The Spider's Web

Araglin havethe mountains as their protection. In turn they are a small community which threatens no one so there has probably never been a need to build a fortress to defend them against enemies. Nevertheless, in politeness we call a place where a chieftain dwells his rath.’

She nudged her horse forward and started down the mountain slope towards the valley bottom, towards the distant river and the rath of the chieftain of Araglin.

The track led across an open stretch of country running down the hillside. By the side of it stood a tall cross of carved granite. It stood nearly eighteen feet in height. Eadulf halted his horse and gazed up at the cross in admiration.

‘I have never seen anything like this before,’ he observed with a degree of awe which caused Fidelma to glance at him in amusement.

It was true that there were few such spectacular, high crosses in the kingdom. Its carved grey stone depicted scenes from the gospels, picked out in bright painted colours. Eadulf could identify the scene of the Fall from Grace, Moses smiting the Rock, the Last Judgment, the Crucifixion and other incidents. The summit of the cross was shaped as a shingle roofed church with gable finials. Carved at the base were the words ‘Oroit do Eoghan lasdernad inn Chros’ — a prayer for Eoghan by whom the cross was made.

‘A spectacular border mark for such a small community,’ Eadulf observed.

‘A small but rich community,’ Fidelma corrected dryly, nudging her horse to continue its passage along the road.

It was noon when they grew near the rath. A boy, herding cattle, stopped to stare at them with open-mouthed interest as they passed. A man busy hoeing out the hairy pepperwort that had invaded his cereal crop paused and leant on his hoe, regarding them curiously as they rode by. At least, unlike the boy, he gave them a cheery greeting and received Fidelma’s blessing in return. Dogs beganto bark from the buildings ahead of them and a couple of hounds ran out towards them, yelping as they came but not threateningly so.

A well-constructed bridge of oak crossed the swiftly flowing river to the rath on the far bank. Now that they had come closer to the rath, Eadulf observed that between the river and the buildings there had once been a large earthen bank that encircled the buildings, though it was now overgrown with grass and brush, almost part of the verdant fields around. There were several sheep grazing in its depression. It showed that the buildings had once, long ago, been fortified. Now they were surrounded by wicker walls, interlaced pieces of hazel wood which, Eadulf guessed, were more to keep out roaming wolves or wild pigs than any human aggressor. A large gate in the wicker fence stood wide open.

The hooves of their horses struck hollowly on the wooden planking of the bridge as they crossed the river. They started up the short track to the gates.

A figure emerged between the gates; a muscular man yet beyond his middle years, with sword and shield, and a well-cut black beard flecked with silver, who stood in the middle of the path and regarded them with narrowed speculative dark eyes but with no hostile expression on his features.

‘If you come in peace there is a welcome before you at this place,’ he greeted them ritually.

‘We bring God’s blessing to this place,’ returned Fidelma. ‘Is this the rath of the chieftain of Araglin?’

‘That it is.’

‘Then we wish to see the chieftain.’

‘Eber is dead,’ replied the man, flatly.

‘This we have already learnt. It is to his successor, the tanist, that we come.’

The warrior hesitated and then said: ‘Follow me. You will find the tanist in the hall of assembly.’

He turned and led the way through the gates directly towards the large round stone structure. The doors of the building facedstraight onto the open gates and had obviously been positioned for a purpose. No visitor to the rath could avoid it. It had been designed to impress. And, as if to add to the importance of the building, the stump of what must have been a great oak tree stood to one side of its main door. Even foreshortened, it stood twelve feet high and the top of it constituted a delicately carved cross. Even Eadulf knew enough of the customs of the country to realise that this was the ancient totem of the clan, its crann betha or tree of life, which symbolised the moral and material well-being of the people. He had heard that sometimes, if disputes arose between the clans, then the worst thing that could happen would be a raid by the opposing clan to cut down or burn their rivals’ sacred tree. Such an act would demoralise the people and cause their rivals to claim victory over them.

There was a wooden hitching post nearby. Fidelma and Eadulf slid from their horses and secured them. Several people within the rath had paused in their work or errands and stood examining the two religious with idle curiosity.

‘We do not often get strangers in Araglin,’ the warrior remarked, as if he felt the urge to explain the behaviour of his fellows. ‘We are a simple farming community, not often troubled by the cares of the outside world.’

Fidelma felt no reply was needed.

The complex of buildings spoke of prosperity. They spread in a great semi-circle behind the stone building of the hall of assembly. There were stables and barns, a mill and a dovecot. Beyond these was a perimeter of several small wooden cabins and domestic dwellings which constituted a medium-sized village not to mention the house of the chieftain and his family. Fidelma mentally calculated that some dozen families must dwell in the rath of Araglin. Most impressive was the chapel, standing next to the assembly hall, with its dry stone and elegant structure. This, Fidelma noted, must be the church of Father Gormán called Cill Uird, the church of ritual.

The middle-aged warrior had gone to the wooden oak doors of the building. From a niche at the side of the doors he took a wooden mallet and beat at a wooden block. It resounded hollowly. It was the custom of chieftains to have a bas-chrann, or hand wood, outside their doors for visitors to knock before gaining admittance. The warrior vanished into the interior, closing the doors behind him.

Eadulf glanced at Fidelma.

‘I thought such ritual only applied at the homes of great chieftains,’ he muttered.

‘Every chieftain is great in their own eyes,’ Fidelma responded philosophically.

The doors reopened and the middle-aged warrior motioned them inside. They found themselves in a large single room of impressive proportions which was panelled by polished deal and oak. Along these panels hung shields, highly burnished pieces of bronze, some brilliantly enamelled. A few colourful tapestries were draped here and there. The floor was of oak planking, dark and ancient. There were several movable tables and benches. At one end stood a raised platform, no more than a foot high, on which was placed a magnificently carved oak chair adorned with the pelts of some animal. It was inlaid with polished bronze and some silver.

Although it was daylight outside, there were no windows within this great hall but several oil lamps, hanging from the beams, caused shadows to flicker and dance throughout the room and this effect was enhanced by a fire crackling in a hearth at one side of the room.

The warrior instructed them to wait and then withdrew leaving them alone.

They stood quietly, examining the opulence of the room carefully. If the room was meant to impress it certainly impressed Eadulf. Even Fidelma admitted to herself that the hall would not be out of place in her brother’s palace at Cashel. Only a fewmoments passed before a lithe figure emerged from behind a tapestry curtain at the back of the raised platform and came to stand before the ornate chair. In the smoky atmosphere, Fidelma saw the figure was that of a young woman, scarcely more than nineteen years of age. She had corn- coloured long tresses and pale blue eyes. That she was attractive, there was no doubt. But the features seemed rather too hard for Fidelma to feel comfortable with them and the blue of the eyes was too cold. The mouth was set just a little too thinly so that the overall impression she had was of a person of unbending severity of nature. All this Fidelma deduced by a quick glance.

Fidelma noticed that she wore a dress of blue silk and matching shawl of dyed wool fastened with an elaborate gold brooch. She held her hands folded demurely before her. The young woman stood examining them with a questioning expression.

‘I am Crón, tanist of the Araglin. I am told that you wish to see me?’

Her voice, though a mellow soprano, was not welcoming.