The Spider's Web (28 page)

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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‘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 and
very 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.

Fidelma had felt loneliness for a year and had scarcely been able to conceal her exhilaration when she had discovered that Brother Eadulf had been sent as an emissary from the newly appointed archbishop of Canterbury, Theodore, who was now the Holy Father’s representative to the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. That Eadulf was now at the court of her brother, Colgú of Cashel, was as if Fate had ordained a path in her life.

Could Fate be so cruel as to take Eadulf away; away so finally and irrevocably?

‘There is nothing that you can do here, Fidelma,’ Gadra was repeating. ‘Let me look after the poor brother while you do your best to find who is responsible for this outrage. I will send word to you as soon as there is any change.’

Reluctantly, Fidelma looked down at the ailing features of her friend and nodded slowly. She tried to control the slight twitching at the corners of her mouth. Her face had hardened unnaturally.

‘Thank you, Gadra,’ she said. ‘Grella here will help you, won’t you, Grella?’

Grella was standing wringing her hands. ‘Oh, sister, shall I be punished for this?’

‘Why should you be punished?’ she asked absently.

‘It was I who brought the food to you and the brother,’ the girl reminded her.

Fidelma realised the anguish the young girl was going through and shook her head with a sad smile.

‘You will not be punished. But I must go to find Dignait and discover who is responsible for placing the poisonous fungi on the plates. Gadra here will require your help. Will you help him?’

‘I will,’ agreed the young girl, mournfully.

Fidelma cast one final glance at Eadulf’s shivering, unconscious form, and turned to leave the hostel. It was only when she had gone several yards that she realised, for the first time in her life, she was walking without a purpose. She paused, undecided what to do.

Chapter Seventeen

Fidelma dismounted outside the single-storey cabin which was built entirely of wood. She had left the
rath
with only a vague idea in her mind. Her mind was turning over the idea which had occurred to her with the mention of Crítán. It was a line from Virgil; from the Aeneid.
Dux femina facti!
She was not sure why she kept thinking of this line until she passed along the road to the valley of the Black Marsh and saw the small cabin in the bend of the river.

A woman stood outside the door, where she had apparently been tending plants in a small patch of garden. She watched Fidelma’s arrival with curiosity. She was a well-proportioned woman; a woman past her youthful years. She was a short, fleshy, blonde with pronounced cheekbones. Her taste in clothes was garish, their clash of colours denied their suitability.

Fidelma tied the reins of her horse to a hitching pole.

‘Good day to you, sister,’ greeted the woman. ‘You are welcome here but I should warn you – do you know what place this is?’

Fidelma smiled briefly.

‘I am told that it is the house of Clídna. Have I been misinformed?’

The fair-haired woman shook her head.

‘I am Clídna but this place is a
meirdrech loc
.’

‘A brothel? Yes, so I have been told.’

‘Those of your calling do not usually come to visit a woman of secrets, such as myself, unless they wish to attempt to convert us to a new path in life.’

Fidelma grinned at the euphemism ‘woman of secrets’ as a
term for a prostitute, though it was widely used within the five kingdoms. It suddenly seemed appropriate for her.

‘Dux femina facti,’
she said the phrase aloud. ‘A woman was the leader in the deed. It is because you hold so many secrets that I have come to you, Clídna.’

The prostitute looked puzzled a moment but gestured towards the cabin.

‘Will it offend you if I ask you to come inside and partake of some hospitality?’

‘It will not.’

‘Then enter my house, sister, and let me offer you something to drink. Alas, my means are modest so I do not have grand wines or sweet meads to offer.’

She turned and led the way into the cabin and, once inside, indicated a seat for Fidelma while she turned to where a pot was simmering over a wood fire.

‘I have just prepared this woodsman’s tea,’ Clídna told her. ‘I think you might like it. It is plain and simple.’

‘How do you prepare it?’ asked Fidelma, sniffing the aroma. It had an odour of the forests about it.

‘Easy to say,’ smiled the woman. ‘I tap a birch and drain off a quantity of the sap. Then I heat the sap infusing it with pine needles. When it is heated, I strain the mixture through sedge leaves.’

She handed Fidelma an earthenware mug.

Fidelma sipped cautiously. There was an unusual tang to the taste but it was not unpleasant.

‘It is very good,’ she pronounced after she had taken another sip.

‘Not compared with the beverages you drink in the palace of Cashel, I’ll be bound?’

Fidelma raised an eyebrow.

‘So you know who I am?’

‘I am a woman of secrets.’ There was humour in Clídna’s eyes.
‘Where else do whispers and rumours come to rest but in the ears of such as I?’

‘Will you tell me of yourself? How did you come to follow this calling?’

‘I was the daughter of hostages. My parents were of the Ui Fidgente, taken prisoner after the battle of the Ford of Apples where Dicuil son of Fergus was slain by the men of Cashel.’

Fidelma knew that hostages had no rights in society and were made to work until ransom was paid or the next generation were freed automatically.

Clídna seemed to read her mind.

‘I was born before my parents were captured. Therefore I was not a free woman. I had no rights within the clan and this is why I am as you see me now. A woman of secrets. Without honour-price, without status, without bride-price. Without property.’

‘Who owns your cabin then?’

‘It is on the land of Agdae.’

‘Ah. Agdae of the Black Marsh?’

Clídna smiled briefly.

‘I pay him rent, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘I am not ashamed of my life.’

‘Did I imply that you should be?’

‘Usually those of your calling, Father Gormán for example, would have me scourged and driven out of this land.’

‘Father Gormán is extreme in his views.’

Clídna looked at Fidelma with some surprise.

‘You cannot tell me that you approve of me?’

‘Approve of you, or approve of the profession you have undertaken?’

‘Are they separate?’

‘It depends on the individual. My mentor, Morann of Tara, told me never to measure another person’s coat on my own body.’ Fidelma paused. ‘However, I have not come to discuss the manner
of your life, Clídna. I came because I would be glad if you could assist me with information.’

The woman shrugged.

‘There is little in this place that I do not know.’

‘Just so.
Dux femina facti!
You might well have heard secrets whispered on the air.’

‘But not the secret you wish to uncover. There are too many people who disliked Eber. Enough to wish his health would fail. I am not sure how many would go so far as to undertake the task of killing him.’

‘Perhaps Agdae has sufficient motive, for example?’

Clídna shook her head quickly, a flush on her cheeks.

‘Anyway, he was at Lios Mhór at the time Eber was killed. You must know that,’ she said, her cheeks colouring.

Fidelma knew this fact well enough but something prompted her to test Clídna because of the tone of voice she had used when referring to Agdae as her landlord. Fidelma felt that her tone expressed something more than a professional relationship.

‘He would not be capable of hiring someone else to do the deed?’

‘He is not like that. He is a man of impetuous temper and was often led astray by his loyalty to his cousin, Muadnat. But he is not a violent man.’

‘Yet, perhaps, even as we speak, Agdae is out trying to devise a way of killing young Archú. That is what he is reported to have threatened.’

Clídna threw back her head and laughed.

‘Then you are not well informed!’

Fidelma raised her eyebrows in query.

‘Are you so certain?’

Clídna rose, still smiling, and went to a door at the back of the cabin. It opened into another room which was in darkness. She motioned Fidelma to come forward. Warily, she did so. Clídna gestured for her to look into its gloomy depths, placing her finger against her lips.

A strong smell of stale alcohol wafted out of the room, which was obviously a sleeping chamber. She heard a raucous snoring sound and saw a figure stretched out on a small wooden cot.

Clídna moved silently across the floor and pulled back a wooden shutter to allow some strong light to flood the room. There was a slight moan from the figure. Fidelma peered forward. She had no trouble recognising Agdae’s features. After a moment, Clídna pulled back the shutter and led Fidelma from the room.

‘He has been here since the death of Muadnat and scarcely sober since that time,’ Clídna explained. ‘The death of his cousin has affected him. He is not capable of violence. That I know.’

Fidelma sat down again, sipping her beverage thoughtfully.

‘Did Eber ever come here?’

Clídna laughed and shook her head as she returned to her seat. Laughter seemed to come easily to her.

‘I was not to his taste for I was not a young girl neither was I related to him,’ she replied. ‘No, he had other outlets.’

‘You said many people hated him?’

‘He was to the people of Araglin like a raven to a bone,’ reflected Clídna.

‘Why was this reputation for kindliness and generosity, for gentleness and courteousness, spread about?’

‘Because Eber sought power in the king of Cashel’s assembly. He claimed to be a friend of everyone in order to enhance his reputation to win a seat in the assembly.’

‘Woe unto you when all men shall speak well of you,’ muttered Fidelma. She smiled at the disconcerted woman. ‘It comes from the Gospel of the Blessed Luke. In other words, as Aristotle wrote, a man who claims many friends, has no friends. Tell me about the people who disliked him.’

‘Where should I begin?’ Clídna asked sceptically.

‘Start within his own family circle?’

‘A good enough place,’ she agreed. ‘Everyone in it hated him.’

‘Everyone?’ Fidelma leant forward with interest. ‘Then let us be more specific. What of his wife?’

‘Cranat? Yes, she hated him. There is no doubt. If you have spoken to her, you will know that she considers herself to be badly treated. To have married below her station. A princess of the Déisi. She disliked having to live in Araglin. Her arrangement was purely for money. You spoke a line of Latin earlier. I learnt such a line once from …’ she hesitated and smiled, ‘ … from a friend. It was –
quaerenda pecunia primum est virtus post nummos.’

‘A line from Horace’s
Epistles
,’ Fidelma recognised it, ‘and well remembered. Money is to be sought after first of all, virtue after wealth. So Cranat married Eber, seeking wealth before virtue?’

Clídna smiled agreement.

‘And Crón is her only child by Eber?’

Clídna rubbed the side of her nose with a forefinger and nodded. Then added: ‘She is.’

‘When did Cranat cease to live with Eber?’

Clídna shook her head.

‘That happened when Crón was about twelve or thirteen years old. There was talk of course.’

‘Talk?’

‘That Eber preferred his own daughter to the company of his wife.’

Fidelma sat back and looked long and thoughtfully at the prostitute.

‘More of this tea?’ asked Clídna, unperturbed at the effect that she had.

Fidelma nodded automatically, holding out her mug.

‘Let us speak of Crón, then. How did she feel about her father?’

‘I am told that she had a close relationship with him. She worked closely with him and, indeed, she had barely come to the age of choice when she was made his tanist. We are a rural community here, sister, and there was some anger at this.’

‘Anger?’

‘Oh yes. A young girl being heir-elect to the chiefdom.’

‘It is not unusual,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘Women can aspire to all offices in the five kingdoms.’

‘But are rarely elected among farmers. Anyway, there was another problem. Muadnat was already the heir-elect.’

Fidelma fought to control her surprise.

‘Muadnat?’

‘Yes. Didn’t you know that he was cousin to Eber and as Eber had no immediate male heirs, he was appointed tanist a long time ago? When Eber disinherited him and caused his own daughter to be elected tanist, there was talk that Eber paid much in bribes for that support.’

Fidelma’s mind was racing.

‘Wake Agdae for me!’

Clídna frowned and was about to protest but she recognised the resolute expression on Fidelma’s face.

It took some moments to bring Agdae round. The man sat on the bed blinking and rubbing his eyes. He was clearly not yet sober.

‘Listen, Agdae,’ Fidelma’s voice was harsh, ‘listen carefully. I want you to tell me the truth. If you do not, then your life might be in danger. Do you understand?’

Agdae groaned in befuddled protest.

‘When was Muadnat deposed by the
derbfhine
of the house of the chieftains of Araglin?’

Agdae screwed up his eyes as if trying to focus on her. He gazed at her blankly.

‘When?’ persisted Fidelma.

‘When?’ echoed Agdae stupidly. ‘Oh, three weeks ago.’

‘Only three weeks ago? And were you one of the
derbfhine
?’

Agdae rubbed his tousled head and nodded reluctantly.

‘Give me a drink.’

‘Were you a member of the
derbfhine
?’ Fidelma raised her voice sharply.

‘I was.’

‘Did you vote for Muadnat to remain tanist?’

‘Of course, why I …’