The Spider's Web

by Peter Tremayne

  They passed too far away for Fidelma to note the details of her features. The woman stood making no effort to raise her hand in greeting but continued to watch them as they rode by. Fidelma noticed with curiosity that a couple of Dubán’s men exchanged sly, grinning glances and one of them even gave an audible guffaw.

  Fidelma eased her horse towards the front of the small column to where Dubán rode.

  ‘Who was that?’ she asked.

  ‘No one of importance,’ replied the warrior gruffly.

  ‘This no one of importance seems to create an interest among your men.’

  Dubán looked uncomfortable.

  ‘That was Clídna, a woman of flesh.’

  ‘Woman of flesh’ was a euphemism for a prostitute.

  ‘I see.’ Fidelma was thoughtful. She pulled her horse out of the line and waited while the other warriors rode by. Eadulf caught up with her and she eased her horse alongside his. She briefly passed on the explanation. He sighed and shook his head sadly.

  ‘So much sin in so beautiful a spot.’

  Fidelma did not bother to reply.

  At the end of the large valley they began to ascend through the shelter of the surrounding forests but here the track was well cut and broad enough for wagons. They ascended the steep gradient between two hills, climbing upward into a second valley on a higher elevation. As they moved into this, Fidelma pointed wordlessly and Eadulf followed her outstretched hand. A column of smoke was rising some way away across the shoulder of the hills.

  Dubán turned in his saddle, and noting that Fidelma had already seen the tell-tale sign waved her to come forward.

  ‘This is the valley of the Black Marsh. Where that smoke is rising is Archú’s farmstead. To your left, the valley lands belong to Muadnat.’

  Fidelma noted the cultivated fields, the cattle and deer herds and rich pastureland. It was a farmstead that was worth far more than seven cumals, she noted. Muadnat’s farm was clearly a rich one. She placed it at five times the value of the land which he had been forced to give back to Archú.

  The road ran alongside the boundary of Muadnat’s farmstead, slightly above it on a track worn in the side of the rolling hills. It was sometimes lined with trees and scrubland while at other times open to stretches of grassland which had been shortened by deer herds or other herbivores. In the valley below there seemed no sign of activity on Muadnat’s farmstead.

  ‘I would imagine Muadnat and his farm hands have already ridden to Archú’s,’ explained Dubán, guessing what was passing through her mind.

  Fidelma smiled thinly but made no other comment. Certainly the column of smoke would have been easily seen from Muadnat’s farmstead.

  Dubán ordered the pace to increase to a canter.

  The column of horses moved rapidly along the hillside track, which twisted down the slopes moving with the contours of the hill.

  Fidelma realised that the part of the valley in which Archú dwelt almost constituted a separate valley to the area occupied by Muadnat. This area seemed to twist off from the main valley of the Black Marsh at a forty-five degree angle, hiding much of its lands from the track along which they had come. Soon the descent to the valley became so precipitous they had to slow down to a walk.

  ‘How well do you know this area, Dubán?’ called Fidelma.

  ‘Well enough,’ replied the warrior.

  ‘Is this the only track in or out of this valley?’

  ‘This is the only easy route but men, even with horses, might find a way over the peaks.’

  Fidelma raised her eyes to the rounded hilltops.

  ‘Only in desperation,’ she observed.

  Eadulf leaned forward.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, just that a band of men on horseback riding to Archú’s farmstead must surely have ridden across or by the land of Muadnat and have been observed.’

  They came as quickly as they could down to the valley floor. The main group of farm buildings were easily recognisable; a dwelling house, a kiln for drying corn standing just beyond it. There was a barn and a pigsty. A little way beyond these was the smoking ruin of another barn, charred and blackened, from which the spiral of smoke was still ascending.

  There were a few cattle in a pen, one of which was giving vent to an irritated lowing.

  Dubán made directly for the dwelling house.

  ‘Halt! If you value your lives!’

  The voice was almost a high-pitched scream.

  It caused them all to jerk upon their reins and come to an unceremonious halt before the main building.

  ‘We are armed,’ called the voice, ‘and many of us. Go back from whence you came or …’

  Fidelma edged her way forward.

  ‘Archú!’ she shouted, having recognised the voice of the youth. ‘It is I, Fidelma. We have come to assist you.’

  The door of the main building opened abruptly. Archú stood there staring at them. All he held in his hand was a rusty sword. Behind him the young girl, Scoth, peered fearfully over his shoulder.

  ‘Sister Fidelma!’ Archú gazed from her to Dubán and the rest of the company. ‘We thought the raiders had returned.’

  Fidelma swung herself down, followed by Dubán and Eadulf. The other men remained mounted, staring suspiciously about the countryside.

  ‘We heard that bandits had raided your farmstead. A shepherd rode to the rath to bring word.’

  Scoth pushed forward.

  ‘That was Librén. It is true, sister. We were not even awake when they attacked. Their shouts and the lowing of our cattle disturbed us. We managed to barricade ourselves in here. But they did not assault us; they rode off with some cattle and set fire to one of the barns. It was barely light and we could hardly see what was going on.’

  ‘Who were they?’ demanded Fidelma. ‘Did you recognise them?’

  Archú shook his head.

  ‘It was too dark. There was a great deal of shouting.’

  ‘How many raiders were there?’

  ‘I had the impression it was less than a dozen.’

  ‘What made them break off their attack?’

  Archú frowned at Dubán’s sudden question.

  ‘Break off?’

  ‘I see only one barn burnt down,’ the warrior observed. ‘You have several cattle still in the pen there and I hear sheep and pigs. You are unharmed and so is your house. Obviously the raiders decided to break off their attack.’

  The young man looked wonderingly at the warrior.

  Fidelma gave Dubán a glance of appreciation for making a logical observation.

  Scoth’s mouth compressed for a moment.

  ‘I wondered why they made no attempt to break into the farmhouse or even burn it down. It was as if they merely wanted to frighten us.’

  ‘Perhaps it was the shepherd, Librén,’ Archú suggested. ‘When he saw the flames of the barn from the hillside, he sounded his shepherd’s horn and came running down to help us.’

  ‘A brave man,’ muttered Eadulf.

  ‘A foolish man,’ corrected Dubán.

  ‘Yet still brave,’ affirmed Eadulf stubbornly.

  ‘It is thanks to him they only made off with two of the cattle,’ Scoth pointed out.

  ‘Two cattle? And all because a shepherd comes running to your help?’ Dubán was cynical.

  ‘It is true,’ insisted Archú. ‘When Librén sounded his horn, they herded the cattle before them and rode off.’

  ‘That is all? Two milch cows?’

  Archú nodded.

  ‘Which path did they take?’ Eadulf asked.

  Scoth immediately pointed down the valley in the direction of Muadnat’s farmlands.

  ‘Librén said they disappeared in that direction.’

  ‘That is the path that leads through the bogland, the Black Marsh itself. It only goes to the lands of Muadnat,’ Dubán explained uneasily.

  ‘It certainly leads nowhere else,’ Archú grimly assured him.

  �
��Where is this Librén, the shepherd?’ Fidelma asked.

  Scoth turned and pointed to the southern hillside.

  ‘Librén tends his flocks above there. He came and stayed with us until dawn, in case the raiders came back. Then he borrowed one of our horses, for Archú did not want to leave me, and rode to the rath to tell you of the raid. He returned just half an hour ago and told us that you were on the way.’

  ‘Why didn’t he wait?’

  ‘He had neglected his flocks since this morning,’ Archú pointed out. ‘There is no need for him to stay now.’

  Fidelma was looking around as if searching for something.

  ‘This Librén said that someone was killed. Who was killed and where is the body?’

  Dubán clapped a hand to his forehead and groaned.

  ‘Fool that I am. I had forgotten.’ He turned to Archú. ‘Who was killed?’

  Archú looked uncomfortable.

  ‘The body is over there, by the burnt-out barn. I do not know who it is. No one saw it happen. It was only when we were trying to douse the flames later that we discovered it.’

  ‘A man is killed on your farm during a raid and you know nothing about it?’ Dubán was still cynical. ‘Come, lad, if it is one of the attackers then you have nothing to fear in punishment. You were only acting in self-defence.’

  Archú shook his head.

  ‘But truly, we did not kill anyone. We did not have the weapons. We barricaded ourselves in during the attack and saw nothing. Librén, also, was surprised and did not recognise the man.’

  ‘Let us examine this body,’ Fidelma urged, realising that there was nothing to be gained from talk.

  One of Dubán’s men had already discovered the corpse. He pointed wordlessly to the ground as they approached.

  The body was that of someone in their thirties. An ugly looking man with a scarred face and a bulbous nose, flattened as if by a blow. The eyes were dark, wide and staring. The clothes were bloodstained and covered in a curious fine white dust. His throat had been cut, almost severing the head from the neck. It reminded Fidelma of the way a goat or some other farm animal might be butchered for its meat. One thing was for certain, he had been killed in no skirmish but had been deliberately murdered. She looked at the wrists and saw the burn mark of ropes there. The man’s hands had been tied together until recently. She glanced at Dubán with raised eyebrows.

  ‘I have never seen this man in Araglin before,’ he interpreted the implied question correctly. ‘He is a stranger to this valley so far as I am aware.’

  Fidelma thoughtfully rubbed her chin.

  ‘This gets more confusing. There is a raid. The raiders kill a strange captive or one of their own. They depart with only two milch cows and make no further attempt at pillage. Why?’

  ‘Easily explained if they were Muadnat’s men,’ observed Scoth resentfully.

  ‘Why do you think this body was a captive or one of their own men?’ asked Dubán, examining the corpse.

  ‘It seems a likely assumption,’ Fidelma responded. ‘He had his hands tied behind him until recently which might explain how his throat was cut without him putting up a struggle, for there are no other wounds. That he was a captive of the raiders or one of them is also obvious. He certainly did not appear out of thin air, did he?’

  She suddenly bent down and examined the man’s forearms and hands with a frown.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘This man is one used to rough work. Look at the callouses on his hands; look at the scars and the dirt under his fingernails.’

  She suddenly peered closely at the dead man’s face and turned to Eadulf.

  ‘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.