The Spider's Web

Chapter Four

The morning was warm and sunny as Fidelma and Eadulf made their way serenely through the tree crowded forest and emerged on a hillside track which gave a spectacular view across a valley about a mile in width, through which a sparkling silver river ran. While clumps of trees stood here and there, it was clear that the valley had long been cultivated for the woodlands which encircled the bald mountain tops had been cut back and a boundary of yellowing gorse stood between the cultivated fields and pastureland and the converging trees.

The ribbon of the river cut through the bright green of the valley pasture. The beauty of the place caught at Fidelma’s breath. In the distance she could see a group of reddish-brown dots and as she focussed she saw a majestic red deer, a stag by his antlers, guarding a group of hind, some with small calves at their feet, brown little objects with white spots. Here and there, throughout the valley, were small grazing herds of cattle, moving slowly on the open pastureland around the stone bordered fields. The valley looked lush and enticing. It was rich farming country and the river, judging just by the run of it, would be replete with salmon and brown trout.

Eadulf leant forward in his saddle and surveyed the landscape approvingly.

‘This Araglin appears to be a paradise,’ he murmured.

Fidelma pursed her lips wryly.

‘Yet there is a serpent in this particular paradise,’ she reminded him.

‘Perhaps the richness of this land could be a motive for murder?A chieftain who has this wealth must be vulnerable,’ Eadulf suggested.

Fidelma was disapproving.

‘You should know our system well by now. Once a chieftain dies, the derbfhine of the family have to meet to confirm the tanist, the heir-elect, as chieftain and appoint a new tanist to the chieftainship. Only an heir-elect would benefit and so they would be the first to be suspect. No; it is rarely possible for someone to be murdered for their office.’

‘The derbfhine?’ queried Eadulf. ‘I have forgotten what that consists of?’

‘Three generations of the chieftain’s family who elect one among them as the tanist and confirm the new chieftain in office.’

‘Isn’t it easier that the oldest male child inherit?’

‘I know the way you Saxons deal with inheritance. We prefer that the person best qualified become chieftain rather than an idiot, chosen simply because they are the eldest son of their father,’ declared Fidelma.

She looked across the valley and pointed.

‘That must be the rath of the chieftain.’

Eadulf knew that a rath was a fortification but the group of buildings in the distance, some almost hidden among several tall beeches with their new brilliant green leaves, and several still flowering yews, was not a fortress. Yet the buildings were quite extensive, like a large village. Eadulf had seen many powerful chieftains living in stone built fortresses, in his travels in the five kingdoms, but this rath had the appearance of just wooden farm buildings and cabins. Looking more closely, he could see a few stone buildings among them, one of which was obviously the chapel of Cill Uird. He could also see, close by the chapel, a large round stone construction which he presumed was the chieftain’s assembly hall.

His expression must have shown his surprise for Fidelma explained: ‘This is farming country. The people of Araglin havethe mountains as their protection. In turn they are a small community which threatens no one so there has probably never been a need to build a fortress to defend them against enemies. Nevertheless, in politeness we call a place where a chieftain dwells his rath.’

She nudged her horse forward and started down the mountain slope towards the valley bottom, towards the distant river and the rath of the chieftain of Araglin.

The track led across an open stretch of country running down the hillside. By the side of it stood a tall cross of carved granite. It stood nearly eighteen feet in height. Eadulf halted his horse and gazed up at the cross in admiration.

‘I have never seen anything like this before,’ he observed with a degree of awe which caused Fidelma to glance at him in amusement.

It was true that there were few such spectacular, high crosses in the kingdom. Its carved grey stone depicted scenes from the gospels, picked out in bright painted colours. Eadulf could identify the scene of the Fall from Grace, Moses smiting the Rock, the Last Judgment, the Crucifixion and other incidents. The summit of the cross was shaped as a shingle roofed church with gable finials. Carved at the base were the words ‘Oroit do Eoghan lasdernad inn Chros’ — a prayer for Eoghan by whom the cross was made.

‘A spectacular border mark for such a small community,’ Eadulf observed.

‘A small but rich community,’ Fidelma corrected dryly, nudging her horse to continue its passage along the road.

It was noon when they grew near the rath. A boy, herding cattle, stopped to stare at them with open-mouthed interest as they passed. A man busy hoeing out the hairy pepperwort that had invaded his cereal crop paused and leant on his hoe, regarding them curiously as they rode by. At least, unlike the boy, he gave them a cheery greeting and received Fidelma’s blessing in return. Dogs beganto bark from the buildings ahead of them and a couple of hounds ran out towards them, yelping as they came but not threateningly so.

A well-constructed bridge of oak crossed the swiftly flowing river to the rath on the far bank. Now that they had come closer to the rath, Eadulf observed that between the river and the buildings there had once been a large earthen bank that encircled the buildings, though it was now overgrown with grass and brush, almost part of the verdant fields around. There were several sheep grazing in its depression. It showed that the buildings had once, long ago, been fortified. Now they were surrounded by wicker walls, interlaced pieces of hazel wood which, Eadulf guessed, were more to keep out roaming wolves or wild pigs than any human aggressor. A large gate in the wicker fence stood wide open.

The hooves of their horses struck hollowly on the wooden planking of the bridge as they crossed the river. They started up the short track to the gates.

A figure emerged between the gates; a muscular man yet beyond his middle years, with sword and shield, and a well-cut black beard flecked with silver, who stood in the middle of the path and regarded them with narrowed speculative dark eyes but with no hostile expression on his features.

‘If you come in peace there is a welcome before you at this place,’ he greeted them ritually.

‘We bring God’s blessing to this place,’ returned Fidelma. ‘Is this the rath of the chieftain of Araglin?’

‘That it is.’

‘Then we wish to see the chieftain.’

‘Eber is dead,’ replied the man, flatly.

‘This we have already learnt. It is to his successor, the tanist, that we come.’

The warrior hesitated and then said: ‘Follow me. You will find the tanist in the hall of assembly.’

He turned and led the way through the gates directly towards the large round stone structure. The doors of the building facedstraight onto the open gates and had obviously been positioned for a purpose. No visitor to the rath could avoid it. It had been designed to impress. And, as if to add to the importance of the building, the stump of what must have been a great oak tree stood to one side of its main door. Even foreshortened, it stood twelve feet high and the top of it constituted a delicately carved cross. Even Eadulf knew enough of the customs of the country to realise that this was the ancient totem of the clan, its crann betha or tree of life, which symbolised the moral and material well-being of the people. He had heard that sometimes, if disputes arose between the clans, then the worst thing that could happen would be a raid by the opposing clan to cut down or burn their rivals’ sacred tree. Such an act would demoralise the people and cause their rivals to claim victory over them.

There was a wooden hitching post nearby. Fidelma and Eadulf slid from their horses and secured them. Several people within the rath had paused in their work or errands and stood examining the two religious with idle curiosity.

‘We do not often get strangers in Araglin,’ the warrior remarked, as if he felt the urge to explain the behaviour of his fellows. ‘We are a simple farming community, not often troubled by the cares of the outside world.’

Fidelma felt no reply was needed.

The complex of buildings spoke of prosperity. They spread in a great semi-circle behind the stone building of the hall of assembly. There were stables and barns, a mill and a dovecot. Beyond these was a perimeter of several small wooden cabins and domestic dwellings which constituted a medium-sized village not to mention the house of the chieftain and his family. Fidelma mentally calculated that some dozen families must dwell in the rath of Araglin. Most impressive was the chapel, standing next to the assembly hall, with its dry stone and elegant structure. This, Fidelma noted, must be the church of Father Gormán called Cill Uird, the church of ritual.

The middle-aged warrior had gone to the wooden oak doors of the building. From a niche at the side of the doors he took a wooden mallet and beat at a wooden block. It resounded hollowly. It was the custom of chieftains to have a bas-chrann, or hand wood, outside their doors for visitors to knock before gaining admittance. The warrior vanished into the interior, closing the doors behind him.

Eadulf glanced at Fidelma.

‘I thought such ritual only applied at the homes of great chieftains,’ he muttered.

‘Every chieftain is great in their own eyes,’ Fidelma responded philosophically.

The doors reopened and the middle-aged warrior motioned them inside. They found themselves in a large single room of impressive proportions which was panelled by polished deal and oak. Along these panels hung shields, highly burnished pieces of bronze, some brilliantly enamelled. A few colourful tapestries were draped here and there. The floor was of oak planking, dark and ancient. There were several movable tables and benches. At one end stood a raised platform, no more than a foot high, on which was placed a magnificently carved oak chair adorned with the pelts of some animal. It was inlaid with polished bronze and some silver.

Although it was daylight outside, there were no windows within this great hall but several oil lamps, hanging from the beams, caused shadows to flicker and dance throughout the room and this effect was enhanced by a fire crackling in a hearth at one side of the room.

The warrior instructed them to wait and then withdrew leaving them alone.

They stood quietly, examining the opulence of the room carefully. If the room was meant to impress it certainly impressed Eadulf. Even Fidelma admitted to herself that the hall would not be out of place in her brother’s palace at Cashel. Only a fewmoments passed before a lithe figure emerged from behind a tapestry curtain at the back of the raised platform and came to stand before the ornate chair. In the smoky atmosphere, Fidelma saw the figure was that of a young woman, scarcely more than nineteen years of age. She had corn-coloured long tresses and pale blue eyes. That she was attractive, there was no doubt. But the features seemed rather too hard for Fidelma to feel comfortable with them and the blue of the eyes was too cold. The mouth was set just a little too thinly so that the overall impression she had was of a person of unbending severity of nature. All this Fidelma deduced by a quick glance.

Fidelma noticed that she wore a dress of blue silk and matching shawl of dyed wool fastened with an elaborate gold brooch. She held her hands folded demurely before her. The young woman stood examining them with a questioning expression.

‘I am Crón, tanist of the Araglin. I am told that you wish to see me?’

Her voice, though a mellow soprano, was not welcoming.

Fidelma hid her surprise that one so young could be chieftain-elect of a farming clan. Rural communities were usually conservative as to who they approved of as civil leaders over them.

‘I believe that my arrival is expected,’ she replied. She kept her tone formal.

The blonde-haired girl’s face remained blank.

‘Why should I be expecting members of the religious at this place?’ she countered. ‘Father Gormán fulfils all our needs in the matter of our Faith.’

Fidelma stifled a low impatient sigh.

‘I am a dálaigh of the courts, asked to come to this place to investigate the death of Eber, your former chieftain.’

Crón’s set expression flickered for a moment and then reformed into its expressionless rigidity.

‘Eber was my father,’ she said quietly, the only expression of emotion. ‘He was murdered. It was without my approval that mymother sent to the king in Cashel requesting a dálaigh. I am capable of conducting an inquiry into this matter myself. However, I hardly expected the king of Cashel to answer me by sending one so young and presumably without knowledge of the world outside a religious cloister.’

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 theharsh 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 itbecame 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.’