The Spider's Web

by Peter Tremayne

  Agdae shook his head.

  ‘All our men are accounted for save Muadnat. Presumably it was not he otherwise you would not be searching for him.’

  ‘And Muadnat is hunting in the hills?’

  ‘Just as I have said.’

  ‘Call your men before me, Agdae,’ demanded Dubán.

  Agdae hesitated and then relayed the order.

  The dozen or so farm hands gathered nervously under his scrutiny. They looked a sorry sight for most of them were elderly, sinewy and with strength for the plough and the sickle but not for the robust life of a cattle raider. Dubán looked at Fidelma and shrugged.

  ‘These men will not be counted among the raiders,’ he said. ‘Shall we search the farmstead further?’

  Fidelma reluctantly shook her head.

  ‘Is it worth picking up the trail which Archú indicated and following the path of the raiders?’ she suggested.

  Dubán chuckled dryly.

  ‘The route which was pointed out to us lay through a swamp land. Indeed, this is why this area is called the Black Marsh. Apart from the track which leads here, the other trails are dangerous. There is no way of following a trail through that treacherous bog.’

  Brother Eadulf abruptly leaned forward from his horse and addressed Agdae.

  ‘I have a question for you,’ he said softly.

  ‘Then ask away, Saxon,’ Agdae replied complacently.

  Eadulf pointed across the fields.

  ‘Behind your farmstead there is a path which apparently leads up into the northern hills. It seems to lead in the opposite direction to the track that would take us back to the rath of Araglin. I thought there was only one way in and out of this valley?’

  ‘What of it?’ demanded Agdae.

  Fidelma had raised her gaze towards the spot Eadulf had indicated and saw that he was right. There was a path there. She had not noticed it before. It was a recognisable track that rose across the northern hills, along the high meadows and clumps of woodland, towards the edge of the forests which spread across the hills on the far side of the valley.

  ‘Where does that route lead?’ queried Eadulf.

  ‘Nowhere,’ replied Agdae shortly.

  Dubán took up the idea at once.

  ‘We are told that the raiders rode in the direction of your farmstead. If they did not take the track leading back into the main valley of Araglin then the only path is that one. So where does it lead?’

  ‘No spot in particular,’ Agdae insisted. ‘I told the Saxon no lie.’

  ‘What?’ Dubán let out a roar of laughter. ‘Every path must lead to somewhere.’

  ‘You know me, Dubán. I know every path and every dell within these valleys. I tell you that the track leads nowhere. It loses itself on the far side of the hills.’

  ‘I will accept that he tells the truth,’ replied Eadulf and sat back apparently satisfied. ‘It does not matter. If the raiders took that path then they would have been seen by someone on this farmstead. Isn’t that correct, Agdae?’

  The man looked disconcerted for a moment and then jerked his head in agreement.

  ‘You speak the truth, Saxon. They would have been seen.’

  Fidelma was slightly perplexed. She wondered why Eadulf had asked about the path if he was not prepared to insist on the logical assumption that the raiders might have escaped by that route and suggest that Dubán take his men in pursuit. She quickly deduced that there was another reason to Eadulf’s question.

  Dubán was not persuaded.

  ‘I will send two of my trackers to check the path. If they find any sign of the raiders then we shall go in pursuit.’

  Agdae sniffed in displeasure.

  ‘They will find nothing.’

  Dubán motioned to two of his men who set off at a canter in the direction of the pathway.

  Agdae was looking sourly at Fidelma.

  ‘It seems that you are determined to paint my uncle Muadnat as a villain, dálaigh.’

  ‘Muadnat is capable of painting his own image,’ replied Fidelma without concern.

  ‘Dubán, there is a horseman approaching!’ It was one of Dubán’s men.

  They all turned in the direction to which the man was pointing. A horseman was certainly approaching from the direction of the main track to the rath of Araglin. It did not take long to recognise the slight form of Father Gormán.

  ‘What is happening here?’ called the priest as he rode up.

  ‘You startled us, Father,’ rejoined Dubán. ‘You seemed to appear from nowhere.’ He glanced at the priest’s attire and added: ‘It is cold weather to be abroad without a riding cloak.’

  Father Gormán shrugged.

  ‘It was warm when I started out this morning,’ he said dismissively. ‘But what is the matter?’

  ‘Have you not heard that Archú’s farmstead has been attacked? That is why we are nervous about horsemen in this area.’

  The dark-featured priest looked uneasy.

  ‘An attack? This is shameful. These cattle raiders again, I suppose?’ He paused and shrugged. ‘I was on my way to Archú’s place anyway. But if there are raiders still about perhaps I should take care to go in company.’

  ‘Oh,’ Fidelma was sardonic, ‘the raiders are long gone but surely you have your Faith to guard you from harm. Still, I am sure you would be welcomed at Archú’s farm. There is a corpse that stands in need of your blessing.’

  Father Gormán glowered in annoyance.

  ‘Who has been killed?’ he demanded.

  ‘No one seems to know,’ Dubán confessed. He was about to add something else when his two men came back.

  ‘We have examined the path. The ground is far too stony to define any tracks so far as we climbed it. We went about a mile.’

  Dubán was disappointed.

  ‘I do not want to waste time in fruitless chases,’ he muttered. ‘If the track leads nowhere then it is a waste of time. I will accept what you say, Agdae, but tell your uncle that I, Dubán, wish to see him when he returns. I do not think we can do any more here.’

  He glanced towards Fidelma, as if seeking her approval, and she inclined her head in agreement.

  They left Father Gormán talking with Agdae, and turned back towards the rath of Araglin. It was after they had ridden away from Muadnat’s farmstead, heading back along the track out of the valley, that Fidelma turned to Eadulf and quietly asked him what had prompted him to ask his question about the path if he was simply prepared to take Agdae’s word about where it led.

  ‘I wanted to see his reactions because I saw someone on the path as we rode up to the farmstead. I think everyone must have had their attention on Agdae and his men for it appears no one else noticed the figure but myself.’

  ‘I did not even see the path,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Certainly no one has said that they saw a figure on the hills.’

  ‘Well, I saw someone riding swiftly along the path and vanishing into the trees behind the farmstead.’

  ‘Who was it? Muadnat?’

  Eadulf shook his head.

  ‘No. The figure of the rider was not male. It was the slighter figure of a woman. I saw her shape clearly in the sunlight as we came up to the farm buildings.’

  Fidelma raised her eyebrows in exasperation. She always felt irritated when Eadulf prolonged his pronouncements for dramatic effect.

  ‘Did you recognise who it was?’ she demanded as patiently as she could.

  ‘I believe that it was Crón.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Looking out from the window of the guests’ hostel, Fidelma saw a horse and rider galloping through the gates of the rath of Araglin. It was morning and she and Eadulf had just finished breaking their fast. They had returned to the rath late the previous evening without any resolution to their visit to the farmstead of Archú. Dubán had decided to send a second man back to the farmstead after they had left Muadnat’s farm as protection. But Dubán was convinced, however, that bandits were responsible for the raid. Even a
s Fidelma and Eadulf had sat down to breakfast, they had seen Dubán and a group of his warriors ride out and presumed that they had set out in another searching sweep of the countryside.

  Eadulf’s identification of the rider on the path behind Muadnat’s farmhouse was, at Fidelma’s insistence, a matter between them. In fact, when Fidelma pressed Eadulf as to why he was so sure of the rider’s identity at that distance, Eadulf told her it was only by means of the parti-coloured cloak which he had seen Crón wearing in the hall of assembly.

  The thunder of hooves on the wooden planking of the bridge was the first sound to alert Fidelma to something unusual. She moved to the window in time to see the single horse and its rider racing into the rath. Fidelma was surprised to see that it was Muadnat’s nephew Agdae. He flung himself from the beast and went racing towards the hall of assembly.

  ‘What now?’ demanded Eadulf gloomily.

  Fidelma looked composed as she resumed her seat to finish her meal.

  ‘I have a feeling that we will discover the answer to your question soon.’

  Indeed, it was only a few moments later that Dignait arrived to summon them to join Crón in the hall of assembly. The face of the young tanist was grim.

  ‘It is Muadnat,’ she announced as they entered the hall.

  Fidelma drew a breath of annoyance.

  ‘I suppose our litigious friend is now charging young Archú with burning down his own stable. What is it now?’

  ‘It may well be that Archú will be charged with a serious crime, Fidelma,’ replied Crón. ‘But it will not be Muadnat who does the charging.’

  ‘I think you need to explain further,’ Fidelma suggested softly.

  ‘Muadnat has been found dead. He was found hanged on the high cross of Eoghan that marks the road into Araglin.’

  Fidelma’s eyes went wide. She remembered Eadulf pausing to admire the cross as they arrived at the valley of Araglin.

  ‘If memory serves me right, the high cross is not on the road to Muadnat’s farmstead but stands by the road which comes into the valley in the opposite direction. Who discovered his body?’

  ‘Agdae. The high meadow beyond the cross belongs to him. Agdae said that Muadnat left his farm yesterday afternoon to go hunting. It was only early this morning that Agdae realised that Muadnat had not returned home. He went in search of him. And found him dead at the high cross. Muadnat often went hunting in the hills beyond there. Agdae rode here to get help and has now returned there with some men.’

  Fidelma made a cynical grimace.

  ‘Doubtless Dubán has told you of our visit to Muadnat’s farmstead yesterday?’

  Crón nodded.

  ‘It seems that Agdae did not think of directing us to that quarter at that time when we were looking for Muadnat.’

  ‘Is that important?’

  ‘We shall see. But Agdae did not know where Muadnat was to be found when we inquired for him yesterday. However, this morning, when he became worried about Muadnat’s absence, he was able to go directly to that spot.’

  ‘Well, Agdae is already accusing Archú of this murder.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘Because Archú is the only person in Araglin who has been at enmity with Muadnat. He says that Archú, through you, blamed Muadnat for the raid on his farmstead yesterday.’

  ‘That is not quite accurate.’ Fidelma turned to Eadulf. ‘We’d better ride out to this cross and see for ourselves.’

  He was in agreement and asked Crón: ‘How long will it be before Dubán returns?’ Adding: ‘It may be that we shall have need of his services in protecting Archú from the wild accusations of Agdae.’

  Crón was annoyed.

  ‘Why should you spend time on this matter? It has nothing to do with the death of my father, Eber, or Teafa. Surely you should be devoting yourself to uncovering the murderer if, as I believe you now claim, it is not Móen … though I think it will take much persuasive power to convince the people of Araglin that he is innocent.’

  Fidelma suppressed a passing feeling of exasperation.

  ‘I find it is better to keep an open mind when conducting an investigation. There is much secrecy in Araglin. I have been told things which are not true. I do not know whether the death of Muadnat has anything to do with the deaths of Eber and Teafa. If you know differently then perhaps you would share your knowledge with me?’

  Crón had difficulty in controlling her features and, with grim satisfaction, Fidelma saw uncertainty and even fear in her eyes. After a moment or two, Crón controlled her emotions.

  ‘No, I do not have such information. I only make what I consider a logical observation. If you must ride out to the big cross, then you must. But I think your investigation into this matter is taking an overly long period to complete.’

  ‘It will take as long as it takes,’ replied Fidelma resolutely. ‘People must have patience.’

  ‘Agdae may not have patience. He has sworn to find Archú and exact vengeance.’

  Fidelma looked sharply at her.

  ‘Then I would advise you to send after Dubán and have him restrain Agdae unless you want to see one injustice follow another. Perhaps Archú and Scoth should be brought here to this rath for their own protection until I can investigate the matter properly.’

  ‘Agdae was kin to Muadnat, as, indeed, I was. He will not let his killer escape justice,’ Crón said coldly.

  ‘Then,’ replied Fidelma equally icily, ‘we must ensure that the killer is found – whoever he or she is.’

  She turned and strode quickly from the assembly hall with Eadulf trailing in her wake. In a short while they were riding at a rapid pace uphill towards the distant high cross.

  The young warrior Crítán was already there with a couple of burly men, farm workers by the look of them. Nearby stood an ass which had obviously been prepared to receive the body of Muadnat. The purpose of the gathering seemed to be a preparation for the taking down of the body. Muadnat was hanging by his neck by a rope which had been passed over the cross-bar of the granite cross. His feet were little more than a few inches above the ground. Yet Fidelma could immediately see the stains of blood over the front of the man’s shirt as if massive wounds had been inflicted while he was alive.

  One of the farm workers who had been about to place a ladder against the back of the cross suddenly saw the approach of Fidelma and Eadulf and paused, muttering something to his two companions. They turned and regarded the two religious with hostility.

  Young Crítán moved forward disdainfully.

  ‘You are not welcome here,’ he greeted.

  Unperturbed, Fidelma halted her horse and dismounted.

  ‘We do not ask a welcome,’ she said calmly.

  Eadulf also slid from his mount and hitched his reins together with those of Fidelma’s horse.

  Crítán stood hands on his hips. He gazed resentfully at Fidelma. His was a character which would never forgive her for apparently humiliating him. Now he made his aggression clear.

  ‘It would be well if you left here, woman. Twice you have exonerated Archú in his feud against Muadnat. Now see where this has led. This time Archú shall not succeed. Nor will your attempts to conspire with that creature of the Devil and let him go free after he has murdered Eber and Teafa.’ His tone of menace matched his words.

  Fidelma did not appear troubled, standing hands demurely folded in front of her, even smiling at the youth.

  ‘I am an advocate of the courts of the five kingdoms, Crítán,’ she said pleasantly enough. ‘Do you dare threaten me?’

  Arrogance and inexperience combined in Crítán to cause stupidity to replace even his natural cunning. He thrust out his jaw.

  ‘This is Araglin, woman. You do not have the protection of your church or of your brother’s warriors here.’

  He was disconcerted to see Fidelma’s smile broaden.

  ‘I do not need them to exert my authority here,’ she replied.

  The two farm hands had stood hesita
ntly, allowing Crítán to be their spokesman. Now the one with the ladder, realising that the young warrior might have gone a little too far with his threats, put down his burden and came forward.

  ‘It is true that you are not wanted here, sister,’ he said, with slightly more respect in his voice. ‘Our kinsman,’ he jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the high cross, ‘has been slain and we know who must pay for it. You should be about your own business.’

  ‘You appear to have made your mind up about the identity of the person who you want to punish for Muadnat’s death whether they are guilty or not,’ observed Eadulf dryly. ‘Is it not better to wait until you find the real culprit?’

  ‘No one asked for your interference, Saxon,’ snapped Crítán. ‘Now be gone, the both of you. It is a fair warning that I give you.’

  Fidelma’s mouth turned down almost in a wistful expression. It was always a dangerous sign with her but only Eadulf realised that fact. She had noticed that the youth’s words were studied, the face flushed, eyes bright and gestures exaggerated. It was obvious, now that she had a chance to observe him more closely, that the young man had taken drink to bolster his courage that morning.

  ‘I will overlook your ill-manners, Crítán, for this time I shall take into account your youth and inexperience. Now I mean to examine Muadnat’s body and I do so by the authority I hold.’

  Crítán, having used verbal force and found it not intimidating, was somewhat taken aback. He glanced at the two farm hands for support. They were looking embarrassed. Now Crítán saw that he was being humiliated again in front of others.

  ‘These are kinsmen of Muadnat,’ he said stubbornly. ‘We will not allow you to bend the law to allow Archú to escape our justice.’

  ‘And are they your witness to this murder?’ Fidelma demanded, turning to the two men. ‘You,’ she suddenly pointed to the one who had adopted a more reasonable tone with her, ‘did you see Archú kill Muadnat?’

  The man flushed.

  ‘No, of course not, but …’

  ‘And you?’ Fidelma wheeled sharply to the second man.

  ‘Who else but Archú would do this?’ replied the man resolutely.

  ‘Who else? Isn’t that a matter to be considered by the law before you exact vengeance on someone who may be innocent?’