Deed of Murder

by Cora Harrison

  ‘My God, Mara, do you see that!’ shouted Turlough.

  ‘I do indeed, my lord,’ she called back. ‘Your people love you and they will not allow traitors to betray you.’

  With a glow of satisfaction which warmed her frozen body, she saw how O’Brien of Arra’s face had fallen with dismay at the sight of the fishermen’s blockade. Donán seemed to be sunk in lethargy, his face the hue of an overcooked yolk of egg.

  But would it do any good? Presumably the fast-moving fourth ship was filled with men armed with bows and arrows. When they came near to the line of little curraghs would they not shoot? It would be easy to pick off the fishermen one by one and if they missed the bodies they could shoot the little boats. These skin-covered curraghs could be easily pierced and would sink just as easily.

  And then came her answer. From the island came a loud single note – the sound of a horn, one of those huge, old-fashioned bronze horns. It sounded once, and then again. It must have been some sort of signal because Mara could see a sail being lowered from the dangerously nearby ship, and then another. Bit by bit, as happens with sailing craft, the ship wheeled around and set off back to the island, making its way in series of long diagonal swoops where it appeared to be making little progress but which, step by step, brought it nearer to the island.

  ‘Going back!’ Turlough was at her side in an instant, gazing back out to sea. ‘Why do you think they went back? They could easily have fired on these unfortunate fishermen. My heart was in my mouth for the poor fellows.’

  ‘I think your cousin on Aran, Brian the Spaniard, recognized that the game was up,’ said Mara, in those clear tones which she knew would carry above the sound of wind and water. ‘He guessed that we would have these two traitors in our hands and that a terrible punishment would await them. By withdrawing now, he can always plead that he knew nothing of this plot and he can claim that the evidence these two will probably try to give against him is false and that he is your majesty’s most faithful and most loyal servant.’

  Turlough gave her an uncertain glance and hastened to go back to watch Setanta’s progress. Mara bestowed a keen, appraising look at Donán, the son-in-law, and at O’Brien of Arra. Donán had buried his face in his hands and O’Brien was staring ahead with a grim look on his face. She was glad that he had overheard the proof that his cousin and foster-brother on Aran had deserted him and left him to the king’s mercy.

  It was probably the sight of all the fishermen uniting in support of Turlough that had determined the man on Aran that, not only had the plot failed, but there would be no support for it. Someone who lives on an island is dependent on the people who live on the coast – dependent not just for fuel for his fires, but also for linen for his clothing and goods for his house as well as for a market for his fish.

  ‘Not long more,’ shouted Turlough exultantly as they neared the shore. ‘By God, this man here is a great rower. How can he do it in water like this? He’s pouring sweat, poor fellow.’

  The faces of the men-at-arms at the harbour wall, and of Ulick Burke amongst them, could now be seen very clearly. There were crowds behind them. It looked as though all of the people of the village and from the countryside around had come out of their houses to welcome their king. The other fishermen did not go back to the sea and to their fishing. Several threw ropes on to the deck of the pucán and they helped with the towing. Mara hung on to the tiller – it had been her part in the rescue and she was reluctant to give it up to anyone.

  Before they landed she had to come to a decision about the man from Connaught who owned the boat. In theory, he had no rights if he was in a kingdom other than his own, except by invitation. But in fact, his offence was committed on the sea and, in any case, Doolin was in the kingdom of Corcomroe where another Brehon had charge of legal matters. The easiest and probably the wisest decision was to take no action. He was a very small fish, compared to the two big fish that had been captured.

  Mara beckoned to the king who came back to her. ‘Shall we let the boatman go free?’ she queried. ‘No doubt both men from Connaught have been heavily bribed to do this, but they have been punished. Neither man has a seaworthy boat; nor will they find the people of Doolin anxious to help them in any way.’

  ‘Yes, yes, we won’t trouble our heads about them,’ said Turlough hurriedly. He looked at her hesitantly, but she did not meet his eyes. She knew his gentle, forgiving nature well, but she did not feel in the least forgiving. Too much harm had been done. Turlough would like to excuse Donán and O’Brien of Arra as well; let them get away with their crimes, but that was something she was determined was not going to happen. In her mind she was already setting the scene and deciding on strategy. She beckoned to the bodyguard.

  ‘Let the boat owner go as soon as we disembark,’ she said to him. Although she spoke quietly there was a sudden lull in the wind and she saw O’Brien of Arra look at her with some hope in his eyes. Perhaps he thought that he would be released also.

  As the fishermen’s boats neared the harbour wall, several fishermen plunged into the water, walking out until they were waist high in it, untied the ropes leading to the pucán and carefully dragged it to its berth. Mara released her hold on the tiller and walked forward to where the bodyguard was untying the ropes around the boat’s owner.

  ‘The king’s mercy is releasing you,’ she told him curtly. ‘But never let me see your face again, or you may find yourself with a heavy fine. Get back to where you came from as soon as your boat is mended and you can pass that message on to your companion as well. Now stay here on your boat until the king’s party has ridden away, or I won’t be responsible for what might happen to you at the hands of his men-at-arms.’

  Then she left him without a backward glance. The threat of violence from the men-at-arms was a more potent one than a court of law, she thought, but she did not repent her words. If this affair was to have a good conclusion she would have to be very tough.

  The cheering when Turlough walked safe and well from the boat was loud enough to be heard in the next kingdom and it did not diminish when Mara followed him. The men-at-arms, looking guilty and worried, surrounded their king as if determined that, even in the face of a command, they would not leave him again. Everyone had a story to tell; how the cannon was heard, how they had seen the English ships, how they had guessed that these were up to no good . . .

  Mara turned a deaf ear to several plans for exacting ransom from the English ships that she could hear going on around her. If the poor fishing people of Doolin wished to get some silver in return for dragging the ships off the rocks, she was not going to prevent them. Brian the Spaniard, Brian of Aran, would, she guessed, lie low for quite some time. Little could be proved against him and Turlough would probably be happy to overlook the possible part he had played in this plot.

  Mara turned to nod an acknowledgement to Ulick Burke, who had exhausted his exclamations of horror to Turlough and was now addressing her. ‘What an adventure, my dear Brehon. Who would have thought it?’

  ‘Who, indeed,’ said Mara looking around to see whether the innkeeper had brought out her horse yet.

  ‘There was I, innocent as a babe unborn, commiserating with this fellow about the hole in his boat, offering to be the one who stayed behind since my lord’s son-in-law and cousin were so very anxious to accompany him on the first boat.’ Ulick gave Mara a keen look and she gazed back blandly. Let him keep guessing, she thought. She was not certain whether he was guilty or not, but she would find out soon. His eyes were now on the bound figures of Donán and O’Brien of Arra and he did not look surprised. Neither, however, did he look particularly worried.

  ‘What—’ he began but she interrupted him quickly saying that she had to get back to the castle at once.

  Turlough’s men, she noticed with amusement, had borrowed Setanta’s cart and placed the bound bodies of Donán and O’Brien of Arra in it beside the net full of shining fish for the castle. Neither said anything, but their faces were full
of disgust. To be thrown into a fish-smelling donkey cart was the depths of ignominy for two close relatives of the king.

  ‘Won’t do them a bit of harm,’ she said decisively to Turlough when he whispered a protest. ‘After all, they say the son of God rode on a donkey!’ She was pleased with herself for this piece of biblical knowledge. It silenced Turlough, who looked taken aback, and it amused Setanta who was climbing up to the driver’s seat.

  Anyway, they’re probably not as wet and cold as I am, she thought as she stiffly mounted her horse. Quickly she clapped her heels to the animal’s sides and Brig, her beloved mare, responded by flying along the road as fleet as any deer.

  A hot bath, hair wash and clean dry clothes, she thought as she galloped past the hedgerows, which were white with the snowy purity of the blackthorn blossom. Deliberately, she kept her mind from what had passed today and what would have to happen this afternoon. She needed to be fresh and she needed to have her wits about her. She would not rush the interrogation of the two guilty men. She had given orders to the king’s bodyguards that the men were to be kept under close surveillance in the cellar of the Ballinalacken. The dungeon, she had called it within in their earshot. Her first priority was to be clean, warm and dry. Then would come the action.

  There would be two trials, she planned. The formal and legal one would be held at Poulnabrone, the place of justice where all the clans of the Burren could come and stand around the ancient tomb of their ancestors to hear and see justice being administered.

  But the first hearing would take place today at Ballinalacken Castle in the presence of king and Brehon.

  Twenty

  Airechta

  (The Courts of Law)

  There are five courts in Irish law:

  In the background of all courts is the court of the king, the bishop and those who are master of laws. This is there in case of dispute.

  Also in the background is the side court where historians, who have knowledge of past events, help with deciding the payment of sureties and hostage sureties and matters of lineage.

  The waiting court where the guilty and the innocent await judgement while the judges ponder their verdict.

  The court apart where witnesses must wait with clear minds and in seclusion. These witnesses must not be interfered with lest their evidence be falsified.

  The courts themselves where the judges of the kingdoms go to give their verdicts. These must be held in an open place where all may attend and see that justice is done.

  It was almost evening before Mara decided to send for the prisoners. She dressed carefully in a black gown, woven from the finest wool, over a creamy-white, lace-edged léine, and around her neck she knotted a red silk scarf. Her dark-brown hair was shining after its wash and she coiled it at the back of her neck and then spent a couple of minutes studying her reflection in the looking-glass of the bedroom. She looked good, she thought, judicial and a little stern.

  Then she woke Turlough.

  ‘Leave the talking to me,’ she warned. ‘I know you. You will be telling them that you understand completely; that we’ll forget the whole business and why don’t we all have a cup of wine together.’

  Turlough grinned awkwardly. ‘Well, he’s a bit of a poor fellow, Donán,’ he began but she cut off him off abruptly.

  ‘Not at all as poor a fellow as the young man, Eamon, a man with a promising future, who is lying dead in a grave at Noughaval church,’ she said curtly. ‘You’re not forgetting that this affair led to a murder, are you?’

  Turlough looked subdued and a little confused. ‘I don’t understand how—’ he began, but once again she cut him off.

  ‘Wear this gown and that doublet,’ she said, fishing out the objects from the wooden press by the window. ‘I want you in royal purple and saffron. You are a king of three kingdoms and your safety has to be of paramount importance to your subjects of whom I am one. Now you get dressed and come down to the Great Hall. I have some orders to give, but I will await you there.’

  And then she left him and went in search of Ulick Burke, the Lord of Clanrickard. He was sitting on the seat by the window sipping some wine with a bored expression.

  ‘Come in, Brehon, come in, you find me all alone; me, a man who likes the society of his friends. Now tell me all about the exciting events of today. Start at the beginning and go right to the end.’

  His tone was cordial but his eyes were wary as they studied her.

  ‘From the beginning?’ queried Mara, lifting her black eyebrows delicately. ‘I would have thought that you knew the beginning, my Lord of Clanrickard.’

  Ulick’s face altered subtly and she knew that he had understood her. She pressed home her advantage. ‘I would have thought that a man like you who knows all the gossip would have heard a few rumours,’ she said innocently.

  He studied her face. ‘Perhaps a few,’ he murmured, ‘but you know this country, Brehon. There are always rumours.’

  ‘Rumours about what?’ she enquired.

  ‘Well, you know, I always felt that Turlough was right not wholly to trust O’Brien of Arra, but you will have to ask him about that,’ he said sounding more confident.

  He was slippery as a fish, she thought and was probably a match for her in wits. She would find out more from Donán and O’Brien of Arra, but in the meantime, since he was her husband’s oldest and best friend and the godfather of her son, she would not quarrel unnecessarily with him. It would do him no harm, though, to be aware that she had her eye on him. She smiled at him.

  ‘I can assure you that I have many sources of information and that I will do everything in my power to ensure the safety of our king,’ she said softly.

  ‘My dear Brehon, we all rely on your wisdom and your sharp wits,’ he returned.

  ‘And now, since you cannot help me with any new information, I wonder could I ask you to occupy yourself elsewhere for the moment? Supper will be in a couple of hours’ time, but before that my lord and I need the hall for a judicial affair.’ Mara spoke sharply and decisively, deliberately making no response to his compliment. She scanned his face closely, but could read no hint of discomfiture in his expression. Perhaps he was not directly involved; it would be like him to sit on the fence and see which way the wind blew, she thought, with a sudden vivid picture of the small, neat figure perched up high and holding a wet finger aloft to check the direction of the air currents before committing himself to any action.

  ‘I shall take some of this excellent wine up to my bedroom and repose before the meal.’ Ulick picked up a ewer of wine and walked towards the door, carrying his silver cup in his other hand.

  ‘While you slept a message came for you,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘One of your scholars came with it. It was from Nuala to say that Muiris – is that the name? The farmer who was so badly injured outside the flax garden – that he had come to his senses and that he did not remember what had happened to him. So disappointing for you, dear Brehon,’ he went on with a false air of sympathy.

  ‘Well, the truth may be hidden, but a wise judge has many ways of finding it,’ she said in oracular manner and then turned her back on him. Let him worry if he has anything on his conscience, she thought. She herself was not completely sure about the criminal who attempted to murder Muiris. It could be one of two people, she thought, and hoped that she could surprise the truth out of the guilty person. She waited until the sound of Ulick’s footsteps on the stone stairs had died away and then rang a bell to summon a servant.

  ‘Tell the guardsmen to bring up the prisoners,’ she said when a man appeared. Before Turlough arrived she would have time for a few sharp questions. And, more importantly, she would have time to set the scene.

  She dragged over two tall, ornate chairs and placed them with their backs to the window, putting two small, humble stools in front of them. The guilty pair would have the light from the western sun directly shining into their faces.

  ‘Come in,’ she called at the knock on the door. ‘Place
the prisoners in front of me,’ she ordered, ‘and both of you stand on guard behind them.’

  Once they had shuffled in, heavily chained, and were seated, she delayed for a moment, studying both faces. ‘I understand everything,’ she said rapidly after she had allowed a long minute to elapse, ‘so don’t attempt to lie to me.’

  They both looked away; Donán buried his head in his hands and groaned. The sound seemed to give courage to O’Brien and he looked contemptuously at the young man and then turned to Mara. ‘I don’t know why you persist in including me, Brehon. I presume that you are investigating the death of the lawyer, Eamon. I could have had nothing to do with this. I was on the other side of the river Shannon, in a different kingdom, when this happened and I can bring forty witnesses to prove that I never left the castle at Arra on that Saturday.’

  At that moment the door opened and Turlough came in. Mara jumped to her feet, welcomed him and escorted him to the chair by the window. Only when he was seated did she take her place beside him. As Brehon of one of his kingdoms, it was now her responsibility to lay the facts of the case before him.

  ‘My lord,’ she said formally. ‘This is a very painful matter. It touches the security of your person, the security of the realm, involves the murder of a young lawyer and the attempted murder of a farmer.’ She stopped and waited to marshal her thoughts. Now she no longer looked at the two men but inwardly to where she seemed to see, neatly arranged and tabulated on that slab of rock, all of the complications and the puzzles of this strange affair. She took her time, and did not speak until she was ready.

  ‘It’s a story of two legal documents, two deeds of law, each having been signed by a lawyer and witnessed in accordance with the law,’ she began, her eyes fixed on O’Brien’s arrogant face. ‘The one was straightforward. It was the deed of lease for the profitable flax garden; this deed was signed and witnessed by me personally and it is only important because it gave the lawyer, Eamon, the opportunity to conduct his secret mission.’