The Spider's Web (10 page)

Read The Spider's Web Online

Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_rt_yes, #Church History, #Fiction, #tpl, #_NB_Fixed, #Mystery, #Historical, #Clerical Sleuth, #Medieval Ireland

BOOK: The Spider's Web
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Fidelma silently agreed with Durbán’s interpretation of the protocol.
‘And then?’
‘When we started putting the shackles on Móen, he began to struggle and cry out. I told Crón so and she instructed me to fetch Teafa. I went to her chambers.’
‘And found her dead?’
‘I did.’
‘I am told, Teafa was the only person in the
rath
of Araglin who could calm Móen, if “calm” is the right word.’
‘She was. She had looked after him since he was a baby.’
‘And she was Eber’s sister?’
‘She was.’
‘So Móen was not her own child?’ Fidelma was puzzled about the relationship.
Dubán was firm.
‘No one knows where the child came from. But it was not Teafa’s because she would have been seen to be pregnant in the weeks before his birth and she was not. This is a small community. He was a foundling.’
‘As it is a small community, it must be known who gave birth to the child?’
‘It is not. He was not the child of anyone in the valley. That much is certain.’
‘Can you tell me any more? How and why did Teafa come to adopt the child? Who found him?’
Dubán rubbed a finger along the side of his nose.
‘All I know is that Teafa went out hunting by herself and she returned some days later with the child. She simply went to the mountains and came back with the new-born babe.’
‘Did she explain to anyone how she found it?’
‘Of course. She said that she had found it abandoned in the woods. She announced that she would adopt it. I left Araglin only a short while after that event and I was away fighting the wars of the Cashel kings until three years ago. I am told that as the child grew older, the debilities became known. But Teafa refused to give it up. Teafa never married nor had child of her own. She was a warm-hearted person and maybe needed a surrogate child. It seemed that the child and Teafa grew to be able to communicate in some curious fashion. I am not sure how.’
‘How long were you away from Araglin then?’
‘Nearly seventeen years passed until I returned to serve Eber. That was, as I have said, three years ago.’
‘I see. Is there anyone else here in the
rath
who might know more about Móen?’
Duban shrugged.
‘I suppose Father Gormán might know something else which can be revealed now that Teafa is dead. But Father Gormán will not be back for a day or two.’
‘What of Eber’s widow?’
‘The lady Cranat?’ Dubán pulled a sour face. ‘I am not sure. She did not marry Eber until a year or so after Teafa brought Móen to dwell among us. On my return I observed that Cranat and Teafa did not share the intimacy one might expect between sister and sister-in-law.’
Eadulf leant forward eagerly.
‘Are you saying that Cranat did not like Teafa?’
Dubán looked pained.
‘I know you Saxons pride yourselves on plain speaking. I thought I had made my view clear.’
‘Clear enough,’ conceded Fidelma quickly. ‘You are telling us that Cranat and Teafa did not get along well?’
‘Not well,’ agreed Dubán.
‘Do you know how long this state of affairs had existed?’
‘I am told that they fell out when Crón was about thirteen years old. There was some sort of argument between them and they barely spoke to one another. Certainly about two or three weeks ago I was witness to a fierce argument between them.’
‘What was this about?’
‘It is not really for me to comment on.’ It was clear that Duban felt that he was resorting to gossip. Fidelma immediately seized on his awkwardness.
‘But having said as much, I feel that you should explain yourself.’
‘I really don’t know the substance except that Teafa was angry, shouting at Cranat, and Cranat was in tears.’
‘You must have heard something then. You must have gained some idea as to the cause of the quarrel?’
‘Not I. I recall that Móen was mentioned and also Eber. Teafa was shouting something about divorce.’
‘She was demanding that Cranat divorce her brother?’
‘Perhaps. I do not know. Cranat ran off to the chapel to seek solace from Father Gormán.’
Fidelma made no other comment but stood looking around the bed chamber, examining it minutely before returning to the dividing door and examining the reception room.
‘For someone who is deaf, dumb and blind, this Móen would appear to have the gift of moving easily through this
rath.’
Eadulf came to join her with a frown.
‘What do you mean, Fidelma?’ he asked.
‘Regard these rooms, Eadulf. Firstly, Móen had to make his way here. Then he had to enter, negotiate his way to Eber’s bed chamber and enter, take his knife, find his target and kill Eber before the chieftain realised his presence. That not only takes
stealth but a talent I would not expect to find in one who is so debilitated.’
Dubán overheard and appeared disapproving.
‘Are you denying the facts?’ he demanded.
Fidelma glanced at him.
‘I am merely trying to ascertain them.’
‘Well, the facts are simple. Móen was found in the act of slaughter.’
‘Not quite,’ Fidelma corrected. ‘He was found by Eber’s body. He was not actually seen killing him.’
Dubán put his head back and gave a gruff bark of laughter.
‘Truly, sister, is this the logic of a Brehon? If I find a sheep with its throat ripped out and sitting by the carcass is a wolf with blood on its muzzle, is it not logical that I should blame the wolf for the deed?’
‘It is reasonable,’ Fidelma conceded. ‘But it is not proof positive that the wolf did it.’
Duban shook his head in disbelief.
‘Are you trying to claim … ?’
‘I am trying to discover the truth,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘That is my sole purpose.’
‘Well, if it is truth you want, then it is well known in the rath that Móen was able to move about without undue difficulty within certain areas.’
‘How was this accomplished?’ Eadulf was intrigued.
‘I presume that he had some sort of memory. He also seemed to smell his way.’
‘Smell?’ Eadulf’s tone was disbelieving.
‘You saw the way he used his sense of smell in the stable to identify that there were strangers there. He has developed his sense of smell like an animal. Provided he is placed in certain areas of the
rath
he can find his way within those areas. Everyone knows that.’
‘Ah, so it is of no surprise that he was able to negotiate his way here?’
‘None whatever.’
Eadulf looked at Fidelma and shrugged.
‘Well, it seems there is no mystery then.’
Fidelma did not reply. She was not convinced.
‘Where is the knife with which Móen stabbed Eber?’
‘I have it still.’
‘Has the knife been identified?’
‘Identified?’
Dubán sounded puzzled.
Fidelma was patient.
‘Has the ownership of the knife been discovered?’
Dubán shrugged.
‘I believe it is one of Eber’s own hunting knives.’ He pointed to one of the walls where a collection of swords and knives hung with a shield. One hanging sheath was clearly empty. ‘I saw that one of the knives was missing and I presume that it was the one which Móen took.’
Fidelma moved to examine the place which Dubán indicated. She turned and walked across the room to the main door. Then she stood with her back to it for a moment before making her way around the intervening pieces of furniture towards the knife rack. It was a complicated and indirect route because of the intervening obstacles. Finally, she reached out to the rack, then turned and made her way around a table and bench to the bed chamber door.
She paused and stood looking thoughtful for a moment.
‘I will want to see that weapon shortly.’
Dubán inclined his head.
‘Good. And now let us see where Teafa was discovered and in what manner.’
Dubán escorted them out of Eber’s apartments and along the path behind the stables. The track twisted and turned beyond some store houses which stood next to a kiln for drying corn. They crossed a yard, with a well in it, towards a small wicker and wattle covered cabin.
‘Teafa had her own cabin,’ he explained as they walked, ‘away from the rest of the chieftain’s family.’
‘Did you say that she was never married?’ asked Eadulf.
‘I did,’ Dubán replied. ‘Why do you ask?’
Eadulf smiled knowingly.
‘It is surely unusual for the unmarried sister of a chieftain to live outside of the chieftain’s immediate circle of apartments?’
‘She still dwelt within the chieftain’s
rath
,’ explained Dubán, clearly unsure of the point Eadulf was making.
In the land of the South Folk, women were regarded as the property of the male head of the household until they married and only then would they be allowed outside of the confines of the house of the family. Eadulf suddenly realised that his view was not valid in the five kingdoms.
‘What Brother Eadulf means,’ interposed Fidelma, ‘is that Teafa’s cabin is a poor one on the outskirts of the
rath
when she might have been expected to dwell in more luxury within the interior of the chieftain’s apartment.’
Dubán grimaced indifferently.
‘It was her own preference. I recall that she made that decision just after she had adopted Móen.’
Teafa’s cabin appeared to be only a small construction but once
inside, Fidelma noticed that it was divided into three rooms. A large room in which Teafa and her charge had obviously cooked, eaten and used as a general living area. In most houses of this size it was called a
tech immácallamae
or ‘house of conversation’, a common gathering point for a family and their friends. Two doors gave access to bed chambers. It was obvious which room Móen had occupied for it had no window and the light from the open door revealed a simple mattress on the floor with no furniture.
Fidelma was about to turn back when something caught her eye behind the door of Móen’s bed chamber.
‘Is there a candle or lamp in here?’ she asked.
Dubán took up a flint and tinder from a side table and soon had a tall tallow candle spluttering.
Taking the candle, Fidelma entered the room which Móen had occupied, and turned to the area behind the door. To the untrained eye it seemed that there was a stack of firewood piled high there, bundle after bundle, bound with leather thongs.
‘Come here, Eadulf,’ Fidelma instructed. ‘What do you make of this?’
Eadulf moved forward. Dubán followed, peering over his shoulder, and saw the bundles of sticks.
‘An odd place to keep kindle for the fire,’ Dubán observed.
Eadulf had reached forward and picked up a bundle. The sticks were cut to uniform lengths of about eighteen inches. They were mainly of hazel and some were of yew. Eadulf was examining them closely and, at one point, he unbound a bundle to examine the lengths of stick. Finally he turned to Fidelma. He smiled knowingly.
‘It is not often you see such fine specimens outside of the great libraries.’
Dubán looked bewildered.
‘What does he mean, sister?’
Fidelma regarded Eadulf with the approval that a teacher reserves for a bright pupil.
‘He means that these pieces of kindle, as you call them, are in fact what are known as “Rods of the Poets”. They are old books. Look closely. You will see that they are notched in the ancient Ogam alphabet.’
Dubán examined them with intrigue. He clearly had no knowledge of the ancient form of writing.
‘Was Teafa a scholar then?’ asked Eadulf.
The warrior shook his head in bewilderment.
‘I don’t think she pretended to be but I believe that she was well versed in the arts and poetry. If so, she probably knew the old alphabet so it does not surprise me that she had these books here.’
‘Even so,’ Fidelma reflected, ‘I have not seen such a fine collection outside an abbey library.’
Eadulf carefully retied the bundle and replaced it with the others while Fidelma turned back into the main room. She crossed to the second sleeping chamber. Teafa’s room contained more ornaments and elaborate furnishing. There was an air of past opulence which a daughter of a chieftain and sister of a chieftain would doubtless assume. The candle now being unnecessary, Fidelma extinguished it with a swift breath. She turned to Dubán.
‘So once you had reported the death of Eber to Crón and she had asked you to fetch Teafa to pacify him, you came directly here?’
‘I did. I arrived at the door and found it was partially open.’
‘Open?’
‘It stood ajar just a fraction – enough for me to sense something was wrong.’
‘Why? Surely a door standing ajar is not a sign of anything being amiss?’
‘Teafa was fastidious about closing doors.’
‘To keep Móen in?’ Eadulf hazarded.
‘Not exactly. Móen was allowed to move about but, in order for him to be aware of the boundaries of where he was, doors
were always kept shut so that he did not pass through inadvertently.’
‘I see. Go on. The door was ajar.’
‘The place was in darkness. I called out to Teafa but there was no reply. So I pushed open the door and stood for a moment on the threshold. By then the dawn was coming up – it was that period of half light. From that I saw a bundle of clothes, or so I thought, on the floor. As I looked more closely I realised that it was a body. Teafa’s body.’
‘Show me where.’
Dubán pointed to a place before the hearth whose ashes now lay grey and chill. Fidelma had noticed the pungent smell of burnt wood immediately she had entered the cabin.
‘I looked around, found a candle and was able to light it. In fact, the very same candle we used just now. The body was that of Teafa. There was blood all over her clothes. She had been stabbed savagely in the chest, around the heart, several times.’
Fidelma bent down to the floor and could see dark stains that had been caused by blood. At the same time she observed a small burnt area on the floor close by and she realised that it was this that smelled more acerbically than the remains in the fireplace. Nearby this was a stain. It was not a blood stain. She placed a finger on the still damp area and sniffed. It was oil.
‘Was anything lying here?’ she asked.
‘A broken oil lamp,’ Dubán recalled after a pause for thought. ‘It has been tidied away, I think.’
‘Did you get the impression that Teafa had been holding it when she was struck down?’
‘I did not think much about it. But now that you mention it, it does seem likely that she was holding the lamp in her hand and dropped it when she was struck down. It must have fallen to the floor causing a small fire to start which, God be praised, did not spread and soon extinguished itself.’
Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at the burnt patch.
‘It would have been fierce enough to have burnt this entire cabin had it not been extinguished. And there is still unburnt oil here.’ She held out her finger with the tell-tale oil stain on the tip. ‘What could have caused it to be quenched?’
‘Well, it was out when I arrived here,’ Dubán shrugged.
Fidelma was about to rise when she saw a piece of unburnt stick in the fireplace. There was nothing extraordinary about it apart from a few notchings. It was about three inches long and was a piece of hazel. She picked it out of the ashes and examined it carefully.
‘What is it?’ demanded Eadulf.
‘An Ogam wand which has nearly burnt away completely.’
Something had prevented this piece of the hazel from burning, perhaps the way it had fallen from the fire. A few letters remained which made no sense at all. Between the burnt ends she could make out ‘ …
er wants …’
But that was all. Why would Teafa wish to destroy this particular wand? Thoughtfully, Fidelma placed the piece of hazel in her
marsupium
and stood up.
Fidelma gave a final glance around the cabin. As with Eber’s rooms, it was tidy. There was nothing left in any real disorder. It was obvious that robbery was not a motive here.
‘Dubán, you indicated that Eber’s wife was not well disposed to Teafa. Did Teafa have a close relationship with her brother?’
‘To Eber?’ Dubán was evasive. ‘She was his sister and we all live in this small community.’
‘There was no animosity, no friction, as you claim with Eber’s wife, Cranat?’
Dubán spread his hands as if he had decided to give in to a greater force.
‘There was … I cannot explain it very well … a distance between brother and sister. I have a sister of whom I am fond. And even though she is married and with children, I eat often with her family and take her children hunting. Teafa never had a warm relationship with Eber. It might well be that there was some
animosity over her adoption of Móen but I could not speak authoritatively.’
‘I think that it is time that I spoke with this lady, Cranat,’ Fidelma murmured.
‘How about the relationship between Teafa and Eber’s daughter Crón?’ interrupted Eadulf.
‘They were polite and there were no harsh words between them. That is about all.’
‘Incidentally, how was Móen generally treated in this community?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘Most people treated him with tolerance; with pity. They had known him since the time Teafa brought him to the community. The lady Teafa was very respected by the people. Eber had time for the boy. But not so Cranat, who refused to have the boy near her. Also Father Gormán forbade the boy to enter his chapel. Crón seemed indifferent to him.’
‘In a Saxon community, he would have been killed at birth.’ Eadulf was unable to stop the comment which sprang to his lips.
Fidelma drew her brows together.
‘A fine Christian attitude to take, no doubt?’
Eadulf flushed and Fidelma felt a pang of regret for the sharpness of her tongue for she had no doubt that Eadulf would have no part in such attitudes.
‘People who have physical disabilities may be ineligible for office, may not be king or chieftain, but they are members of the community,’ Fidelma explained patiently to Eadulf. ‘All other rights are theirs to enjoy, only the person’s legal capacity or responsibility is changed depending on their disability. For example, an epileptic is legally competent if they are of sound mind. But a person who is deaf and dumb cannot be subjected to distraint – the plaintiff must take action against their guardian in law.’
‘So Móen was not subjected to any inferior position?’ Eadulf observed wonderingly.
‘Not at all,’ replied Fidelma. ‘I have already told you that if he
were, then Teafa could have taken action under the law, for a heavy fine is levied on anyone who mocks or denigrates the disability of a person be he epileptic, a leper, lame or blind or one who is deaf and dumb.’
‘It appears that I have now learnt some law of the five kingdoms,’ Eadulf said penitently.
‘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.

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