The Spider's Web sf-5

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘These are not the laws that our Father Gormán would have us follow,’ observed Dubán impassively.

  Fidelma turned to him with interest.

  ‘Perhaps you would explain that?’

  ‘Father Gormán preaches the rules of Rome in his church. What he calls the Penitentials.’

  Fidelma knew that many of the new ideas from Rome were entering the five kingdoms and some pro-Roman clerics were even attempting to make these new philosophies part of the laws of the kingdoms. A new system of Roman ecclesiastical law was springing up alongside the native civil and criminal laws.

  She remembered the comment of Abbot Cathal of Lios Mhór. Father Gormán was a strong advocate of Roman customs and had even built another chapel at Ard Mór from money raised by the supporters of the pro-Roman camp. The conflict among the clerics of the churches in the five kingdoms was becoming bitter. The Council of Witebia, in Oswy’s kingdom, where she had first met Eadulf two years ago, had only been a means of making the differences deeper. Oswy had asked the council to debate the differences between the ideas of the church of Rome and those of the churches of the five kingdoms. In spite of the fine arguments, Oswy had decided in favour of Rome which had given support to those clerics in the five kingdoms who wanted to see Rome’s authority established there. It was well known that Ultan, the archbishop of Ard Macha, Primate of all five kingdoms, favoured Rome. But not everyone accepted Ultán’s authority anyway. There were factions and cliques each arguing for their interpretation of the new Faith.

  ‘And are you saying that Father Gormán disapproved of Teafa’s care of Móen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You said that you thought Teafa was able to communicate with Móen. Could anyone else communicate with him?’

  Dubán shook his head.

  ‘No one else, as far as I know, seemed to have any contact with him at all. Just Teafa.’

  ‘So how was Teafa able to make contact with him?’

  ‘Truly, that I do not know.’

  ‘It is a small community, as you say. Surely someone must know what means she used?’

  Dubán raised his shoulder and let it fall in an explicit gesture.

  A thought then occurred to Fidelma, one she cursed herself for not having thought of before. The idea made her feel cold.

  ‘Are you telling me that Móen does not know what he is supposed to have done, or why he is being held?’

  Dubán stared at her for a few seconds and then chuckled sourly.

  ‘Of course he must realise that. He had just killed Teafa and Eber. Why else would he think he was taken and shackled?’

  ‘If, indeed, he had killed Teafa and Eber,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But what if he had not? He would not know why or who constrained him. If you cannot communicate with him, how could he know what he is supposed to have done? Has he made efforts to communicate with you?’

  Dubán was still smiling, not taking her seriously.

  ‘I suppose he has tried, in his animal-like way, that is.’

  ‘What way is that?’

  ‘He keeps trying to seize our hands and making gestures with his hands as if to attract attention. But surely he knows only Teafa could understand him.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Fidelma said grimly. ‘Has it not occurred to you that Móen might think that Teafa is still alive and is trying to get someone to fetch her so that he can communicate?’

  Dubán shook his head.

  ‘He killed Teafa, whatever you may claim, sister.’

  ‘Dubán, you are a stubborn man.’

  ‘And you appear to be equally as stubborn.’

  ‘Why don’t we see if we can communicate with this creature?’ Eadulf suggested as a compromise.

  ‘A good suggestion, Eadulf,’ agreed Fidelma, turning to lead the way from Teafa’s cabin.

  Móen was still shackled in the stables but there was a distinct difference. One stall of the stable had been cleaned out. A straw palliasse was laid in a corner and nearby was a jug of water and a commode. Seated cross-legged on the palliasse, though still shackled by one ankle, was Móen.

  Fidelma could see at once that her instructions had been carried out. He had been washed. His hair and beard had been cut and combed. Only his white staring eyes, the tilt of his head, marked him out as in any way exceptional from anyone else. In fact, Fidelma reflected sadly, the young man was quite handsome.

  As they entered, his nostrils quivered slightly. He turned his head in their direction and it was almost impossible to believe that he could not see them.

  ‘Now,’ Dubán asked cynically, ‘how are you going to try to communicate with him, sister?’

  Fidelma ignored him.

  She motioned Eadulf to stay back and moved towards the young man and halted before him.

  He started back nervously and once more raised a hand to protect his head.

  Fidelma turned and scowled towards Dubán.

  ‘This tells me much about how this unfortunate has been treated.’

  Dubán flushed.

  ‘Not by me!’ he replied. ‘But remember that this creature has killed — twice!’

  ‘There is still no excuse for beating him. Would you beat a dumb animal?’

  She turned back to Móen and reached forward with her hand, taking the one he was holding above his head and gently pushing it to one side.

  The effect was electric. An eager expression came on the creature’s face. His nostrils flared and he seemed to be catching Fidelma’s scent.

  Fidelma carefully seated herself alongside Móen.

  Dubán started forward, his hand on his sword.

  ‘I cannot allow this …’ he protested.

  Eadulf reached forward and held Dubán back. He had a strong grip and it surprised Dubán.

  ‘Wait,’ Eadulf instructed gently.

  Móen had reached forward with his hand and his fingertips touched Fidelma’s face inquiringly. Fidelma sat quietly and allowed Móen to trace her features. Then she held up her crucifix and placed it in his hand. He suddenly smiled eagerly and began to nod.

  ‘He understands,’ she explained to them. ‘He understands that I am a religieuse.’

  Dubán snorted derisively.

  ‘Any animal can understand kindness.’

  Móen had reached forward and taken Fidelma’s hands. She frowned.

  ‘What is he doing?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘He seems to be tapping on my hand, or drawing some symbols …’ muttered Fidelma, frowning. ‘Strange, I think they must mean something. But what?’

  With a quick sigh of exasperation, she took Móen’s hand and traced some words in bold Latin characters upon it.

  ‘I am Fidelma,’ she pronounced as she traced the characters.

  Móen was frowning as he felt her touch.

  He gave a grunt, shook his head, seized her hand again andcontinued his curious tapping, stroking motion.

  ‘This obviously means something,’ Fidelma said in frustration. ‘This must be the way Teafa communicated with him. But what does it mean?’

  ‘Maybe it is some code that only Teafa and Móen knew between them,’ Eadulf hazarded.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Fidelma halted the rapid movement of Móen’s fingers on her hand.

  Móen seemed to understand that she could not fathom his means of communication and he dropped his hands to his lap and his face twisted into a mask of misery. He gave a long, deep sigh, almost of despair.

  Fidelma felt suddenly overcome with sadness for him and reached out her hand and touched his cheek. It was wet. She realised that tears were coursing down by the sides of his nose.

  ‘I wish I could tell you how much I understand your disappointment, Móen,’ she said softly. ‘I wish we could speak so that I might learn what has happened here.’

  She gripped his hand and pressed it.

  Móen seemed to incline his head as if in acceptance of the communication of emotion.

  Fidelma rose carefully and moved back to Eadu
lf and Dubán.

  The middle-aged warrior was gazing in thoughtful wonder at the quietly seated figure of the unfortunate.

  ‘Well, I have seen Teafa calm him but never anyone else.’

  Fidelma moved away from the stall, with Eadulf and Dubán following.

  ‘Perhaps that is because no one else treats him like a human being,’ she observed, fighting down her anger that a sentient being could be treated so badly.

  At the door of the stables they encountered the young warrior, Critan.

  The boastful youth with the dirty-coloured fair hair smirked at them.

  ‘You could present him at the palace of Cashel now, couldn’t you?’ he said, indicating Móen.

  Fidelma eyed the young warrior disfavourably. She did not deign to reply.

  As she left the stable the youth added derisively: ‘Well, at least the creature will look clean and nice when he is hanged.’

  Fidelma wheeled round in fury.

  ‘Hanged? Who said, even if he were guilty, that he should be punished by hanging?’

  ‘Father Gormán, of course.’ The young man was unabashed. ‘He says we should take a life for a life.’

  Fidelma looked grim.

  ‘Indeed, as Plautus told us, in his Asinaria — lupus est homo homini!’

  Critan screwed up his face.

  ‘I have no Latin or Greek learning.’

  ‘Accepting your belief in the philosophy of mere vengeance, are you so sure that it is Móen’s life that should be forfeit?’

  For a moment it appeared that Critan did not fully understand what she meant and then he smiled easily.

  ‘I know Móen was the killer, there is no doubt.’

  ‘No doubt? How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because I saw him.’

  Fidelma blinked, feeling as if someone had dealt her an unexpected blow. Eadulf leaned forward quickly.

  ‘Are you saying that you actually saw him kill Eber?’ he demanded.

  Crítán grinned knowingly.

  ‘Not actually saw him,’ he confessed, tapping the side of his nose with a forefinger, ‘but as good as.’

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ snapped Fidelma. ‘You can only say something is certain if you witnessed it.’

  Critan was boastful again now that he had her full attention.

  ‘I witnessed Móen enter Eber’s apartments.’

  Fidelma allowed her eyes to widen fractionally in surprise. Neither Menma nor Dubán had referred to the fact that Critan had been in the vicinity of Eber’s apartments before the discovery of the body.

  ‘You will have to explain a little more,’ she said tersely. ‘When did you see Móen enter Eber’s apartments?’

  ‘It was the morning when Menma discovered them. About half an hour before I went to relieve Dubán on guard duty.’

  Fidelma shot a quick glance of interrogation at Dubán. The senior warrior was clearly bewildered. He was apparently hearing this story for the first time.

  ‘What were you doing abroad so early?’ Fidelma asked softly. The young man seemed to hesitate and she continued: ‘You must explain if you are to be accepted as a credible witness.’

  ‘If you must know,’ Crítán’s face reddened and his tone was defensive, ‘I had spent the night at a certain place …’

  ‘A certain place?’

  Dubán suddenly guffawed lewdly.

  ‘I’ll wager that he means Clídna’s brothel. It is a few miles along the river from here.’

  Crítán’s mortified face confirmed the fact.

  ‘I was to return to the rath before sunrise and had just reached the entrance to the hall of assembly. I saw Dubán sprawled on a bench just inside. He was fast asleep.’ Dubán’s face reddened but he said nothing. ‘Then I saw that creature sneaking along in the shadows. He did not know that I was there, of course.’

  ‘Was Móen alone?’

  Critan grimaced.

  ‘Yes. It is well known that he was able to move freely, blind, deaf and dumb as he was. He seemed to have an uncanny instinct at knowing how to move from one house to another.’

  ‘I see. So he was alone?’

  ‘He was,’ confirmed the youth.

  ‘And you saw him enter Eber’s house?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘How?’

  Critan blinked rapidly. ‘How?’ he echoed the question as if he did not understand it.

  ‘You said that you were at the entrance of the hall of assembly. To see Eber’s door you would have had to move some twenty to thirty feet even to see it in the light let alone the darkness.’

  ‘Oh. When I saw him sneaking along I wondered what he was up to. So I waited until he had gone by me and then I followed him.’

  ‘And you saw him enter Eber’s apartments? How did he enter?’

  ‘Through the door.’ The youth was ingenuous.

  ‘I meant, did he do so with stealth, or did he knock on the door or otherwise attempt to announce his presence? How?’

  ‘Oh, with stealth, naturally. It was still dark.’

  ‘And you saw Móen enter in the darkness. You have good eyesight. What did you do then?’

  ‘I was intent on returning to the warrior’s lodge to wash before relieving Dubán,’ grinned Critan. ‘I continued on my way. I did not wish to get involved so said nothing when Teafa …’

  He suddenly paused. A look of uncertainty came into his eyes.

  ‘When Teafa …?’ prompted Fidelma. ‘When Teafa … what?’

  ‘I had returned by the hall of assembly, beyond the stables towards the warriors’ hostel, which lies just by the mill house. Teafa’s cabin is nearby. As I was passing, she came out with lamp in hand. She was searching for Móen. At first I thought that she was looking for firewood for she had bent down to pick up a stick by her door. Then she saw me and asked if I had seen Móen.’

  Fidelma was looking thoughtful.

  ‘Did you tell her where he was to be found?’

  ‘Not I. I did not want to get involved in hunting for the creature. I told her that I had not seen him and passed on. I washed, changedmy clothes and then went in search of Dubán. When I found him, he told me what had happened.’ Critan smiled triumphantly at the end of his narrative. ‘So there you are. It is clear that Móen killed Eber and Teafa.’

  Eadulf nodded reflectively.

  ‘It does seem conclusive,’ he acknowledged, glancing at Fidelma.

  ‘Just let me make sure that I have this clear,’ she said. ‘You saw Móen enter Eber’s apartments. They were in darkness. It was before sunrise. How were you able to see Móen enter?’

  ‘Easy to say. My eyes were accustomed to the dark. I had just ridden from Clidna’s place in the dark.’

  ‘Then you passed on and came on Teafa standing at her cabin door with a lamp looking for Móen? When you went to find Dubán, perhaps a half an hour later, you learnt that Menma had found Eber and Móen. Why didn’t you mention what you had seen?’

  ‘There was no need. There were other witnesses.’

  ‘When did you learn that Teafa had also been killed?’

  Critan was confident.

  ‘After Dubán went to find her to deal with Móen.’

  ‘Thank you, Critan, you have been of great help.’

  Fidelma began to walk at a leisurely pace towards the guests’ hostel with Eadulf hurrying at her side.

  ‘Do you need me again today, sister?’ called Dubán after them.

  Fidelma turned absently. ‘I still want to see the hunting knife with which Móen is supposed to have carried out this deed.’

  ‘I’ll bring it directly,’ the warrior answered.

  As they walked back to the guests’ hostel, Eadulf waited patiently for Fidelma to make some comment but, as she remained silent, he decided to prompt her.

  ‘I think the evidence is pretty clear. Eye-witnesses and the discovery of Móen with the knife. It seems there is little more to be inquired into. Móen, pitiable creature though he is, is guil
ty of this deed.’

  Fidelma raised her smouldering green eyes to his dark brown ones.

  ‘Quite the contrary, Eadulf. I think that the evidence goes to support the argument that Móen did not commit the murders as charged.’

  Chapter Eight

  After Dubán had been sent to request a meeting with Cranat, the widow of Eber, word came that she would meet with Fidelma and Eadulf in the hall of assembly within half an hour.

  Crón was already there when they entered, seated in her chair of office. Before her, just below the dais, were the same seats as before. This time Fidelma noticed that a second chair had been placed next to Crón’s chair of office. Fidelma and Eadulf had barely reached their places when a straight-backed woman entered, with a fixed, unsmiling expression. She did not glance in their direction, nor make any attempt to acknowledge them, but moved forward to the empty chair and seated herself beside her daughter.

  For a woman approaching her fiftieth year, Cranat was still handsome. She had kept her figure well. There was something aristocratic about her oval face, her fair skin, white and delicate. Her golden hair had no grey in it but was worn long and flowed down below the shoulders. The hands were well formed with slender tapering fingers. Fidelma noticed that the nails were carefully cut and rounded and artificially coloured crimson. Berry juice dyed the eyebrows black and there was a hint of ruam, the juice of sprigs and berries of the elder tree, which highlighted the cheeks with the blush of red. Fidelma noticed that Cranat did not believe in stinting herself when it came to perfume. A heavy scent of roses permeated the air around her. Cranat seated herself in regal posture.

  She wore a dress of red silk fringed with gold and bracelets of silver and white bronze adorned her arms while a circlet of gold encased her neck. Clearly Cranat was possessed of wealth andher bearing showed that she was also possessed of status not just the rank of the wife of chieftain of Araglin.

  Fidelma stood for a few moments waiting for Cranat to even acknowledge her by raising her eyes.

  Finally, it was Crón, the tanist, who ended the silence, speaking without rising from her own chair.

  ‘Mother, this is Fidelma, the advocate who is here to pronounce judgment on Móen.’

  Only then did Cranat raise her head and Fidelma found herself staring into the same cold blue eyes of Cranat’s daughter, Crón.