The Spider's Web

occurred in the very last case which she had judged that afternoon. Eber was chieftain of the area from which Archú and his compassionless cousin had come to plead before her.

‘Go on,’ she prompted guiltily for Beccan had paused again when he observed that her thoughts were wandering.

‘The messenger reported that Eber had been murdered along with one of his relatives. Someone was caught at the scene of the crime.’

‘What has this to do with me?’ Fidelma asked.

Beccan made a gesture with his hand as if to express apology.

‘I am on my way to Ros Ailithir, on your brother’s business. It is urgent business and I cannot afford the time to journey to Araglin and conduct a proper investigation. Your brother, the king, was concerned that this matter should immediately be investigated and that justice be dispensed. Eber of Araglin has been a good friend to Cashel and your brother thought it fitting that you …’

Fidelma could guess the rest.

‘That I go to Araglin,’ she ended with a sigh. ‘Well, the business here is concluded and I was planning to join my brother in Cashel tomorrow. I suppose that it matters little if I arrive a day or so later than I expected to. Yet, I do not fully understand, what isthere to investigate in Araglin if the culprit is already caught, as you say? Is there some doubt as to his guilt?’

Beccan shook his head firmly.

‘None that I know,’ he assured her. ‘I am told that the murderer was caught with a dagger in his hand and blood on his clothes as he stood over the body of Eber. Your brother, however …’

Fidelma grimaced wryly.

‘I know. Eber was a friend to Cashel and justice must be seen to be done and done fairly.’

‘There is no Brehon in Araglin,’ interposed Abbot Cathal, in order to explain the position. ‘It is more a matter of ensuring that justice is properly conducted.’

‘Is there any reason to suspect it might be otherwise?’

Abbot Cathal spread his hands as if to imply the question was not so clear cut.

‘Eber was, by all accounts, a very popular chieftain with a reputation for kindliness and generosity. He was apparently well liked by his people. There might be a tendency to punish the culprit without recourse to justice and the strict letter of the law.’

Fidelma gazed into his troubled eyes for a few moments. Cathal knew the mountain people around Lios Mhór better than most for he was one of them. She nodded briefly in acknowledgment of his concern.

‘I have had an example in my court of how at least one man of the clan of Araglin has little respect for the law,’ she mused. ‘Tell me more about the people of Araglin, Father Abbot.’

‘Little to tell. They are a close-knit people who are usually resentful of outsiders. Eber’s clan lives mainly in the mountains around a settlement which is called the rath of the chieftain of Araglin. The lands stretch to the east along the Araglin river which flows through the glen. It is rich farmland. Eber’s clan keep themselves to themselves and distrust strangers. It will not be an easy task that you undertake.’

‘You say that they have no Brehon? Have they a priest?’

‘Yes; Father Gormán is to be found at the rath. There is a chapel there which is called Cill Uird, the church of ritual. He has lived twenty years among the people of Araglin. He was trained here, at Lios Mhór. You will doubtless find him of valuable assistance to you although he has certain dogmatic views on the propagation of the Faith which you might find yourself in conflict with.’

‘How so?’ inquired Fidelma with interest.

Cathal smiled disarmingly.

‘I think it better if you discover for yourself so that I do not bias you one way or another.’

‘I suppose he is an advocate of Roman custom,’ Fidelma sighed.

Abbot Cathal grimaced.

‘You are very discerning, sister. Yes. He believes the Roman ways are better than our native customs. He has some support in this for he has built a Roman chapel at Ard Mór which is becoming renowned for its opulence. Father Gormán seems to have rich supporters.’

‘Yet he still dwells in such an isolated spot as Cill Uird,’ remarked Fidelma. ‘That is curious.’

‘Do not look for mysteries that do not exist,’ rebuked Abbot Cathal, though with a smile. ‘Father Gormán is a man of Araglin but believes in propagating his interpretation of the Faith as well.’

Beccan was regarding her doleful countenance with amusement. He shook his head playfully.

‘The trouble, Fidelma of Kildare, is that you are too good at your profession. Your wisdom is becoming a by-word throughout the five kingdoms of Eireann.’

‘The thought does not please me,’ muttered Fidelma. ‘I serve the law not for personal esteem. I serve it to bring justice to the people.’

Beccan took her irritation in good spirits.

‘And in doing so, Fidelma, you are known as a just person with an ability to solve contentious conundrums. In the wake of your successes comes your reputation. You must accept that with good grace. But now …’

He turned decisively to Abbot Cathal.

‘I must be on my way for I wish to get to Ard Mór before nightfall. Vive valeque, Cathal of Lios Mhór.’

‘Vive, vale, Beccan.’

With a quick smile to Fidelma and a nod to Eadulf, the elderly man was gone, leaving the room almost before they had realised he had departed.

Fidelma turned to Brother Eadulf curiously.

‘Are you not continuing the journey with Beccan? Where do you go from here, Eadulf?’

The dark-eyed monk, who had shared many of her adventures, was indifferent.

‘I thought that I would accompany you to Araglin; that is if you have no objection. I would be interested in seeing a part of this land that I have never seen before.’

Fidelma’s lips quirked in a mischievous grin at Eadulf’s diplomatic reply which was obviously framed to placate any inquisitive thought that the abbot had.

Eadulf was a hereditary gerefa or magistrate of his people, the South Folk Saxons. He had been converted to the Christian faith by an Irish missionary, Fursa, and sent to the great colleges of Eireann for his education, studying firstly at the monastery of Durrow and then at the famous college of medicine at Tuaim Brecain. Then Eadulf had left the Church of Colmcille for the Church of Rome. He had become secretary to Theodore, the new archbishop of Canterbury, appointed by Rome. Theodore sent him back to Ireland as an emissary to Fidelma’s brother Colgú of Cashel. Eadulf was perfectly at home in the five kingdoms, whose language he spoke fluently.

‘You may join me and welcome, Eadulf,’ she replied softly. Then: ‘Have you a horse?’

‘Your brother kindly loaned me a mount for this journey.’

Usually the religious did not ride on their journeys. Fidelma’s ownership of a horse was merely a recognition of her rank and her office as a Brehon of the courts of law.

‘Excellent. Perhaps we should make a start upon our journey immediately. There are still many hours of daylight left.’

‘Would it not be wiser to wait until dawn tomorrow?’ asked Abbot Cathal. ‘You will not get to Araglin by nightfall.’

‘There is bound to be a hostel along the way,’ replied Fidelma with easy assurance. ‘If there is a possibility of preemptive action against the accused by Eber’s people, without them waiting for the matter to be dealt with by law, then the quicker I get to Araglin, the better.’

Cathal agreed, albeit reluctantly.

‘As you will, Fidelma. But the mountains are no place to be caught abroad at night without shelter.’ The abbot, however, was only too well aware that he was not talking to a simple religieuse but to the sister of his king. What she decided was not something he could challenge with any authority. ‘I will get one of our brothers to prepare food and drink for your journey and see that your horses are watered and saddled.’

Abbot Cathal rose and left the room.

As the door shut behind him a metamorphosis overcame the solemn features of Fidelma. She wheeled