‘My mother,’ went on Crón, ‘Cranat of the Déisi.’
Fidelma kept her face a mask. In the introduction, the reason for Cranat’s bearing had been explained. Legend had it that during the High Kingship of Cormac mac Airt, the sept of the Déisi had been banished from their ancestral lands around Tara. Some had fled abroad to the land of the Britons while others had settled in the kingdom of Muman where they had split into two further septs, the Déisi of the north and those of the south. That Crón had introduced her mother as ‘of the Déisi’ meant that Cranat was a daughter of a prince of her people. Even so, it did not excuse the manner in which she had refused to greet or acknowledge Fidelma. Irritation caused Fidelma’s face to redden. She had allowed this insult to her rank and position to pass unchallenged once. She could not do it a second time if she were to maintain control of this investigation.
Instead of seating herself, she calmly stepped up onto the raised platform on a level with Crón and Cranat.
‘Eadulf, place a chair here for me,’ she instructed coldly.
The look of shock on the faces of Cranat and her daughter indicated that they were not used to anyone challenging their authority.
Eadulf, trying to hide a smile of amusement, for he knew how Fidelma liked to make points of protocol when they had been forgotten, hastily seized a chair and placed it where she hadindicated. Eadulf knew that ordinarily, Fidelma did not care a jot about matters of privilege and ritual. Only if people used such matters of etiquette to wrongfully assert authority did Fidelma use her own position to put them firmly in their place.
‘Sister, you forget yourself!’
It was the first sentence Cranat had uttered, expressed in a scandalised tone.
Fidelma had taken her seat and regarded the widow of the chieftain with a bland expression.
‘What would you suggest that I have forgotten, Cranat of Araglin?’
She emphasised the choice of title softly, just enough to make a point.
Cranat swallowed noisily, unable to make any reply.
‘My mother is …’ began Crón but stopped as Fidelma turned to face her. ‘Ah …’ she suddenly realised the point of protocol Fidelma had made. She turned quickly to her mother. ‘I have neglected to tell you that Sister Fidelma is not only an advocate but is sister to Colgú of Cashel.’
Before Cranat could digest this information, Fidelma leant forward. She spoke pleasantly enough but her voice was firm.
‘The matter of my parentage aside and ignoring the kingship of my brother,’ she paused, for this was a direct demolition of Cranat’s own royal pretension, ‘I am qualified to the degree of anruth and may sit in the presence of the High King of the five kingdoms himself and speak with him on the same level.’
Cranat’s mouth became a tight thin line. She turned her ice cold eyes to focus elsewhere in the hall.
‘Now,’ Fidelma sat back and smiled broadly. There was a brisk tone in her voice. ‘Now let us leave aside the tedious matters of custom and propriety for there is more important work to do.’
Once again, there was no doubt that Fidelma was rebuking Cranat and Crón for their pretensions and they knew it. They sat in silence for there was no response that they could adequately make.
‘I need to ask you some questions, Cranat.’
The woman, sitting stiffly, sniffed. She did not bring herself to look directly at Fidelma.
‘Then I am sure that you will ask them,’ she replied without humour.
‘I am told that it was you who sent to my brother at Cashel to request a Brehon to attend here. I am told that you undertook to send to Cashel without the knowledge and approval of your daughter who is the tanist. Why was this?’
‘My daughter is young,’ Cranat said. ‘She is inexperienced in law and politics. I believe that this matter has to be properly conducted so that no stigma is allowed to attach itself to the family of Araglin.’
‘Why might that happen?’
‘The nature of the creature who committed the crimes, and the fact he was the adopted son of the lady Teafa, might incline people to speak ill of the house of Araglin.’
Fidelma thought it was a reasonable explanation.
‘Then let us return to the morning six nights ago when you heard of the death of your husband, Eber.’
‘I have already explained what happened,’ interrupted Crón hastily.
Fidelma clicked her tongue in annoyance.
‘You have told me of the events as you saw them. Now I am asking your mother.’
‘There is little to tell,’ Cranat said. ‘I was awakened by my daughter.’
‘At what time?’
‘Just as the sun was rising, I think.’
‘And what happened?’
‘She told me that Eber had been slain and that Móen had done the terrible deed. I dressed and joined her here, in the hall of assembly. As I did so, Dubán came in to say that Teafa had also been found dead from stabbing.’
‘Did you go to see Eber’s body?’
Cranat shook her head.
‘Not go to pay your last respects to your dead husband?’ Fidelma allowed a note of surprise to enter her voice.
‘My mother was upset,’ Crón intervened defensively.
Fidelma’s eyes still held those cold blue eyes of Cranat.
‘You were upset?’
‘I was upset,’ echoed Cranat.
Instinctively, Fidelma knew that Cranat was seizing the easy excuse given by her daughter.
‘Tell me why you did not share your husband’s sleeping chamber?’
There was a gasp of indignation from Crón.
‘How dare you ask such an impertinent …?’ she began.
Fidelma swung her head round and regarded Crón with narrowed eyes.
‘I dare,’ she replied impassively, ‘because I am an advocate of the courts and no question that seeks to get to the truth is impertinent. I think, Crón of Araglin, you still have much to learn of the wisdom and duties of a chieftain. Your mother was right to send to Cashel for a Brehon.’
Crón swallowed, her face reddening. Before she could think of a suitable response, Fidelma had already turned back to Cranat.
‘Well, lady?’ she prompted sharply.
Cranat’s icy expression challenged her for a moment but Fidelma’s fiery green eyes accepted the challenge and were not cowed. Cranat’s shoulders eventually slumped in resignation.
‘It has been many years since I shared my husband’s bed,’ she replied quietly.
‘Why so?’
Cranat’s hands fluttered in her lap.
‘We have grown apart in … in that way.’
‘And this did not bother you?’
‘No.’
‘Nor, presumably, did it bother Eber?’
‘I am not sure what you mean?’
‘You know the laws of marriage as well as I do. If there were sexual failings between you then either party could have sought divorce.’
Cranat’s face reddened.
Crón glanced to where Eadulf was sitting impassively.
‘Must the Saxon stay and hear this?’ she demanded.
Eadulf, with some embarrassment, began to rise.
Fidelma motioned him to be reseated.
‘He is here to observe the working of our legal process. There is nothing to be ashamed at before the law.’
‘We had an amicable arrangement,’ Cranat continued, realising that she and her daughter had met someone with a stronger will than either of them. ‘There was no need for divorce or separation.’
‘None? If either of you had become incapable of intercourse, then you could legally divorce with ease. The problems of infertility or impotence are equally covered.’
‘My mother knows the law,’ interrupted Crón indignantly. ‘Can we leave it that my father and mother simply preferred to sleep apart?’
‘I will accept this,’ Fidelma agreed, ‘though it would have been easier to understand if I knew a reason.’
‘So you remained partners in everything else?’
‘Yes.’
‘And your husband made no attempt to obtain a wife of lower status, a concubine?’
‘That is forbidden,’ snapped Crón.
‘Forbidden?’ Fidelma was surprised. ‘Our laws are quite specific that polygyny is still accepted under the Cáin Lánamna. A man may have a chief wife and his concubine who has, under law, half the status and entitlements of the chief wife.’
‘How can you approve of that?’ demanded Crón. ‘You are a sister of the Faith.’
Fidelma regarded her equably.
‘Who says that I approve it? I simply tell you of the law of the five kingdoms which operates today. And I am an advocate of that law. I am surprised that here, in such a rural community, there is disapproval of it. Usually, in rural areas, there is much support for the old laws and customs of our people.’
‘Father Gormán says that it is evil to have more than one wife.’
‘Ah, Father Gormán. Again, Father Gormán. It seems that the good father has a strong influence over this community. It is true that within the new Faith many oppose polygyny but with little success as yet. In fact, the scriptor of the law text, the Bretha Crólige, actually finds justification for polygyny in the texts of the Old Testament. It is argued that if the chosen people of God lived in a plurality of unions, how can we, gentiles, argue against it?’
Cranat make a curious sound of disapproval, clicking her tongue.
‘You may argue your theology with Father Gormán on his return. Eber had no need of other wives nor concubines. We dwell here in an amicable family. And our close relationship has nothing to do with his death for his killer has been clearly identified.’
‘Ah yes,’ Fidelma breathed, as if she had been distracted. ‘Let us return to this matter …’
‘I know no more than what I told you,’ snapped Cranat. ‘I learnt only of Eber’s death from others.’
‘And, as your daughter says, you were upset?’
‘I was.’
‘But clear-minded enough to instruct the young warrior, Critan, to ride to Cashel to request a Brehon be sent here?’
‘I was a chieftain’s wife. I had my duty to fulfil.’
‘Were you shocked when you heard it was Móen who killed your husband?’
‘Shocked? No. Sad, perhaps. It was inevitable that that wild beast would turn on someone sooner or later.’
‘You did not like Móen?’
The eyebrows of Eber’s widow arched in perplexity.
‘Like? How could anyone even know Móen?’ she demanded.
‘Perhaps not so far as “knowing”, in the sense of understanding his thoughts, his hopes and ambitions. But did you have any daily contact with him?’
‘You would give the creature the same sensitivities as a normal person?’ sneered Crón, interrupting.
‘Being deprived of sight, hearing and speech does not deprive one of other sensitivities,’ corrected Fidelma. ‘You, Cranat, must have seen Móen raised from childhood?’
Cranat pursed her lips sourly.
‘Yes. But I did not know that unfortunate creature. I have seen pigs grown into sows from little piglets. This does not mean that I know the sow.’
Fidelma smiled dryly.
‘What you mean is that you looked upon Móen as an animal rather than a human being? Therefore, he was nothing to do with your life?’
‘If you say so,’ she conceded.
‘I am merely trying to understand your attitude to Móen. Let us ask this, then, what was your attitude to Teafa? I am told that she, at least, seemed to communicate with him.’
‘Does the shepherd communicate with his sheep?’
‘I am also told that you did not get on well with Teafa.’
‘Who tells you such scandal?’
‘Are you denying that it is so?’
Cranat hesitated and shrugged.
‘We have had our differences in recent years.’
‘Why was this?’
‘She suggested that I should divorce Eber and lose my status as chieftain’s wife. I felt sorry for the woman. Though, of course,she brought misfortune upon her own head.’
‘Misfortune? Why?’
‘She was beyond marriageable age, frustrated with life and had, in her frustration, adopted the foundling, Móen, who could not return the emotions which she demanded from him.’
‘Yet she was your husband’s sister?’
‘Teafa preferred her own company. She sometimes attended religious feasts here but did not agree with Father Gormán’s interpretation of the Faith. She was almost a recluse even though her cabin is thirty yards from this very spot.’
‘What reason would Móen have to kill her or Eber?’
Cranat spread her arms.
‘As I said earlier, I cannot put my mind into the thoughts of a wild animal.’
‘And is that how you saw Móen? Simply as a wild animal?’
‘How else could you view the creature?’
‘I see. Was this the manner in which he was treated by Teafa’s family during all these years that he lived in this community? As a wild animal?’ Fidelma asked, ignoring Cranat’s question. crón decided to answer for her mother.
‘He was treated like any other of the animals in this rath. Perhaps better. He was treated well, not harshly, but how could one treat him otherwise?’
‘And, if I have interpreted you correctly, you ascribe his actions, after all these years, to some sudden fit of animal instinct?’
‘What else?’
‘It requires a cunning animal to take a knife, kill the woman who has been looking after him all his life and find his way to Eber’s apartments and similarly kill him.’
‘Who said animals were not cunning?’ Crón riposted.
Cranat grimaced sourly in agreement.
‘It seems to me, young woman, that you are trying to find some way to exonerate Móen. Why is this?’
Fidelma suddenly stood up.
‘I am merely seeking the truth. I am not responsible for how you see things, Cranat of Araglin. I have a job to do, according to my oath as an advocate of the courts of the five kingdoms. That task is not merely to establish who is guilty of breaking the law but why the law was broken, in order that the assessment of culpability and compensation are adequately made. And now, I have finished for the time being.’
Eadulf noted the expressions of outrage on the faces of mother and daughter. If looks could have killed, then Fidelma would have been dead before she rose and stepped off the dais. Obliviously, she preceded Eadulf, who had also risen, to the doors of the assembly hall.
Once outside the doors, Fidelma paused. They stood in silence for a while.
‘You do not appear to have much liking for Cranat and her daughter,’ observed Eadulf dryly.
Fidelma’s eyes flashed as she turned to him but then she gave him a mischievous grin.
‘I have a grievous fault, Eadulf. Of that I freely admit. I am intolerant of certain attitudes. Haughtiness is one thing that prejudices me against people. I respond in kind. I am afraid I cannot obey the teaching of “turning the other cheek”. I find that such a teaching is merely an invitation to further injury.’
‘Well, at least you recognise your fault,’ replied Eadulf. ‘The greatest of faults is to be conscious of none.’
Fidelma chuckled softly.
‘You are becoming a philosopher, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. But one important factor we have learnt from this clash of temperaments. Cranat is not to be trusted.’
‘Why not?’
‘She was too upset to pay her last respects to the body of her husband, to even see the body, but strong enough and devoted to duty to send a messenger to Cashel because she did not trust her inexperienced daughter’s knowledge of the law. I find that strange.’
She glanced towards the chapel. Eadulf
followed her gaze. The door of the chapel stood open.
‘I wonder if the redoubtable Father Gormán has returned?’ she mused. Then making up her mind she moved towards it calling over her shoulder: ‘Come, let us see.’
Eadulf groaned a little under his breath as he hurried after her for he knew, by the picture he had already built up, the priest was someone who would be a dog to Fidelma’s cat.
There were candles lit in the dusk shrouded chapel. The fragrance of incense struck them immediately, permeating throughout the polished deal panelled building. The perfume of it was exceedingly strong. Fidelma glanced quickly around at the opulence of the interior. There were gold-framed icons on the walls and an exquisite silver bejewelled cross stood upon the altar with a plain silver chalice before it. There were no seats within the church as it was the custom for congregations to stand throughout the services. Lighted candles impregnated with perfumes and spices caused the aroma which made them catch at their breath. Certainly Father Gormán boasted an opulent church and congregation.
A man was kneeling at his devotions. Fidelma paused at the back of the chapel, Eadulf at her shoulder. The man seemed to sense their presence for he glanced over his shoulder, turned back to end his prayers and genuflected to the altar. Then he rose to his feet and came to greet them.
Father Gormán was tall, with a slight almost feminine figure but with a dark, swarthy complexion, a fleshy face, thick red lips and receding greying hair that had once matched the blackness of his flashing eyes. There were traces of the handsome youth although Fidelma now had the impression of a dissolute middle-age which seemed at odds with the positive impression she had gathered of a fiery Roman priest. He greeted them in a deep, thunderous voice which still held the promise of hellfire and damnation in it. She noted, though not with surprise, that he worethe corona spina on his pate, the mark of a cleric of Roman adherence and not the tonsure of a follower of the Irish church. Curiously, Fidelma noticed that he was wearing gloves of rough leather.
His eyes seemed to soften as he caught sight of Eadulf’s own Roman tonsure.
‘Greetings, brother,’ he boomed. ‘So we have one among us who follows the path of real wisdom?’
Eadulf was embarrassed at the welcome.
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