Read Online The Spider's Web by Peter Tremayne - Free Book Online

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 faced
straight 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