Peter Tremayne - The Spider's Web

Fidelma knew that many of the new ideas from Rome were entering the five kingdoms and some pro-Roman clerics were even attempting to make these new philosophies part of the laws of the kingdoms. A new system of Roman ecclesiastical law was springing up alongside the native civil and criminal laws.

She remembered the comment of Abbot Cathal of Lios Mhór. Father Gormán was a strong advocate of Roman customs and had even built another chapel at Ard Mór from money raised by the supporters of the pro-Roman camp. The conflict among the clerics of the churches in the five kingdoms was becoming bitter. The Council of Witebia, in Oswy’s kingdom, where she had first met Eadulf two years ago, had only been a means of making the differences deeper. Oswy had asked the council to debate the differences between the ideas of the church of Rome and those of the churches of the five kingdoms. In spite of the fine arguments, Oswy had decided in favour of Rome which had given support to those clerics in the five kingdoms who wanted to see Rome’s authority established there. It was well known that Ultan, the archbishop of Ard Macha, Primate of all five kingdoms, favoured Rome. But not everyone accepted Ultán’s authority anyway. There were factions and cliques each arguing for their interpretation of the new Faith.

‘And are you saying that Father Gormán disapproved of Teafa’s care of Móen?’

‘Yes.’

‘You said that you thought Teafa was able to communicate with Móen. Could anyone else communicate with him?’

Dubán shook his head.

‘No one else, as far as I know, seemed to have any contact with him at all. Just Teafa.’

‘So how was Teafa able to make contact with him?’

‘Truly, that I do not know.’

‘It is a small community, as you say. Surely someone must know what means she used?’

Dubán raised his shoulder and let it fall in an explicit gesture.

A thought then occurred to Fidelma, one she cursed herself for not having thought of before. The idea made her feel cold.

‘Are you telling me that Móen does not know what he is supposed to have done, or why he is being held?’

Dubán stared at her for a few seconds and then chuckled sourly.

‘Of course he must realise that. He had just killed Teafa and Eber. Why else would he think he was taken and shackled?’

‘If, indeed, he had killed Teafa and Eber,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But what if he had not? He would not know why or who constrained him. If you cannot communicate with him, how could he know what he is supposed to have done? Has he made efforts to communicate with you?’

Dubán was still smiling, not taking her seriously.

‘I suppose he has tried, in his animal-like way, that is.’

‘What way is that?’

‘He keeps trying to seize our hands and making gestures with his hands as if to attract attention. But surely he knows only Teafa could understand him.’

‘Exactly,’ Fidelma said grimly. ‘Has it not occurred to you that Móen might think that Teafa is still alive and is trying to get someone to fetch her so that he can communicate?’

Dubán shook his head.

‘He killed Teafa, whatever you may claim, sister.’

‘Dubán, you are a stubborn man.’

‘And you appear to be equally as stubborn.’

‘Why don’t we see if we can communicate with this creature?’ Eadulf suggested as a compromise.

‘A good suggestion, Eadulf,’ agreed Fidelma, turning to lead the way from Teafa’s cabin.

Móen was still shackled in the stables but there was a distinct difference. One stall of the stable had been cleaned out. A straw palliasse was laid in a corner and nearby was a jug of water and a commode. Seated cross-legged on the palliasse, though still shackled by one ankle, was Móen.

Fidelma could see at once that her instructions had been carried out. He had been washed. His hair and beard had been cut and combed. Only his white staring eyes, the tilt of his head, marked him out as in any way exceptional from anyone else. In fact, Fidelma reflected sadly, the young man was quite handsome.

As they entered, his nostrils quivered slightly. He turned his head in their direction and it was almost impossible to believe that he could not see them.

‘Now,’ Dubán asked cynically, ‘how are you going to try to communicate with him, sister?’

Fidelma ignored him.

She motioned Eadulf to stay back and moved towards the young man and halted before him.

He started back nervously and once more raised a hand to protect his head.

Fidelma turned and scowled towards Dubán.

‘This tells me much about how this unfortunate has been treated.’

Dubán flushed.

‘Not by me!’ he replied. ‘But remember that this creature has killed — twice!’

‘There is still no excuse for beating him. Would you beat a dumb animal?’

She turned back to Móen and reached forward with her hand, taking the one he was holding above his head and gently pushing it to one side.

The effect was electric. An eager expression came on the creature’s face. His nostrils flared and he seemed to be catching Fidelma’s scent.

Fidelma carefully seated herself alongside Móen.

Dubán started forward, his hand on his sword.

‘I cannot allow this …’ he protested.

Eadulf reached forward and held Dubán back. He had a strong grip and it surprised Dubán.

‘Wait,’ Eadulf instructed gently.

Móen had reached forward with his hand and his fingertips touched Fidelma’s face inquiringly. Fidelma sat quietly and allowed Móen to trace her features. Then she held up her crucifix and placed it in his hand. He suddenly smiled eagerly and began to nod.

‘He understands,’ she explained to them. ‘He understands that I am a religieuse.’

Dubán snorted derisively.

‘Any animal can understand kindness.’

Móen had reached forward and taken Fidelma’s hands. She frowned.

‘What is he doing?’ asked Eadulf.

‘He seems to be tapping on my hand, or drawing some symbols …’ muttered Fidelma, frowning. ‘Strange, I think they must mean something. But what?’

With a quick sigh of exasperation, she took Móen’s hand and traced some words in bold Latin characters upon it.

‘I am Fidelma,’ she pronounced as she traced the characters.

Móen was frowning as he felt her touch.

He gave a grunt, shook his head, seized her hand again andcontinued his curious tapping, stroking motion.

‘This obviously means something,’ Fidelma said in frustration. ‘This must be the way Teafa communicated with him. But what does it mean?’

‘Maybe it is some code that only Teafa and Móen knew between them,’ Eadulf hazarded.

‘Perhaps.’

Fidelma halted the rapid movement of Móen’s fingers on her hand.

Móen seemed to understand that she could not fathom his means of communication and he dropped his hands to his lap and his face twisted into a mask of misery. He gave a long, deep sigh, almost of despair.

Fidelma felt suddenly overcome with sadness for him and reached out her hand and touched his cheek. It was wet. She realised that tears were coursing down by the sides of his nose.

‘I wish I could tell you how much I understand your disappointment, Móen,’ she said softly. ‘I wish we could speak so that I might learn what has happened here.’

She gripped his hand and pressed it.

Móen seemed to incline his head as if in acceptance of the communication of emotion.

Fidelma rose carefully and moved back to Eadulf and Dubán.

The middle-aged warrior was gazing in thoughtful wonder at the quietly seated figure of the unfortunate.

‘Well, I have seen Teafa calm him but never anyone else.’

Fidelma moved away from the stall, with Eadulf and Dubán following.