‘The real clue of course was the linen cloth that obviously wrapped the fatal bread and meat, spread with horseradish and poisoned with wolfsbane,’ said Mara. ‘I could not imagine Murrough of the Wolfhounds even possessing a cloth like that. Everything is very rough and ready in his household. I did consider Blár, but I saw some stitching done by his wife and it didn’t look the same at all. The stitches on that cloth were beautifully done, small and even – just like Sorcha’s in fact, except that there was something slightly strange about them, just a slight slant to the left, and again, I should have listened to Ciara, because she – you know how she chatters on and everything just pours out – well, she mentioned something about Eileen being left-handed. It all just came together in my mind yesterday – that’s why I insisted on Cormac sleeping in our bedroom last night . . .’ She stopped, shuddering at the terrible risk to her baby. She should have taken Brigid into her confidence a little – made up some reason why Eileen should not be allowed to look after the baby. Had the woman really intended to go to Lemeanah – a good half hour’s walk away? She suspected not. The poison had been prepared and was to be used at the first sign of danger – perhaps taking the baby from her care the night before had alerted her.
‘So it was all a matter of sewing,’ remarked Turlough, taking out his own handkerchief and examining the stitching on the hems. ‘I wonder who made this for me. Do you know, I don’t think I have ever seen you with a piece of needlework in your hand.’
‘I’m too busy,’ retorted Mara. But to herself, she thought she must try to make something for Cormac – a little smock perhaps when he began to crawl – a smock of pale harebell-blue to match his eyes. She would ask Sorcha to teach her. Brigid would be too shocked at the very idea and would immediately offer to make six smocks.
‘And, of course,’ she said aloud. ‘Eileen was probably seen by Seán coming away from Caherconnell on the morning that Malachy died. You know what a gossip Seán was. He probably mentioned it to her idly when he stopped off at Lemeanah Castle on his way to Thomond with the examination papers. She panicked. She was already – this is just surmise, but she was an intelligent woman – she was probably already aware that her husband had lost interest in her and that the knowledge of her crime would certainly have made him divorce her – so when Seán said that he had seen her on that morning of the eleventh of June, I’d say that she went indoors, took some of the new supply of wolfsbane that her husband had just obtained to poison the wolves on the mountain, picked some horseradish from the vegetable garden at Lemeanah and made him a meal. Seán, poor innocent, would have accepted it. Apparently he was hanging around for quite a while because he wanted to tell the news of my baby personally to Ciara and she was nowhere to be found. Eventually she was discovered in the cellars with Oisín – he was selling her wine – so there was plenty of time for Eileen to get the horseradish – there’s plenty of that in the vegetable garden at Lemeanah and their cottage is just beside that garden. She spread it on the bread, sprinkled it with wolfsbane, added a few slices of beef and knew that he would be guaranteed to eat it.’
‘And Fachtnan?’ enquired Turlough. ‘How did she poison him?’
‘That was easy for her to do. By that stage she was living here and in and out of the kitchen – she may even have helped Brigid to make the food for the scholars on that day. I’m not sure why she did it – to frighten me off, I suppose. She may have decided that Fachtnan was a special favourite of mine, or she may just have chosen a cup of ale at random – from her point of view it probably didn’t matter – an attack on any of the boys would scare me. Nuala thought that dose was not meant to kill . . .’ And then Mara stopped. There was something that she wanted to say and Nuala’s name had just come up in the conversation.
‘Anyway, that’s enough of that,’ she said decisively. ‘Let’s think about Cormac’s christening.’
‘I was thinking about that too,’ said Turlough, his face brightening. ‘I suppose we’ll have to wait until my cousin, the Bishop of Kilfenora, gets back from Rome, but in the meantime we can do some planning.’ He looked at her hesitantly. ‘We’ll have to choose godparents for him,’ he said, and then, rather tentatively, ‘I was wondering about Ulick Burke for his godfather.’
Mara just managed to stop herself making a face. She disliked Ulick Burke, but on the other hand he was a good friend of Turlough’s, had willingly and happily come to his aid and fought by his side in the recent battle against the Earl of Kildare. In any case, he was guaranteed to brighten up the solemn event, heavily weighted with all the O’Brien nobility, with his scandalous anecdotes.
‘After all, this little fellow has a king for a father, he needs someone of importance to be his sponsor,’ pleaded Turlough.
‘Yes, Ulick is just right,’ said Mara graciously. ‘I’m happy for him to be Cormac’s godfather and then Nuala can be his godmother.’
Never would she be able to pay the debt that she owed to Nuala, but to make the girl godmother to the king’s son would be some small token of Mara’s love and gratitude.
And Cormac, she thought, might benefit from the nobility of one side of his godparents, but she hoped that he would also benefit from the brilliant intelligence on the other side. A prince he might be, but he would never be king. Turlough had his grown-up sons to inherit his kingdom. No, Cormac, like his mother, would be a Brehon and balance the scales of justice in the kingdom of the Burren.
Scales of Retribution Page 25