Eadulf looked questioningly at her.
‘What troubles you, Fidelma?’
Fidelma lowered herself into a seat, reflectively.
‘Maybe nothing. I have the distinct impression that this woman Dignait is afraid of something.’
Chapter Five
When they had cleansed themselves of the dust of the morning’s travel and had eaten the midday meal, they returned to the hall of assembly and found Crón, who had been forewarned of their return, awaiting them. She had seated herself in her chair of office while seats had been arranged facing her below the dais.
Crón rose unwillingly as Fidelma and Eadulf entered. It was a small but reluctant token of respect due to the fact that Fidelma was the sister of the king of Cashel.
‘Are you refreshed now?’ queried Crón as she motioned them to the seats prepared for them.
‘We are,’ Fidelma replied, as she seated herself. She felt slightly irritated for she disliked being placed in a position where she had to look up to where Crón sat. Fidelma’s rank as a dálaigh, and the degree of anruth, allowed her to speak on a level with kings let alone petty chieftains; and even in the presence of the High King at Tara, she could sit on the same level when invited and converse freely. Fidelma jealously guarded the observances of such etiquette but only when others made a point of their position which overlooked her status. However, there was no way of asserting her correct standing at this moment without causing outright hostility, and she wanted to be able to collect the facts of the case. So she resigned herself to the situation.
Eadulf followed her example and sat in the chair next to her, raising his interested gaze to the young female tanist.
‘Now we may listen to the facts, as you know them, concerning the death of your father, Eber,’ Fidelma said, leaning back in her chair.
Crón settled herself a moment, inclining forward a little in her chair, hands folded together, and allowed her eyes to focus on some object in the middle distance, between Fidelma and Eadulf.
‘The facts are simple,’ she intoned as if the subject wearied her. ‘Móen killed my father.’
‘You were witness to this act?’ Fidelma prompted sharply after Crón made no attempt to amplify her statement.
Crón frowned in annoyance and glanced down at her.
‘Of course not. You called for the facts. I gave them to you.’
Fidelma allowed her lips to thin in a smile.
‘I think that it is best, and it serves the interests of justice, for you to tell me how this affair unfolded but from your own perspective only.’
‘I am not sure that I know what you mean.’
Fidelma disguised an expression of impatience.
‘At what point did you know that Eber had been slain?’
‘I was awakened in the night …’
‘Which was how many days ago?’
‘It was six nights ago. Just before sunrise if you want me to be precise.’
Fidelma ignored the sneer in the young woman’s voice.
‘It is in everyone’s interest in this matter to be as precise as one can,’ she replied with icy politeness. ‘Continue. Six nights ago you were awakened. By whom?’
Crón blinked as she picked up on the acid sweetness of the tone. It was clear that Fidelma was not going to be intimidated by her. She hesitated and then shrugged as if she conceded the skirmish of wills to Fidelma.
‘Very well. Six nights ago I was awakened shortly before sunrise. It was the commander of my father’s bodyguard, Duban, who woke me. He had …’
‘Merely confine yourself to what he actually told you,’ cut in Fidelma in sharp warning.
Crón’s voice came almost between clenched teeth. ‘He reportedthat something terrible had happened to Eber. He said that he had been slain by Móen.’
‘Were those the exact words he used?’ Eadulf could not resist posing the question.
Crón glanced at him with a frown and turned back to Fidelma without deigning to reply.
‘I asked him what had happened and he told me that Móen had stabbed my father to death and that he had been caught in the act.’
‘What did you do?’ Fidelma asked.
‘I rose and asked Duban what he had done about Móen. He told me that Móen had been restrained and taken to the stables where he has been kept ever since that night.’
‘And then?’
‘I asked Duban to fetch Teafa.’
‘Teafa? Your aunt? Why would you do that?’ Fidelma knew well that both Crón and Dignait had told her that Teafa had raised Móen from babyhood but she wanted to go over the story fact by fact.
‘I was told that Móen was raging and Teafa is … was the only person who could handle him.’
‘Because Teafa raised him?’ queried Fidelma.
‘Teafa has taken care of Móen since childhood.’
‘And how old is Móen now?’ demanded Eadulf.
Crón was about to ignore him again but Fidelma raised an eyebrow in query.
‘It is a valid question,’ she said pointedly.
‘Twenty-one years old.’
‘He is an adult, then?’ Fidelma was surprised. From the way Crón and Dignait had been speaking of him, it had sounded almost as if Móen was but a child. ‘Is he a difficult person?’ she hazarded.
‘That will be for you to judge,’ replied Crón sourly. Fidelma bowed her head and conceded the point.
‘That is true. So you felt that Teafa might be able to calm Móen? And what happened then?’
‘Dubán found …’ Crón hesitated and rephrased her response pointedly. ‘Dubán returned within a few minutes and told me that he had discovered Teafa’s body. She had also been stabbed to death. Móen had clearly killed her first before …’
Fidelma raised her hand to interrupt.
‘I am to be the judge of what happened. This is your speculation. We will proceed as the law tells us to.’
Crón sniffed in annoyance.
‘My so-called speculation is correct.’
‘That we shall eventually see. What happened after Teafa’s death was reported to you?’
‘I went to rouse my mother and tell her the news.’
‘Your mother?’ Fidelma leaned forward with interest. ‘Eber’s wife?’
‘Of course.’
‘I see. Then she did not know of the death of her husband at this time?’
‘I have said as much.’
‘But this event happened before sunrise. Where was your father found?’
‘In his bed chamber.’
Fidelma followed the logic grimly.
‘Then your mother was not with Eber?’
‘She was in her own bed chamber.’
‘I see,’ Fidelma said softly. She decided not to press the point. ‘And what happened after that?’
Crón shrugged almost indifferently.
‘Little more that bears relevance. Móen, as I have said, has been safely locked away. Without my knowledge, my mother sent a young warrior named Critan to Cashel to inform the king of the tragedy. She apparently thought a Brehon should be sent to investigate rather than let her daughter exercise the role of tanist. My mother did not want me to be tanist.’
Fidelma noted a slight bitterness in the girl’s voice.
‘Crítán returned two days ago to say that the king was sending someone. Thus we buried my father, as custom dictates, in our mound of chieftains. Teafa also. In accordance with the law I, as heir-elect, have taken charge. I could have dispensed justice as well without all these complications.’
‘That is not so, tanist.’ Fidelma’s voice was soft but firm. ‘You will not be chieftain until your derbfhine meets to confirm you in office and that is not for twenty-seven days after the death of the chieftain. A qualified Brehon needs to be the authority in such an investigation.’
The young tanist made no reply.
‘Well,’ Fidelma said at length, ‘the facts seem clear as you have presented them. Did Duban make the discovery of your father’s body himself?’