The Spider's Web sf-5

by Peter Tremayne

‘He has been much cheered by what you have done for him,’ Gadra replied. ‘He is a bright, sensitive young man, Fidelma. He deserves a chance in life. We shall be there at noon.’

  It was half an hour later that she crossed to the church of Cill Uird and strode inside. A figure was kneeling before the altar in an attitude of prayerful contemplation.

  ‘Father Gormán!’

  The priest started up in surprise.

  ‘You have interrupted me at prayer, Sister Fidelma.’ His voice was filled with irritation.

  ‘I have urgent need to speak with you.’

  Father Gormán turned to the altar, genuflected and climbed slowly from his knees.

  ‘What is it, sister?’ he asked wearily.

  ‘I thought you should know that Dignait is dead.’

  The priest visibly winced but he did not seem unduly surprised.

  ‘So many deaths,’ he sighed.

  ‘Too many deaths,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Five deaths already in this pleasant valley of Araglin.’

  Gormán looked at her uncertainly.

  ‘Five?’ he queried.

  ‘Yes. A stop must be put to this carnage. We must put a stop to it.’

  ‘We?’ Father Gormán seemed nonplussed.

  ‘I think you can help me.’

  ‘What can I do?’ There was almost a suspicious note to his voice.

  ‘You were Muadnat’s soul-friend, weren’t you?’

  ‘I prefer the Roman term — confessor. And, indeed, I was confessor to most people here in Araglin.’

  ‘Very well. However you describe your role, I want to know whether Muadnat ever mentioned gold to you?’

  ‘Are you asking me to break the sacredness of the confessional?’ thundered Father Gormán.

  ‘It is a confidentiality that I do not recognise but I respect your right to believe in it. Let me put some questions to you. I believe that Dignait had been a servant here for many years?’

  ‘Dignait? I thought you wanted to ask me about Muadnat?’

  ‘Let us concentrate on Dignait for a moment. She had been here since Cranat came here to marry Eber, hadn’t she?’

  ‘That is so.’

  ‘Did you notice to whom her loyalties lay?’

  ‘Why to this house of Araglin.’

  ‘Not to one person? Cranat for example?’

  Father Gormán hesitated and looked awkward.

  ‘And didn’t Dignait hate Eber?’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘Hate?’ Father Gormán shook his head. ‘She did not respect him but that is not hate. She was closer to young Crón than her mother and would do anything for her.’

  ‘She would do anything for Crón?’ repeated Fidelma thoughtfully.

  ‘No crime in that,’ Gormán observed.

  ‘No. No crime in that in itself.’ She paused. ‘You don’t like Dubán, do you?’

  This question was asked abruptly.

  Father Gormán was annoyed.

  ‘What have my likes and dislikes to do with this matter?’ he demanded.

  ‘Just an observation,’ she conceded. ‘I have seen you arguing with him. I simply wondered why you disliked him.’

  ‘He is a man with ambition. I believe he wants to be chieftain of Araglin. Do you know that he is trying to beguile young Crón?’

  ‘Beguile? Now that is a strange word to use. Allure, enchant or deceive. Is this what you mean?’

  Father Gormán thrust out his chin.

  ‘Observe his relationship for yourself.’

  ‘Oh, that I have.’

  ‘I feel sorry for Cranat. She was the wife of a chieftain without moral scruples and mother to a young woman whose innocence blinds her to the ambitions of a man old enough to be her father.’

  ‘I recall that you hated Eber as well.’

  ‘True, I could barely tolerate him. Eber was a sinner before God and man. There is no forgiveness for such a man who has transgressed against his fellow man and his God.’

  ‘As a priest, you should have compassion. Instead I find much hate in you. It is for you to be forgiving. Did not Paul write to the Ephesians saying: “Be kind to one another, tender hearted, forgiving one another even as God, for Christ’s sake, has forgiven you”? If God can forgive, so can his priest.’

  Father Gormán stared at her for a moment. Then he grimaced in anger.

  ‘You should have read further into that epistle to the Ephesians. Paul said: “For this you know, that no whoremonger, nor unclean person, nor covetous man, who is an idolater, has any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God.” Eber will have no inheritance in the afterlife.’

  ‘And because he lay with his own sisters or even worse?’

  ‘All I say is that this world is better off without Eber of Araglin. The sooner this valley is purged of evil, the better.’

  ‘So it is not purged yet in your eyes? Did you know that Muadnat had a gold mine?’

  Father Gormán bit his lip. ‘How much do you know of this?’

  ‘You will find out. Be in the hall of assembly at noon.’

  Fidelma left the chapel abruptly with Father Gormán standing staring after her. He stood absolutely still until she had gone and then turned hurriedly towards his sacristy.

  Outside the chapel Fidelma met Crón.

  The young tanist acknowledged her with a grave face.

  ‘How is Brother Eadulf this morning?’

  ‘Well enough, thanks be to God,’ replied Fidelma.

  ‘I spoke with Dubán this morning,’ the tanist went on slightly uneasily. ‘He says that you are near to discovering who has put such misery onto the people of this valley?’

  ‘Oh yes. In fact, I was coming to find you to request the use of the hall of assembly at noon today. I am asking all those I feel concerned in this matter to attend so that I may reveal the names of those responsible for the effusion of blood in this valley.’

  Crón seemed visibly shaken.

  ‘Then you must know who killed Eber and Teafa?’

  ‘I believe I do.’

  ‘Believe?’ Crón looked dubious.

  ‘I shall demonstrate my belief at noon.’ Fidelma was almost cheerful. ‘Will you ask your mother if she will attend? I am sure she will want to hear who is responsible for the slaughter of her husband?’

  ‘I will,’ the young tanist agreed.

  Fidelma walked on unconcerned by Crón’s curious expression.

  Chatter Twenty

  The hall of assembly seemed crowded. Crón had taken her chair of office. Fidelma had requested that she do so because, as tanist, it was her right. She was wearing her parti-coloured cloak and doeskin gloves of office for the occasion. Next to her sat her mother; the older woman’s face was haughty and staring determinedly into the middle distance as if the proceedings were of no concern to her. On a seat below the dais, just to one side, Brother Eadulf reclined uncomfortably, still pale, his eyes shadowed but at least he was showing some signs of improvement. He had risen from his sick bed in spite of all Fidelma’s protests. Next to him sprawled the burly figure of Dubán, leaning forward, so that he rested with forearms on his knees. In the well of the hall sat Archú and Scoth. Next to them was Gadra the Hermit with Móen at his side. Gadra was leaning towards Móen interpreting what was happening, fingers drumming on the young man’s raised palm. Agdae fidgeted irritably on a bench on the far side of the hall next to Father Gormán. At the rear of the hall, seated alone, was Clídna, ‘the woman of secrets’, her chin raised defiantly as if waiting for someone to challenge her right to be there. A few seats from her was Grella, the young servant girl. A few of Dubán’s men were stationed at the doors of the hall.

  Fidelma took her stand before Crón, just below the dais, to the left of her chair.

  ‘It seems that we are all here,’ she observed.

  ‘Are you prepared to start?’ demanded Crón, leaning forward.

  Agdae called from his seat: ‘But Menma is not here. Shouldhe not be here? After all, he discovered Eber’s body
and identified Móen as the killer.’

  Crón seemed perturbed.

  ‘I sent him to round up cattle yesterday. It is strange that he is not here. Perhaps we should wait?’

  Fidelma smiled broadly.

  ‘I fear it would be a long wait, tanist of Araglin. No; we shall make a start for I did not expect Menma to be in attendance.’

  ‘What do you mean? Do you accuse Menma …?’ began Cranat, forgetting her feigned indifference.

  Fidelma raised her hand.

  ‘All in good time. Vincit qui patitur. He prevails who is patient.’

  There was an expectant silence in the hall as they regarded her slight, calm figure with anticipation. Fidelma examined their upturned faces, studying each carefully in turn.

  ‘This has been one of the most difficult investigations I have undertaken. Difficult in that when a person is killed, there is usually one murder to address and one set of circumstances. In this pleasant valley of yours I found five killings to examine, and, at first, they did not all seem related. Indeed, it seemed to be that there were several different events happening all at the same time, each one unconnected with the other. In this initial assumption, I was wrong. Everything was connected; connected to one central point like the threads of a giant spider’s web, all coming together to where one dominating creature waited, manipulating those threads.’

  She paused to let the ripple of their surprise rise and ebb away.

  ‘Where shall we begin to unravel this silken web of deceit which clings to so many lives? I could start at the centre of the web. I could make a lunge for the spider waiting there. In doing so, however, I might leave the spider a path to scuttle from the centre, along some strand of the web where it may yet elude me. So I shall begin to unravel the web from the outside, slowly but surelydestroying the outer strands until there is nowhere for the spider to run.’

  Crón leant forward with scepticism on her features.

  ‘This is all very poetic, Sister Fidelma. Does your rhetoric have some purpose?’

  Fidelma turned quickly to her with a look of appraisal.

  ‘You have seen my methods, Crón, and have expressed your appreciation of them. I do not think I need defend my procedure.’

  The young tanist flushed and sat back. Fidelma confidently turned back to her audience.

  ‘Let us start with the first thread. This thread is Muadnat of the Black Marsh.’

  ‘What has Muadnat to do with the murder of my husband?’ Cranat demanded in a dry, rasping tone. ‘He was Eber’s friend and once his tanist.’

  ‘By patience you will have a linen shirt from the flax plant,’ replied Fidelma good naturedly, uttering an old saying that had been a favourite of her mentor, Morann of Tara. ‘My involvement in this affair actually began with Muadnat, so it is fitting that I should start with him. Muadnat in recent times became possessed of a gold mine. He found it on the land which he had tried to claim from his cousin, Archú.’

  There was an immediate expression of surprise from the young farmer.

  ‘Where was this?’ demanded Archú. ‘I have never heard of a gold mine in the Black Marsh.’

  ‘The mine is located on the far side of the hill whose land was too poor for cultivation. You dismissed it as axe-land. I should say that it was probably not Muadnat who made the discovery but a miner named Morna. He was brother of a hostel keeper named Bressal, who keeps a hostel not far from this valley on the western road which leads to Lios Mhór and Cashel.’

  The young farmer looked astonished, glancing to Scoth at his side.

  ‘Do you mean the hostel where we stayed?’

  ‘The same,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘Remember that Bressal spoke about his brother Morna who had brought him a rock which he claimed would make him rich? That was from the cave on your land which had begun to yield up gold.’

  ‘It’s a lie!’ Agdae intervened angrily. ‘Muadnat never mentioned a gold mine to me. You all know that I was his nephew and his adopted son.’

  ‘Muadnat wanted to keep his mine a secret,’ went on Fidelma, unperturbed. ‘The problem was that he had a cousin who was claiming the land as his own. This cousin, Archú, decided to take the matter to law. Muadnat fought desperately to keep hold of the land. You see, Muadnat believed in bending laws for his own purpose but not breaking them entirely. The matter was embarrassing. Muadnat had a piece of luck, however. Archú took the matter to Lios Mhór rather than have the case heard before Eber. Eber was a crafty man and might have asked too many questions about why Muadnat was keen to hang on to the land.’

  Agdae looked sour.

  ‘Why didn’t Muadnat make me a partner in his gold mine?’

  ‘You were not ruthless enough for the enterprise,’ called Clídna.

  Fidelma saw Crón about to rebuke her for daring to speak in the hall of assembly and interrupted.

  ‘Clídna is right,’ she confirmed. ‘Agdae is not the sort of person who would be mixed up in illegal mining. Muadnat wanted someone who would obey orders without questions asked. He chose his cousin Menma.’

  ‘Menma?’ frowned Agdae. ‘Was Menma working with Muadnat?’

  Fidelma regarded him sadly. ‘Menma was his overseer. Menma ran the mine, recruited the miners, saw that they were fed and ensured that gold was shipped south where it would be held securely. How do you secretly feed and house a group of hungry miners in a peaceful pastoral valley without the local farmers knowing about them? A place to hide was no problem. Themine itself provided shelter. But what of food?’

  ‘What you do is carry out raids on farms and carry off the livestock,’ replied Eadulf triumphantly. ‘Not too much, a cow or two here and there, perhaps.’

  ‘But Muadnat had a rich farm,’ Crón pointed out. ‘He could have fed those miners without resorting to such subterfuge as cattle raids.’

  ‘That would mean that Agdae would come to know what was happening. You forget that Agdae was Muadnat’s chief herdsman. Agdae would know if Muadnat was killing more cattle and supplying food to a source which he could not account for. And if Muadnat dismissed Agdae from that job it would look very suspicious. After all, Agdae was Muadnat’s closest relative.’

  Agdae was flushed in mortification.

  ‘What made you think that the cattle raids were not genuine?’ demanded Dubán.

  ‘I have heard of cattle raiders, of outlaws, running off cattle. But, as Eadulf pointed out, never in ones or twos. Outlaws seek cattle to sell. That being so they would move entire herds or certainly enough cattle to make the sale worthwhile. I suspected that these cattle were being taken for food only. This was confirmed when we encountered some of the raiders when we were coming back from Gadra’s hermitage. They were moving south, with asses loaded with panniers. The panniers were doubtless filled with gold.’

  ‘Some of the raiders?’ queried Dubán.

  ‘Menma was not with them and neither were others we will identify shortly,’ explained Fidelma.

  ‘But I do not see the connection between Muadnat’s gold mine and the death of Eber and Teafa?’ Agdae protested sullenly.

  ‘We will eventually get there, following the strands of the spider’s web,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘Muadnat’s wish was to hang on to the mine. He did his best to do so. Perhaps even against the advice of his partner.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘Muadnat would never take Menma’s advice about anything,’ sneered Agdae.

  Fidelma chose not to ignore the jibe.

  ‘Even while he was at Lios Mhór, Muadnat’s partner had probably decided that he would take over the gold mine,’ Fidelma said. ‘The reason was that Muadnat was drawing too much attention to himself in arguing law with Archú. The mine was meant to be secret. More importantly, Muadnat had fallen out of favour with Eber.

  ‘Muadnat had been Eber’s tanist until a few weeks ago. He had been due to be chieftain when Eber died. But suddenly he found himself dispossessed. Eber had persuaded the derbfhine of his family to accept his da
ughter Crón as tanist instead of Muadnat.

  ‘The raid on Bressal’s hostel, for example, was probably conducted without Muadnat’s knowledge. The raid was led by the man I later recognised as Menma. He had been told that Morna, Bressal’s brother, the miner who had discovered the mine, was being too free with his tongue. In fact, Morna had taken a rock to his brother, a rock which contained a gold trace, and told his brother that he would grow rich by it. It was not realised that Morna had not passed on any specific information. By chance we happened to be there and thwarted Menma’s attack.’

  ‘What happened to this miner named Morna?’ demanded Dubán. ‘Was he killed?’

  ‘He was, indeed. He had been captured, killed and was later left at Archú’s farm where, it was thought, he would simply be regarded as an outlaw killed in the raid. His relationship to Bressal was only obvious to me by the similarity of the features of the two brothers.’

  ‘Are you saying that Muadnat knew nothing about the raid of Bressal’s hostel and the slaughter of Bressal’s brother?’ asked Eadulf in surprise.

  ‘I do not see how this story of Muadnat’s gold mine relates tothe murder of my father,’ Crón insisted impatiently.

  Fidelma allowed herself to smile briefly.

  ‘I have but unravelled the first thread of the spider’s web. Muadnat’s death became inevitable because of two old human emotions — fear and greed. Menma killed him, of course. Menma slaughtered Muadnat as one might slaughter an animal. It was the same way he had slaughtered Morna. It was the cold professionalism that pointed to Menma. One of his tasks was to slaughter meat for his chieftain’s table. I am not sure whether it was his idea to have Muadnat hanged on the cross after the act. Presumably this was a method of distracting me. Menma made one mistake. Before dealing the death blow, Menma allowed Muadnat to grasp some strands of his hair and pull out a tuft by the roots. It was left at the scene.’

  ‘What would Menma get out of slaughtering his partner Muadnat?’ asked Father Gormán. ‘It does not make sense to me. Agdae would have inherited Muadnat’s wealth anyway.’

  ‘But, as we have heard, Agdae did not know about the mine and, as it was secret, the partner would continue to reap the benefits whether Agdae took over the farm or not.’