Peter Tremayne - The Spider's Web

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 toentangle 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.

Agdae shook his head.

‘All our men are accounted for save Muadnat. Presumably it was not he otherwise you would not be searching for him.’