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  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 polished deal and oak. Along these panels hung shields, highly burnished pieces of bronze, some brilliantly enamelled. A few colourful tapestries were draped here and there. The floor was of oak planking, dark and ancient. There were several movable tables and benches. At one end stood a raised platform, no more than a foot high, on which was placed a magnificently carved oak chair adorned with the pelts of some animal. It was inlaid with polished bronze and some silver.

  Although it was daylight outside, there were no windows within this great hall but several oil lamps, hanging from the beams, caused shadows to flicker and dance throughout the room and this effect was enhanced by a fire crackling in a hearth at one side of the room.

  The warrior instructed them to wait and then withdrew leaving them alone.

  They stood quietly, examining the opulence of the room carefully. If the room was meant to impress it certainly impressed Eadulf. Even Fidelma admitted to herself that the hall would not be out of place in her brother’s palace at Cashel. Only a few moments passed before a lithe figure emerged from behind a tapestry curtain at the back of the raised platform and came to stand before the ornate chair. In the smoky atmosphere, Fidelma saw the figure was that of a young woman, scarcely more than nineteen years of age. She had corn-coloured long tresses and pale blue eyes. That she was attractive, there was no doubt. But the features seemed rather too hard for Fidelma to feel comfortable with them and the blue of the eyes was too cold. The mouth was set just a little too thinly so that the overall impression she had was of a person of unbending severity of nature. All this Fidelma deduced by a quick glance.

  Fidelma noticed that she wore a dress of blue silk and matching shawl of dyed wool fastened with an elaborate gold brooch. She held her hands folded demurely before her. The young woman stood examining them with a questioning expression.

  ‘I am Crón, tanist of the Araglin. I am told that you wish to see me?’

  Her voice, though a mellow soprano, was not welcoming.

  Fidelma hid her surprise that one so young could be chieftain-elect of a farming clan. Rural communities were usually conservative as to who they approved of as civil leaders over them.

  ‘I believe that my arrival is expected,’ she replied. She kept her tone formal.

  The blonde-haired girl’s face remained blank.

  ‘Why should I be expecting members of the religious at this place?’ she countered. ‘Father Gormán fulfils all our needs in the matter of our Faith.’

  Fidelma stifled a low impatient sigh.

  ‘I am a dálaigh of the courts, asked to come to this place to investigate the death of Eber, your former chieftain.’

  Crón’s set expression flickered for a moment and then reformed into its expressionless rigidity.

  ‘Eber was my father,’ she said quietly, the only expression of emotion. ‘He was murdered. It was without my approval that my mother sent to the king in Cashel requesting a dálaigh. I am capable of conducting an inquiry into this matter myself. However, I hardly expected the king of Cashel to answer me by sending one so young and presumably without knowledge of the world outside a religious cloister.’

  Brother Eadulf, standing just behind Fidelma, saw her shoulders stiffen and tensed himself waiting for the inevitable blast of wrath from Fidelma. Instead, her voice remained calm, almost too calm.

  ‘The king of Cashel, my brother Colgú …’ Fidelma paused to allow the emphasis of her words to sink in. ‘My brother asked me to come here to take personal charge of this matter. You may have no fear that I am without knowledge. I am trained to the level of anruth. I am tempted to believe that my years and experience will be in excess of your own, tanist of Araglin.’

  The level of anruth was only one degree below the highest award that the secular and ecclesiastical colleges of Ireland could bestow.

  There was a silence as both women stood regarding each other, cold blue eyes gazing deeply into sparkling green ones, each face a mask without emotion. Behind those masks, minds rapidly made assessments of the strengths and weaknesses of each other.

  ‘I see,’ Crón said slowly, putting a wealth of emotion in the pronouncement of the simple phrase. Then she returned to her sharp manner. ‘And what is your name, sister of Colgú?’

  ‘I am Fidelma.’

  The cold gaze of the blonde woman now turned quizzically to Eadulf.

  ‘This brother appears to be a stranger in our land.’

  ‘This is Brother Eadulf …’ introduced Fidelma.

  ‘A Saxon?’ queried Crón in surprise.

  ‘Brother Eadulf is emissary of the archbishop of Canterbury at my brother’s court in Cashel. He has been trained at our colleges and knows our country well. But he has expressed an interest to see how our legal processes work.’

  It was not the entire truth but it would do for Crón.

  The chieftainess regarded Eadulf sourly, inclining her head in greeting, no more than for etiquette’s sake, before turning back to Fidelma. She made no attempt to invite them to sit neither did she attempt to do so herself.

  ‘Well, this matter is a simple one. I, as tanist, could have dealt with it. My father was stabbed to death. The killer, Móen, was discovered still standing over his body with the knife in his hand, Móen’s hands and clothes were covered in my father’s blood.’

  ‘I am told that someone else was also found dead at the same time?’

  ‘Yes. My aunt, Teafa. She was found later. She had been stabbed to death, too. Móen had dwelt in her house and had been raised by her.’

  ‘I see. Well, I shall wish to gather the basic facts. But, firstly, perhaps you would instruct someone to show us to your guests’ quarters where we may clean ourselves after our journey? Food would not go amiss as it is after midday. When we have washed and eaten then we can start to question those involved in this matter.’

  A flush crossed Crón’s features at thus being instructed in her duties as host for such an action could be regarded as an insult had it been uttered by anyone of lesser rank than Fidelma. There was a steely glint in the cold blue eyes. For a moment Eadulf was sure that the young tanist was going to refuse. Then she shrugged and turned to a side table on which stood a small silver handbell. She picked it up and tinkled it loudly.

  A moment or so passed in uncomfortable silence before an elderly woman, slightly stooped with greying hair, though it had once been fair, appeared through a side door. Her features were gaunt, the skin yellowing where once it had been tanned by a life spent mainly outdoors. The eyes were pale and suspicious. They darted here and there like the eyes of a nervous cat. In spite of her age, she gave the impression of strength, a woman used to the harsh life of farming. Her broad hands bore the callouses of years of toil. She moved with an anxious gait to Crón and bobbed her head.

  ‘Dignait, please see to the needs of our … guests. Sister Fidelma is here to investigate the murder of my father. They will require accommodation, water to wash and food.’

  The woman, Dignait, glanced towards Fidelma and Eadulf. Fidelma had the momentary impression that her eyes were startled and fearful. Then it was as if the lids hooded them.

  ‘If you will both accompany me … ?’ Dignait invited them almost woodenly.

  Crón turned away wi
th a suspicion of a sniff.

  ‘When you are ready,’ she called over her shoulder as she began to walk back towards the curtain behind her chair of office, ‘I will explain to you the details of what took place.’

  Dignait conducted them through a small side door out of the hall and across an open yard to the guests’ hostel. It was a simple, single storey wooden building at the back of the hall of assembly, consisting of a single large room, partitioned into several sleeping cubicles by simple screens of polished deal. Behind each screen was a pallet of straw. A carved log of polished wood served as a pillow, a linen sheet and woollen rugs provided the bed coverings. Dignait ensured that they approved of the comfort of their beds. An open section of the building stretched before the cubicles, containing several benches with a table where guests could eat and which generally was used as living quarters. There was a hearth but no fire had been lit. When Dignait remarked on this fact, Fidelma said the weather was too clement for the need of a fire.

  The wash room and privy were found beyond a second door at the far end of the guests’ house. The door was marked with a small iron cross. Fidelma presumed that this was a sign of the work of Father Gormán for the privy was called a fialtech, or veil house, by certain religious who had picked up the concept from Rome. They believed the Devil dwelt within the privy and it became the custom to make the sign of the cross before entering it.

  When Fidelma pointed out the needs of their horses, Dignait assured her that she would asked Menma, who was in charge of the stables, to wash and feed them.

  Fidelma then expressed satisfaction with the accommodation but called Dignait to stay a moment when she would depart. Dignait seemed to pause with obvious reluctance.

  ‘You must have been in service here for many years,’ Fidelma opened the conversation.

  The old woman’s expression increased in suspicion. The eyes continued to be hooded but she did not refuse to answer.

  ‘I have served the family of the chieftain of Araglin for just over twenty years,’ she replied stiffly. ‘I came here as servant to the mother of Crón.’

  ‘And did you know Móen? The one who is accused of killing Eber?’

  For a second Fidelma thought she saw that flicker of fear again.

  ‘Everyone in the rath of Araglin knows Móen,’ she commented. ‘Who would not? Only a dozen families live here and most are related to the other.’

  ‘And was Móen related to everyone?’

  The old stewardess shivered perceptibly and genuflected.

  ‘He was not! He was a foundling. Who knows from whose womb he sprang or whose seed cursed the womb? The lady Teafa, peace be upon her misguided soul, found him as a baby. That was a day of ill-fortune for her.’

  ‘Is it known why Móen would kill Teafa, then, or Eber, the chieftain?’

  ‘Surely only God would know that, sister? Now forgive me …’ She turned away abruptly to the door. ‘I have work to see to. While you have your wash, I will instruct Menma about your horses and see that food is brought to you.’

  Fidelma stood staring at the closed door for a few seconds after the old woman had hurried away.

  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 reported that 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.’