The Spider's Web (22 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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‘Does this man remind you of anyone, Eadulf? Someone we have met in the last few days?’
Eadulf peered closely and then shook his head negatively.
Fidelma glanced up at Archú.
‘I am right in thinking that it has not rained since yesterday?’
The youth looked bewildered but nodded in agreement.
Fidelma returned to examining the clothes of the corpse carefully. Eadulf saw that Fidelma seemed interested in the fine layer of stone dust on the clothes of the man. Then she stood up.
‘Araglin is truly becoming a place of many mysteries,’ she observed softly. ‘Now I think we should ride to Muadnat’s farm.’
‘Are you saying Muadnat is behind this?’ Dubán asked with a frown.
‘It is logical to begin our questioning with him,’ Fidelma replied, ‘especially after what has happened so far.’
‘I suppose I agree.’ Dubán was almost reluctant. ‘If we were to assume that it was a band of raiders, then it seems odd that Archú’s farmstead was raided and Muadnat’s was not. Muadnat’s farmstead is more accessible and richer in cattle than Archú’s lands.’
Dubán ordered one of his men to stay behind to help Archú and to assist him in burying the body. The rest of them mounted up and began to trot back along the track towards Muadnat’s farmstead.
As they began to move Eadulf caught Fidelma’s eye and hung back at the end of the column of mounted warriors.
‘Is it wise that we get involved in this matter?’ he said softly so that only she heard.
‘Wise?’ She was surprised. ‘I thought we were involved.’
‘You have been sent to investigate the death of Eber, not to
entangle yourself with some kind of feud between Archú and his cousin.’
‘True enough,’ Fidelma agreed, ‘but I cannot help feeling that there is much more to the mysteries of Araglin than we are led to believe. Look how Dubán and Crón conceal their relationship. Outwardly it was claimed that Eber was respected, but secretly it is admitted that he was hated. Where is the truth to be found? And Muadnat’s dislike of his young cousin … is this part of some hatred in this valley or is there something which connects these aspects, a spider’s web which links so many points to one central evil thing that waits in the middle?’
Eadulf suppressed a sigh.
‘I am but a stranger in a strange land, Fidelma. I am also a simple man. I do not see the subtleties of which you speak.’
He realised it was an easy excuse to avoid making any positive suggestions. Fidelma perceived as much and said no more.
Dubán, once they had turned back into the main area of the valley, led the way down from the mountain track through the cultivated fields towards Muadnat’s farmstead. Almost immediately they could see some farm hands running towards the buildings. Obviously, they had been spotted. A familiar figure appeared abruptly. It was Muadnat’s chief herdsman and nephew, Agdae.
He stood, feet apart, hands on hips, and inspected them as they drew nearer. Some of his men had come forward threatening with weapons.
‘Is this a way to greet visitors, Agdae?’ Dubán called as they came up.
‘You ride here with armed men,’ replied Agdae, unperturbed. ‘Do you mean us ill or well? Better to make sure before we lay weapons aside and greet you all as brothers.’
Dubán halted his horse before Agdae.
‘You should know the answer to that question,’ he replied.
Agdae gestured to his men to lower their weapons and disperse.
He turned to Dubán with an insincere smile: ‘What is it you seek here?’
‘Where is your uncle, Muadnat?’ demanded Dubán.
‘I have no idea. But I am in charge here while my uncle is away. What do you seek him for?’
‘There has been a raid on Archú’s farmstead.’
Agdae’s expression flickered momentarily.
‘Am I supposed to feel sorrow for Archú when he has cheated Muadnat out of that land?’
Fidelma was about to intervene when Dubán raised a hand to stay her.
‘Do you see that column of smoke behind the shoulder of the hill yonder?’ he inquired.
‘I see it,’ replied Agdae blandly.
‘You see it and yet you did not feel it necessary to ride to Archú’s aid? We are a small community in these valleys of Araglin, Agdae. A raid against one of our farms is a raid against us all. When has it been the policy of the men of Araglin to refuse to help one another?’
Agdae raised his shoulders and let them fall in an exaggerated shrug.
‘How was I to know that the smoke meant the boy was under attack?’
‘The smoke itself should have told you,’ replied Fidelma quickly.
Agdae turned and glowered at her.
‘Alas, I have not your training in reading between the lines,
dálaigh;
of seeing things which are not plainly evident. To me, smoke is simply smoke. Why, Archú might have been burning fields to rid them of chaff. If I had gone running to find out what was wrong every time I saw fire on a farmer’s land then I would have spent half of my lifetime doing so. Besides, if I had gone to Archú, because he has highly placed friends in legal circles, I might find myself having to pay compensation for unwelcome attentions.’
‘A slippery tongue often leads to a fall,’ snapped Fidelma, realising that Agdae was possessed of a sarcastic tongue. ‘But having heard that a raid has taken place, you will perhaps tell us where Muadnat is.’
Agdae stood, still smirking at her but saying nothing.
Dubán repeated the question in a harsher tone.
‘What can I tell you? Muadnat is not here.’
‘But where is he?’ insisted Dubán. ‘Where has he gone?’
‘All I can tell you is that he took himself off hunting yesterday and will return when he returns.’
‘In which direction did he go?’ insisted Dubán.
Agdae shrugged.
‘Who dares to foretell in which direction a hawk will fly in search of prey?’
‘Very prettily said.’ Fidelma was in ill-humour. ‘Let us hope that the hawk does not meet with a flock of eagles.’
Agdae blinked and stared at her, trying to read the meaning in her words.
‘Muadnat is able to take care of himself,’ he said defensively.
‘Of that I have no doubt,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘Are all your field workers accounted for?’
‘So far as I know.’ Agdae was suddenly curious about her question. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Someone was killed at Archú’s farm whom we have not been able to identify. Killed by the raiders.’ Dubán described the man.
Agdae shook his head.
‘All our men are accounted for save Muadnat. Presumably it was not he otherwise you would not be searching for him.’
‘And Muadnat is hunting in the hills?’
‘Just as I have said.’
‘Call your men before me, Agdae,’ demanded Dubán.
Agdae hesitated and then relayed the order.
The dozen or so farm hands gathered nervously under his scrutiny. They looked a sorry sight for most of them were elderly,
sinewy and with strength for the plough and the sickle but not for the robust life of a cattle raider. Dubán looked at Fidelma and shrugged.
‘These men will not be counted among the raiders,’ he said. ‘Shall we search the farmstead further?’
Fidelma reluctantly shook her head.
‘Is it worth picking up the trail which Archú indicated and following the path of the raiders?’ she suggested.
Dubán chuckled dryly.
‘The route which was pointed out to us lay through a swamp land. Indeed, this is why this area is called the Black Marsh. Apart from the track which leads here, the other trails are dangerous. There is no way of following a trail through that treacherous bog.’
Brother Eadulf abruptly leaned forward from his horse and addressed Agdae.
‘I have a question for you,’ he said softly.
‘Then ask away, Saxon,’ Agdae replied complacently.
Eadulf pointed across the fields.
‘Behind your farmstead there is a path which apparently leads up into the northern hills. It seems to lead in the opposite direction to the track that would take us back to the
rath
of Araglin. I thought there was only one way in and out of this valley?’
‘What of it?’ demanded Agdae.
Fidelma had raised her gaze towards the spot Eadulf had indicated and saw that he was right. There was a path there. She had not noticed it before. It was a recognisable track that rose across the northern hills, along the high meadows and clumps of woodland, towards the edge of the forests which spread across the hills on the far side of the valley.
‘Where does that route lead?’ queried Eadulf.
‘Nowhere,’ replied Agdae shortly.
Dubán took up the idea at once.
‘We are told that the raiders rode in the direction of your farmstead. If they did not take the track leading back into the
main valley of Araglin then the only path is that one. So where does it lead?’
‘No spot in particular,’ Agdae insisted. ‘I told the Saxon no lie.’
‘What?’ Dubán let out a roar of laughter. ‘Every path must lead to somewhere.’
‘You know me, Dubán. I know every path and every dell within these valleys. I tell you that the track leads nowhere. It loses itself on the far side of the hills.’
‘I will accept that he tells the truth,’ replied Eadulf and sat back apparently satisfied. ‘It does not matter. If the raiders took that path then they would have been seen by someone on this farmstead. Isn’t that correct, Agdae?’
The man looked disconcerted for a moment and then jerked his head in agreement.
‘You speak the truth, Saxon. They would have been seen.’
Fidelma was slightly perplexed. She wondered why Eadulf had asked about the path if he was not prepared to insist on the logical assumption that the raiders might have escaped by that route and suggest that Dubán take his men in pursuit. She quickly deduced that there was another reason to Eadulf’s question.
Dubán was not persuaded.
‘I will send two of my trackers to check the path. If they find any sign of the raiders then we shall go in pursuit.’
Agdae sniffed in displeasure.
‘They will find nothing.’
Dubán motioned to two of his men who set off at a canter in the direction of the pathway.
Agdae was looking sourly at Fidelma.
‘It seems that you are determined to paint my uncle Muadnat as a villain,
dálaigh.’
‘Muadnat is capable of painting his own image,’ replied Fidelma without concern.
‘Dubán, there is a horseman approaching!’ It was one of Dubán’s men.
They all turned in the direction to which the man was pointing. A horseman was certainly approaching from the direction of the main track to the
rath
of Araglin. It did not take long to recognise the slight form of Father Gormán.
‘What is happening here?’ called the priest as he rode up.
‘You startled us, Father,’ rejoined Dubán. ‘You seemed to appear from nowhere.’ He glanced at the priest’s attire and added: ‘It is cold weather to be abroad without a riding cloak.’
Father Gormán shrugged.
‘It was warm when I started out this morning,’ he said dismissively. ‘But what is the matter?’
‘Have you not heard that Archú’s farmstead has been attacked? That is why we are nervous about horsemen in this area.’
The dark-featured priest looked uneasy.
‘An attack? This is shameful. These cattle raiders again, I suppose?’ He paused and shrugged. ‘I was on my way to Archú’s place anyway. But if there are raiders still about perhaps I should take care to go in company.’
‘Oh,’ Fidelma was sardonic, ‘the raiders are long gone but surely you have your Faith to guard you from harm. Still, I am sure you would be welcomed at Archú’s farm. There is a corpse that stands in need of your blessing.’
Father Gormán glowered in annoyance.
‘Who has been killed?’ he demanded.
‘No one seems to know,’ Dubán confessed. He was about to add something else when his two men came back.
‘We have examined the path. The ground is far too stony to define any tracks so far as we climbed it. We went about a mile.’
Dubán was disappointed.
‘I do not want to waste time in fruitless chases,’ he muttered. ‘If the track leads nowhere then it is a waste of time. I will accept what you say, Agdae, but tell your uncle that I, Dubán, wish to see him when he returns. I do not think we can do any more here.’
He glanced towards Fidelma, as if seeking her approval, and she inclined her head in agreement.

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