After a few minutes, Marcan’s mother retrieved her son and the two young scholars returned to Mara.
‘He doesn’t know much,’ said Shane disgustedly. ‘He went to have a good look around when he heard that Sorley had been stung to death and he found the place where the stone had been taken out, but he didn’t find anything else.’
‘That’s useful, though,’ said Mara thoughtfully. ‘It probably means that there was nothing to be found. Now, do you two want to start walking back to Cahermacnaghten? You’ll probably catch up with Brigid if you hurry. I want to wait for a while longer until the older ones finish taking evidence. Someone else might want to talk to me.’
No one came to speak to her, however, and the day began to turn colder. There would be a grass frost tonight. The crowds began to disperse and soon no one was left at Poulnabrone, except Cumhal, the farm manager, Mara and her scholars.
‘Anything significant?’ she asked, gathering up the lists from them.
‘There is just this on my list,’ said Fachtnan leaning over her shoulder and pointing with his quill.
‘So Toin’s servant saw Rory coming through the graveyard after the service had begun,’ said Mara thoughtfully. ‘Well that seems to fit with what Muiris said about him coming in late.’
‘Toin must have seen him then,’ said Aidan, ‘because Cathal the sea captain told me that Toin was on the bench in the churchyard.’
‘Toin mightn’t have noticed. Apparently he collapsed just near to the door of the church. He was in terrible pain. He went to sit on that little wooden seat around the other side, the one near the sundial. He sent his servant to run and fetch some poppy syrup from his house. The steward told me that Tomás took him home before the service began,’ explained Fachtnan, his face solemn.
‘Poor man,’ said Mara. ‘He should never have come.’ She spoke the words automatically because her mind was on Rory. ‘Who took the evidence from Rory?’
‘I did.’ Aidan handed his sheet with a slightly dubious look at the number of blots on it.
Mara scanned it rapidly. ‘You’ve put that he left Sorley talking to the bishop, did he volunteer that explanation?’ She was interested; most of the evidence from others seemed to be concentrated on position in church and remarks on the arrival of others.
Aidan nodded. ‘Yes, he told me to write that down.’ ‘He probably heard Cathal the sea captain telling Muiris that he saw Rory coming late into the church,’ said Enda. ‘He was in the queue for Fachtnan, but he has a very loud voice – he’s probably used to shouting at sea. Rory perhaps thought it was better to explain before he was questioned.’
‘Enda,’ said Mara thoughtfully, ‘you and Rory went around to a lot of fairs together. I seem to remember you saying that he sometimes had plenty of money to spend. Is that right?’
‘Yes, I think that I said that,’ said Enda cautiously.
‘Where do you think that he got that money?’
Enda’s face cleared. ‘Oh, that’s easy. He got it from betting on horses. He was always lucky with that. I …’ He stopped abruptly. Mara did not question him further. She had always forbidden her scholars to place wagers; the law school fees were a heavy enough burden without the additional problem of gambling debts. However, Enda seemed to be a much more sensible character for the last few weeks and was certainly better from being away from the influence of the fun-loving young bard, so she decided to ignore that slip of the tongue.
So Rory was a gambler, well, that crime, that murder of the man Sorley, within sight and sound of about hundred people, that was a crime of a gambler, a crime of an opportunist – probably not even planned, just a spur-of-the-moment decision.
‘And he said that he walked down from the castle with Sorley and then left him,’ said Mara thoughtfully, looking again at Aidan’s untidy script.
‘That’s right, Brehon.’ Aidan was eager; no doubt he was glad that the interest of the information had distracted the Brehon from the blots and crossings-out on his piece of vellum.
Mara smiled. Aidan was easy to read, a nice boy with an exuberant, puppy-like nature. ‘You’ve done very well,’ she said warmly to her scholars as she gathered in the vellum leaves and stored them carefully in her satchel. ‘Now, you three should go straight back to Cahermacnaghten with Cumhal; Brigid will have your dinner ready. Fachtnan, will you come with me? I think that I will ride around by Rathborney. There are a few questions that I wish to ask.’
‘It was interesting, wasn’t it,’ she added, as they cantered across the clints, ‘that neither son nor daughter, nor wife turned up here today?’
TEN
HEPTAD 80
There are seven people who should never be given a loan:
1. A person who has been proclaimed an outlaw
2. A person who is without legal responsibility
3. A person who does not recognize the law of the kingdom
4. A person who has no land
5. A person who will use the loan for dangerous purposes
6. A person near to death because his heirs may not have to repay it
7. A king, because of the weight oƒ his honour
IT WAS STILL DAYLIGHT, though the sun was low in the sky, when Mara and Fachtnan arrived at Rathborney, talking earnestly, as Mara explained to Fachtnan the family situation of Sorley Skerrett, his wife, son and daughter. They were just about to turn to go in through the gates, when Mara felt her mare hesitate and looking around she glimpsed a miserable figure, sitting on a stone, gazing moodily across the prosperous green fields in this fertile valley.
‘That’s Cuan, Sorley’s son,’ she said quietly to Fachtnan. ‘Let’s not allow him to get away. His place is in his father’s house.’
‘Cuan,’ she called. ‘We’re just going to see your mother. Come with us and you can show us the way.’ She had pulled her mare to a halt just in front of him and Fachtnan sat impassively in the path behind him. Cuan gave a hasty glance around and then bowed his head. He would be a biddable boy, she thought, and addressed him as she would one of her own young scholars.
‘That’s right,’ she said encouragingly. ‘You just walk ahead of us. This lane is too narrow for three. What lovely weather it is, I can’t believe that it is November, can you? Pull the bell, will you?’ she chatted freely until they reached the gates and she heard the sound of the lodge door being opened. ‘Please take our horses,’ she added to the porter immediately when he came to the gate. She gave Cuan no chance to escape, tucking her arm inside his, once her feet had touched the ground.
He smelled, she noticed compassionately. He looked as if he had not washed, nor shaved, nor even combed his hair for days. There was a sore on one hand that would turn bad soon if not attended to and she made a mental note to ask Malachy or Nuala to look at it.
The scene around the castle was full of activity when they arrived at the gate. There was no sense of chaos after the death of its owner; men and women moved busily in and out of the cottages, cabins and stables that lined the sides of the large bawn in front of the castle. The porter was at the gate before they arrived there and stablemen came forward immediately to take their horses. At the sound of the porter’s bell, the steward quickly opened the front door and came down the steps to greet them and escort them up to the hall.
The room was as perfect as always, the floor was luminous with beeswax polish, the wooden tables and chests shone and the silver candelabra held new candles. Una was sitting at a window examining what seemed to be a book of accounts while Deirdre was scrutinizing some velvet hangings, by the fireplace. Unlike her daughter who was plainly dressed, Deirdre’s gown was made from dark-red damask, heavily encrusted with small gems. An elaborate headdress, made from the same material and laced with silver wires, covered her lank, coarse hair.
‘The Brehon to see you,’ the steward hesitated there, gazing from one woman to the other, but then added an impartial, ‘my lady’. Both women turned their eyes attentively towards Mara. Una gave Cuan a contempt
uous glance and then turned her eyes away from him, but Deirdre stepped forward towards her son and then stepped back again with a hesitant look at Una. Rory was lounging on the window seat, idly strumming the strings of his zither. He stopped and sat bolt upright when he saw Mara.
‘I just thought that I would come and see you this evening,’ said Mara comfortably ensconcing herself in one of the velvet armchairs. ‘There were so many people here last night, and of course, tomorrow you have the burial Mass so it seemed best to come now and to talk to you about your father’s death and to give you the latest news.’
‘News?’ It was Deirdre who spoke. Una said nothing, but her expression was wary.
‘Yes, from Poulnabrone,’ said Mara, making a sign to Fachtnan to take his seat at a small low table. She handed him her satchel and watched with pleasure while he smiled at Cuan and unselfconsciously pulled out another seat for the boy. Fachtnan was such a nice boy; he was not very clever, but he was gifted with people. If he could only pass his final examinations she would always be proud that he had attended her law school. She could imagine him as Brehon of a small kingdom, showing all the people courtesy and warmth, being sensitive to all, never lacking common sense or humanity. Book learning was of little consequence to that. He could always look things up in law texts, she thought.
‘Well,’ she continued, ‘I have declared the killing of Sorley to be duinetháide, a secret and unlawful murder and the fine of ninety-one séts, forty-five-and-a-half ounces of silver or forty-six cows to be paid to Sorley’s heir, but no one admitted to the murder.’
There was a flicker of avarice in Una’s rather dead eyes as the enormous sum of compensation was mentioned, but Deirdre’s face was impassive. Cuan was fidgeting uncomfortably, but still sat beside Fachtnan.
Mara sat back and stretched her legs. ‘Which, of course,’ she added carelessly, ‘brings us to the question of who is Sorley’s heir.’ She looked around. There they were: the wife, that was no wife, the son that had been disowned, and the daughter, well, thought Mara – who knows about the daughter? Had she loved her father, or hated him? ‘I thought it was best to see the whole family here in private,’ she continued and then glanced across at Rory. ‘It’s for you to say whether anyone outside the family should be present while we speak of this matter.’
‘I am here at Una’s invitation, Brehon,’ said Rory smoothly. He smiled at Una; she did not smile back, but looked directly at Mara.
‘My mother and my brother are here at no invitation of mine,’ said Una in a low harsh voice. ‘They have no right to be here. I have told my mother this, but she still refuses to leave. My father divorced my mother ten years ago for the crime of unfaithfulness, and last year he disowned my brother as an unsatisfactory son and a ne’er-do-well. The castle and all the goods within it, the shop in Galway and the mine, they all belong to me and to me only.’
There was a dead silence, broken only by a sudden spurt of flame from the fire. Fachtnan made a note on the vellum and then looked up, his quill in his hand. Mara allowed the silence to continue. ‘Ten years ago,’ she said evenly, ‘I was Brehon of this kingdom. I remember no petition come before me at Poulnabrone concerning your mother. I searched through my records last night and there was nothing. However, Deirdre, you were not born in this kingdom and you only lived part of your life here, so it is possible that your divorce should have been quite legal without notification to me – though it is unusual since you did have a residence in this kingdom. I want to have a little more time to check through the records at Kinvarra before I say any more on this matter.’
Deirdre bowed her head. Her face remained indifferent.
‘But, in the case of Cuan, your brother, Una, the matter is different.’ She looked towards the boy, but Cuan had nothing to say. He just sat there, beside his mother, his mouth slightly open, his eyes blank. Mara wondered whether he could be an idiot. Somehow she did not think so. However, if he were, it would have given Sorley a reason to get rid of him. But, in that case, why not bring him before the court at Poulnabrone? Cuan was looking at his mother now, but Deirdre grimly held her silence and waited for the Brehon to finish speaking.
‘Cuan was born in Rathborney; he lived most of his early life here and large portions of his adolescence. If Sorley wished to disown him, he should have brought him to Poulnabrone – after his seventeenth birthday. That was not done, therefore any measure that Sorley took was not a legal one, and Cuan, as the only son, has the right to inherit his father’s goods.’
‘He was not brought before the court at Poulnabrone,’ Una told Mara confidently, ‘but everyone knows that Cuan had been banished. My father did not find him satisfactory as a son. Cuan argued with him and wanted his own way.’ There was a sour note of satisfaction in the harsh voice, it was almost as if she said, I did not, I bided my time and now I will have my reward.
‘Be that as it may,’ Mara replied patiently. ‘Your father, Sorley, is now dead. You have no other brothers so Cuan is the heir.’ Was this true, she wondered as she said it? Ulick seemed to think that it had all been left to the daughter, but he was the sort of man that often got things wrong.
Cuan did not look as delighted at this news as one would have expected of a young man who last Thursday had declared that he was starving. He turned his big vacant eyes towards his mother again and waited. Still Deirdre said nothing. In her turn, she looked towards her daughter and Una gave a short laugh.
‘What you say may be true, Brehon,’ she said, ‘but there is something else to tell. Last Wednesday, the day you dined here, my father made a will, it was drawn up for him by Lawyer Bodkin from Galway, and in that will he left all his property to me, his daughter Una.’
‘It was made at the time that our contract of betrothal was signed,’ said Rory eagerly.
‘That’s a different matter,’ said Una sourly. ‘I’m talking about the will.’
She leaned back and looked at Mara triumphantly. Mara tried to keep her face neutral and not betray the fact that Ulick had already told her about this. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Fachtnan’s astonished face and had to suppress a smile. It certainly was unusual to leave all of the property to a daughter when there was also a son left alive, but it was not illegal. Sorley was a man who had made his own wealth and he would have been able to dispose of it as he willed. It was hard luck on the boy and on the unfortunate wife, especially as it did not look as if Una would do much for either. Mara determined that she would have to try to do her best for the dispossessed pair and to achieve this she would have to guard against antagonizing Una.
‘Could I see the will?’ she asked mildly, addressing Una and ignoring Rory.
‘Certainly,’ said Una. ‘It is in the small chest on the gallery. My father kept all his documents there.’
Ponderously she got to her feet and pulled out from the pouch, which she wore around her waist, a small brass key. Mara stood up too and followed her and from behind she could hear the other footsteps, the soft noiseless tread of Rory, the heavy footsteps of the wronged wife, the uneven shambling of the boy and behind them all the springing step of Fachtnan who had obviously decided that he too might as well see the opening of the chest.
The gallery was beautifully made of handsomely carved oak, its wooden walls hung with fine tapestries, its polished floors softened with rich rugs. Around the circular walls, candles were held in silver sconces and the soft light was reflected on the many polished surfaces. Even so Mara was glad that Fachtnan had the foresight to bring with him a candle from the room below because the chest, though small, was deep and full of documents, all tied with the pink linen legal tape which Mara herself knew so well. It looked as if Sorley had left everything in good order. One by one Mara took the documents from the chest, murmuring to herself as she did so:
Deed oƒ Ownership of the townland of Croagh North on the mountain oƒ Cappanabhaile.
Deed oƒ Ownership of the townland of Bally-conry on the mountain of Cappanabhaile.
Deed oƒ Ownership of the townland of Lios Mac Taidhg on the mountain of Cappanabhaile.
Deed of Ownership of the townland of Lios na gCat on the mountain of Cappanabhaile.
Leases for sundry messuages in the city oƒ Galway.
Deeds oƒ Ownership for houses at Rathborney.
Valuation oƒ silver objects in the Great Hall at Newtown Castle.
Valuation oƒ silver objects on stairway, gallery and in bedchambers.
Bills of Sale of thoroughbred horses.
Profits pertaining to the sale of silver in the country of France.
One by one she took the carefully rolled-up scrolls out and laid them neatly on a side table continuing until the chest was empty.
There was no will.
It was Rory who broke the strained silence. ‘I know he made a will,’ he stammered. ‘I watched the lawyer draw it up, I saw him sign it; the steward and Ulick Burke witnessed it. The lawyer tied it up himself and then Sorley put it in the chest and locked the chest and put the key back in his pouch.’
Mara looked at Una, but she was not looking at Rory. She had made no move, no sound, but her eyes were fixed accusingly on the face of her mother. Mara looked at Deirdre in her turn, but there was nothing to be read in that face. Long years of suffering had taught the woman to keep her face blank and her eyes void of feeling. Cuan, also, showed no understanding of the way the fleeting minutes were turning him from pauper to rich man, back to pauper and now to rich man again, in giddy succession. There was only one person in the group behaving normally, thought Mara, and that was Rory.
The Sting of Justice Page 13