The Spider's Web (17 page)

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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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‘It is nice,’ she observed meaningfully, ‘to have such a friend.’
‘Speaking of friends,’ Fidelma returned slyly, ‘I must find Dubán.’
‘What is so important that you need speak with him so urgently?’ queried the tanist.
‘Have you heard of Gadra?’
Crón looked surprised.
‘Why do you wish to know about Gadra?’
‘So you do know him?’ pressed Fidelma eagerly.
‘Of course. I have not seen him since I was a tiny girl. I can just remember him. He lived at Teafa’s cabin for some years. But he went away again. He is a hermit. Nowadays the young ones think he is just a bogeyman. Because he is a hermit who vanished into the hills, some people use him as a means of scaring children into obedience.’
‘Do you know where Gadra may be found?’
Crón shook her head.
‘I doubt if he still lives.’ She shrugged. ‘But if he does then it would take a brave person to go in search of him for it was said he refused to acknowledge the Faith and consorted with evil.’
‘Consorted with evil?’
Crón nodded seriously.
‘He clung to the faith of our pagan ancestors and they say that this was why he withdrew into the vastness of the dark mountains.’
There was a movement behind Fidelma and she turned to see the middle-aged warrior enter self-consciously.
Dubán glanced from Fidelma to Crón quickly, trying to feign surprise at finding them together, and then raised a hand in salute to his tanist. Fidelma was aware that anyone who could act with such duplicity might well be able to be equally evasive in other matters.
‘The talk is of lack of success in your venture, Dubán.’ Crón greeted him with a slightly querulous voice as if she had not seen him previously that morning.
The big warrior grimaced, an expression which summed up the futility of his search.
‘We scoured the hillside for miles but there was no sign of the raiders. Two cows were driven off from the farmstead of Dioma. We followed the tracks as far as the borders of the Black Marsh but lost them in the forest.’
Crón was clearly troubled by this.
‘I cannot remember the last time when brigands were allowed to raid our valley with impunity. They must be dealt with. Our honour is at stake.’
‘It shall be done,’ muttered Dubán. ‘As soon as I have gathered a fresh band of warriors …’
‘It is futile now. Anyway, we have the legal hearing to consider. Sister Fidelma has suggested that she might sit with me. I have agreed. I have also told the sister that you will be able to help her with some information about old Gadra.’
Crón swung away and left the assembly hall leaving Dubán with an uncertain expression on his face.
‘What does she mean?’ he asked awkwardly after a moment or two. ‘About Gadra, that is?’
‘I am told you knew Gadra.’
‘Gadra the Hermit,’ Dubán acknowledged. ‘Yes, I did but that was twenty years ago. He is dead.’
Fidelma had a sinking feeling.
‘Are you sure?’
Dubán rubbed his chin reflectively.
‘Not sure. But I have not seen him since I left Araglin when I was young. He must be dead.’
Fidelma clung to her course of action.
‘Crón said she saw him when she was a young girl; that he came to stay with Teafa in the
rath.
If he were still alive, would you know where he might be found?’
Dubán indicated with a jerk of his head upwards.
‘Up in the mountains, to the south. There is a little valley where he used to dwell.’
‘Would you take Brother Eadulf and myself to where he might be found?’
Dubán looked confused.
‘After all this time. He is probably dead,’ he repeated.
‘But you don’t know for sure?’
‘No. But the journey will doubtless be wasted. It is nearly a day there and a day back.’
‘Will you take us?’
‘I have my duties …’
‘Crón seemed to indicate that she had no objections to your taking us.’ Fidelma felt that she was not distorting the truth. ‘Or is it that you have some other objections?’
‘But why would you want to see old Gadra? Even if he is still living, he will be an old man. What would he know that would be of help to your investigations?’
‘That is more my concern than yours, Dubán,’ she replied firmly.
Dubán was reluctant but finally said: ‘When would you want to leave?’
‘If the court reaches a conclusion soon, we could set out this very afternoon.’
Dubán tugged at his beard thoughtfully.
‘The journey will mean at least one overnight encampment, even if we do find Gadra,’ he repeated.
‘I am used to travel,’ Fidelma said pointedly.
Dubán spread his arms in resignation.
‘After the court reaches its conclusion then. If Gadra lives then we must respect his right to be a recluse. Only I will accompany you and the Saxon brother. No one else.’
‘It is agreed,’ Fidelma confirmed as she left the hall.
Outside, she came face to face with Archú’s sweetheart, Scoth. The young girl’s face lightened as she recognised Fidelma and she caught at both the hands of the religieuse.
‘Oh, sister! I prayed that you would not have left here. We stand in great need of your help.’
Fidelma was sympathetic.
‘So I have heard. Is Archú here to answer the new charges?’
‘He has gone to find accommodation for us.’ Scoth was tense and unhappy.
Fidelma quietly took the girl by the arm and guided her towards the guests’ hostel.
The young girl gave a painful smile.
‘Muadnat is like a battle scavenging crow, waiting for the right moment to swoop on us. We felt that our only hope was if you were still at the
rath.’
‘Well, I am here.’
‘Thank God! Had Muadnat been a more careful man he would have discovered this fact. But he was so greedy to seize possession of the land that he came racing to the
rath
little realising that he could have to face your judgment again.’
Fidelma shook her head.
‘He doesn’t face my judgment. It is Crón, your tanist and chieftain-elect, who sits in judgment here.’ Scoth looked aghast and halted in mid-stride, turning to Fidelma.
‘But you must sit in judgment. You cannot abandon Archú,’ she wailed. ‘Crón will look after her own!’
‘I have not abandoned anyone, Scoth. Am I to presume, from what you say, that Muadnat has invented this charge of animal trespass?’
‘No, he has not.’
It was Archú who spoke and Fidelma turned to find the young man standing behind her.
Fidelma digested his admission.
‘Then I am sorry to see you in this plight, Archú,’ she replied sadly.
‘But you can intervene and dismiss the charge,’ Scoth insisted, desperation in her voice.
‘Scoth!’ Archú was sharp. ‘Sister Fidelma is bound by oath to the courts.’
They were standing outside of the guests’ hostel and Fidelma gestured for them to precede her inside. Eadulf came forward and greeted them with an exclamation of astonishment. Fidelma explained to him the news before turning to Archú.
‘Tell me the truth. You say that Muadnat has not made up this charge against you? That his claim is true?’
Archú was flushed. He gestured helplessly.
‘He is too cunning to make up such a charge.’
Fidelma was silent in thought for a moment.
‘Then you realise what this means?’
Archú was bitter.
‘It means that Muadnat, my dear cousin, will reclaim what momentarily belonged to me. He will take back my mother’s farmstead. I will be landless once more.’
The proceedings were formal. Crón was wearing a long parti-coloured cloak of office over her dress of blue silk. It was fastened with an ornate gold brooch. Fidelma was amused to see that she wore doeskin gloves on her hands. Among many clans, it was the practice of chieftains to wear parti-coloured cloaks and gloves as badges of office when giving judgments. Fidelma noticed that Crón had been careful, in her dress, her toilet and her choice of perfume for the scent of lavender filled the air. Obviously, Crón took her role as chieftain-elect with seriousness.
Crón sat in her chair of office in the hall of assembly. Beside the ornately carved wooden chair a second chair had been placed on the dais for Fidelma. Dubán stood in front of the platform, slightly to one side, in his official capacity of commander of the guard, while those engaged in the litigation were seated on wooden benches which had been brought forward in front of the dais. Muadnat, with the dark, lean-faced companion who had been at Lios Mhór, were seated to the right while Archú and Scoth were seated to the left with Eadulf. Warriors of Dubán’s guard had taken up strategic positions at the rear of the hall. As she came into the hall, Fidelma noticed that Father Gormán was seated towards the back.
As soon as Fidelma had entered and taken her seat next to Crón, Muadnat recognised the religieuse. He was on his feet shouting. ‘I protest!’
Crón settled herself and regarded him impassively.
‘You protest already? About what?’
Muadnat was glaring at Fidelma and he raised a hand to point a finger at her.
‘I will not have that woman judging my case today.’
Crón’s lips thinned slightly.
‘That
woman? To whom do you refer?’
Muadnat bit his tongue.
‘Fidelma of Kildare,’ he growled.
‘Sister Fidelma is here at my invitation and is a
dalaigh
of the courts of the five kingdoms, learned in law. Is there some reason why you object to her presence, Muadnat?’
Muadnat was still angry.
‘I object on grounds of … of …’ He fumbled for the right word. ‘On grounds of partiality. She has already shown herself in favour of the accused. She was judge over his claim to lands which belonged to me and gave them to him. I will not have her as my judge.’
‘Nor will she be,’ Crón replied softly. ‘I am judge in this case. Mine is the decision but Sister Fidelma sits to advise on law and she shall do so. Now proceed, Muadnat, with your case if you have one to make.’
Sister Fidelma leant towards Crón and whispered in her ear. Crón nodded grimly and added loudly to Muadnat: ‘I have taken into account your verbal insult on a Brehon. This is regarded with utmost seriousness and the offence requires the payment of your victim’s honour-price.’
Muadnat’s mouth dropped in consternation.
Crón paused to let him dwell on what she was saying. Then she continued: ‘As it appears that you have spoken merely in ignorance, Sister Fidelma is willing to forgo the payment. However, she cannot ignore the insult for to do so, according to law, makes her guilty of tolerating the insult and thus losing her honour-price. Some compensation therefore must be extracted from you. We will return to this matter after I,’ she paused for emphasis, ‘have heard the charges which you wish to bring before me for judgment.’
The big man hesitated, swaying a little as if he had been hit, and then, apparently accepting Crón’s ruling and pulling himself
together, he stared sullenly in front of him.
‘Very well. The facts are simple and I have a witness to the facts – my chief herdsman and nephew, Agdae, who sits with me today.’
He turned and indicated his companion.
‘Tell us these facts,’ invited Crón.
There was a movement behind the dais and Cranat entered abruptly. She was dressed as opulently as ever. She frowned in annoyance as she saw Fidelma seated in what was doubtlessly considered her rightful place in the hall. She paused in mid-stride but before she could say anything her daughter spoke.
‘Mother, you did not tell me that you wished to attend this court?’ Crón was clearly annoyed at the interruption to the proceedings.
Cranat glanced to where Muadnat was standing. Did the burly farmer cast her a warning look and give a slight shake of his head? Fidelma could not be sure.
Cranat’s mouth drooped in disapproval.
‘I will sit and observe, daughter.’ She went to a quiet corner where there was an unoccupied bench and seated herself, head held high. She was obviously displeased and perplexed. She said audibly as she seated herself: ‘I did not have to seek such permission while Eber was alive.’
‘Sister Fidelma, as a
dálaigh,
is here to guide me in law only,’ Crón felt she had to explain to her mother before turning back to Muadnat. ‘Proceed. You were about to tell me the facts, Muadnat.’
‘Easy to tell. My farmland borders on the land now farmed by Archú.’
Fidelma sat expressionless, her sharp eyes watching Muadnat carefully. The big farmer seemed confident enough as he launched into his charges.
‘Two nights ago, the pigs that were kept by Archú were allowed to trample through the fence that borders our farmlands. They came at night. They did damage to my crops. One of the hogs
fought with one of mine, causing injury. The pigs defecated in my farmyard. Is this not so, Agdae?’
The lean man nodded, almost glumly.
Muadnat went on: ‘Every farmer in the land knows the law. I demand the full measure of compensation for this.’
He sat down abruptly.
Crón turned her gaze to Agdae.
‘Can you confirm everything that Muadnat has said, bearing witness without fear or favour of Muadnat to whom you are related and for whom you labour?’
Agdae stood up, glanced at Muadnat and nodded rapidly.
‘It is so, tanist of the Araglin. It is exactly as my uncle claims it to be.’
He sat down with equal swiftness.
Crón turned to Archú and motioned him to stand.
‘You have heard the charges made against you. What have you to say in your defence, Archú? Do you dispute the facts as we have heard them?’
The young man stood up. His expression was one of weary resignation. Scoth caught at his hand as if to give him comfort.
‘It is true.’ He spoke as if he was filled with fatigue. ‘The pigs did escape from my land and crossed into Muadnat’s and caused the damage as he said.’
Muadnat’s face creased into a broad triumphant smile.
‘He admits it,’ he observed aloud, as if to emphasise the point to the court.
Crón ignored him.
‘Have you nothing to say in your defence?’ she pressed.
‘Nothing. I had built a temporary pen for the pigs as best I could and found that this had been pulled down. The pigs themselves had not destroyed it.’
Crón leant forward eagerly.
‘Are you claiming that the fence was pulled down deliberately?’
‘I believe it to have been so.’
Muadnat gave a bark of laughter.
‘Desperation forces the youth to lie. You cannot believe that.’
‘Do you name the person responsible?’ asked Crón. ‘If so, you must substantiate that claim.’
Archú looked with hatred at Muadnat.
‘I cannot make any such claims. I have no witness to support me. I did not see who damaged the pig pen. I can make no defence.’
‘The facts are clear!’ Muadnat called impatiently. ‘The boy admits them. Give me the full measure of compensation.’
‘Have you anything else to say, Archú?’ inquired Crón.
‘Judge me as you will,’ said the youth in resignation, returning to his seat.
It was then that Fidelma leant forward and touched Crón’s arm gently.
‘If I may be permitted to ask some questions to settle points of law?’
Crón indicated her agreement: ‘Proceed.’
‘My first question is addressed to Archú. When did you come into legal possession of your farm and the ownership of your pigs?’
Archú stared at her in amazement.
‘But you know that,’ he protested.
‘Answer the question,’ Fidelma replied sharply.
‘At the time of the judgment which you, yourself, made at Lios Mhór.’
‘How long ago was that?’
‘Four days ago, no more,’ Archú replied, shaking his head as if he thought she had taken leave of her senses.
‘And you, Muadnat, do you agree with that?’
Muadnat laughed scornfully.
‘You made the judgment for him. Have you forgotten so soon?’
‘So Archú has been four days in ownership of the farm? Do you both agree?’
‘Yes; the farm is his and the pigs are his and his is the responsibility,’ Muadnat grunted, smiling triumphantly at his
nephew Agdae who sat nodding his agreement.
‘And am I right in suggesting that before Archú owned the farm and the pigs, you, yourself, owned that same farm and the pigs?’ Fidelma inquired.
For the first time a flicker of suspicion crossed Muadnat’s eyes.
‘You know that well enough,’ he replied with an attempt at braggadocio but there was a slight uneasiness in his voice.
‘Did you farm the land now owned by Archú separately or as one with your adjacent lands?’
Muadnat hesitated again, not really understanding where the questions were leading but suspecting some forthcoming trap.
He appealed to Crón.
‘The facts have been laid before you, tanist of Araglin. I do not understand what this woman is seeking to imply.’
‘Answer the question,’ Fidelma insisted. ‘Ignorance of the meaning behind the question is no excuse not to answer a
dálaigh
of the courts. You already stand guilty of insulting my office.’
The sharpness in her voice caused Muadnat to blink and swallow.
He looked appealingly at Crón but the tanist simply motioned him to answer.
‘I farmed them as one,’ he admitted gruffly.
Fidelma nodded impatiently, as if she had known the answer all along but was merely waiting for him to enunciate it.
‘The law states that the boundary fences between farms must be clearly maintained. This is the law under which you seek judgment, is it not so?’ she asked.
Muadnat did not reply.
‘Did you maintain the boundary fences?’
‘The farm that Archú now owns had been mine for years. I removed the boundary fences when there was no need for them to be there.’
‘The law found that the farm Archú owns had not been yours and that for the years you had been running it you had done so
only as legal guardian of the interests of your kinsman, Archú,’ replied Fidelma. ‘You admit removing the boundary fences between his farm and your farm?’
Crón was regarding Fidelma with unconcealed admiration as she suddenly caught the trend of the questioning. Her past antagonism with Fidelma aside, Crón was intelligent enough to appreciate Fidelma’s sharp mind and legal knowledge.
‘Admit?’ Muadnat was confused. ‘Why leave a boundary between lands which were mine?’
Fidelma allowed a thin smile to hover on her lips.
‘You removed the boundary fence?’
‘I did.’
Fidelma turned to Crón apparently satisfied.
‘I am now willing to advise you on the law, tanist of Araglin, unless you wish more questioning. The matter is clear to me. Do you wish my advice in private or in public?’
‘I think the litigants have a right to hear the law,’ replied Crón solemnly.
‘Very well. Firstly, we learn that Archú became owner
de facto
- that is, in actual fact – of the property only four days ago. Until that time, while owner
de jure
– that is, by right – it was Muadnat who occupied and ran the farm. Muadnat admits that he took down the boundary fences between the two farms. That, under law, is an illegal act, although we may excuse Muadnat because he can argue that he thought he was acting legally.’
Muadnat rose and tried to interrupt.
‘You will be silent while the
dálaigh
is giving advice on the matter of law.’ Crón’s voice was harsh.
Cranat, who had sat like a statue all this time, stirred uneasily.
‘Daughter, is there call for such sharpness in addressing one who is your kin and has served your father faithfully?’ she protested. ‘It shames us before strangers.’
Muadnat had fallen silent and resumed his seat.
Crón looked angrily at her mother.
‘I am tanist; a tanist giving judgment. The court must be quiet, mother. This includes you.’

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