‘I shall make him five or six of these. He’s bound to get them dirty within five minutes of wearing.’ Sorcha’s voice had broken a silence and Mara was aware that her daughter sounded slightly puzzled. She handed back the little smock quickly.
‘I was just thinking how strange it is that you can sew so beautifully and that I am so absolutely hopeless at it. Brigid taught you, I know, but then Brigid was my nurse before she was yours. Why didn’t I learn?’
‘You were too busy studying.’ Sorcha smiled at her mother. ‘Don’t look so troubled!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why should you sew? You can do other things that are so much more important! Sewing would be just a waste of your valuable time.’ She dropped a kiss, as light as butterfly, on her mother’s cheek. Her blue eyes were anxious.
Mara laughed gently. ‘I’m beginning to feel that you are the mother and I am the child,’ she said, rising to her feet. ‘You look after me as if I were one of your own brood. Now I’d better go and see if I can borrow my son for a few minutes from Eileen.’ She kissed the top of Sorcha’s head – it saved having to look into her daughter’s eyes – and then went off across the grass.
I’m not taking pleasure in my garden this year, she thought, as she breathed in the intense perfume of the lilies in their baskets woven from the purple shoots of willow. Every other June, she had revelled in those lilies that always lined the path from the gate to the front door. Her eyes swept over her garden. The pink roses near the holly hedge were just as exuberant as ever, the gillyflowers frothed over their small fence of stone and the peonies stood tall and rosy against the pale grey limestone of the house wall. None of it gave her pleasure. Somehow I am uneasy and unsure, she thought. I’ve always been so organized. Everything had its place and its time. I’m not like that now. I’ve lost confidence, somehow. Nothing is being done right. I’m neglecting my baby, neglecting poor Nuala, wrestling with my conscience, worrying continuously but not effectively. This murder has to be solved. The scales have to be balanced.
Cormac was crying when she pushed open the door of the house, but by the time she put one foot on the stairs the small weak cry had ceased, and when she entered Eileen’s room the baby was contentedly feeding. Mara sat on the bed and watched.
And ached to hold him in her arms.
The haymaking was progressing well when Mara wandered over to the farm after swallowing her small supper. During the last week the meadows had been dotted with small cone-shaped haycocks, but yesterday these had been put together, three or four of them, to make larger haycocks, the grass still showing pale, bleached circles where their smaller cousins had once stood.
‘Great summers these days, Brehon,’ said Cumhal enthusiastically as she joined him. ‘I remember all those years when your father was here, God have mercy on him, and we had summer after summer of rain. We’d be driven demented! All the haycocks would have to be pulled apart and remade again time after time in the hopes that they would dry. And in the end the hay was hardly worth the carrying!’
‘You have plenty of helpers, I’m glad to see.’ Mara glanced around. Almost all the neighbours had come to join in the fun and to share the workload – the men and women, with their léinte kilted at the waist in order to raise them to knee height, were busily loading the carts or raking up the stray wisps of hay from the ground. Children ran around being useful or playing games, and by the hedgerows a few young women fed their babies. Tomorrow and the next day, the men and women from Cahermacnaghten would go to help in other farms. She knew from her law texts that this custom of comhar had gone on from time immemorial, and it added to the sense of family and tradition which was so much in her thoughts this evening.
‘And here’s the best little helper of the lot,’ said Cumhal as Domhnall ran up carrying his small, wooden rake, made for him by Cumhal, sloped across his shoulder. ‘Tell the Brehon the poem I taught you about hay in June, Domhnall.’
While Domhnall was fluently reciting the multiple verses, Cumhal regarded him with a proud smile. ‘God bless him,’ he said after Domhnall had run back to his companions, ‘he’s got a great memory. He’s the image of the Brehon, your father. Please God, we’ll see him here at the law school soon. He’ll be the brightest and best of the lot of them.’
It was true, thought Mara, Domhnall was like his grandfather, the highly respected Brehon of the Burren. Sorcha liked to point out the resemblance between her son and her husband, but, to Mara’s mind, Domhnall was a deep thinker, much more of an academic than Oisín, despite his sharp cleverness, could ever have been. Domhnall, of course, adored his father and tried to be like him in every way. Would, or could, the child’s hero worship of his father last?
‘Is that Cliona O’Connor over there?’ she asked, looking at one of the young women feeding their babies, and Cumhal nodded.
‘That’s right, Brehon. I took a couple of men over and cut her meadow for her a few days ago, and she came along to help today. She needn’t have bothered. It was no trouble to us to do a five acre meadow. She’s worked well, though; the little fellow just sleeps in the shade most of the time with some of the other babies.’
‘I didn’t know that she had land.’ Mara was conscious that she should not be delaying Cumhal. This was a very busy time for him, but she was curious about Cliona. It seemed ages since that morning at Poulnabrone, the morning when Cormac was born, but yet it wasn’t much more than two weeks.
‘She took the land instead of the silver that Ryan owed her for the divorce settlement,’ explained Cumhal. ‘You see, every piece of silver that he had got for the sale of the sheepskins and the cloaks he had put back into buying more sheep, so he wasn’t able to give her what she was supposed to have.’ He waited for a moment and then, when she did not reply, said courteously, ‘Well, if it’s all right by you, Brehon, I’d better be getting back to work.’
‘Yes, of course, Cumhal,’ said Mara hastily. She waited until he returned to the cart, averting her eyes from the sight of Enda standing precariously high on top of the loaded hay and bouncing up and down to compact it. He was bronzed like a young god and had pulled his kilted léine from his shoulders and wore it hanging around his waist, exposing his bare chest, arms and legs to the admiration of the young girls. Shane and Hugh were racing around dragging rakes at high speed through the scarified grass and the two fifteen-year-olds were wielding dangerous-looking pitchforks to transfer one of the last few haycocks on to another cart. Fachtnan was leading a third cart back to the barn, holding the bridle and stroking the horse’s nose. Mara looked around for Nuala; up to the last few weeks Nuala was always near to Fachtnan, but now there was no sign of her.
‘You’re well, Cliona?’ Mara seated herself beside the young woman, murmuring the usual enquiry in a low voice. The fat little baby on Cliona’s lap had dropped off to sleep.
‘I’m very well, Brehon,’ said Cliona. She looked tired, but that was not surprising. It was not easy for a young woman with a baby to manage even the smallest of farms. ‘At least I have my self-respect now,’ she said in decisive tones.
‘I hear that you are setting up as a farmer,’ said Mara.
‘I thought I would,’ said Cliona. ‘Be a pity to waste all that I have learned. I’m looking to buy more land, but I won’t rush. Let this fellow grow up a bit. I’ll just increase the flock bit by bit and graze them on Sliabh Elva as much as possible.’
Mara nodded. The land on that mountain was held in common by all members of the O’Connor clan. Cliona was an O’Connor by birth as well as by marriage. She would be able to graze as many sheep as she could afford free of charge and keep her five acre meadow for the young lambs and for summer hay.
‘And the neighbours are helpful to you?’ she enquired.
Cliona nodded. ‘Very helpful,’ she said. ‘Blár and his wife can’t do enough for me. Blár calls around most days, and Áine loves to look after the baby for me. Look, she made this little smock for him.’
The baby was wearing a short smock, very like in s
hape and size to what Sorcha had been sewing for little Manus. Mara bent over to admire it, taking the tiny hem in her hand and turning it over to look at the stitching. It lacked the exquisite embroidery that Sorcha could do, and the stitches, though neat, were far bigger and less uniform than the stitches on the piece of linen that had enveloped poor Seán’s last meal.
It looked as though the deadly dose of wolfsbane had not been given by Blár O’Connor.
Enda, from his high perch on top of the hay, was the first to see the new arrivals.
‘Brehon, the king is coming!’ he yelled. ‘They’re coming down the Kilcorney road.’
‘The king!’ All pitchforks and wooden hayrakes were immediately abandoned, and there was a rush of all the workers towards the gate leading to the road. Even the women by the hedgerow gathered up their babies and walked across the field. Turlough will have a magnificent guard of honour and won’t he love it, thought Mara affectionately. She stayed where she was for a second and then, suddenly changing her mind, she got to her feet and ran towards the house.
I don’t care, she muttered rebelliously to herself. I don’t care if he’s asleep, being fed, being changed, or having a bath, he’s my baby and he’s coming to see his father.
‘He’s asleep,’ said Eileen defensively, as Mara pushed open the door.
‘He can sleep all night,’ returned Mara firmly, scooping up Cormac in her arms and holding him against her face for a moment. She loved the warm baby smell of him. ‘Come on, my little prince,’ she said gaily, ‘come and meet my lord, the king.’
Everyone stood back as she came out of the gate and allowed her to go forward. The horses were coming at a rapid trot and then slowed down. The bodyguards reined in and Turlough advanced alone.
‘You’re wearing my favourite gown; I love you in green,’ he said enthusiastically, as he swung himself from his stallion like a man of half his age and threw his arms around her, abandoning his horse for his bodyguard to catch. ‘And there’s my boy. You’ve grown, little fellow! Soon have you a warrior!’
Mara smiled. This was the second homecoming, but somehow it was the best. Her confidence had suddenly flowed back. She would solve this crime, ensure that the murderer paid the fine and then they would all get on with their lives and have an idyllic summer. She stood back by the gate and allowed him to greet the crowd. What a king he was! He remembered so many faces, admired the babies, asked the mothers eagerly whether they had seen his tiny son, had a knowledgeable discussion with Cumhal about the virtues of hay cut in June, slapped the backs of the scholars and told them to behave themselves over the summer holiday and to spend at least twelve hours every day studying.
‘That’s what I did when I was your age,’ he declared to the enormous amusement of the crowd. The baby woke up, stared at the eyes, so like his own, and then began to cry.
‘Perhaps he needs feeding,’ said Mara.
‘He’s just bored. Wants to go out fighting,’ said Turlough with a grin. Expertly supporting the floppy head he swung him vigorously to and fro in his arms. Cormac stared and then after a few minutes of this violent exercise, he just closed his eyes and slept.
‘There you are,’ said Turlough complacently. ‘I’m a good man with babies.’
Ardal and Nuala arrived quite soon after Mara’s invitation had been delivered. Ardal was riding his new strawberry mare and Nuala was seated on a handsome bay. There was no doubt that Ardal looked after his niece well and gave her the best of everything. The girl looked very unhappy, though. Her tanned skin had a sickly, yellowish tinge to it and her brown eyes were full of misery.
‘How do you think that Cormac is looking, Nuala?’ Mara held out the baby for the girl’s inspection. Despite everything, she still had a high opinion of Nuala’s professional judgement and skill.
‘He’s doing well,’ said Nuala after a few moments. She weighed the baby in her arms, held out a finger to be gripped by the tiny hand, unwrapped the linen swathes, inspected the little limbs, raising the arms and legs in turn, before continuing, ‘You’ve been lucky with Eileen, Mara. He’s put on weight and he is beautifully looked after. Look at his skin – no trace of a rash, or soreness.’
‘Please God we’ll see you with your own little baby soon, Nuala,’ said Turlough. He was a sentimental man and the sight of Nuala with the baby in her arms moved him.
‘You’ll have to find me a husband then.’ Nuala tried to smile, but her eyes were bleak.
‘Find you one!’ roared Turlough. ‘I bet there is a long tail of them from here to Thomond, isn’t that right, Ardal?’
Ardal smiled gently. Like Turlough, he seemed moved by the sight of the motherless and fatherless girl with the baby in her arms. Perhaps marriage would have been the best thing for Nuala, thought Mara, but then looked at the angry frustration in the brown eyes and knew that the girl had to be left to try to achieve her dreams of being a physician before anything else.
‘Shall we eat out here?’ she asked lightly. ‘Sorcha and Oisín will be coming across in a few minutes. I’ll send one of the men to fetch the cradle and little Cormac can stay with us.’
Brigid was a miracle worker. Although busy with the haymakers’ supper she promised steaks, some roasted parsnips and a tasty wine sauce in honour of the king. She and Eileen would manage easily while Áine and Nessa continued to feed the haymakers. Sorcha, more domesticated than her mother, handed over the baby Manus to his father and went to help them with the food.
‘I’ll get the wine, Mother,’ said Oisín after his wife had gone. He dumped his small son on the grass with an order to Domhnall not to let his brother eat anything he shouldn’t or crawl too far away.
‘It’s very difficult looking after Manus,’ said Domhnall seriously to Mara. ‘I don’t mind looking after Aislinn, because I can tell her if she does something wrong then I won’t play with her, or I won’t give her something, but Manus can’t talk so you can’t give him any punishment if he misbehaves.’
‘That boy’s a lawyer already,’ said Ardal with quiet amusement. ‘Retribution must follow crime; a good principle.’
‘It is indeed,’ said Mara thoughtfully. The principle was a good one and one that she had to act on without any more delay. There had been two crimes, she thought sadly. Retribution had to follow. Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow, when the scholars have returned home; tomorrow I must deal with this.
‘Mara, I’ve been thinking about your young Enda,’ said Turlough, coming and joining them on the bench in front of the holly hedge. ‘He’s a clever boy, isn’t he? I was wondering if he would like to work for me. You see, Tomás MacEgan is getting old and he doesn’t like stirring too far from his fireside – none better so far as the brain is concerned, but the legs are getting stiff. He’s been talking of retiring, but I don’t want to lose him. An energetic young assistant would be just the thing for him.’
‘I think that would be a wonderful idea,’ said Mara warmly. ‘Enda would do well, I’m sure. Do you want to ask him now? I know that he would like to start work as soon as possible. His family have had sad losses with their cattle and he would like to contribute. Perhaps let him have a month’s holiday – he’s worked very hard this year – would that suit you?’
‘Yes, let the lad have his holiday – no rush,’ said Turlough. ‘Anyway, I’m hoping to have a bit of a holiday myself here in the Burren with you and the little fellow. Conor is very well at the moment; he can look after things in Thomond for me.’
‘That’s good.’ Mara glowed at the thought of a month together. It was good news about Conor, Turlough’s eldest son and the tánaiste (heir). His life had been despaired of; everyone had been sure that he was about to die of the wasting sickness, but thanks to the medicines from a monk at the abbey he had made a good recovery.
‘Will you tell Enda the news now?’ she asked. ‘They will all be off tomorrow morning. Domhnall,’ she called, ‘I’ll keep an eye on Manus if you will run over and tell Enda that we would like to see hi
m for a minute.’
Enda had put on a clean léine and was looking very handsome and very adult as he strolled over with little Domhnall. It was hard to believe that he was still a month short of his seventeenth birthday – he had none of the usual awkwardness of an adolescent. He listened to the king’s proposal, his tanned face flushing a becoming pink and thanked him with a mixture of politeness and warmth.
Mara smiled wistfully. How they did grow up! For a moment she missed the old exuberant Enda. Her eyes followed him as he sedately moved away down the path, greeting Oisín in a dignified manner, bestowing a bow on Sorcha, and then she laughed, as suddenly, instead of going out of the gate, he scaled the wall with a single leap and began to run wildly down the road, the noise of a barely muted whoop sounding above the voices and laughter from the haymakers’ supper. She looked at Turlough and saw the grin on his face.
‘He’ll liven up Tomás MacEgan,’ he said.
‘He’s a bright boy; he’ll learn from Tomás; I see a great future in front of him.’ said Mara. ‘Give him a few years to earn money and then perhaps he will go on with his studies and become a Brehon – that’s if he does not weigh himself down with a wife and family too quickly.’
‘Now my lord, here’s a wine that you will enjoy,’ said Oisín, appearing at their side, holding two glasses. He had decanted the wine from the barrel into a flagon and then carefully poured it out. Mara held hers to the light, admiring the rich red. She sipped, rolled it around her mouth and sighed with satisfaction. It was rich and smooth and tasted of blackcurrants. It would go wonderfully with the promised steaks.
‘Thank you, Oisín, that was well chosen,’ she said. ‘Nothing like the first glass from a new barrel.’
‘Have you told my lord about my idea for the small barrels?’ he asked eagerly.
He was so knowledgeable, so clever, Mara thought, as she sipped her wine and half-listened. Quite a showman, too. He didn’t sit down, though there was a convenient seat. He stood in front of the king and of the O’Lochlainn taoiseach and expanded on his ideas, explaining how air tainted the wine and displaying all of his knowledge of trees and the various woods. There was no doubt that he was talented – not just a good businessman, but a showman also. Both Turlough and Ardal became fired with enthusiasm for these new barrels and converted to the wisdom of using oak to hold the wine. Oisín manipulated that enthusiasm so cleverly. After a few minutes Turlough was almost convinced that the original idea was his own and was full of plans to get orders from all of the chieftains of his acquaintance, and Ardal, in his quieter way, was caught up by the excitement, suggested various good ideas and promised some of his men to help with the tree cutting during the winter months. When Mara got to her feet and wandered over to check on Cormac, she could have sworn that not one of the three men even noticed her departure.
Scales of Retribution Page 21