‘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.’
‘The reason was that we preferred to sleep alone,’ Cranat insisted heavily.
‘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.’