Triad 249
There are three things in life where the outcome is dark:
Depositing an object into somebody’s custody.
Going surety.
Fosterage.
Rather to her surprise, Mara saw no more of Boetius on the day that she sent him off to record the names and amounts of poisons on Malachy’s shelves in Caherconnell. She was just as glad, as it gave her an opportunity to have a long talk with Fachtnan and to assure him that she would be delighted to employ him as an assistant for the coming year.
‘I’ll need help in the school, what with the baby and everything,’ she told him, ‘and I can think of no one that I would be more pleased to have and who would suit me better. You will be of great assistance to me. So don’t worry about a thing. Nothing has changed. Now tell me, what do you think that we should do with Hugh?’
‘He’s upset,’ said Fachtnan sympathetically.
What a nice boy he is, she thought. He is able to put aside his own bitter disappointment and enter into the feelings of the younger boy.
‘Perhaps you could give him a bit of extra help over the next few days,’ she suggested. ‘It would be good for Hugh and good for you also. While you are going over the early stages of law and Latin and poetry, you will be improving your own memory as you are trying to help Hugh to memorize everything. I’ll ask Enda to take over Moylan and Aidan. We mustn’t take up any more of young MacClancy’s time. I think that you and Enda can manage, do you think so?’
Fachtnan was a little hesitant and said eventually that Aidan might be a bit difficult. ‘He got on very well with Ollamh MacClancy and I think that has gone to his head a little.’
Things must have got quite bad, thought Mara, for Fachtnan to say that. He was a boy that never liked to tell tales. Aloud she said, ‘I’ll be in and out. I think you’ll find that Aidan will soon settle down again. Enda can be quite firm when he wants to be.’
After supper Eileen arrived. Mara was quite astonished when a grey-haired woman with lined skin followed her housekeeper into the room. She had not expected Eileen to look so old. She looked far older than Mara, whose black hair was still without any grey and whose skin was still plump and fresh.
The woman was well spoken, though, intelligent and alert. She looked very clean and her léine was snowy white.
‘I think it is best if the baby feeds whenever he wants to feed,’ she said, proffering her opinion without apology. ‘I know some people like to keep to set hours, but I will be with the baby every hour and minute of the day and I have plenty of milk. I’d like to feed him as often as he will take the milk and certainly whenever he cries.’
And then she took the tiny Cormac from Brigid’s arms with such an expression of tenderness and love on her face that Mara was quite won over. However, she forced herself to be practical. She knew very little about this woman, apart from Ciara’s recommendation. The money aspect was easily settled. Eileen was well satisfied by the fee she offered, and it was a generous one as the woman would live in the house and get all of her meals cooked for her. However, it was a very responsible position and Mara hesitated slightly before engaging her.
‘Would you mind if we said a month’s trial?’ she asked apologetically. ‘I know that your husband will be away for a month, so that will give us all the opportunity of seeing how this will work out. You might wish to return to your own house at the end of that time.’
‘Whatever suits you, Brehon. We’ll see how he looks at the end of the month and you can tell me if you are satisfied with me.’ Immediately she settled herself to feed the baby, murmuring a soft old Gaelic song into the ear of the child.
‘What do you think, Brigid?’ asked Mara, when Eileen had taken the child up to the little bedroom beside Mara’s own. Nessa, Brigid’s assistant, was sent up the stairs with a jug of hot water for the baby’s bath. Mara watched for a while and then, when she was sure that Eileen was competent, she beckoned to Brigid and they both left the room.
‘I think she will suit fine,’ said Brigid immediately. ‘She seemed able to soothe him well and I liked the way that she bathed him. He was quite happy, even kicking his little legs, God bless him. What he needs now is lots of care and that’s what I think that Eileen will give him. That’s a sensible woman, no silly girl. She’ll suit us fine.’
‘I think so, too,’ said Mara, conscious of great weight of responsibility passing from her shoulders. Oddly enough, she was not unhappy to see the elderly-looking Eileen feeding her baby, whereas the sight of the blooming figure of her daughter, giving the breast to Cormac, had filled her with jealousy. What an odd person I am, she thought and turned to Brigid.
‘Has the young MacClancy returned from Caherconnell?’ she asked.
‘Not a sight or a sound of him, Brehon,’ replied Brigid. ‘But don’t you fret. Cumhal is keeping an eye on the scholars. Young Aidan won’t know what hit him if he tries any of his cheek on Cumhal.’
Boetius did not come back to the law school that night, reported Brigid. Mara thought of sending out a search party, but decided not to bother. He was a grown man; he could look after himself. From her point of view she would be just as pleased if he never returned.
However, when she got up in the morning and looked out from her bedroom window she saw him crossing the clints. It was just about time for school, so at least he had not missed that. Still, she expected him to come and explain his absence.
When he had not reported back by mid-morning, she lost all patience and summoned him. The scholars had all been playing hurling for quite some time so presumably he was at leisure.
‘I expected to hear from you yesterday evening,’ she said mildly when he arrived.
‘It was late so I stayed the night.’ Boetius, she was glad to see, had given up trying to charm her. He spoke quite abruptly.
‘Oh,’ she said and raised an eyebrow at him. ‘I wondered where you were and asked Cumhal, the farm manager, whether you had asked him to supervise the scholars in your absence. Cumhal, of course, has a great sense of responsibility and when he realized that you were not present, he immediately took the lads into his charge.’
He was a little taken aback and, meanly, she was glad of it.
‘You yourself sent me on an errand,’ he said sullenly.
‘Just past noon,’ she reminded him.
He flushed an unbecoming, blotchy red. ‘Caireen asked me to stay to supper,’ he said stiffly. ‘I thought it was the least that I could do after she had been so helpful in the matter of these poisons. Afterwards she had various legal questions, matters which she had not liked to bother you with,’ he amended hastily. He took a sheet covered with neat handwriting from his satchel and handed it to her, muttering ‘here is the list that you asked for.’
‘No aconite,’ said Mara after rapidly scanning the list. ‘Wolfsbane,’ she added as he looked puzzled. To give him his due, he had written the poisons in an alphabetical list which did make it, much easier to find what she was looking for. ‘This list is very helpful,’ she said, unbending a little, ‘it’s strange, though, isn’t it, that the aconite is missing? You would think that the murderer would just take some and put it back on the shelves. Nuala was quite certain that her father had made up a large quantity of it.’
‘Probably young Nuala doesn’t know as much as she thinks,’ he said complacently. Mara would have forgiven him that if he had not immediately added, ‘unless, of course, she was careful to remove the jar in case her step brother, who seems an able young man, would have found an antidote for aconite and thereby saved her father’s life.’
What nonsense, trembled on Mara’s lips, but she swallowed the words and said with stiff politeness, ‘Anyway, I wanted to thank you for all that you have done for me and the law school.’
‘That was nothing to me,’ he said complacently. ‘I’m one of those people who can easily do two or three jobs at the same time.’
Mara sighed inwardly. It was probably going to be quite difficul
t to get rid of him.
‘I’m very thankful for your services, Ollamh MacClancy,’ she said slowly and clearly, ‘however, I am happy to say that I am quite well now, and getting better every hour. I won’t keep you any longer. Could you tell me how much I owe you for your services?’
He looked very taken aback at this plain speaking. ‘I can easily stay another week,’ he protested. ‘I’m enjoying it very much.’
‘I’ll be fine, now,’ she said, glad to find how firm her voice sounded. She went to her desk drawer, unlocked it and took out a small box.
‘No, no,’ said Boetius, though his small eyes were fixed covetously on the silver. ‘I don’t need to be paid. That was just an act of charity for someone I hope will be a neighbour – in the near future, please God.’
I suppose he is hoping that Fergus will retire and hand over to him, thought Mara with an inward shudder. Outwardly she kept the smile fixed to her face. ‘No, I insist,’ she said firmly.
‘Well, what about ten ounces of silver? Would you think that correct? Or anything that you fix upon will be agreeable to me.’
‘Ten ounces of silver, then,’ said Mara. Inwardly she was astonished. This was a huge sum of money for just over a week’s work for a man who had just qualified. And I didn’t even ask him to do it, she thought bitterly, as she carefully weighed the silver on her little scales and then handed it to him. Still, it would be worth it to get rid of the man, she thought grimly. What a pity I didn’t get him out before he failed poor Fachtnan and Hugh, though.
‘Oh, one thing more . . . when are the examination papers expected?’ she queried. ‘I would like to see them.’
‘As I told you, I sent them to Thomond. I sent your own man, Seán,’ said Boetius. ‘I gave him instructions to go and to return as quickly as he could.’
Mara suppressed a groan. Seán was her slowest and most unreliable servant. Brigid and Cumhal, both efficient and hard workers, were always dying to be rid of him and had probably suggested him for Boetius MacClancy’s errand – not realizing its importance.
‘Let me see you to the door,’ she said hospitably, as he put the silver into his pouch after a careful scrutiny of the pieces. ‘Don’t worry about the boys; they will be fine. Fachtnan is used to acting as my assistant. He and Enda are excellent with the younger scholars.’
At the door he hesitated. His small eyes looked into her with a shrewd, knowing expression.
‘Of course, it must be very tempting for you to overlook certain matters, given that you are just after having a baby . . .’ He smiled suddenly, his red beard jerking forward, ‘I understand that is an emotional time for ladies, but the scales of justice, you know . . . a Brehon must be impartial—’
‘Thank you for your professional advice,’ interrupted Mara frostily. ‘I think that I can handle this affair.’
‘What I wanted to say,’ he continued imperturbably, ‘is that I feel very sorry for Caireen, and think that she should not be denied her right to receive a fair and just compensation for the death of her husband because of any scruples that you, as Brehon, might harbour about convicting young Nuala.’ His light green eyes met her dark hazel ones and there was no mistaking the challenge in them.
Mara stood very still and was glad to see, after a moment, his eyes falter before hers.
‘I shall walk down with you to the law school and find a man to fetch your horse while you are packing your things,’ she said after a pause. She hoped that her remark was made in the spirit of hospitality to a guest, but she was conscious of a desire to know what he meant.
Did Boetius mean that he was going to act for Caireen at judgement day?
Or was he going to complain about Mara’s conduct of the case? If so, the only resource was the king himself, at the moment absent fighting against the Earl of Kildare and his English troops. Even this bumptious young man could not be opinionated enough to think that this complaint would be successful.
Mara gave him a few minutes to think about the matter before she resumed speaking.
‘So, what are you going to do with yourself now – after you’ve had a rest from your studies and had time to look around?’ she asked lightly as she went ahead of him through the gate. She did not look at him but fixed her eyes on a large, furry bumble bee exploring the yellow heart of a sweet-scented woodbine flower that twined around the stone pier.
‘I shall stay with Fergus and help him to manage the affairs of Corcomroe,’ he said genially. ‘Between ourselves, I think that Fergus is looking forward to taking life easily and leaving things to a younger man. The office of Brehon of Corcomroe would be a good experience for me – for a few years, at least, while I was fitting myself for better things.’
‘That is, of course, if King Turlough Donn is willing to ratify your appointment,’ said Mara. She was slightly ashamed to hear the undertones of a threat in her words. Still, Boetius would be very lacking in intelligence if he had not considered the possibility of the king asking his wife’s advice – and prejudiced though she was against him, she was certain that he was not stupid.
‘Of course,’ he said easily, and she had to be satisfied with that.
She had been so anxious to get rid of him that she had not asked him to explain his remark about Ronan. Did that mean that the newly qualified physician was in the house when his step father died? And if he were, why was he not there in the stillroom, making efforts to revive Malachy when Caireen screamed for Nuala?
The boys were working well when she went into the schoolhouse. Fachtnan was sitting beside Hugh patiently going through some Latin clauses with him. Shane was busily making notes from Corus Fiadnuise, the cumbersome text about the regulation of evidence. And sharp-witted Enda was laying bets on whether Aidan or Moylan would be the first to find the penalty for an incompetent physician. Each of the boys were allowed a turn, strictly limited by Mara’s precious sand timer, to look through the enormous medical tome Bretha Déin Chécht.
What a great teacher that boy will make, thought Mara, impressed by her scholar’s cleverness. It was seldom that Aidan, in particular, took much interest in his law studies. Bretha Déin Chécht was a difficult, rather boring book, but at this moment the two boys were having to scan each page in order to find the information and win the contest. She had always thought very highly of Enda’s brains, but now he looked as if he also possessed the skill to get the most out of people.
Fachtnan, a very different person, was showing great patience with Hugh and that pairing seemed to be working well. It would give Fachtnan a chance to lodge facts more securely into his uncertain memory and would provide Hugh with extra tuition, and hopefully ensure that he would pass his examination next year.
Giving the boys an approving nod, Mara said, ‘Well, as a reward for such good work, I think that you could all have a couple of hours off for Midsummer’s Eve, or St John’s Eve, I should say. I suppose there will be the usual bonfire at Noughaval market square.’
There was a cheer at that and Mara regarded them with a benevolent gaze. It would be quite in order for her scholars to attend the bonfire. She made up her mind to suggest that Sorcha should take her two eldest there. Perhaps even Oisín would attend. St John’s Eve was a fun festival for all, quite approved by the church once it had been tagged on to St John, though Mara suspected strongly that it had its origins in pre-Christian, druidic fire ceremonies.
Mara left her scholars to their studies and wearily she made her way back to the Brehon house. She was getting stronger every day, though the conversation with Boetius MacClancy had somewhat drained her. It was a weariness of the spirit, rather than of the body, she acknowledged to herself. She would have to face facts and talk to Nuala, and, yes, to bear in mind that this girl, as dear to her as her own daughter, and nearly as dear as her tiny baby son, should be considered as a suspect in her father’s murder.
Nuala was with Eileen, talking about medicines and remedies, when Mara tracked her down. Eileen was listening to her attentively and
nodding in a knowledgeable way as Nuala described the plants. It was a shame about Nuala; there had been an attempt to get her taught by an elderly physician when she had left Caherconnell, after the huge row with her father last March, but the man had died after a few weeks. Nuala had gone on living with her mother’s brother, Ardal O’Lochlainn, trying to study on her own – caring for the herb garden at Caherconnell, earnestly adding to her own store of medicines. Ardal, to give him his due, had given her a stillroom of her own at Lissylisheen tower house, and encouraged his workers to consult her about various minor cuts and illnesses. Nuala was finding the time long at the moment, Mara suspected, wandering around the law school with nothing to do, but Ardal had not wanted her to be alone while he and his men-at-arms were with the king.
‘How is my little fellow?’ Mara leaned over and picked up the baby.
‘Doing well,’ said Nuala in her best professional manner. ‘He is making good use of his food. Look at him.’
Mara peered into the baby’s face. She had feared to hope too much, but now there was no doubt that the infant was beginning to look less fragile. The transparent look was beginning to go and his skin was creamier, with even a slight suggestion of plumpness about the cheeks. She pressed her lips to his tiny face and smiled as his fingers closed around her thumb.
‘He’s going to be like Turlough,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘He’s got the very same shape of eyes and, yes, I think they are beginning to turn green. Got the same chin, too.’ Immediately she was filled with longing for Turlough to come home soon and to see his baby son. What was keeping him?
‘No one is keeping any news from me about Turlough?’ she asked, and Nuala shook her head firmly.
‘No messengers have come in the last week.’
‘I’ll send someone if we haven’t heard by tomorrow,’ said Mara decisively, knowing inwardly that it had been a weakness on her part not to have done that before now. ‘Seán should be back by then,’ she said aloud. She met Eileen’s eyes. The woman was looking at her with curiosity. Mara looked back with interest. It was not often that one of the farm workers on the Burren looked at her like that. To them she was something apart – Mara, Brehon of the Burren, judge and lawgiver – something immoveable and unchanging, like the huge boulders that lay here and there, perched on the stone pavements of the rocky fields. Eileen, however, looked as though she were weighing her up. Mara winced slightly. Perhaps Eileen thought she was a poor mother.
Scales of Retribution Page 7