Peter Tremayne - The Spider's Web

‘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 unforgiving 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. ‘Asmust 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.

‘Fidelma, I have seen your diligence with the law. I realise, perhaps belatedly, that you will be equally diligent in discovering the truth behind my father’s death. I just wish …’ It was the nearest that she came to an apology for her behaviour. She hesitated and then continued: ‘I would like you to know that I will do all I can to help in your inquiry.’

Fidelma raised an eyebrow in query.

‘Is there something more that you think I should know now?’

For a moment, she thought she saw a look of anxiety cross the pale eyes of the tanist of Araglin.

‘Something more? I do not think so. I speak merely because I acted too proudly when you came here. Courtesy should be freely given for it costs nothing.’

‘If you bear that in mind, then you will become a just chieftain of your people in Araglin,’ Fidelma replied gravely. ‘And that is more important than a cloak of office.’

Crón looked self-conscious and fingered the golden brooch which fastened her cloak to her shoulder.

‘It is the custom, here in Araglin, that all the chieftains and their ladies wear the parti-coloured cloak and gloves as their badge of office.’ She smiled briefly.

‘It is a great responsibility to be elevated into such a position,’ Fidelma observed. ‘Sometimes it takes time to adjust to a change in life.’

‘It is still no excuse for arrogance. This mention of Gadra reminds me of one teaching he gave when he was staying in the rath when I was a little girl. I was small but I remember his words well. He said that the proud place themselves at a distance from others and observing others across that distance they believe that they are little and insignificant. Yet the same distance makes them also appear equally small and insignificant to others.’