The Spider's Web (3 page)
Authors: Peter Tremayne
Tags: #_rt_yes, #Church History, #Fiction, #tpl, #_NB_Fixed, #Mystery, #Historical, #Clerical Sleuth, #Medieval Ireland
Then she turned quickly to her
scriptor
.
scriptor
.
‘I believe that was the last case we had to deal with, was it not, Brother Donnan?’
‘It was. I shall record the judgments later today and ensure that they are announced in the appropriate manner.’ The
scriptor
paused, coughed slightly and lowered his voice a little. ‘It seems that the abbot is standing by the door waiting to speak to you.’
scriptor
paused, coughed slightly and lowered his voice a little. ‘It seems that the abbot is standing by the door waiting to speak to you.’
He indicated with a nervous gesture of his head towards the doors of the chapel. Fidelma turned. Indeed, the broad shouldered figure of Abbot Cathal was standing at the door. Fidelma immediately rose and made her way to him. She noted that the abbot seemed somewhat preoccupied.
‘Are you looking for me, Father Abbot?’
Abbot Cathal was a well-built, muscular man of middle age; a man who carried himself with a military stamp for, as a youth, he had trained as a warrior. He was a local man who had left the military life to be taught under the guidance of the blessed Cathach at Lios Mhór and risen to be accepted as a most accomplished teacher and abbot. The son of a great war chieftain, Cathal had distributed all his wealth to the poor of his clan and lived in the simple poverty of his order. His simplicity and directness caused him enemies. Once a local chieftain, Maelochtrid, had him imprisoned on a trumped up charge of practising magic. Yet on his release Cathal had forgiven him. That was the nature of the man.
Fidelma liked Cathal’s gentleness and lack of vanity. It contrasted pleasantly to the arrogance of office which she so often encountered. Cathal was one of the few men of the church whom she would unhesitatingly call a ‘holy man’.
‘Indeed, I was looking for you, Sister Fidelma,’ the abbot replied with a swift but warm smile. ‘Has the court finished its deliberations?’
His voice was softly modulated, almost bland, yet Fidelma detected that something unusual had happened to bring him in search of her.
‘We have finished pronouncing judgment on the last case, Father Abbot. Is there a problem?’
Abbot Cathal hesitated.
‘Two riders have arrived here at the abbey. One of them is a foreigner. They have come from Cashel in search of you.’
‘Has anything happened to my brother?’ demanded Fidelma sharply in response to the first thought which crossed her mind, sending icy fingers of fear clutching at her. Had something happened to her brother, Colgú, the newly installed king of Muman, the largest of the five kingdoms of Éireann?
At once Abbot Cathal looked contrite.
‘No, no. Your brother, the king, is safe and well,’ he reassured her. ‘Forgive my clumsiness of expression. Come, follow me to my chamber where you are awaited.’
Her curiosity aroused, Fidelma hurried as sedately as she could along the corridors of the great abbey beside the taller figure of the abbot.
From a small slumbering backwater, Lios Mhór, the great house as it was called, had risen into prominence when Cathach of blessed name moved from Rathan to establish a new community of religious only a generation before. Within a short time, Lios Mhór had become one of the foremost ecclesiastical teaching centres to which flocked students from many lands. Like most of the great abbeys of Ireland, it was a mixed house, a
conhospitae,
in which religious of both sexes lived, worked and raised their children in the service of Christ.
conhospitae,
in which religious of both sexes lived, worked and raised their children in the service of Christ.
As they made their way through the cloisters of the abbey, the students and religious respectfully stood aside to allow the abbot’s passage, heads bowed in deference. The students were young men and women from many nations who came to the five kingdoms to receive their education. At the door of the abbot’s chambers,
Cathal halted and opened it, ushering Fidelma inside.
Cathal halted and opened it, ushering Fidelma inside.
A large, elderly man of imposing appearance was standing beside the abbot’s table. He turned with a broad smile on his face as Fidelma entered. He was still handsome and energetic looking in spite of his silver hair and obvious advanced years. He wore a gold chain of office over his cloak. Had not his physical appearance distinguished him, his chain of office proclaimed him as a man of rank.
Fidelma recognised him at once.
‘Beccan! It is good to see you again.’
The Chief Brehon returned her smile. He came forward and took both her hands in his.
‘To meet with one who is the subject of affection as well as professional esteem is always a matter of joy for me, Fidelma.’
His expression and warmth of his greeting were not matters of protocol but of genuine emotion.
Fidelma was aware of a hollow cough behind her and she turned with a look of inquiry. The figure of a brother of the cloth stood with hands folded into his homespun brown woollen robes. His tonsure was different from the tonsure of the blessed John, as worn by the religious of the five kingdoms of Eireann. It was a Roman tonsure. His face was solemn but his dark brown eyes contained a twinkling mirth as he bowed his head in greeting to her.
‘Brother Eadulf!’ breathed Fidelma quickly. ‘I thought you were in attendance on my brother in Cashel?’
‘That I was. Yet there was little to do at Cashel and when I heard that Beccan was coming here in search of you, I offered to accompany him.’
‘Coming to find me?’ Fidelma suddenly remembered the words of the abbot. ‘What is amiss?’
She swung round to the elderly Brehon. Abbot Cathal went to seat himself behind his desk while the Chief Brehon addressed Fidelma.
‘There is some disturbing news, sister,’ Beccan began solemnly. Then he shrugged and smiled apologetically. ‘Forgive me, first I should say that your brother rests well in his capital of Cashel. He sends his warmest greetings to you.’
Fidelma did not bother to explain that Abbot Cathal had already assured her of her brother’s safety.
‘Then what is the disturbing news … ?’
Beccan paused a moment as if to gather his thoughts.
‘Yesterday afternoon there came to Cashel a messenger from the clan of Eber of Araglin.’
The name was immediately familiar to Fidelma and it took her a moment to register that the name had occurred in the very last case which she had judged that afternoon. Eber was chieftain of the area from which Archú and his compassionless cousin had come to plead before her.
‘Go on,’ she prompted guiltily for Beccan had paused again when he observed that her thoughts were wandering.
‘The messenger reported that Eber had been murdered along with one of his relatives. Someone was caught at the scene of the crime.’
‘What has this to do with me?’ Fidelma asked.
Beccan made a gesture with his hand as if to express apology.
‘I am on my way to Ros Ailithir, on your brother’s business. It is urgent business and I cannot afford the time to journey to Araglin and conduct a proper investigation. Your brother, the king, was concerned that this matter should immediately be investigated and that justice be dispensed. Eber of Araglin has been a good friend to Cashel and your brother thought it fitting that you …’
Fidelma could guess the rest.
‘That I go to Araglin,’ she ended with a sigh. ‘Well, the business here is concluded and I was planning to join my brother in Cashel tomorrow. I suppose that it matters little if I arrive a day or so later than I expected to. Yet, I do not fully understand, what is
there to investigate in Araglin if the culprit is already caught, as you say? Is there some doubt as to his guilt?’
there to investigate in Araglin if the culprit is already caught, as you say? Is there some doubt as to his guilt?’
Beccan shook his head firmly.
‘None that I know,’ he assured her. ‘I am told that the murderer was caught with a dagger in his hand and blood on his clothes as he stood over the body of Eber. Your brother, however …’
Fidelma grimaced wryly.
‘I know. Eber was a friend to Cashel and justice must be seen to be done and done fairly.’
‘There is no Brehon in Araglin,’ interposed Abbot Cathal, in order to explain the position. ‘It is more a matter of ensuring that justice is properly conducted.’
‘Is there any reason to suspect it might be otherwise?’
Abbot Cathal spread his hands as if to imply the question was not so clear cut.
‘Eber was, by all accounts, a very popular chieftain with a reputation for kindliness and generosity. He was apparently well liked by his people. There might be a tendency to punish the culprit without recourse to justice and the strict letter of the law.’
Fidelma gazed into his troubled eyes for a few moments. Cathal knew the mountain people around Lios Mhór better than most for he was one of them. She nodded briefly in acknowledgment of his concern.
‘I have had an example in my court of how at least one man of the clan of Araglin has little respect for the law,’ she mused. ‘Tell me more about the people of Araglin, Father Abbot.’
‘Little to tell. They are a close-knit people who are usually resentful of outsiders. Eber’s clan lives mainly in the mountains around a settlement which is called the
rath
of the chieftain of Araglin. The lands stretch to the east along the Araglin river which flows through the glen. It is rich farmland. Eber’s clan keep themselves to themselves and distrust strangers. It will not be an easy task that you undertake.’
rath
of the chieftain of Araglin. The lands stretch to the east along the Araglin river which flows through the glen. It is rich farmland. Eber’s clan keep themselves to themselves and distrust strangers. It will not be an easy task that you undertake.’
‘You say that they have no Brehon? Have they a priest?’
‘Yes; Father Gormán is to be found at the
rath.
There is a chapel there which is called Cill Uird, the church of ritual. He has lived twenty years among the people of Araglin. He was trained here, at Lios Mhór. You will doubtless find him of valuable assistance to you although he has certain dogmatic views on the propagation of the Faith which you might find yourself in conflict with.’
rath.
There is a chapel there which is called Cill Uird, the church of ritual. He has lived twenty years among the people of Araglin. He was trained here, at Lios Mhór. You will doubtless find him of valuable assistance to you although he has certain dogmatic views on the propagation of the Faith which you might find yourself in conflict with.’
‘How so?’ inquired Fidelma with interest.
Cathal smiled disarmingly.
‘I think it better if you discover for yourself so that I do not bias you one way or another.’
‘I suppose he is an advocate of Roman custom,’ Fidelma sighed.
Abbot Cathal grimaced.
‘You are very discerning, sister. Yes. He believes the Roman ways are better than our native customs. He has some support in this for he has built a Roman chapel at Ard Mór which is becoming renowned for its opulence. Father Gormán seems to have rich supporters.’
‘Yet he still dwells in such an isolated spot as Cill Uird,’ remarked Fidelma. ‘That is curious.’
‘Do not look for mysteries that do not exist,’ rebuked Abbot Cathal, though with a smile. ‘Father Gormán is a man of Araglin but believes in propagating his interpretation of the Faith as well.’
Beccan was regarding her doleful countenance with amusement. He shook his head playfully.
‘The trouble, Fidelma of Kildare, is that you are too good at your profession. Your wisdom is becoming a by-word throughout the five kingdoms of Eireann.’
‘The thought does not please me,’ muttered Fidelma. ‘I serve the law not for personal esteem. I serve it to bring justice to the people.’
Beccan took her irritation in good spirits.
‘And in doing so, Fidelma, you are known as a just person with an ability to solve contentious conundrums. In the wake of your successes comes your reputation. You must accept that with good grace. But now …’
He turned decisively to Abbot Cathal.
‘I must be on my way for I wish to get to Ard Mór before nightfall.
Vive valeque,
Cathal of Lios Mhór.’
Vive valeque,
Cathal of Lios Mhór.’
‘Vive, vale,
Beccan.’
Beccan.’
With a quick smile to Fidelma and a nod to Eadulf, the elderly man was gone, leaving the room almost before they had realised he had departed.
Fidelma turned to Brother Eadulf curiously.
‘Are you not continuing the journey with Beccan? Where do you go from here, Eadulf?’
The dark-eyed monk, who had shared many of her adventures, was indifferent.
‘I thought that I would accompany you to Araglin; that is if you have no objection. I would be interested in seeing a part of this land that I have never seen before.’
Fidelma’s lips quirked in a mischievous grin at Eadulf’s diplomatic reply which was obviously framed to placate any inquisitive thought that the abbot had.
Eadulf was a hereditary
gerefa
or magistrate of his people, the South Folk Saxons. He had been converted to the Christian faith by an Irish missionary, Fursa, and sent to the great colleges of Eireann for his education, studying firstly at the monastery of Durrow and then at the famous college of medicine at Tuaim Brecain. Then Eadulf had left the Church of Colmcille for the Church of Rome. He had become secretary to Theodore, the new archbishop of Canterbury, appointed by Rome. Theodore sent him back to Ireland as an emissary to Fidelma’s brother Colgú of Cashel. Eadulf was perfectly at home in the five kingdoms, whose language he spoke fluently.
gerefa
or magistrate of his people, the South Folk Saxons. He had been converted to the Christian faith by an Irish missionary, Fursa, and sent to the great colleges of Eireann for his education, studying firstly at the monastery of Durrow and then at the famous college of medicine at Tuaim Brecain. Then Eadulf had left the Church of Colmcille for the Church of Rome. He had become secretary to Theodore, the new archbishop of Canterbury, appointed by Rome. Theodore sent him back to Ireland as an emissary to Fidelma’s brother Colgú of Cashel. Eadulf was perfectly at home in the five kingdoms, whose language he spoke fluently.
‘You may join me and welcome, Eadulf,’ she replied softly. Then: ‘Have you a horse?’
‘Your brother kindly loaned me a mount for this journey.’
Usually the religious did not ride on their journeys. Fidelma’s ownership of a horse was merely a recognition of her rank and her office as a Brehon of the courts of law.
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