Fidelma stood for a few moments waiting for Cranat to even acknowledge her by raising her eyes.
Finally, it was Crón, the tanist, who ended the silence, speaking without rising from her own chair.
‘Mother, this is Fidelma, the advocate who is here to pronounce judgment on Móen.’
Only then did Cranat raise her head and Fidelma found herself staring into the same cold blue eyes of Cranat’s daughter, Crón.
‘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.’