The Spider's Web

by Peter Tremayne

  Fidelma followed the logic grimly.

  ‘Then your mother was not with Eber?’

  ‘She was in her own bed chamber.’

  ‘I see,’ Fidelma said softly. She decided not to press the point. ‘And what happened after that?’

  Crón shrugged almost indifferently.

  ‘Little more that bears relevance. Móen, as I have said, has been safely locked away. Without my knowledge, my mother sent a young warrior named Critan to Cashel to inform the king of the tragedy. She apparently thought a Brehon should be sent to investigate rather than let her daughter exercise the role of tanist. My mother did not want me to be tanist.’

  Fidelma noted a slight bitterness in the girl’s voice.

  ‘Crítán returned two days ago to say that the king was sending someone. Thus we buried my father, as custom dictates, in our mound of chieftains. Teafa also. In accordance with the law I, as heir-elect, have taken charge. I could have dispensed justice as well without all these complications.’

  ‘That is not so, tanist.’ Fidelma’s voice was soft but firm. ‘You will not be chieftain until your derbfhine meets to confirm you in office and that is not for twenty-seven days after the death of the chieftain. A qualified Brehon needs to be the authority in such an investigation.’

  The young tanist made no reply.

  ‘Well,’ Fidelma said at length, ‘the facts seem clear as you have presented them. Did Duban make the discovery of your father’s body himself?’

  Crón shook her head.

  ‘It was Menma who heard his death cry and burst into my father’s chamber to discover Móen in the act of slaughter.’

  ‘Ah. Menma. And who is Menma?’ queried Fidelma, trying to remember where she had heard the name before.

  ‘He is the head of my father’s,’ Crón paused and corrected herself, ‘head of my stables.’

  Fidelma remembered that Dignait had mentioned the name.

  ‘So far as your own knowledge is concerned,’ Fidelma continued after a moment, ‘the facts of this matter are clear and simple? You have not been troubled or mystified by them?’

  ‘There is no mystery. The facts are clear.’

  ‘What reason do you offer as to why Móen would kill both Eber and Teafa?’

  The reply came without hesitation.

  ‘No logical motive. But then logic would not be part of Móen’s world.’ Her voice was bitter.

  Fidelma tried to fathom her meaning.

  ‘As I understand it, Teafa had raised Móen from a baby. He had much to be grateful to her for. Are you saying logic did not play any part in this deed? Then what do you ascribe the motive as, for surely there must be a motive?’

  ‘Who can tell what passes in the dark still mind of one such as Móen?’ replied the tanist.

  For a moment, Fidelma wondered whether to press her for an explanation of her choice of words. She felt that she should not bias herself before she had spoken with Móen. However, there was one person to see before she spoke with Móen and that was the person who had discovered him in the act of killing Eber.

  ‘I will now speak with Menma,’ she announced.

  ‘I could save you trouble,’ replied Crón sharply, ‘for I know all the details of this matter as Menma and Duban told them to me.’

  Fidelma smiled tightly.

  ‘That is not the way a dálaigh works. It is important that I gather the facts at first hand.’

  ‘What is of importance is that you pronounce the legal punishment that Móen must suffer. And pronounce it soon.’

  ‘So there is no doubt in your mind that Móen did this deed?’

  ‘If Menma says that he found Móen in the act of doing it, then he did so.’

  ‘I do not question it,’ Fidelma said, rising to her feet, with Eadulf following. Fidelma turned to the door.

  ‘What will you do with Móen?’ demanded Crón, nonplussed, for she was unused to people rising in her presence and leaving before she had formally dismissed them.

  ‘Do?’ Fidelma paused and gazed back at the tanist for a moment. ‘Nothing, as yet. Firstly, we must speak to all the witnesses and then hold a legal hearing, allowing Móen to make his defence.’

  Crón startled them by letting out a peal of laughter. It sounded slightly hysterical.

  Fidelma waited patiently for it to subside and then asked: ‘Perhaps you will tell us where we may find the man, Menma?’

  ‘At this hour you will find him at the stables just beyond the guests’ hostel,’ Crón replied, between giggles.

  As they were about to leave the hall of assembly, Crón managed to control her amusement and called to stay them a moment more. She became serious.

  ‘It would be a wise course to give judgment in this matter as soon as possible. My father was well liked among his people. Kind and generous. There are many among my people who feel that the old laws of compensation are inadequate to cope with this crime and that the words of the new Faith, the creed of retribution, are more suited. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, burning for burning. If Móen is not dealt with swiftly by you, there may be willing hands to exact justice.’

  ‘Justice?’ Fidelma’s voice was icy as she spun to face the young tanist. ‘You mean mob vengeance? Well, as chieftain-elect of this clan … presuming that you are confirmed in office by your derbfhine … you may pass this word on from me – if anyone lays hands on Móen before he is tried and judged in accordance with the law, they will find themselves being judged in turn. I promise that, no matter what station they hold in life.’

  Crón swallowed hard as she met the cold blast of anger from the religieuse.

  Fidelma returned the gaze of the hostile blue eyes of the woman with equal coldness.

  ‘One more thing, I would like to know,’ she added. ‘Who has preached a creed of retribution in the name of the Faith?’

  The tanist thrust out her chin.

  ‘I have already told you that we have only one person here who attends to the needs of the Faith.’

  ‘Father Gormán?’ offered Eadulf.

  ‘Father Gormán,’ confirmed Crón.

  ‘This Father Gormán seems out of step with the philosophy of the laws of the five kingdoms,’ Fidelma observed quietly. ‘And where is this gentle advocate of the Faith to be found? In his church?’

  ‘Father Gormán is visiting some outlying farmsteads. He will be back here tomorrow.’

  ‘I shall look forward to meeting with him,’ Fidelma replied grimly as she led the way from the hall.

  It turned out that Menma was a heavy-set man who had ugly features and a bushy red beard. They found him sitting on a tree stump in front of the stable buildings, honing a billhook with a stone. He paused and looked up as they approached. His expression was one of cunning. He rose slowly to his feet.

  Eadulf heard Fidelma give a sharp intake of breath and glanced at her in surprise. She was examining the fox-like features of Menma with curiosity. They came to a halt before him. Eadulf was aware of an awesome rancid smell. He gazed distastefully at the man’s dirty matted hair and beard and shifted his position slightly for the breeze seemed to blow the stench of the man against him.

  Menma gave an occasional tug at his red beard as he stood before Fidelma.

  ‘Do you understand that I am an advocate of the law courts, charged by the king of Cashel to investigate the killing of Eber?’

  Menma nodded slowly.

  ‘I have been told, sister. The news of your coming has quickly spread here.’

  ‘I am told that it was you who discovered the body of Eber?’

  The man blinked.

  ‘It is so,’ he said after a moment’s reflection.

  ‘And what is your task at the rath of Araglin?’

  ‘I am head of the stables of the chieftain.’

  ‘Have you served the chieftain long?’

  ‘Crón will be the fourth chieftain of Araglin that I have served.’

  ‘Four? That is surely a long service.’


  ‘I was a young lad in the stables of Eoghan, whose life is remembered by the high cross which marks the clan lands on the road from the high mountains yonder.’

  ‘We have seen it,’ affirmed Eadulf.

  ‘Then there was Eoghan’s son, Erc, who died in battle against the Ui Fidgente,’ Menma continued as if he had not heard him. ‘And now Eber has passed to the Otherworld. So I am serving his daughter Crón.’

  Fidelma waited a moment but there was no further response. She suppressed a sigh.

  ‘Tell me the circumstances of your finding Eber.’

  For the first time the pale blue eyes of Menma seemed to focus with a slightly puzzled expression.

  ‘The circumstances, lady?’

  Fidelma wondered if the man were slow-witted.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, trying to be patient. ‘Tell me when and how you discovered the body of Eber.’

  ‘When?’ The muscles in the broad face of the man creased the features. ‘It was the night when Eber was killed.’

  Brother Eadulf turned aside to hide his amusement.

  Fidelma gave an inward groan as she realised the type of person she was dealing with. Menma was slow-witted. Not a half-wit but merely someone whose thoughts moved laggardly and were ponderous. Or was he being so purposely?

  ‘And when was that, Menma?’ she coaxed.

  ‘Oh, that was six nights ago now.’

  ‘And the time? At what time did you find the body of Eber?’

  ‘It was before first light.’

  ‘What were you doing at the chieftain’s quarters before first light?’

  Menma raised a huge, gnarled hand and ran his fingers through his hair.

  ‘It was my task to turn out the horses to pasture and oversee the milking of the cattle of Eber. It is also my task to slaughter the meat for the chieftain’s table. I rose and was making my way to the stables. As I walked by the chambers of Eber …’

  Fidelma leant forward quickly.

  ‘Do I presume that to traverse the path from your cabin to the stables, you have to pass Eber’s apartments?’

  Menma stared at her in surprise as if he failed to understand why she needed to ask the question.

  ‘Everyone knows that.’

  Fidelma forced a small smile.

  ‘You will have to be patient with me, Menma, for I am a stranger here and do not know such things. Can you point out Eber’s apartment from here?’

  ‘Not from here but from there.’

  Menma raised his billhook and indicated the position with the blade.

  ‘Show me.’

  Reluctantly, Menma led the way from the stables around the back of the guests’ hostel, along the granite wall of the hall of assembly to a well-trodden path between the buildings. Eber’s apartments were apparently on the opposite side of the assembly hall to the guests’ hostel. He again indicated with the blade of his billhook. There were a series of wooden structures built around the hall of assembly, between the wall of the assembly hall and the stone building of the chapel. Menma indicated one of them.

  ‘That is Eber’s apartments. There is the door by which I entered but there is another which connects his rooms from the inside to the hall of assembly.’

  ‘And where is your cabin?’

  He indicated with the billhook again. Fidelma acknowledged that one path for Menma to traverse to the stables would certainly lead him by the stone chapel, passing Eber’s apartment. She had not really suspected the accuracy of Menma but merely wanted to get the geography fixed firmly in her own mind.

  ‘Who does the milking here?’ she asked as they walked slowly back to the stables.

  She wondered if Eadulf realised that it was unusual for a man to be involved in the milking. In most farming communities, people arose at sunrise and the first tasks of the day were for the head of the stables to let out the horses into the pasture and for the women to milk the cows. It was therefore strange that the keeper of the chieftain’s stables would oversee the milking as well as release the horses.

  ‘The women always do the milking,’ replied Menma, unperturbed.

  ‘So why did you have to supervise them?’

  ‘It has been so for the last few weeks,’ Menma frowned. ‘There has been some cattle stolen from the valley and Eber asked me to check his herd each morning.’

  ‘Is the theft of cattle an unusual occurrence? Were the thieves ever caught?’

  Menma contemplated the question, rubbing his bushy chin thoughtfully.

  ‘It was the first time anyone had dared rob the clan of Araglin. We are an isolated community. Dubán searched for days but lost the track of the thieves in the high pasture.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘There were too many animal tracks up there.’

  Fidelma felt a twinge of frustration. Drawing information from Menma was like drawing teeth. ‘Continue. It was just before first light. You were on your way to oversee the milking of the cattle and were passing Eber’s cabin. What then?’

  ‘It was then I heard a moaning sound.’

  ‘Moaning?’

  ‘I thought Eber must be ill and so I called out to ask if he was in need of help.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  ‘Nothing. There was no reply and the moaning sound continued.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘I entered his apartments. I found him in the bed chamber.’

  ‘Was it Eber who was moaning?’

  ‘No, it was his killer, Móen.’

  ‘And you saw Eber’s body immediately?’

  ‘Not at first. I saw Móen kneeling by the bed, clutching a knife.’

  ‘You said it was before sunrise. Therefore it must have been dark. How could you see in the interior of Eber’s bed chamber?’

  ‘A lamp was lit. By its light I saw Móen clearly. He was crouching over the bed. I saw the knife in his hand.’

  Menma paused and his features twisted in an expression of distaste as he remembered the scene.

  ‘By the light of the lamp I could see the knife had stains on it. I saw stains on the face and clothes of Móen. It was only when I saw the naked body of Eber, stretched across the bed, that I realised that the stains were blood.’

  ‘Did Móen say anything to you?’

  Menma sniffed. ‘Say? What could he say?’

  ‘You accused him of killing Eber?’

  ‘The fact that he had done so was surely obvious? No, I went immediately in search of Duban.’

  ‘And where did you find Duban?’

  ‘I found him in the hall of assembly. He told me to continue my tasks, seeing to the horses and cattle, for animals cannot wait on the whims of men.’

  ‘Móen was left alone during this time?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You did not think that he would run away?’

  Menma seemed perplexed.

  ‘Run where?’

  Fidelma pressed on.

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘I was leading out the horses when Dubán and Crítán came to the stables with Móen.’

  ‘Crítán? Ah yes; I believe he is the warrior who rode to Cashel?’

  ‘He is one of Dubán’s warriors,’ Menma confirmed.

  ‘What then?’

  ‘They brought Móen to the stables where he was shackled by Critan. The stables have to serve as a prison for we do not have any other suitable place of confinement in Araglin.’

  ‘Móen offered no explanation nor defence about the killing? Did he even admit the killing?’

  Menma looked bewildered.

  ‘How could he say anything? As I say, it was obvious to everyone what had happened.’

  Fidelma exchanged a glance of surprise with Eadulf.

  ‘So what did Móen do? Did he resist imprisonment?’

  ‘He struggled and whimpered as Crítán shackled him. Dubán then went to rouse Crón to tell her the news.’

  ‘I see. And you have had no more contact with Móen since he ha
s been locked away?’

  Menma shrugged.

  ‘I see the creature when I go to the stables. But Critan attends to him. It is Crítán and Dubán who tend to him.’

  Fidelma nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘Thank you, Menma. I may have need to ask further questions of you. But now I will speak with Dubán.’

  Menma gestured to the stable entrance where they could see the middle-aged warrior who had greeted them on their arrival in conversation with a younger man.

  ‘There are Duban and Crítán.’

  He made to leave but Fidelma stayed him.

  ‘One more thing. Do you usually rise before first light to attend to the horses?’

  ‘Always. Most people here are up at sunrise.’

  ‘Did you rise before first light this morning to attend to the horses?’

  Menma frowned.

  ‘This morning?’

  Fidelma tried to control her irritation.

  ‘Did you attend to the horses this morning?’ she repeated sharply.

  ‘I have told you, each morning before first light I attend to them.’

  ‘And what time did you go to bed last night?’

  Menma shook his head as if trying to remember.

  ‘Late, I think.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘I was drinking until late.’

  ‘Was anyone with you?’

  The brawny man shook his head.

  When he had gone she glanced at Eadulf who was staring at her, obviously perplexed.

  ‘What had Menma’s actions this morning to do with the murders of last week?’ he demanded.

  ‘Did you recognise him?’ Fidelma asked.

  Eadulf frowned.

  ‘Recognise who? Menma?’

  ‘Yes, of course!’ Fidelma was irked at Eadulf’s slowness.

  ‘No. Should I have done so?’

  ‘I am positive that he was one of the men who attacked the hostel this morning.’

  Eadulf gaped in astonishment. It was almost on the tip of his tongue to say ‘Are you sure?’ but he realised that it would merely bring forth an angry retort. Fidelma would not say she was positive, if she were not.

  ‘Then he was lying.’

  ‘Exactly so. I swear he was the same man. You will recall that the attackers rode close by us. I observed one of them with particularly ugly features and a bushy red beard. I do not think that he saw me to recognise me again. But it was Menma.’