‘Do you think that he overturned the hive himself?’
‘No, no, no man that has his wits does a thing like that.’ He hesitated. ‘Of course, though, it might be that another man pushed over the hive when he saw that the silversmith was exactly opposite the bees.’
‘That makes sense,’ said Mara thoughtfully. It was interesting that this man, experienced in bees, was also thinking of Sorley’s death as murder.
‘And it could be that a man who did that might still have a few bees lurking when he rushed into the church, quite late.’
‘You saw someone?’
Muiris nodded. ‘I saw Rory come in late and he had his hood pulled well over his head and almost covering his face, as if he were shielding himself. I was watching him, keeping an eye on Aoife to make sure that she didn’t turn around and give him the satisfaction of seeing her yearning for him. I saw him stand there at the back of the church and brush his hood before he took it off.’
How much of this was significant and how much was it a question of Muiris wanting to wreak vengeance on the young bard? And what use would the death of Sorley be to Rory? From what Mara had seen yesterday and this morning, Sorley seemed more friendly to him than did Una. She couldn’t really picture the solid, middle-aged Una indulging in fun and games with Rory behind her father’s back, whatever Brigid said.
‘And that’s not all, Brehon. I went looking for Rory afterwards, once I knew that the bees had stung Sorley to death and I saw him rub his arm. I got as close to him as I could and I’d swear there was a big lump, like a bee sting, on his wrist.’
‘Well, thank you for telling me this, Muiris,’ said Mara gravely. She looked at him carefully. There was an uncomfortable look in his eyes before he looked away. He turned away from her and looked intently across the grass at Rory standing chatting to Roderic. She could not see his eyes, but she saw his fists clench in frustration before he swung around and strode away.
Well, thought Mara, what is to be made of this? She looked all around. The reels and jigs were beginning. Fachtnan, with Nuala, Shane and Hugh and some of the younger members of the O’Lochlainn clan, had made up a set for a reel. Diarmuid O’Connor, Mara’s near neighbour at Cahermacnaghten, was playing his fiddle and they were all dancing on the damp grass. Aidan and Moylan were dashing in and out of the cave leading to the underworld, Moylan giving vent to a ghostly shriek that sounded more like a cow in labour than any self-respecting denizen of the underworld. That only left Enda, who seemed to be on the point of dragging Mairéad O’Lochlainn into the darkness of the undergrowth between Eantymore and Eantybeg.
Mara thought for a moment, but then raised a beckoning finger. Enda hesitated, but the habit of obedience was too strong so he whispered a word in Mairéad’s ear and came reluctantly across.
‘Yes, Brehon,’ he said.
‘I just want you to do a little task for me, Enda,’ said Mara mildly.
His high-cheeked, tanned face was flushed and his very blue eyes seemed to be burning like a piece of lapis lazuli that she had once seen in the abbey’s scriptorium. He swallowed hastily, trying to regain his composure and she was filled with affection and sympathy. There was no point in ignoring the situation. She was not just an instructor to these young scholars of hers: she had to take the place of mother and father to them.
‘Enda,’ she said gently, ‘you have done very well with your studies this term. If you work like this through Hilary and Trinity, I think that there will be no doubt in my mind that you will pass your examinations in June and that you will then be an aigne, able to earn money that will help your family in Mayo. What you must not do, now, though, is to allow anything to get between you and your books for the next few months.’
Then she stopped and watched the hectic flush fade from his face. He was a good-looking boy with all the normal instincts of someone of his age. If he got involved with Mairead O’Lochlainn at this stage, he was bound to be distracted from his studies. He had confided in her that his father in Mayo was almost ruined by a plague of the murrain which had spread amongst his cattle; he was very young, he would be barely seventeen by the end of the year, but it was essential for his own pride and his belief in himself that he qualify as a lawyer this summer. Mara watched while the memory of his father’s distress came back to Enda, and she saw the flush fade from his cheeks and his eyes look at her steadily.
‘Thank you, Brehon.’ That was all that he said, but she gave a satisfied nod. Mairéad would have to look elsewhere for a lover. Enda would keep his mind on his work until the examination was passed and he had established himself as a lawyer.
‘I just wondered, Enda, if you could find some opportunity to look at Rory’s wrist. You see, Muiris implies that he has a possible bee sting there and that might just, though not necessarily, have some relevance to the death of Sorley. It’s not an investigation yet; I haven’t completely made up my mind, but bee stings fade, so if you could think of something, Enda …’
He was gone with a quick nod and without a sideways glance at Mairéad, who watched him from the shadow of the hawthorn hedge.
Enda took a long time over chatting with Rory. Obviously he took his mission seriously. His eyes never strayed towards Mairéad who was tossing her red curls impatiently. Mara watched him with some compassion, but also with some compunction. She was right, she knew, but that did not stop her feeling guilty and rather sorry for him. Most farm lads of his age would be getting betrothed by now; their fathers would be looking out for a suitable small farm so that they could set up in their own right. Enda, with his brains, his looks and his charm, would probably end up as a wealthy man, but for now he had to concentrate on his studies and avoid any unwise entanglements. Let him pass his examinations, get a position as an aigne in the service of some taoiseach or with some Brehon and then he could think about marriage.
Enda and Rory were now wrestling playfully: Rory pretending to cuff Enda. And then the two heads were bent together looking at something. After a few minutes Enda left with some joke shouted back. Rory lifted his hand in a parting salutation and the light from the bonfire showed as a red flash on his wrist.
‘He is wearing a silver bracelet, Brehon,’ said Enda in a low voice as he returned. ‘I think the silversmith, Sorley, probably gave it to him. I admired it and eventually he allowed me to slip it on. I pretended that I didn’t want to give it back so I had time to have a good look at his wrist.’
‘And?’
‘Muiris is probably right,’ said Enda. ‘There is still a slight lump just on the back of his right wrist.’
‘I see,’ said Mara thoughtfully. Of course it was natural that Sorley should give Rory a present of a silver bracelet and equally natural that he should wear it at Samhain. He was a showy young man and jewellery like that would have been part of the price that Sorley was willing to pay in order to secure a husband for his plain daughter. On the other hand, it was not natural to slip the bracelet over a sore wrist; why not wear it on the left wrist?
Unless, of course, thought Mara, Rory’s was the hand that pushed over the hive of bees and caused the death of the silversmith.
SEVEN
CÁIN LÁNAMNA (THE LAW OF COUPLES)
In the case of a divorce, desired by husband and wife, the property is divided between them.
when a divorce between a man and woman of equal status occurs, the woman gets one-sixth of the fleeces,, but if the wool has been combed she gets one-third of it and if the cloth has been already woven she gets a half
In the same way, the husband gets five-sixths of the flax standing in the field, but only a half if the flax has been turned into linen.
‘I THINK,’ SAID MARA to her scholars, as they lined up in the schoolhouse after breakfast on Friday morning, looking clean and neat in snowy white linen léine and well-combed hair, ‘I think that we will go to the All Saints’ Mass at Rathborney today instead of to Noughaval as usual. I would like to have a look around the graveyard and you can all be of hel
p to me.’
‘Does that mean that you are definitely considering the death of Sorley to be murder?’ enquired Fachtnan after a moment’s silence while the boys looked at each other and then at Fachtnan as the eldest scholar.
‘I’m not sure, Fachtnan,’ said Mara honestly. ‘You see there seems to be a quite a few people who hated Sorley and then this sudden death – well, it just worries me a little. I feel that it is a murder.’
‘Are you thinking about Cathal the sea captain, Brehon?’ asked Shane.
‘What about Daire?’ asked Enda.
‘Why do you say that, Enda?’ Mara was interested. Had Daire told of his unfair treatment last night? As far as she knew her lads had not seen him for a long time before. ‘Did Daire say anything to you?’
Enda shook his head. ‘No, it was Rory who told me,’ he said and added thoughtfully, ‘in fact, he told me at great length how much Daire had hated Sorley and how unfair the silversmith had been to Daire and how he had refused to warrant him as a silversmith and had cheated him.’
‘At great length?’ Mara raised an eyebrow and Enda nodded.
‘I got the feeling that I was supposed to take that information to you, Brehon,’ he said astutely.
‘Sorley was a moneylender; Brigid told us that,’ said Aidan eagerly. ‘Could you find out anything about that, Brehon?’
‘Has anyone borrowed money from him? We could go around the Burren asking about that,’ proposed Moylan.
‘Is there anyone else that you suspect, Brehon?’ asked Fachtnan.
‘I saw Sorley’s son, on Wednesday night,’ said Mara quietly. ‘His name is Cuan and Sorley has rejected him as an unsatisfactory son quite recently. He gave him a farm of twenty acres, but the lad is not used to farming and I don’t think that things have worked out for him. I think that if we are making a list of those who had reason to dislike this man Sorley, we might have to put Cuan’s name on it.’
‘It couldn’t have been legal, though, could it, Brehon?’ asked Enda. ‘I mean Sorley’s repudiation of his son. After all, he would have had to come to you and I don’t remember any such case.’
‘Unless he went to the Brehon at Kinvarra,’ said Mara. ‘I don’t think that could be the position, though. I’m sure that, out of courtesy, I would have been notified. Though, I can’t remember being notified about the divorce granted against Sorley’s wife, either, but then that was about seven or eight years ago; perhaps I’ve forgotten, or perhaps Sorley was not living at the Burren at all at that time. He had a house in Galway as well as a castle in Kinvarra. I know that he bought Newtown Castle from the O’Lochlainn about twenty years ago, but he didn’t live there much, I think.’
‘Exactly how old was Cuan when he was rejected, Brehon?’ asked Enda alertly.
Mara looked at him with respect. ‘Why do you ask that, Enda?’
‘Well, if he were under seventeen, even by a day, then it is illegal, and, come to think of it,’ he added, his blue eyes thoughtful, ‘even if he were over seventeen a mountain farm of twenty acres would not, in the eyes of the law, be suitable provision for the son of such a rich man.’
‘Well done, Enda,’ Mara eyed him jubilantly. ‘That is my feeling exactly.’
The church was still half-empty when they entered. The six scholars sat in the back row while Mara went further up the church looking keenly at the row of people in the top right-hand seat; Una was there with her faithful maidservant on one side and Rory on the other side. Daire was in the same row and also a middle-aged man – probably Sorley’s steward, surmised Mara. She glanced around from time to time as the church began to fill. Toin came in, leaning heavily on his stick and on the arm of a body-servant. She saw that he too glanced around the church after he had seated himself beside her. He was obviously looking for someone and expected to see them at the back of the church. Mara’s eyes followed his and she saw Cuan, Sorley’s rejected son, slip in through the door; with him was a plain-faced, middle-aged woman in a threadbare cloak.
Just as the door to the vestry opened to admit the altar servers with their tapers extended carefully in front of them, there was a slight stir and Ulick Burke came hurrying up the aisle. He hesitated for a minute, his eyes on the party from Newtown Castle, but then he turned into Mara’s pew, squeezing past Toin with a beaming smile.
‘Well, my dear Brehon, this is a terrible affair, isn’t it?’ whispered Ulick as he squeezed past Mara and insinuated himself into the space between her and the wall.
Mara turned resigned eyes on him. The altar boys were lighting the candles and carrying the sacred vessels out to the table and there was a murmur of conversation in the church; if Ulick kept his voice down there was a good chance that no one would overhear.
‘You’re upset by Sorley’s death?’ Her question wasn’t too seriously meant. She had seen the look of fury that Ulick gave his sneering host that night she had dined at Newtown Castle and guessed that there was little genuine regret in his protestations.
‘Uncanny, though,’ he said with a quick look over his shoulder. ‘It almost seemed as if he foresaw his death.’
Mara frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Oh, of course, I haven’t told you what happened after you left on Wednesday night. All the excitement yesterday morning put it out of my head …’ he paused dramatically.
‘Tell me now.’ Mara gave him her full attention. There were times when a gossip like Ulick was indispensable. He was obviously bursting with news.
‘Well,’ he said dramatically, ‘as soon as you and the king had departed, well, that hatchet-faced lawyer from Galway said that he was going to bed and Sorley said there was just a little business for him to do before he retired for the night.’
‘Business?’ queried Mara. Had Sorley decided to reopen the affair of Cathal and the boatload of silver, she wondered. Cathal, and what was probably his son, were there in the church today. She had a quick look at Toin, but he was lost in his own thoughts and seemed to be ignoring Ulick.
Ulick nodded. ‘Yes, business. You see before you, my dear Brehon, a broken man. I have been disappointed in love.’ He waited for a tantalizing moment, his eyes dancing with amusement, before adding dramatically, ‘She is not for me, alas!’
‘What are you talking about?’ Mara sat back in her seat to enjoy the story. She cast another glance at Toin and saw that now he was listening. He had a faint smile on his purple lips. He knew Ulick of old, of course. She remembered Turlough and Ulick staying with Toin last summer when they were on their way to the Aran Islands.
‘Yes, the fair Una, she is for another. She has been betrothed!’
‘What!’ Mara realized that the word was louder than she intended. She looked hastily over her shoulder, but no heads had turned. The church was full and the air was full of murmurings of prayers and creakings of seats and of people sitting down, or kneeling or pushing past others with whispered apologies. Several women were walking around the church, reciting the Stations of the Cross in pious voices. Nevertheless, she lowered her voice to whisper, ‘Betrothed to whom?’
‘To Rory the bard! It was all signed and sealed the night you had supper there. As I said, do you think perhaps our dear friend, Sorley, had a premonition of his demise? The Bodkin lawyer took out, not a bodkin, but a quill and covered the vellum, not as beautifully as you would have done it, my dear Brehon, but I am sure that it was adequate. The bridegroom was very drunk and tried to kiss his future bride who was obviously pining for me because she slapped his face and told him not to be a fool.’
‘Well …’ Mara’s breath was taken away for a second. She had not realized things would progress as quickly as that. She felt furious for the sake of Aoife, the lovely girl that Rory had courted for the last year, but she was glad that she had not been asked to draw up the betrothal contract. Aoife was in the church, she noticed, and her father and mother were with her. How would she take this news, or was her new-found interest in Daire enough to carry her through? Mara hoped so.
‘And that’s not all, my dear Brehon!’ Ulick paused dramatically and then rose to his feet as Mauritius, Bishop of Kilfenora, came out on the altar steps. Everyone else rose also and as the bishop’s sonorous voice sang out the Latin words: ‘In nomine Patris, Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,’ Ulick’s voice hissed out: ‘He drew up a will as well. His last will and testament.’ Reverentially he crossed himself and then added in Mara’s ear: ‘And, I must say, my dear Brehon, that the lovely, innocent bride-to-be, Una, showed much more interest in this than she did in the betrothal contract.’
‘And why was she so interested?’ Despite her resolution not to indulge in gossip, Mara could not help putting the question. Hastily she looked back at the altar and crossed herself piously.
‘Because, my dear Brehon,’ Ulick paused while the bishop intoned: ‘Introibo ad altare Dei,’ and crossed himself profoundly again, making sure to touch forehead, breast and each shoulder, ‘because everything is left to her. You can understand, Brehon,’ he said, while the altar boys shrilled out the response of ’ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam’, ‘why you see me now as a broken man. You couldn’t believe it, my dear Brehon, the amount that man owned. I had a quick look when we placed the vellum scrolls in the chest up in the gallery. Such a shame about his death, though, my dear Brehon,’ he said as everyone rose for the recitation of the gospel.
This time there was a genuine note of regret in Ulick’s voice and Mara gave a few curious glances at him as she listened to Christ’s discourse on the resurrection.
‘You think he would have favoured your suit?’ she whispered under the cover of everyone sitting down in preparation for the sermon.
‘Of course, my dear Brehon.’ Ulick’s face was complacent. ‘Wait until you hear …’ but he said no more as a hush came over the church as the bishop delivered his sermon.
Mara kept an attentive face turned towards the altar but did not hear a single one of the bishop’s well-chosen words. Her mind was running over the accusation made against Rory by Muiris. Ridiculous, she had thought at the time, but now she was not too sure.
The Sting of Justice Page 8