of him. I do not believe in bogeymen, so once I asked about him.’

‘And what did Dubán say?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘He told me that in his youth, Gadra was a hermit who dweltin the mountains and refused to accept the new Faith.’

‘Is he still living?’

‘It was many years ago. He lived in the forests up in a small mountain valley. I do not know where. I think Dubán might know.’

Fidelma thanked the young man and turned back into the guests’ hostel to report to Eadulf.

‘What now?’ Eadulf asked.

‘Now? There is no more to be done than to wait until tomorrow.’

It was well after midnight that Fidelma awoke to hear the sounds of a horse entering the rath. She could hear Eadulf still deep in slumber in his cubicle. She rose, draping her cloak around her shoulders, and picked her way, barefoot, to the window which gave a view to the front of the hostel.

A man was dismounting by the gates. By the light of the blazing brand torches, she could see it was the stableman, Menma. She was about to turn back to her bed when a shadow detached itself from the front of the hall of assembly. It moved into the light of the torches and greeted the red-haired man.

It was Father Gormán. His body seemed animated and he waved his arms. His voice was intense but not loud and she could not make out his words.

To her surprise, Menma appeared to be answering with equal vehemence.

Father Gormán was waving a hand towards the guests’ hostel. Plainly Eadulf and herself were the subject of their argument. She wondered why?

After a moment or two, Menma yanked at the reins of his horse and drew the beast away from the priest towards the stables.

For some moments Father Gormán stood, hands on hips, staring after Menma. Then he, too, turned abruptly and strode away towards his chapel.

Thoughtfully, Fidelma returned to her bed.

The sun was shining brightly when Fidelma joined Eadulf for the breakfast which Grella had brought. She could feel the warmthof the sun’s rays through the window of the guests’ hostel. Eadulf had just finished eating and now sat back, allowing Fidelma to break her fast in silence. Only when she had finished did he ask rhetorically: ‘Do you think Dubán has returned?’

‘I shall go in search of him now and see if he can tell us more about this hermit.’

She instructed Eadulf to see if he could pick up any further information from the inhabitants of the rath while she went in search of the warrior.

Fidelma walked from the hostel around the stone wall of the hall of assembly.

The sound of voices and the bark of harsh laughter halted her. The timbre of the voice sounded familiar.

She paused in the shelter of the wall and looked across to the group of buildings from where the sound had emanated. There was a horseman, apparently newly arrived for the dust of travel was still on him. He had dismounted and stood with the reins of his mount over his arm. Fidelma recognised the tall, stocky man at once. It was Muadnat, the farmer, against whom she had given judgment at Lios Mhór. What took her breath away was the figure whom he was clasping in his arms, who was returning his kiss for kiss with the passion of a young girl. She was a tall, fair-haired woman clad in a parti-coloured cloak.

Only when she broke away from the fierce embrace did Fidelma recognise the woman as Cranat, the widow of Eber.

Some instinct made Fidelma move back further into the shadows of the wall in order to examine the burly farmer more closely. For one who had just lost seven cumals of land, Muadnat seemed happy as he embraced the widowed chieftainess. It did not need experience to see the easy intimacy between them. Muadnat gave another bellow of laughter, to which Cranat placed a finger against her lips and cast a nervous glance around and then beckoned him in a conspiratorial fashion into the building behind them. Muadnat paused only to hitch his horse to a railing outside.

Fidelma waited until they had vanished and then, head bent in thought, she continued her way to the entrance of the hall of assembly. The doors stood open. She did not know what instinct made her hesitate instead of announcing her presence. Then she entered. Maybe she had subconsciously caught the sound of voices and the anxious tone of conversation. The first voice was that of Dubán.

‘I think you should be more respectful to her,’ he was saying earnestly. ‘At least, do not go out of your way to incur her enmity.’

‘Why not? She should not be here that long. I think she is exceeding her instructions.’

Fidelma frowned for the second voice was that of Crón. The voices were coming from a side room to which the door stood ajar. Fidelma trod with cat-like silence nearer to the door.

‘I know she is Colgú’s sister. But do you think he would send her here merely because of that? She is a clever woman. Little escapes those quizzical green eyes.’

‘Ah! You’ve noticed the colour of her eyes?’ The retort was sullen. Fidelma’s eyes widened as she heard the tone of jealousy in the voice of the tanist.

Dubán responded with a chuckle.

‘I’ve noticed that she is someone not to be fooled with. The less her hostility is aroused the better, pulse of my heart.’

Fidelma blinked at the easy endearment which came from his lips.

‘Surely she cannot really believe that Móen is innocent?’ Crón’s tone was slightly mollified.

‘I think she suspects it. Father Gormán believes that she is determined to prove it. He was quite upset when I saw him last night after he had spoken with her.’

‘I thought this matter would be easily resolved. If only my mother had let well alone.’

‘Nothing is ever easy, my dear. If she does believe Móen is innocent, then she will look elsewhere for those who might havemurdered him. You would do well to make her into a friend.’

There was a slight intake of breath.

‘She might discover how much I hated my father. Is that what you mean?’

‘She will eventually discover how much everyone hated him,’ replied Dubán. ‘Anyway, you must deal with that idiot Muadnat. He would choose this moment to come to the rath to create trouble. Can’t you tell him to go away? To return next week when all this is over?’

‘How can I do that, my dear? He is not sensitive enough to understand why. He might present problems. No, I must deal with the matter. Tell Muadnat of my decision and tell him to be here in the hall of assembly at noon.’

‘Then please treat the sister with more grace.’

‘Go now,’ came Crón’s voice more firmly. ‘There is much to do.’

Fidelma quickly retraced her steps, on tip-toe, back to the door. She turned on the threshold, taking the mallet and banging it on the wooden block before entering the hall, as if for the first time. Crón came forwards from the side room. She was alone. She greeted Fidelma civilly enough, although her eyes were guarded.

‘I am looking for Dubán,’ Fidelma announced.

‘What makes you think he is here?’ the tanist demanded defensively.

‘Surely here is as good a place as any to search for the commander of your bodyguard?’ inquired Fidelma innocently.

Crón realised her mistake and forced a smile.

‘He is not here at the moment. He was late abroad last night and probably has not risen.’ The lies fell easily from her lips. ‘If I see him, I shall tell him that you were inquiring for him. Now, if you will excuse me, I must prepare for an important matter.’

Fidelma was not to be dismissed so easily.

‘Prepare?’

‘I need to sit in judgment today,’ Crón replied. ‘Minor cases Imay judge even if my mother does not approve of my knowledge of the law.’

It was true that a chieftain could act as judge in insignificant cases if they had no Brehon at hand to help them.

‘What manner of case?’

‘Nothing that would concern you,’ Crón replied immediately. Then she caught herself and conceded. ‘A case of animal trespass. One farmer of our community claims damages against another farmer of our community. It is a matter that needs to be dealt with immediately for the litigant is in great anger.’

Animal trespass cases were common enough. Damage to either land or crops by the domestic animals of a neighbour was a major source of legal action in any farming community. Neighbouring farmers usually exchanged fore-pledges called tairgille to cover potential injury by animal trespass.

In most walks of life the law relied on the use of a pledge to ensure that legal obligations were carried out. Even in Fidelma’s own office, being regarded as a professional judge, she had to place, with the chief judge or Brehon of the district, a pledge of five ounces of silver in case of dispute with her judgment. For if her judgment was found faulty by the chief judge, then she had to compensate those she had wronged by a false judgment. The confiscation of her pledge only happened if the litigant expressed dissatisfaction within a given period with her judgment and the chief judge then found her to be at fault. If a judge refused to put up this pledge then they were debarred from further practice in the territory.

It was certainly a trivial matter and one that Crón could adequately deal with. Fidelma was about to make her excuses and leave when a sudden suspicion occurred to her. She swung back hurriedly.

‘Is one of the litigants a farmer called Muadnat?’

Crón stared at her in surprise.

‘Do you have second sight, sister? What do you know of Muadnat?’ she demanded.

Fidelma knew from her startled expression that she was right. Obviously Crón did not know that Fidelma had been Brehon at Lios Mhór. So this was why Muadnat had appeared at the chieftain’s rath.

‘Did you know about Muadnat’s case against his kinsman Archú?’

Crón pursed her lips as if this helped her recall a memory. She nodded slowly.

‘I know only what local gossip tells me. Muadnat was forced to appear before a Brehon in Lios Mhór and lost a farm that he was claiming.’

‘I was that Brehon,’ Fidelma announced. ‘It was while I was in Lios Mhór that I received word from my brother to come here.’

The blue eyes of the chieftainess regarded her curiously. Fidelma continued.

‘Against whom does Muadnat enter into litigation?’

‘With Archú again.’

Fidelma’s mind worked quickly.

‘Can you tell me the details of his argument?’

For a moment it seemed that Crón might refuse and then she appeared to think better of it.

‘I think there is a case to be answered by Archú,’ she said defensively.

‘But the details?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘Simple enough. Since Archú took over the disputed farmstead by the Black Marsh, he became a neighbour of Muadnat, for Muadnat’s lands stretch by his. Muadnat claims that Archú, through malice and neglect, allowed his pigs to stray at night across his boundary fences where they inflicted damage to Muadnat’s property. What is more the animals defecated in Muadnat’s farmyard.’

Fidelma took a slow breath and exhaled as she considered the matter.

‘In other words, if Muadnat speaks the truth about his claimsagainst Archú, then he will be able to demand a great compensation from him?’ she asked.

Crón’s face indicated that this was obvious enough.

‘Muadnat has already pointed that out to me.’

Fidelma was cynical.

‘So Muadnat has already checked the law?’

‘What are you implying?’ demanded the young tanist sharply.

‘I am simply making an observation, not implying anything. It is true, however, that if through malice and neglect the animal trespass did happen then the owner of the animals is regarded on the same level as human trespass; if that trespass takes place at night, it doubles the level of the fine; that the animals defecated further increases the amount of compensation. In other words, Archú would have to pay a substantial amount in compensation to Muadnat.’

Crón agreed.

‘Probably half or more of what his farm is worth,’ she said. ‘Unless he has additional value in livestock than just the value of the farm, he will doubtless lose the farm.’

‘And we both know that he has not,’ replied Fidelma tightly. ‘Muadnat will settle for nothing less than the farm.’

‘I believe that is the law.’

Fidelma thought carefully before speaking again.

‘As chieftain-elect, it is your right and responsibility to sit in judgment in your clan territory — and you may sit alone when there is no Brehon available.’

‘I am aware of my rights and duties.’ Crón’s eyes narrowed a little in suspicion.

‘I mean no offence when I ask you, to what level have you studied law?’

‘I have studied only the Bretha Comaithchesa, the Law of Neighbours, for we are a small farming community and this is the law that most applies here. But I am not qualified in law. I studied at Lios Mhór for only three years to the level of Freisneidhed.’

Fidelma nodded slowly. The degree of three years of study was one which most chieftains in the five kingdoms could boast of obtaining. Chieftains had to be educated for they had to fulfil many duties and being a judge of the tribal court was one of them. She realised that Crón was regarding her with some hostility. She would have to be diplomatic, as Eadulf had implored her to be, for her relationship with Crón was already a difficult one.

‘Would you allow me to sit with you and advise in this case?’

Crón flushed, thinking some insult was meant.

‘I think I am capable of making judgment in this matter,’ she responded protectively. ‘I have sat and watched my father make judgments many times.’

‘I did not say that you were not capable,’ Fidelma replied in a pacifying tone. ‘But I have a feeling that there is something more here than a simple case of trespass. Remember, I have seen Muadnat attempt to use the law to dispossess Archú before.’

‘Wouldn’t that make you biased in your judgment?’ Crón asked, trying hard to repress the hint of a sneer.

‘Perhaps I am biased,’ agreed Fidelma benignly. ‘But what I suggest, however, is that you make the judgment, while I merely am seated at your side to advise you on any matters of law. I promise you that my advice will be strictly on matters of law.’

Crón hesitated, wondering if there was some hidden meaning to Fidelma’s offer.

‘The judgment is mine to make?’

‘You are the chieftain-elect of the Araglin,’ acknowledged Fidelma. ‘You will make the judgment.’

Crón thought for a moment. It was true that Fidelma, as a dálaigh qualified to the level of anruth, one degree below the highest awarded in the five kingdoms, could simply demand to take her seat in judgment. That was the law for, in a place where there was no permanent Brehon, a visiting judge could, depending on their degree of office, outrank a minor chieftain. That Fidelma had asked permission merely to sit and advise was clearly herway of showing that she did not wish to interfere with Crón’s authority.

‘What could be wrong with Muadnat’s plea?’ Crón demanded, still defensively.

‘That remains to be seen. Muadnat was bitter when the law was pronounced against him and he lost the farm to young Archú.’

Crón accepted this.

‘Do you think that Muadnat has concocted this charge then?’

‘As you will sit in judgment on him, it is better, perhaps, if I kept my thoughts to myself,’ Fidelma immediately replied. ‘But let me sit with you and I will advise you merely on the law, and you will judge the facts. My words will be on law, no more. You have my oath on it.’

‘Then, to that I agree.’ For the first time in the presence of Fidelma, Crón gave what appeared to be a genuine smile of friendship.

‘What time is Muadnat to present himself before you?’

‘At the midday hour.’

‘Then I will go and tell Eadulf.’

‘He is an interesting man, that Saxon of yours,’ Crón observed slyly.

‘Of mine?’ Fidelma arched an eyebrow in surprise. ‘Eadulf belongs to no woman or man.’

‘You appear friendly enough,’ Crón replied. ‘Surely, the handsome brother does not believe in the ideas that Father Gormán teaches about the servants of God, male and female, remaining in celibacy?’

Fidelma found herself flushing.

She realised that although she had debated all the aspects of Roman teaching with Eadulf they had never touched on the concept of celibacy. While Rome made no hard and fast rule on the celibacy of the religious, it was true that there was a growing number of the clergy who believed in the idea that members of the religious should not cohabit or marry. It was surely such an alien ideato human beings that it would never be accepted.

She found Crón watching her with some amusement.

She thrust out her chin.

‘Brother Eadulf and I have been friends, and friends alone, since we met at the council held at Hilda’s abbey in Northumbria. That is all.’

It was clear that Crón treated the assurance with some scepticism.

‘It is nice,’ she observed meaningfully, ‘to have such a friend.’

‘Speaking of friends,’ Fidelma returned slyly, ‘I must find Dubán.’

‘What is so important that you need speak with him so urgently?’ queried the tanist.

‘Have you heard of Gadra?’

Crón looked surprised.

‘Why do you wish to know about Gadra?’

‘So you do know him?’ pressed Fidelma eagerly.

‘Of course. I have not seen him since I was a tiny girl. I can just remember him. He lived at Teafa’s cabin for some years. But he went away again. He is a hermit. Nowadays the young ones think he is just a bogeyman. Because he is a hermit who vanished into the hills, some people use him as a means of scaring children into obedience.’

‘Do you know where Gadra may be found?’

Crón shook her head.

‘I doubt if he still lives.’ She shrugged. ‘But if he does then it would take a brave person to go in search of him for it was said he refused to acknowledge the Faith and consorted with evil.’

‘Consorted with evil?’

Crón nodded seriously.

‘He clung to the faith of our pagan ancestors and they say that this was why he withdrew into the vastness of the dark mountains.’

There was a movement behind Fidelma and she turned to see the middle-aged warrior enter self-consciously.

Dubán glanced from Fidelma to Crón quickly, trying to feign surprise at finding them together, and then raised a hand in salute to his tanist. Fidelma was aware that anyone who could act with such duplicity might well be able to be equally evasive in other matters.

‘The talk is of lack of success in your venture, Dubán.’ Crón greeted him with a slightly querulous voice as if she had not seen him previously that morning.

The big warrior grimaced, an expression which summed up the futility of his search.

‘We scoured the hillside for miles but there was no sign of the raiders. Two cows were driven off from the farmstead of Dioma. We followed the tracks as far as the borders of the Black Marsh but lost them in the forest.’

Crón was clearly troubled by this.

‘I cannot remember the last time when brigands were allowed to raid our valley with impunity. They must be dealt with. Our honour is at stake.’

‘It shall be done,’ muttered Dubán. ‘As soon as I have gathered a fresh band of warriors …’

‘It is futile now. Anyway, we have the legal hearing to consider. Sister Fidelma has suggested that she might sit with me. I have agreed. I have also told the sister that you will be able to help her with some information about old Gadra.’

Crón swung away and left the assembly hall leaving Dubán with an uncertain expression on his face.

‘What does she mean?’ he asked awkwardly after a moment or two. ‘About Gadra, that is?’

‘I am told you knew Gadra.’

‘Gadra the Hermit,’ Dubán acknowledged. ‘Yes, I did but that was twenty years ago. He is dead.’

Fidelma had a sinking feeling.

‘Are you sure?’

Dubán rubbed his chin reflectively.

‘Not sure. But I have not seen him since I left Araglin when I was young. He must be dead.’

Fidelma clung to her course of action.

‘Crón said she saw him when she was a young girl; that he came to stay with Teafa in the rath. If he were still alive, would you know where he might be found?’

Dubán indicated with a jerk of his head upwards.

‘Up in the mountains, to the south. There is a little valley where he used to dwell.’

‘Would you take Brother Eadulf and myself to where he might be found?’

Dubán looked confused.

‘After all this time. He is probably dead,’ he repeated.

‘But you don’t know for sure?’

‘No. But the journey will doubtless be wasted. It is nearly a day there and a day back.’

‘Will you take us?’

‘I have my duties …’

‘Crón seemed to indicate that she had no objections to your taking us.’ Fidelma felt that she was not distorting the truth. ‘Or is it that you have some other objections?’

‘But why would you want to see old Gadra? Even if he is still living, he will be an old man. What would he know that would be of help to your investigations?’

‘That is more my concern than yours, Dubán,’ she replied firmly.

Dubán was reluctant but finally said: ‘When would you want to leave?’

‘If the court reaches a conclusion soon, we could set out this very afternoon.’

Dubán tugged at his beard thoughtfully.

‘The journey will mean at least one overnight encampment, even if we do find Gadra,’ he repeated.

‘I am used to travel,’ Fidelma said pointedly.

Dubán spread his arms in resignation.

‘After the court reaches its conclusion then. If Gadra lives then we must respect his right to be a recluse. Only I will accompany you and the Saxon brother. No one else.’

‘It is agreed,’ Fidelma confirmed as she left the hall.

Outside, she came face to face with Archú’s sweetheart, Scoth. The young girl’s face lightened as she recognised Fidelma and she caught at both the hands of the religieuse.

‘Oh, sister! I prayed that you would not have left here. We stand in great need of your help.’

Fidelma was sympathetic.

‘So I have heard. Is Archú here to answer the new charges?’

‘He has gone to find accommodation for us.’ Scoth was tense and unhappy.

Fidelma quietly took the girl by the arm and guided her towards the guests’ hostel.

The young girl gave a painful smile.

‘Muadnat is like a battle scavenging crow, waiting for the right moment to swoop on us. We felt that our only hope was if you were still at the rath.’

‘Well, I am here.’

‘Thank God! Had Muadnat been a more careful man he would have discovered this fact. But he was so greedy to seize possession of the land that he came racing to the rath little realising that he could have to face your judgment again.’

Fidelma shook her head.

‘He doesn’t face my judgment. It is Crón, your tanist and chieftain-elect, who sits in judgment here.’ Scoth looked aghast and halted in mid-stride, turning to Fidelma.

‘But you must sit in judgment. You cannot abandon Archú,’ she wailed. ‘Crón will look after her own!’

‘I have not abandoned anyone, Scoth. Am I to presume, from what you say, that Muadnat has invented this charge of animal trespass?’

‘No, he has not.’

It was Archú who spoke and Fidelma turned to find the young man standing behind her.

Fidelma digested his admission.

‘Then I am sorry to see you in this plight, Archú,’ she replied sadly.

‘But you can intervene and dismiss the charge,’ Scoth insisted, desperation in her voice.

‘Scoth!’ Archú was sharp. ‘Sister Fidelma is bound by oath to the courts.’

They were standing outside of the guests’ hostel and Fidelma gestured for them to precede her inside. Eadulf came forward and greeted them with an exclamation of astonishment. Fidelma explained to him the news before turning to Archú.

‘Tell me the truth. You say that Muadnat has not made up this charge against you? That his claim is true?’

Archú was flushed. He gestured helplessly.

‘He is too cunning to make up such a charge.’

Fidelma was silent in thought for a moment.

‘Then you realise what this means?’

Archú was bitter.

‘It means that Muadnat, my dear cousin, will reclaim what momentarily belonged to me. He will take back my mother’s farmstead. I will be landless once more.’