Peter Tremayne - The Spider's Web

Móen thought for a while.

‘Oh yes. I have not thought of it since. It was a sweet scent of flowers.’

‘A scent of flowers? Yet it was cold, as you say. To us this would be night and judging from the time you were found at Eber’s apartments, this certainly seems so. There are few flowers that give out scent in the early hours of the morning.’

‘It was a perfume. At first I thought the person who handed me the stick was a lady by the scent. But the hands, the hands that touched mine were coarse and calloused. It must have been a man. Touch does not lie; it was a man who passed me the stick with the writing on.’

‘What type of perfume was it?’

‘I can identify smells but I cannot give them labels as you know them. However, I am sure that the hands were those of a man. Rough and coarse hands.’

Fidelma exhaled softly and sat back in her chair as if deep in thought.

‘Very well, Gadra,’ she said eventually to the old man, ‘I am placing Móen in your custody. You are to look after him and confine him to Teafa’s house for the time being.’

Gadra regarded her anxiously.

‘Do you believe that the boy is innocent of the crimes which he stands accused of?’

Fidelma was dismissive.

‘Believing and proving are two different things, Gadra. Do your best to see he is comfortable and I shall keep you informed.’

Gadra assisted Móen to his feet and led him to the door.

Dubán was still standing outside. He stood back to allow Gadra and his charge to pass after Fidelma had told him her wishes.

‘There will be some in this rath who will not like this decision, Fidelma,’ the warrior muttered.

Fidelma’s eyes flashed angrily.

‘I certainly expect the guilty to be unhappy,’ she replied.

Dubán blinked at her sharp tone.

‘I will inform Crón of your decision about Móen. However, I came to inform you of some news which may interest you.’

‘Well?’ she asked, after he had paused.

‘A rider has just come into the rath with the news that one of the outlying farms was attacked early this morning. I am taking some men immediately to see what assistance we can render. I thought that you might be interested to know whose farm it was which was attacked.’

‘Why?’ demanded Fidelma. ‘Get to the point, man. Why would I be interested?’

‘It was the farmstead of the young man Archú.’

Eadulf pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

‘A raid on Archú’s farmstead? Was anyone hurt?’

‘A neighbouring shepherd brought us the news and reported that he had seen cattle being run off, barns set alight and he thinks someone was killed.’

‘Who was killed?’ demanded Fidelma.

‘The shepherd was unable to tell us.’

‘Where is this shepherd?’

‘He has left the rath to get back to his unattended sheep.’

Eadulf turned to Fidelma with a troubled look.

‘Archú told us that there was only himself and the young girl, Scoth, working the farm.’

‘I know,’ Fidelma replied grimly. ‘Dubán, when are you and your men leaving for Archú’s farmstead?’

‘At once.’

‘Then Eadulf and I will accompany you and your men. I have grown to have an interest in the welfare of those young people. Has the whereabouts of Muadnat been established? I would have thought that he could well resort to attacking Archú and throwing suspicion onto your cattle raiders.’

‘I know you do not like Muadnat but I cannot believe that he would do anything so stupid. You misjudge him. Besides, we have seen the bandits with our own eyes.’

Eadulf was thoughtful.

‘It is true, Fidelma. You cannot deny the presence of bandits.’

Fidelma glanced scornfully at him before returning her gaze to Dubán.

‘We did, indeed, see the horsemen. But, if you recall, they were heading south and we saw no cattle with them. All we saw were asses loaded with heavy panniers. Where were the cattle if they were cattle raiders? Come, let us ride for Archú’s farmstead.’

Dubán had gathered half a dozen riders; all were well armed. Fidelma was relieved to see that the arrogant young Crítán was not one of them. Fidelma noticed that neither Crón nor her mother, Cranat, came to observe their departure from the rath. In a column of twos, with Fidelma and Eadulf bringing up the rear, they turned through the gates of the rath and proceeded at a gentle trot along the river’s southern bank towards the eastern end of the fertile valley of Araglin with its grain fields and grazing cattle herds. Dubán did not hurry the pace but kept the column moving at a steady rate.

They had not gone more than a few miles when the track came to a bend in the river which looped in such a way as to create a sheltered peninsula with the river forming a natural barrier on three sides. It was a small haven of land that also had the protection of trees. Flowers grew in abundance here and rising on the land was a picturesque single-storeyed cabin built of wooden logs and planks. There was a garden before it. Standing in this garden, watching them pass, obviously disturbed in the process of tending to the flowers, was a small, fleshy blonde woman.

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 deerherds 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.