Father Gormán stared at her for a moment. Then he grimaced in anger.
‘You should have read further into that epistle to the Ephesians. Paul said: “For this you know, that no whoremonger, nor unclean person, nor covetous man, who is an idolater, has any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God.” Eber will have no inheritance in the afterlife.’
‘And because he lay with his own sisters or even worse?’
‘All I say is that this world is better off without Eber of Araglin. The sooner this valley is purged of evil, the better.’
‘So it is not purged yet in your eyes? Did you know that Muadnat had a gold mine?’
Father Gormán bit his lip. ‘How much do you know of this?’
‘You will find out. Be in the hall of assembly at noon.’
Fidelma left the chapel abruptly with Father Gormán standing staring after her. He stood absolutely still until she had gone and then turned hurriedly towards his sacristy.
Outside the chapel Fidelma met Crón.
The young tanist acknowledged her with a grave face.
‘How is Brother Eadulf this morning?’
‘Well enough, thanks be to God,’ replied Fidelma.
‘I spoke with Dubán this morning,’ the tanist went on slightly uneasily. ‘He says that you are near to discovering who has put such misery onto the people of this valley?’
‘Oh yes. In fact, I was coming to find you to request the use of the hall of assembly at noon today. I am asking all those I feel concerned in this matter to attend so that I may reveal the names of those responsible for the effusion of blood in this valley.’
Crón seemed visibly shaken.
‘Then you must know who killed Eber and Teafa?’
‘I believe I do.’
‘Believe?’ Crón looked dubious.
‘I shall demonstrate my belief at noon.’ Fidelma was almost cheerful. ‘Will you ask your mother if she will attend? I am sure she will want to hear who is responsible for the slaughter of her husband?’
‘I will,’ the young tanist agreed.
Fidelma walked on unconcerned by Crón’s curious expression.
Chatter Twenty
The hall of assembly seemed crowded. Crón had taken her chair of office. Fidelma had requested that she do so because, as tanist, it was her right. She was wearing her parti-coloured cloak and doeskin gloves of office for the occasion. Next to her sat her mother; the older woman’s face was haughty and staring determinedly into the middle distance as if the proceedings were of no concern to her. On a seat below the dais, just to one side, Brother Eadulf reclined uncomfortably, still pale, his eyes shadowed but at least he was showing some signs of improvement. He had risen from his sick bed in spite of all Fidelma’s protests. Next to him sprawled the burly figure of Dubán, leaning forward, so that he rested with forearms on his knees. In the well of the hall sat Archú and Scoth. Next to them was Gadra the Hermit with Móen at his side. Gadra was leaning towards Móen interpreting what was happening, fingers drumming on the young man’s raised palm. Agdae fidgeted irritably on a bench on the far side of the hall next to Father Gormán. At the rear of the hall, seated alone, was Clídna, ‘the woman of secrets’, her chin raised defiantly as if waiting for someone to challenge her right to be there. A few seats from her was Grella, the young servant girl. A few of Dubán’s men were stationed at the doors of the hall.
Fidelma took her stand before Crón, just below the dais, to the left of her chair.
‘It seems that we are all here,’ she observed.
‘Are you prepared to start?’ demanded Crón, leaning forward.
Agdae called from his seat: ‘But Menma is not here. Shouldhe not be here? After all, he discovered Eber’s body and identified Móen as the killer.’
Crón seemed perturbed.
‘I sent him to round up cattle yesterday. It is strange that he is not here. Perhaps we should wait?’
Fidelma smiled broadly.
‘I fear it would be a long wait, tanist of Araglin. No; we shall make a start for I did not expect Menma to be in attendance.’
‘What do you mean? Do you accuse Menma …?’ began Cranat, forgetting her feigned indifference.
Fidelma raised her hand.
‘All in good time.
There was an expectant silence in the hall as they regarded her slight, calm figure with anticipation. Fidelma examined their upturned faces, studying each carefully in turn.
‘This has been one of the most difficult investigations I have undertaken. Difficult in that when a person is killed, there is usually one murder to address and one set of circumstances. In this pleasant valley of yours I found five killings to examine, and, at first, they did not all seem related. Indeed, it seemed to be that there were several different events happening all at the same time, each one unconnected with the other. In this initial assumption, I was wrong. Everything was connected; connected to one central point like the threads of a giant spider’s web, all coming together to where one dominating creature waited, manipulating those threads.’
She paused to let the ripple of their surprise rise and ebb away.
‘Where shall we begin to unravel this silken web of deceit which clings to so many lives? I could start at the centre of the web. I could make a lunge for the spider waiting there. In doing so, however, I might leave the spider a path to scuttle from the centre, along some strand of the web where it may yet elude me. So I shall begin to unravel the web from the outside, slowly but surelydestroying the outer strands until there is nowhere for the spider to run.’
Crón leant forward with scepticism on her features.
‘This is all very poetic, Sister Fidelma. Does your rhetoric have some purpose?’
Fidelma turned quickly to her with a look of appraisal.
‘You have seen my methods, Crón, and have expressed your appreciation of them. I do not think I need defend my procedure.’
The young tanist flushed and sat back. Fidelma confidently turned back to her audience.
‘Let us start with the first thread. This thread is Muadnat of the Black Marsh.’
‘What has Muadnat to do with the murder of my husband?’ Cranat demanded in a dry, rasping tone. ‘He was Eber’s friend and once his tanist.’
‘By patience you will have a linen shirt from the flax plant,’ replied Fidelma good naturedly, uttering an old saying that had been a favourite of her mentor, Morann of Tara. ‘My involvement in this affair actually began with Muadnat, so it is fitting that I should start with him. Muadnat in recent times became possessed of a gold mine. He found it on the land which he had tried to claim from his cousin, Archú.’
There was an immediate expression of surprise from the young farmer.
‘Where was this?’ demanded Archú. ‘I have never heard of a gold mine in the Black Marsh.’
‘The mine is located on the far side of the hill whose land was too poor for cultivation. You dismissed it as axe-land. I should say that it was probably not Muadnat who made the discovery but a miner named Morna. He was brother of a hostel keeper named Bressal, who keeps a hostel not far from this valley on the western road which leads to Lios Mhór and Cashel.’
The young farmer looked astonished, glancing to Scoth at his side.
‘Do you mean the hostel where we stayed?’
‘The same,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘Remember that Bressal spoke about his brother Morna who had brought him a rock which he claimed would make him rich? That was from the cave on your land which had begun to yield up gold.’
‘It’s a lie!’ Agdae intervened angrily. ‘Muadnat never mentioned a gold mine to me. You all know that I was
