The Spider's Web

by Peter Tremayne

  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 wi
th 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.’

  Cranat stared in surprise at her daughter, her mouth snapping shut with an audible sound.

  ‘Proceed, Sister Fidelma,’ Crón ordered after a moment. Fidelma went on:

  ‘Secondly, bearing in mind that Archú assumed the ownership only four days ago, one may assume that he has had no time to secure the fences.’

  ‘The law is clear,’ cried Muadnat obstinately. ‘Time does not matter. He is responsible for the fence.’

  ‘Not so,’ Fidelma replied, still speaking directly to Crón. ‘Time does matter. The Bretha Comaithchesa is exceedingly precise. The possessors of adjacent farms are both responsible for a fence between their property, the fence is the common property so that each must execute their own part of the joint work.’ She turned to the burly farmer. ‘What have you done to rebuild the common fence which you destroyed in the first place, Muadnat?’

  Muadnat was red in the face. He could no longer bring himself to speak. He had the sense to realise that somehow he was losing once more and yet was not possessed of the intellect to understand why.

  ‘None, I presume from your silence,’ remarked Fidelma dryly. ‘As for time not being a consideration, that time is a principal factor for the law is clear. When a person comes into possession of a farmstead, three days are allowed for marking out the perimeters; in ten days the fence should be completed. No one is directly compelled to raise a fence in that there is no fine if it is not so completed. However, there is indirect compulsion by reason of possible law suits for animal and human trespass.’

  Fidelma paused before turning once more to Crón.

  ‘That is the advice I have to give on the matter of law. The judgment is with you, Crón, and has to be made in accordance with the law.’

  Crón grimaced wryly.

  ‘Then it is obvious that the judgment must be that Muadnat is unable to proceed in this matter. Archú has had no time, the time allowed by the law, to put up fences.’

  Muadnat stood up slowly; he was quivering with outrage.

  ‘But I say he allowed his pigs to trespass with neglect and malice.’

  ‘The neglect cannot be charged,’ replied Crón. ‘As for malice, I will not entertain that argument. You are equally responsible for the construction of your boundary fence, Muadnat. In fact, Sister Fidelma has shown generosity in her interpretation of the law when she suggests that you be absolved from culpability of the fact that you tore down the boundary fences in the first place. I may not be that generous. Ensure that these fences are raised and by the prescribed time.’

  Muadnat was scowling at Fidelma. His hatred was clear. He seemed about to speak when Agdae, his nephew, caught at his arm and seemed to shake his head in warning.

  ‘And one thing more,’ added Crón. ‘In bringing this serious charge without due consideration of all the implications and of true knowledge of the law, you will pay one sed to me and one sed to Sister Fidelma for her advice on the law. That fine, either in coin or in the equivalent of two milch cows, will be given to my steward at the end of this week.’

  Muadnat half turned to leave when Crón stayed him.

  ‘There is still the matter of the fine for insulting a dálaigh which you did at the beginning of this hearing.’

  She turned to Fidelma and looked questioningly.

  Fidelma’s face was expressionless as she replied to Crón’s . unarticulated question. ‘In token of that insult, which in full would be my honour-price, I will allow Muadnat to donate the value of one milch cow to the local church for its upkeep or the equivalent value in labour in repairing the fabric of the building of the church. Whichever he chooses.’

  Muadnat almost exploded in wrath.

  ‘Do you think I am blind to your self-interest, tanist?’ he shouted. ‘Tanist, indeed! Tanist by bribery and corruption. You are no true …’

  Father Gormán rose suddenly and came forward.

  ‘Muadnat! You forget yourself!’ he admonished.

  The priest laid a hand on the angry farmer’s arm and Agdae assisted in propelling Muadnat out of the hall of assembly. They could hear him shouting even from outside the hall. Cranat waited only a few moments more and then rose, in almost indecent haste, and left the hall.

  Crón looked across to where Archú and Scoth were embracing each other and grinning wildly.

  ‘You are dismissed Archú but let me give you some advice …’

  Archú turned expectantly, trying to reform his features into a more respectful countenance.

  ‘You have an unforgivi
ng enemy in Muadnat. Be wary.’

  Archú bobbed his head in acknowledgment of his tanist’s advice and then grinned broadly towards Fidelma. He and Scoth joined hands and hurried from the hall.

  Crón sat back with a deep sigh and turned to regard Fidelma with some admiration.

  ‘You make the maze of the law texts seem a straightforward path, Fidelma. I wish I had your knowledge and gift.’

  Fidelma was indifferent to the compliment.

  ‘That is what I am trained to do.’

  ‘My warning to Archú equally applies to you. Muadnat is unforgiving. He was a distant cousin and friend of my father. Perhaps I should not have been so harsh with him. My mother disapproved of me today.’

  ‘Your mother clearly regards Muadnat as a close friend.’

  ‘A chieftain cannot have close friends. I cannot make judgments based on friendship.’

  ‘You can only do as the law instructs,’ observed Fidelma. ‘As must I. A Brehon or a chieftain must be above friendships in the interpretation of the law.’

  ‘I know what you say is right. But Muadnat has been a power in Araglin. He also remains a good friend of Father Gormán. They are often together.’

  Fidelma was thoughtful.

  ‘You mentioned that Muadnat was a relative and friend of your father, Eber?’

  ‘Yes. They grew up as young men and went off to fight the Ui Fidgente together.’

  Fidelma considered the matter a moment. Then she gave a mental shrug. At least Muadnat could not be concerned in her inquiry into Eber’s death for he had been in her court in Lios Mhór at the time of his murder. She stood up and glanced to where Dubán had been standing stiffly.

  ‘Perhaps there is now time to go in search of this hermit, Gadra?’

  Crón rose. For the first time since Fidelma had arrived at the rath she was effusive with goodwill. In spite of what she had said, she seemed to have enjoyed defeating Muadnat and she was flushed with excitement.