The Spider's Web

Chapter Eighteen

Her first plan had been to set out in search of Dubán to see if he had discovered where Dignait might have fled to. But she was troubled. Even though Clídna had told her that there were others in Araglin whom she would suspect of murder before the burly warrior, Fidelma was suspicious. If he hated Eber, why had Dubán returned to Araglin and taken service with him? And if he loved Crón, the death of Eber was of benefit to them both. She had already become suspicious of the pair of them because of the lies that they had told her. She found herself unconsciously guiding her horse directly over the hills towards the mine.

The journey was tedious for several times did Fidelma think it was better to hide herself from the occasional traveller, or to give buildings a wide berth, rather than allow herself to be observed. She had a strong feeling that things were beginning to draw together like the strands of a spider’s web, closer and closer to the centre where the shadowy figure of one great manipulator sat, tugging on the various threads.

Fidelma reached the stretch of forest in which she and Eadulf had discovered the cave entrance and seen Menma emerging from it. She wondered how close she could get without being spotted, how many workers were there around the cave? But she knew, instinctively, that the cave was going to provide her with one of the keys to unlock this curious mystery.

Her senses sharpened as she rode through the forest, through sombre oaks whose catkins were yellowing, inconsequentially noticing the white and red, and even pink flowers of the sturdy hawthorns, and the yews which had just ceased flowering. All thebeeches stood out with their leaves a brilliant green. It seemed so peaceful, so idyllic. It was hard to imagine that mayhem and death lurked in this pleasant land.

Her horse suddenly shied nervously and, from nearby, came the curious high-pitched bark of a fox in search of its prey.

It was wise to remember that even in an idyllic setting such as this there were also predators searching for their weak victims.

She drew near the spot where she and Eadulf had previously tethered their horses and decided it would be best to repeat the exercise and approach on foot. It was just as well for as she reached the edge of the woods she heard the sound of hooves and slunk down into the undergrowth. Not far away, along the trail, a horse galloped by from the direction of the glade. Fidelma saw a slight figure crouched low over its neck, a bright parti-coloured cloak flying in the wind. Then the horse and rider were gone. Fidelma paused a moment. She thought she suddenly heard a cry from the glade and turned, moving carefully towards it. Soon she was staring across into the open glade against the side of the hill, where the cave entrance was. Two horses were standing patiently tethered there. She crouched low behind the cover of the bushes.

There was no sign of the heavy wagon which had been there previously and the fire was now a charred, blackened patch, although the tools were still stacked nearby. She listened carefully but it was quiet save the trill of bird songs arising from the forest and the gentle whisper of a breeze against the mountain slopes. Fidelma examined the horses carefully. They were saddled and were certainly not farm horses, more the sort of beasts that warriors would ride. One of them was particularly familiar and she rebuked her memory that she could not recall where she had seen it and who was riding it.

She was about to rise and move nearer the cave when it happened so fast that she could scarcely draw breath before it was all over.

One moment she was trying to recall why the horses were sofamiliar and where she had seen them before and then the next she was pole-axed by a curious wailing scream. Her eyes darted towards the cave mouth. A dishevelled figure appeared. It paused for a moment, gave a sobbing gulp of breath and began to run towards the horses.

It was the red-haired Menma. The stableman had almost made it to his horse when a second figure appeared at the cave mouth. It strode leisurely from the dark with a bow and an arrow strung to it.

‘Menma!’

The voice was low but the intensity carried across the glade.

The man spun round. Even from this distance, Fidelma saw the terror on his face.

‘For the love of God!’ he almost jabbered. ‘I can pay you! I can …’

Then he made a grab for a sword hanging from his saddle and turned round to face his pursuer. He began to run forward swinging the blade in desperation.

The second figure unhurriedly raised his bow. Menma was running forward full pelt now, trying to close the gap. There was a dull thud. Menma jerked back on the ground, his sword flying out of his hand. The shaft of an arrow was protruding from his chest. He struggled for a moment and lay still.

The second figure walked slowly up to his inert form and gazed dispassionately down. He touched the body with the toe of his boot, as if to make sure that the man was dead. Then he reached down and pulled the arrow out of his chest. Even from this distance, Fidelma saw the little fountain of blood gush forth as the arrow was pulled. Calmly, the second figure put the arrow back in his quiver, unstrung his bow and turned to his horse, untying the reins and swinging himself up. He then leant forward, untied the reins of Menma’s mount and proceeded from the glade, leading the second horse after him.

Only when he had disappeared along the forest path, didFidelma give a long, shuddering exhalation of breath. She felt chilly with shock.

The second figure had been that of Dubán.

It was some time before Fidelma rose from her hiding place and moved slowly forward to where the body of Menma lay. She could see that he was beyond earthly help and so she genuflected and muttered a blessing for the repose of his soul. She had no liking for the ill-smelling stableman but she wondered whether such a death was deserved. What reason had Dubán to shoot the red-haired man down in such a callous manner?

Her eye caught something tucked into the stableman’s waistband, something she did not quite equate with him. She bent down and tugged it out. It was a piece of vellum with writing on. As she tugged at it something else fell out. It was a small plainly wrought gold Roman crucifix. She picked it up. The gold was rich and red from an admixture of copper in the ore. She turned to the vellum. The writing on it was in Latin. She translated it easily enough. ‘If you want to know the answer to the deaths in Araglin, look beneath the farmstead of the usurper Archú.’

She frowned as she stared at it. It was simple Latin but clearly expressed and grammatically correct. She glanced down at Menma’s body. He had tucked the vellum in his waistband and clearly Dubán had not noticed it. It was no good asking what it meant at this stage. She folded it carefully and put it into her marsupium together with the gold crucifix.

‘Terra es, terram ibis,’ she muttered as she gazed down at the body. It was true enough. In a world of uncertainties it was the only dependable eventuality. We all came from dust and to the dust we would all return some day.

She turned towards the cave entrance. She was sure that now Dubán had departed there was no one else around. The cave was dark and silent. There were tools in the entrance and she saw an oil lamp with flint and tinder nearby. It was the work of a momentto light the lamp and move on into the darkness. There were signs that the cave had been recently worked.

She had not gone far when she observed the confirmation of her suspicions. There was a spot where there was a concentration of tool marks; a glittering stream along one wall almost at shoulder height. She moved towards it and reached out her hand to touch it. It flickered red gold in the light of the lamp.

A gold mine.

So was this what the mystery was really about?

She examined the stream of gold carefully. She had some knowledge of gold for it was mined in several parts of the five kingdoms, even at Kildare, in whose great religious house, founded by Brigid, she had spent most of her life as a religieuse. It was said that the Tigernmas, the twenty-sixth High King who ruled Eireann a thousand years before the birth of Christ, was the first to smelt gold in the land. Whether it was true or not, gold had almost replaced cattle as a unit by which goods, services and obligations could be measured. Gold, because of its durable quality, had many advantages over the traditional barter system. It was a common form of currency along with other metals such as silver, bronze and copper. Whoever exploited this mine would gain much wealth.

Indeed, things were beginning to fit into a pattern but there were still several pieces missing before she could fit them into a whole. Morna, the brother of Bressal, had been a miner and his knowledge had exploited this mine. Now Morna was dead. This was why Muadnat had so desperately tried to cling on to this land. But he was dead. Menma? Menma had apparently worked for Muadnat. But he did not really have the brains to exploit this mine on his own. And now Menma was dead. And what of Dubán who had killed Menma?

She turned hurriedly from the cave and made her way out into the welcoming daylight.

Menma’s body still lay on its back in the glade. The sun stillshone and the song of the birds remained undiminished. It seemed so unreal.

What madness was passing through the valley of Araglin?

Fidelma crossed the glade and hurried into the shelter of the forest, making her way quickly towards her horse. The next step lay at Archú’s farmstead, she decided. For the second time, within a comparatively short space, she found herself pulling her horse over the rounded shoulder of the hills which separated her from the L-shaped valley of the Black Marsh in which Archú dwelt.

It was late afternoon when she began to descend towards his farmstead.

Scoth came running forward and greeted Fidelma with a warm smile.

‘It is good to see you so soon, sister. Where is Brother Eadulf?’

Fidelma told her, trying to keep her voice unemotional but the girl saw through the veil at once and reached out a hand.

‘Is there anything that can be done?’

Fidelma tried to shake herself free of the gloomy foreboding.

‘Nothing. Nothing until the fever breaks … if it breaks. Where is Archú?’

‘He is up at the top meadowland repairing a fence with one of Dubán’s warriors. There is news of a ravening wolf hereabouts and …’

Fidelma was disapproving and anxious.

‘It is not right that you should be left here alone. Surely one of the warriors should be here to guard you?’

‘The other is within call,’ Scoth assured her. ‘I do not think I need have any fear. Archú is easily able to observe if any strangers enter the valley.’

‘I came up over the hill. He has not appeared to have noticed my entrance.’

‘He saw you coming over the hill half an hour ago and told me to expect you,’ Scoth replied brightly. ‘I am not neglected. But you are here for a purpose, sister. I can see it in your eyes.’

‘Let us go into your house for a moment,’ suggested Fidelma.

‘Is it something to do with Archú?’ demanded the girl anxiously.

Fidelma guided her by the arm into the farmhouse.

‘It is probably nothing but …’ She reached into her marsupium and pulled out the piece of vellum. ‘Can you read Latin, Scoth?’

The girl wistfully shook her head.

‘I was only a kitchen servant. Archú says that he will teach me my letters when we are settled. His mother taught him.’

‘Well, this is a message in Latin. It tells me that if I require answers to the deaths in Araglin I should start looking here.’

Scoth coloured angrily.

‘That’s wicked. Who would try … oh,’ the girl broke off. ‘I suppose it was Agdae.’

‘Agdae?’ Fidelma shook her head. ‘I doubt if Agdae is capable of such a literate clue.’

‘A what?’

‘I do not think he wrote this. Why would he write it in Latin?’

‘I think it is part and parcel of the same plot to drive us off this land.’

‘What is?’

It was Archú standing at the door of the farmhouse regarding Scoth and Fidelma with a frown. He hesitated a moment and then continued. ‘I saw you arriving. I was finishing a fence in the high meadow. Is there more trouble?’

‘Someone has written to Fidelma telling her that we are responsible for the deaths in Araglin.’

Fidelma corrected her immediately.

‘That is not quite what I said, Scoth. I found a piece of vellum, Archú. Can read Latin?’

‘My mother taught me to decipher it,’ admitted the young man. ‘But I am not well versed in it.’

‘What do you make of this?’ She handed him the vellum. Archú took it and held it up.

‘If you want to know the answers to the deaths in Araglin lookbeneath the farmstead of the usurper Archú,’ he read in a hesitant fashion.

He looked at Fidelma in perplexity.

‘What does it mean?’

‘That is why I am here — to find out. I found it on the body of … a dead man.’

‘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 andagain 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 thereare 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?’

‘I usually mean what I say,’ Fidelma replied waspishly.

‘Then that will be a relief to Crón.’

‘And doubtless you …’

What she was about to say was cut short by a plaintive lowing of nearby cattle. It was an odd, frenzied cry of fear.

Dubán reined in his horse abruptly and gazed across the hillside into the twilight. Fidelma halted her mount beside him.

She could see the shadows of the shaggy haired cattle moving restlessly in the semi-gloom and hear their curious protest.

‘What is it?’ she asked, finding herself whispering.

‘I do not know,’ confessed Dubán. ‘I think something is worrying them. An animal, perhaps. I’d better have a look.’

He slid from his horse and handed the reins to Fidelma.

She sat watching the warrior move cautiously off towards the cattle into the gloom.

It was chilly and she drew her cloak firmly around her shoulders. After a moment she became aware of Dubán’s horse snorting and tugging against its rein.

‘Whoa!’ she called irritably. ‘Hold still, beast.’

Then, without warning, her own mount reared back on its hind legs, causing her to lose her grip and go tumbling over its flank, hitting the ground with her shoulder. It was lucky that the turf was soft and springy for it cushioned her fall and she lay winded for a moment, feeling more indignant than hurt that she had taken the tumble. She raised herself to her knees and began to rub her right arm which had taken most of the impact. She felt embarrassment that she had allowed herself to fall like some novice who had never been astride a horse in their life.

‘Hey!’ she cried, as both mounts began to trot off into the descending darkness.

She took a hesitant step after them and a sudden coldness gripped her. Her ears detected the soft rustle of undergrowth nearby. Was that the sound of a low growl that she heard?

She stood perfectly still.

A long, low black shape emerged from the nearby underbrush and stopped. The eyes glinted in the gloom and its muzzle drew back showing sharp white canine teeth.

The wolf stared up at her and let forth a deep throaty growling.

Fidelma knew that if she made the slightest move the mighty animal would be on her, its great jaws seeking her throat, ripping and tearing. She tried to prevent herself from blinking; from even breathing. Fidelma had seen wolves before, had even been threatened but always when she was able to out-pace them on horseback or had some other means of protection. Wolves were the commonest predator in the five kingdoms but they usually kept to the mountain fastness or forest passes and attacked only when disturbed or found an unfortunate unarmed wayfarer on foot. There was easier prey in the country than humans such as the better tasting meat of farm animals or wild game like the deer herds.

But here she was alone on foot with no weapons and only yards separating her from a large animal in search of prey. Her rational mind, working alongside the fearful emotions which swept through her, recognised the animal as a bitch, a hungry mother needing food to bring to its whelps.

It seemed that an eternity passed as wolf and human stood gazing upon one another. Fidelma felt her body begin to shake and she knew that any sudden movement would be fatal.

Then she felt something fly past her. Something seemed to hit the wolf for it uttered a terrible cry, a wild yelp, a rough hand caught her and propelled her aside, and even as it did so she saw the wolf turning and disappearing into the undergrowth.

Then she swung round and was facing Dubán in the gloom.

‘Are you all right?’ the warrior demanded. His voice was anxious.

She gave a nervous laugh.

‘I am not sure that I shall ever be all right again,’ she confessed. She breathed deeply several times to recover her equilibrium. She rubbed her arm carefully where he had grasped her. ‘You have rough hands for a warrior.’

Dubán chuckled.

‘Leather gloves, sister. They save callouses. Now, we’d best find the horses. That wolf might bring the pack back in search of us.’

‘I am sorry.’ Fidelma was contrite.

‘For what?’ demanded the warrior.

‘For being such a fool as to lose the horses.’

Dubán shrugged indifferently.

‘Even the best horseman cannot provide for every contingency, sister. The wolf was unnerving the cattle. It must have been circling through the underbrush behind you and suddenly startled the horses. I heard the cry and came hurrying back. Thank God there were a few stones on the ground and I let fly with them. You did well not to move for any movement would have been fatal.’ He paused and added. ‘But you were not hurt in the fall?’

‘Only my dignity is hurt,’ smiled Fidelma in the gloom. And the sense of pride in my own logic, she added silently. Had Dubán been the sort of person she was suspecting him to be then she would be lying back there with her throat ripped out by the ravening wolf.

‘Thank God it was only that and nothing more,’ replied Dubán. They turned and began to walk across the springy turf.

‘Do you really think the wolf might come back?’ Fidelma asked.

‘From the size of it, it was a bitch.’ Dubán confirmed her own estimate of the wolf’s sex. ‘She’ll be back looking for food for her hungry cubs.’

‘Do they often come this close to the farmlands?’

‘More often in winter than in spring or summer. Sometimes they have been known to break into the rath itself and makeoff with chickens and even a piglet as I recall.’

He halted and pointed.

‘Look, there are our horses standing by those trees. They did not go far.’

Fidelma utter a silent prayer of thanks. She did not fancy a long trudge through the night.

The two horses actually seemed pleased to see their erstwhile riders and moved towards them. They allowed themselves to be caught and mounted without any fuss.

After a while, as they began to ride on Fidelma said: ‘You saved my life there, Dubán.’

The warrior shrugged. He seemed embarrassed.

‘I took my warrior’s oath before Maenach, when he was king of Cashel, and swore to protect those in need.’

Fidelma regarded him with interest. It meant that Dubán was a warrior of the ancient order of the Golden Collar. It was said that a thousand years before the birth of Christ, Cashel sent a High King to rule over the five kingdoms of Eireann. He was Muinheamhoin Mac Fiardea, the eighth king to rule after Eber the son of Mile. And it was this High King from Cashel who instituted the order of the Golden Collar among his warriors.

‘I did not know that you were a warrior of the order of Cashel,’ Fidelma said quietly.

‘I do not often wear my golden chain of office,’ he confessed. ‘I returned to Araglin only a few years ago when I felt I was no longer young and virile enough to serve the kings there. Eber had need of an experienced man to be his commander of the guard.’ He sighed. ‘It was not an onerous position. But maybe I should have stayed in Cashel.’

Fidelma frowned at the inflection in his voice.

‘I understand that you did not like Eber?’

‘Eber the kind and generous?’

Dubán’s tone was cynical.

‘You doubt it?’

‘Someone should tell you the truth about Eber, sister.’

‘Perhaps you should tell me.’

‘I am not ready to prove my accusations. And if I cannot then I may lose what security I have made here to last me into old age.’

Fidelma was studied.

‘I have no wish to harm your prospects of a peaceful life, Dubán. But if it is security you wish, I am sure my brother, as king of Cashel, and therefore hereditary head of the order which you have taken an oath in, would not see you suffer for fulfilling your oath to tell the truth. I have already warned you that I know that the truth has been distorted. Why did you kill Menma?’

Her question came sharply, like an arrow from a bow. She heard his sharp intake of breath.

‘You know … that?’

He was silent for a moment. Then he replied.

‘I followed Menma to that cave. I had been out searching for Dignait when I came across Menma with some other men and a heavy wagon at Muadnat’s farm. They did not see me. I recognised the men as some of those who had passed us on the trail. The cattle raiders. Menma was giving them orders and left them to ride alone into the hills along the track that Agdae told us led nowhere. Naturally I followed.’

‘Where did the other men go?’

‘They headed south. I followed Menma to the cave. There was someone already at the cave.’

‘Who was it?’

‘I couldn’t see. Menma and this other person were inside the cave talking as I arrived. The other person was giving Menma instructions to kill someone in order to silence them.’

‘You did not see who this other person, the person giving instructions, was?’

‘I did not. But a battle fury descended on me when I heard. Forgetting I had only my bow in my hand, I pushed into the caveand challenged them. Menma fought back fiercely while the other person, no more than a dark shadow in the gloom of the cave, fled by me. I heard them gallop away while I was struggling with Menma. He broke loose and managed to flee to his horse. I could not let him escape. You saw what happened.’

‘I did. And I can confirm that someone else fled from the glade.’

‘Who?’

‘That I did not see. But you heard their voice.’

‘I did not recognise it.’

‘Was it male or a female?’

‘It was a whisper but deep. I think it was male.’

‘Tell me why you hated Eber? The truth, on your honour.’

In the gloom she saw Dubán’s hand go to his neck as if expecting to find the golden chain of the order of warriors there.

She saw his lips compress a moment.

‘You do well to remind me of honour, Fidelma,’ he said. ‘Maybe these last few years in Araglin I have forgotten what honour really means.’

‘Because you have spent too long mixing with young ruffians who think they are warriors? Thugs like Crítán?’

In the gloom ahead they could see lights across the valley.

‘There is the rath. We shall soon be there,’ muttered Dubán.

‘Then it is best you tell me what is on your mind, Dubán, before we reach it.’

‘Eber was not what he claimed himself to be. He was a chieftain without honour.’

‘In what way?’

‘He was morally corrupt.’

‘Moral corruption may take many forms. Can you be more specific.’

‘Have you asked why his wife quit the bed of her husband? It is rumoured that he was like a stag on heat and any deer of the herd which crossed his path was subject to his abuse.’

‘I see …’ murmured Fidelma.

‘No, I do not think you do. I mean … any deer of the herd. Even within his own family,’ muttered Dubán.

‘You mean that he sexually abused members of his own family?’ Fidelma said quietly. She knew the allegation but wanted to hear Dubán’s version.

‘I cannot prove it. Neither can I prove the other thing that I know within my bones … that Eber was a murderer.’

Fidelma was surprised at this assertion.

‘You may speak in confidence with me, Dubán. You must tell me why you suspect Eber of murder.’

‘Very well. I was in love once with Eber’s young sister.’

‘With Teafa?’

‘No. Not Teafa. She was a year older than Eber. Tomnát was the younger sister. She was fearful of her brother. When I tried to persuade her to accompany me to Cashel as my wife, she said she could not for the shameful thing that was on her.’

‘Did she explain what she meant by that?’

‘No, neither did I understand at the time. But within a day or so Tomnat had disappeared from the rath, indeed, from the very valley of Araglin, and was heard of no more. It was my belief that Eber had her killed lest she reveal the evil of his mind and soul.’

‘How can you say this? You must have something which makes you suspicious.’

‘I knew that the night before Tomnat disappeared, she and Eber had a terrible row.’

‘You witnessed this row?’

‘I heard their voices raised. I was on guard and could not enter Eber’s private chambers. After a while there was silence and the next morning Tomnat had vanished. I loved Tomnat. She was as attractive as Crón is today.’

‘And you said that there was a widespread search made for the missing girl?’

‘For months everyone made inquiries for Tomnat. Teafa eventually came to me and told me that it was best for me toforget her sister. Teafa was the only other person who knew my feelings for Tomnat. She told me that ever since Tomnat was a little girl, Eber had forced her to sleep with him. She was never found and eventually I went off to Cashel and pledged myself in the bodyguard of the king, Máenach.’

‘Did Teafa claim that Eber had killed her sister Tomnat?’

‘No, she did not.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘Over twenty years ago. No, I can be more precise. It was a few months before Teafa adopted Móen.’

‘Did you not challenge Eber, or report your suspicion that Eber had murdered Tomnat?’

‘I? What could I have done alone without proof?’

‘What of Teafa, who told you of this sexual abuse?’

‘Teafa felt she could not betray her brother nor bring shame on her sister. I could not bring any accusation unless I had proof. I left Araglin, as I said, hoping to search out a new life. It is true what the ancient bards say — if you destroy your life in one small corner of the world, you have destroyed it in every small corner. I did not realise it until I found myself aging in the service of Cashel. I had not been able to get this place out of my mind. I dreamt of one day finding Tomnat. And though over twenty years have passed, I finally returned.’

‘You have returned, Dubán, but for what purpose?’

‘Easy to say; I returned for vengeance.’

Fidelma tried to examine his features in the dark but gave up.

‘Vengeance is an ugly thing, Dubán. Did you seek vengeance or justice?’

‘It is true that I have been seeking some evidence of what I know in my heart to be the truth. But I will be honest — I wanted vengeance. An eye for an eye, a tooth for tooth, a burning for burning. Exactly as Father Gormán teaches in his chapel.’

Fidelma held her head to one side.

‘You realise what you have told me, Dubán? You have saidthat you had every reason to kill Eber. And, being on guard that night, you also had the opportunity.’

Dubán nodded gravely.

‘This is true, sister. There is no man I would have rather killed. The motivation for returning here and seeking service with the chieftain of Araglin was to eventually find out what happened to Tomnat and punish him if I could. If that makes me suspect, Fidelma, then I am suspect and willingly so. Treat me as you will. Though I would prefer that you discover the truth.’

‘Do you deny that you killed Eber?’

‘As much as I admit to seeking vengeance and weeping no tears of remorse when I heard the news of Eber’s death, I confess that mine was not the hand that struck down that foul man. Nor had I reason to kill Teafa, who had been an honourable lady.’

‘Could Eber not have reformed his personality? Especially after Tomnat disappeared?’

Dubán almost spat.

‘Reformed? Once a wolf always a wolf. They cannot change their natures.’

‘You have changed your nature,’ Fidelma pointed out.

‘I do not understand.’ Dubán was bewildered.

‘You have transferred your love for the long lost Tomnat to Eber’s daughter Crón.’

‘I do not deny that either.’ The warrior was defensive. ‘One cannot love a memory forever. It is true that when I came here, I came to seek vengeance for a lost love but I discovered another.’

‘So are you telling me that twenty years and more has assuaged your hatred for Eber?’

‘No. I do not tell you that. I merely say that in Eber’s daughter I have found a new love. I can assure you that I did not kill Eber. And if I did not, and that poor deaf, dumb and blind idiot did not, then someone else did. And that someone might be one who also knew the truth about Eber’s real character. Find the person whohid in the gloom of the cave with Menma and I think you will find the murderer.’

Fidelma was silent for a while and then she finally said: ‘Perhaps you are right, Dubán. Eber has paid the price for his evil deeds and God forgive him.’

‘God may forgive him, but I shall not,’ declared Dubán in an uncompromising tone.

‘But you truly thought that Móen was guilty when the murder was discovered?’

‘I had no reason to believe otherwise. God moves in mysterious ways, sister. I truly believed that God used the unfortunate creature as an instrument of His greater vengeance.’

‘It has become obvious that Menma was also somehow involved in this. Do you agree that he was an instrument of someone more powerful than he was?’

Dubán nodded agreement immediately.

‘Menma was ambitious but he was a simple man. He took orders; he did not give them. So it was the person in the cave who was giving Menma orders. It was that person who wrote the vellum and is manipulating the evil that spreads in this valley.’

‘That is the truth of it,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘On no account tell anyone yet at the rath of how you dealt with Menma nor of what we have discussed.’

They were getting quite close to the rath now. The guard dogs began to howl as they sensed the approach of Fidelma and her companion.