The Spider's Web sf-5

by Peter Tremayne

  Grella signalled her compliance with a jerk of her head and scurried away.

  Fidelma closed the door of Dignait’s chamber and made her way back to the hostel.

  Eadulf was sitting with a pale face, still drinking water.

  She glanced at him with an unarticulated question. He nodded slowly.

  ‘How do you feel?’ she asked softly.

  Eadulf shrugged ruefully.

  ‘Ask me that in a few hours’ time. That will be when the poison takes effect if it is going to. I hope I have vomited most of it out. You never can tell.’

  ‘Dignait is missing. Her room is in disorder and there is a stain of blood on her table.’

  Eadulf’s eyes widened.

  ‘You think that Dignait …?’

  ‘She is a logical person to question as it was she who apparently prepared the food and told Grella to bring it to us. I have asked the young girl to keep an eye on you while I am away.’

  ‘I am coming with you to find Dignait,’ Eadulf protested. Fidelma gazed at him almost tenderly and shook her head firmly.

  ‘My friend, you must sit and continue to purge yourself. I will go to find out what I can.’

  Eadulf began to object but observing the steely glint of fire in Fidelma’s eyes thought better of it.

  Fidelma found Crón in the hall of assembly looking morose. She straightened up a little as Fidelma approached her.

  ‘Is it true?’ she demanded. ‘I have just spoken with Grella.’

  ‘True enough,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Do you have any idea where Dignait might have gone?’

  Crón shook her head.

  ‘I saw her earlier today. Grella says that you have already searched her apartment?’

  ‘She seems to have disappeared. Her chamber is deserted and in disarray and there is a smear of blood on the table there.’

  ‘I do not know what to advise. She must be somewhere within the rath. I will ask that a search be made immediately.’

  ‘Where is your mother, Cranat? I am told she knows Dignait better than anyone and she was speaking with her earlier this morning.’

  ‘My mother has gone for her usual morning ride in the company of Father Gormán.’

  ‘Let me know when she returns.’

  Fidelma’s next stop was at the cabin of Teafa.

  Gadra opened the door, saw Fidelma’s worried expression and silently stood aside so that she might enter.

  ‘You are abroad early, Fidelma, and bear an expression of ill-favour on your face.’

  ‘How is your charge?’

  ‘Móen? He is still asleep. We were late to bed for we were discussing matters of theology.’

  ‘Discussing theology?’ She was startled.

  ‘Móen has a profound grasp of theology,’ Gadra assured her. ‘We were also discussing what might be his future.’

  ‘I suspect that he does not want to stay here?’

  Gadra chuckled cynically.

  ‘After all that has happened?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But what will he do?’

  ‘I have suggested to him that he might like to find sanctuary from the evils of the world in a religious cloister — perhaps at Lios Mhór. He needs the order that a life among the religious can give him and many will be able to communicate with him there for, as you yourself have shown, a knowledge of the ancient Ogam can quickly be adapted to a method of communication.’

  ‘It sounds a reasonable idea,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But one that hardly fits in with your philosophy.’

  ‘My world is dying. I have already admitted this. Móen needs to be part of the new world, not the old.’ Gadra suddenly frowned. ‘But I can see that you are preoccupied. You did not come here to talk of Móen. Has anything else happened?’

  ‘I fear for the life of my companion, Eadulf,’ Fidelma said curtly. ‘Someone tried to poison him and myself this morning.’

  Gadra’s face registered shock.

  ‘Tried? How so?’

  ‘Poisonous mushrooms.’

  ‘Most people can easily recognise the poisonous varieties.’

  ‘Agreed. But false morel can easily pass as morel.’

  ‘But it is only in a raw state that it is highly toxic. As morel is never eaten raw there is little chance …’

  ‘It was the fact that the miotóg bhuí, the morel, was raw that made me glance at it twice. I did not touch it but, unfortunately, Brother Eadulf had already begun to eat the noxious fungus before I recognised it.’

  Gadra looked serious.

  ‘He should be purged immediately.’

  ‘He has vomited and I have made him drink as much water as he can to increase the vomiting.’

  ‘Is it known who is responsible for this attempt to poison you?’

  ‘It seems likely that it is Dignait. But Dignait does not appear to be in the rath. She has disappeared. Her room is in uproar and there is blood on her table.’

  Gadra raised his eyebrows in concern.

  ‘It will be your duty to ask a question of me. I shall answer it now: neither I nor Móen have left this dwelling this morning.’

  Fidelma grimaced.

  ‘I did not suspect that you had.’

  Gadra turned aside to his sacculus. The bag lay on the table. He drew out a small bottle.

  ‘I carry my medicines about with me. This is an infusion which is a mixture of ground ivy and wormwood. Tell our Saxon friend to drink it all down mixed in a little water, the stronger potion he can drink, the better it will be. It will help him in ridding his stomach of the poison.’

  Fidelma took the bottle hesitantly.

  ‘Take it,’ insisted the old hermit. Adding with a smile: ‘Unless you believe that I am seeking to poison him.’

  ‘I am truly grateful, Gadra.’ Fidelma felt churlish.

  ‘Go quickly, then. Let me know if there is anything else I can do for him.’

  Clutching the bottle in her hand, Fidelma returned to the guests’ hostel.

  Eadulf was still sitting, looking considerably paler. There was a bluish tinge round the eyes and mouth.

  ‘Gadra has sent this for you. You must drink it at once mixed with water.’

  Eadulf took the bottle suspiciously from her hand.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A mixture of ground ivy and wormwood.’

  ‘Something to cleanse the stomach, I suppose.’

  He took off the stopper from the bottle and sniffed, screwing up his face as he did so. Then he poured the contents into a beaker and added water. He stared at it distastefully for a moment then opened his mouth and swallowed.

  For a moment he was consumed by a paroxysm of coughing.

  ‘Well,’ he said, when he could manage to speak. ‘If the poisondoes not finish me, I am sure that this infusion will do so.’

  ‘How do you feel?’ asked Fidelma anxiously.

  ‘Sick,’ confessed Eadulf. ‘But it takes an hour or so before the poison has a real effect and …’

  His eyes suddenly bulged.

  ‘What is it?’ cried Fidelma in alarm.

  Hand to mouth, Eadulf leapt to his feet and disappeared in the direction of the fialtech. She could hear his terrible retching through the door.

  ‘What can I do, Eadulf?’ she asked in concern when he finally re-emerged.

  ‘Little, I am afraid. If I find Dignait, if she has made me suffer thus, I shall … oh God!’

  Hand to mouth, once more he returned to the anguish of the privy.

  There was a knock on the door and Crón entered.

  ‘It has been confirmed that Dignait is no longer in the rath,’ she said. ‘It seems to confirm her guilt.’

  Fidelma regarded the tanist moodily.

  ‘I expected as much.’

  ‘I have sent a man to look for Dubán to inform him of what has happened,’ Crón added.

  ‘And where is Dubán now?’

  ‘He is up in the valley of the Black Marsh. There is still the matter of Muadnat�
��s death to be considered.’ Crón hesitated and sighed. ‘It is difficult to believe that Dignait would attempt to poison you.’

  ‘At the moment there is nothing to believe or disbelieve,’ replied Fidelma. ‘We will not know what part she has played in this matter until she is found and questioned.’

  ‘She has been a good servant of my family.’

  ‘So I have been told.’

  Eadulf re-emerged, saw Crón and contrived to look self-conscious.

  Crón examined his pale features with apparent distaste.

  ‘You are ill, Saxon,’ the tanist greeted him dispassionately.

  ‘You are perceptive, Crón,’ Eadulf replied with an attempt at humour.

  ‘Is there anything that I can … that we …?’

  Eadulf seated himself, outwardly cheerful.

  ‘Only wait,’ he cut in. ‘Perhaps I can do that alone?’

  Fidelma smiled apologetically to him.

  ‘You are right, Eadulf. We are bothering you too much. Rest now. But I have asked the young girl Grella to look in on you from time to time.’

  She turned and led Crón gently but firmly from the guests’ hostel.

  ‘Where is Crítán, incidentally?’ she asked when they were outside. ‘Has he sobered up after yesterday?’

  ‘He was not so intoxicated that he did not remember what happened. You humiliated him and he will not forgive you.’

  ‘He humiliated himself,’ corrected Fidelma.

  ‘Anyway, after raging before me last evening, just before you returned to the rath, he took his horse and rode off, saying that he would sell fiis services to a chieftain who appreciated his talent.’

  ‘That is what I fear. His talent lies in arrogance and bullying. There are unscrupulous men about who wish to use such talents. Anyway, you say that the young man is no longer in the rath?’

  Crón’s eyes widened.

  ‘You do not think that he conspired with Dignait to …?’

  ‘I do not waste time in speculation without facts, Crón.’ A thought suddenly struck her. It did have something to do with Crítán. She was about to act upon it when she suddenly caught sight of Menma, the stableman, riding out of the rath. He was mounted on a sturdy mare but leading an ass on a rope behind him. There was a heavy pannier strapped to the animal’s back.

  ‘Where is he off to?’ demanded Fidelma suspiciously.

  ‘I have asked him to go to the southern highlands to round upsome stray horses,’ replied Crón. ‘Did you want his services? Shall I call him back?’

  ‘It does not matter for the moment.’ Fidelma was reluctant to be distracted from her immediate thoughts.

  There was, however, a further distraction with the sound of horses entering the rath, across the wooden bridge. It caused them to turn. It was Cranat and Father Gormán. They passed Menma without acknowledgment.

  Crón crossed to her mother immediately and began explaining what had happened. Sister Fidelma held back, observing the interplay between mother and daughter with interest. There seemed a curious distance between them. A formality which could not quite be explained.

  Father Gormán, who had been listening, had dismounted and, while someone came to take charge of his horse, he approached Fidelma.

  ‘Brother Eadulf is a follower of Rome,’ he said abruptly. ‘If his life is in danger I should tend to his needs.’

  ‘His needs are well tended to, Father Gormán,’ replied Fidelma with some amusement. ‘We can only wait now.’

  Father Gormán coloured.

  ‘I meant his spiritual needs. A last confession. The last rites of our church.’

  ‘I have not quite consigned him to the Otherworld yet,’ she replied. ‘Dum vita est spes est,’ she added. While there is life there is hope.

  She turned towards Cranat who was about to move off.

  ‘Cranat! A word with you.’

  The haughty woman turned, flushing in annoyance.

  ‘It is usual to request …’

  ‘I have no time for etiquette, as I told you before,’ Fidelma said. ‘We are speaking of life and death here. I believe that you saw Dignait this morning. Did you observe her preparing breakfast for the guests’ hostel?’

  ‘I do not busy myself in kitchens,’ sniffed Cranat.

  ‘Yet you saw Dignait this morning?’

  ‘I saw her while I was crossing the hall of assembly. She came from the kitchen. I paused to speak to her on a domestic matter. I do believe that the servant Grella came in and Dignait instructed her to go to the kitchen and take the breakfast tray to the guests’ hostel. That is all.’

  ‘Dignait needs to be found. Do you know where she might go?’

  Cranat returned Fidelma’s look with distaste.

  ‘I am not in the habit of busying myself with the personal affairs of servants. Now, if that is all …?’ She stalked off before Fidelma could reply.

  Father Gormán was still determinedly standing his ground and he now took his opportunity.

  ‘I insist upon seeing the dying Saxon brother,’ he said. ‘You must take a portion of the blame on yourself for this death, sister. You released that spawn of Satan knowing full well that our lives might be in danger still.’

  Fidelma turned irritably to him.

  ‘Are you sure that you are an advocate of the Christian doctrine?’

  Father Gormán flushed.

  ‘More so than you, that is obvious. The Christ himself said:

  “If your hand offend you, cut it off; it is better for you to enter into life maimed, than having two hands to go into hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched; where worm dies not and the fire is not quenched.” It is about time that we cut off this offence. Destroy and drive out the evil in our midst!’

  Fidelma clenched her jaw for a moment.

  ‘Brother Eadulf will never stand in need of your blessing, Gormán of Cill Uird,’ Fidelma replied in a quiet voice. ‘He will not die yet.’

  ‘Are you God to decide such things?’ sneered the priest.

  ‘No.’ Fidelma shook her head. ‘But my will is as strong as Adam’s!’

  Father Gormán looked as if he were about to argue further but then he turned, mouth compressed, and stormed back to his chapel.

  Crón looked from the banging door of the chapel back to Fidelma in bemusement.

  ‘Let me know if there is anything I can do …’ she said, before she turned into the hall of assembly.

  Fidelma began to return to the guests’ hostel.

  ‘Sister! Sister!’

  Fidelma saw the little servant girl, Grella, running towards her. She could see from the girl’s face that something was amiss and her heart skipped a beat.

  ‘Is it Brother Eadulf?’

  ‘Come quickly,’ cried the girl but Fidelma had already increased her pace in the direction of the guests’ hostel.

  ‘I had only just gone in, as you instructed me to,’ gasped the girl, trying to keep up with her. She did not finish for Fidelma was already entering the hostel. Grella followed on her heels.

  Eadulf was lying in his cubicle, sprawled across his palliasse on his back. He seemed to be shivering, the body twitching but his eyes were closed and beads of perspiration stood out on his face.

  Fidelma dropped to her knees and reached for Eadulf’s hand. It was hot and sweaty. She felt for his pulse; it throbbed with a jerky motion.

  ‘How long has he been like this?’ she demanded of Grella, who hovered behind her.

  ‘I came in here only a moment ago, as you requested, and found him so,’ the girl repeated.

  ‘Get Gadra the Hermit quickly!’ When the girl hesitated she snapped: ‘At the house of Teafa. Quickly now!’

  She turned back to Eadulf. It was clear that he had entered afever and was no longer conscious of what was going on around him.

  She stood up and hurried to the main room where a pitcher of water stood on the stable. Seizing this and a piece of cloth used for drying the hands after washing, she dampened i
t and returned to Eadulf and started to wipe the sweat from his flushed face.

  A moment later, the old man entered followed by Grella. He gently drew Fidelma to one side. He felt Eadulf’s forehead and the pulse and stood back.

  ‘There is little we can do now. He has succumbed to a fever which he must either pass through or depart with.’

  Fidelma found her hands clenching spasmodically.

  ‘Is there nothing else we can do?’

  ‘The poison must have its way. It is to be hoped that he cleansed himself of as much of it as might be life threatening and this is but the result of a small residue which will trouble him for a few hours. The temperature of his body is rising. If it breaks, then we will win. If it does not …’

  He shrugged eloquently.

  ‘When will be know?’

  ‘Not for a few hours yet. We can do nothing.’

  Fidelma felt an unreasonable rage as she gazed at the yellowing sunken face of Eadulf. She realised how bleak her life would become if anything happened to him. She recalled how troubled she had been after she had left Eadulf in Rome to return to Ireland and the months of loneliness which followed. She had remembered how she had returned to Ireland with the curious, almost unfathomable emotion of loneliness and homesickness. It had taken a while to resolve those emotions.

  For Fidelma it was hard to admit to an emotional attachment. She had fallen in love with a young warrior named Cian when she had been seventeen. He had been in the elite bodyguard of the High King at Tara. At the time she had been studying law under the great Brehon Morann. She was young and carefree andvery much in love. But Cian had eventually deserted her for another. His rejection of her had left her disillusioned with life. She felt bitter, although the years had tempered her attitude. But she had never forgotten her experience nor really recovered from it. Perhaps she had never allowed herself to do so.

  Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham had been the only man of her own age in whose company she had felt really at ease and able to express herself. She had challenged him at first and those intellectual challenges became the basis of their good-natured, easy relationship for their debates over theology and cultural attitudes, contrasting their conflicting opinions and philosophies, would be a way of teasing each other. And while their arguments would rage, there was no enmity between them.