But why was Liam wearing an angry flush? And why was he rubbing the knuckles of his clenched fists together in the manner of a man who had been frustrated in an ambition?
FOURTEEN
BRETHA NEMED TOÍSECH (JUDGEMENTS OF PRIVILEGED PERSONS)
A man may rise from his position in life by several means. If he is a farmer and he does well he may buy land and from being an ocare become a bóaire. If he is a servant, such as a steward, or a herdsman, he can only rise by accumulating silver and setting himself up as a briugu, hospitaller. To be a briugu, a man should have the wealth of one hundred cows, a ‘never-empty cauldron’ and a fine house, built of stone and near to a public road.
MARA HAD GONE ONLY a little way down the road when a familiar deep-toned bark rose up. She smiled. Diarmuid was still nervous of taking his dog, Wolf, out, but from childhood onwards he had always obeyed Mara. Take him out of that yard and among people, she had ordered, so he compromised by taking the massive, half-wolf, half-sheep dog out at night and in bad weather. In that way, he did not meet too many people, but could still assure Mara that he had been trying to socialize him.
‘Take Wolf into the field, Diarmuid,’ she called now. ‘My new mare, Brig, hasn’t met him yet and she might be alarmed. Wait for me and I’ll join you. We’ll walk down to your place together.’ She waited for a minute until she heard the sound of the metal gate clang and then she shook the reins and the mare responded instantly.
She would enjoy a walk with Diarmuid and Wolf, she thought. It would clear her head of all the puzzling features of this double murder. The clouds had now blown away from the moon, the road was flooded with light and the air was clean and fresh.
There was someone else out walking on the road. As she came near to the law school she could see a blond head moving rapidly down the road ahead of her.
‘Enda,’ she called and he turned and came back to her.
‘Having a walk?’ she asked.
He nodded. In the moonlight his face looked pale and his eyes were circled with black shadows.
‘I felt as if my head was going to burst if I studied any more of Bretha Déin Chécht, so I came out to get some fresh air,’ he said with a tired yawn.
‘Don’t work too hard,’ she said gently, studying his face. He puzzled her this term. He had always done well in the past with the minimum of effort. He was one of those lucky boys blessed with brains and a superb memory and up to now he had seemed determined to get as much fun out of his time at law school as possible. However, this term he had gone at his books as if he could not waste a single second.
‘Is something wrong, Enda?’ she asked.
He gulped. It was almost as if he were trying to gather up his courage, though he had always been very much at ease with her and with all other adults in his life.
‘Brehon,’ he said, ‘I was just wondering …’
‘Yes,’ she said encouragingly.
‘I was just wondering if I could take my final examination this year when Fachtnan does,’ he said, the words coming out in a quick rush as if they were words that he had practised many times before. ‘I know I’ll only be seventeen,’ he added quickly, before she could answer, ‘but I really would like to try. I’ll work hard.’
Mara considered the subject. There was no reason why he could not try. She would not have agreed last year when he had been silly and troublesome, but now he seemed suddenly to have grown up.
‘Is there any particular reason for this?’ she asked, looking at him closely.
He looked around and then lowered his voice. ‘My father is having a spot of trouble, Brehon,’ he said. ‘The murrain has hit his cattle.’
‘I see,’ said Mara. The murrain was a serious disease for cattle. Every farmer dreaded it. This accounted, perhaps, for the change in Enda this term.
‘When did it happen?’ she asked. ‘Was it during the summer?’
He nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said in a low voice. ‘It was terrible. They have all had to be slaughtered and he is planting flax on the land.’ He hesitated for a moment and then said: ‘He told me that he didn’t think that he could afford my law school fees next year.’
‘I see,’ said Mara. She had a feeling of compunction towards Diarmuid waiting patiently in the soaking wet field, but she had to sort this matter out quickly. It was probably the silence, the darkness and the privacy of the empty road that had made Enda open up to her.
‘Well, I think you could certainly attempt your final examination this year, Enda,’ she said calmly. ‘You would have a very good chance of passing it if you go on working as well as you have been doing, but in any case you need not worry. There is a fund here at the law school, which was set up by the king to cover the fees for any promising student in need of it and it is not being used at the moment, so you may have it for the rest of your time here with me. Tell your father when you go home for Christmas that there is no need for him to pay the fees for the Hilary and Trinity terms; the fund will cover these and next year, if necessary.’
And that, she thought, feeling rather pleased with herself, came out very well. She was sometimes amazed by her own ability to tell a convincing lie. It was perhaps a pity that she had mentioned the king, but she would warn him not to give her away if Enda attempted to thank him. Turlough was a very compassionate man and was always very interested in her young scholars. He would probably insist on immediately setting up this imaginary fund.
‘No, don’t worry about it,’ she interrupted the boy’s gratitude. ‘Now take Brig in for me, will you; ask Sean to look after her and feed her. Oh, and Enda,’ she called after him as he was leading the mare through the gate, ‘ask Brigid for some sausages for Diarmuid’s dog and bring them straight out to me.’
Without waiting for an answer she walked rapidly down the road and called over the hedge, ‘Bring him out, Diarmuid.’ Normally she approached Wolf with a sausage in her hand, but she thought by now she need not bother. She opened the gate and they came out in a burst of compressed energy, Wolf ahead, towing Diarmuid who was clinging on to the chain lead.
‘There’s my boy,’ said Mara affectionately. She bent down and stroked the massive golden head, fearlessly reaching beneath the ferocious jaws to scratch the soft hair under his chin. ‘You’re a lovely boy, aren’t you, there’s a good Wolf, now don’t put your muddy paws on my good gown.’
‘Someone’s coming,’ said Diarmuid nervously. His grip tightened on the leather handle of the chain.
‘Now, Diarmuid, you’re not doing the right thing at all,’ scolded Mara. ‘You must get him used to people. When you pull him back like that you are sending a message that there is danger. You must tell him that people are not to be feared or hated. Give him to me. Enda,’ she called out, ‘stand still and as the dog comes near, you just put a sausage on the ground. Diarmuid, give me the lead. No, give it to me. I’ll manage him. Come on, Wolf, there’s a good boy. You’ll like Enda. He’s fond of dogs.’
What Enda’s thoughts were about this, she did not know, but she walked resolutely up the road, with Diarmuid on the other side of the dog, his hand stretched protectively out, ready to snatch the lead at the first opportunity. Enda, she was pleased to note, was following her instructions, standing very still at the side of the road. As they neared him, he threw the sausage on the road, saying calmly: ‘Here you are, Wolf.’
‘Good boy, Wolf,’ said Mara encouragingly. ‘Just throw another one, Enda.’ While Wolf was gobbling down this sausage, she moved quickly so that now she was side by side with the boy. Wolf looked up abruptly. A slight growl began in his throat but Enda forestalled it by dropping another sausage. This time Wolf wagged his tail slightly. Then Enda held out a sausage in a steady hand and Wolf took it from his opened palm.
‘Good boy, Wolf,’ repeated Mara. She walked rapidly on before Wolf could change his mind, calling over her shoulder, ‘Well done, Enda, that took courage. Don’t study any more tonight, like a good boy. A tired brain doesn’t work so well. Now,
Diarmuid,’ she said, as she handed the lead back to him, ‘that’s what you should be doing. Make the dog see that you trust him and that you trust the people around him.’
‘Yes, Brehon,’ said Diarmuid meekly and Mara felt a twinge of conscience. Why should she lecture the poor man about his own dog? I suppose it’s all gone to my head, she thought, with a moment’s unwonted humility; I am surrounded by people who are continually saying ‘Yes, Brehon’ and ‘No, Brehon’ and regarding everything that I say to be of huge importance. It’s just as well that I have Turlough to laugh at me and to keep me in my place!
Diarmuid’s house was a typical bóaire’s establishment – a house of twenty-seven feet long with two rooms: a warm and cosy kitchen with the peat fire glowing in the hearth and a bedroom beyond. Wolf went straight to the ancient knotted rug before the fire and lay down there as one who was quite at home. Mara followed and took her place on the cushioned settle on the left-hand side of the fireplace. Little had changed in that room since the days of her childhood when Diarmuid’s father and mother had still been alive. On the top wall, above the fireplace, there still hung a collection of St Brigid’s crosses, made from twisted rushes and most of them faded to a pale parchment colour. A few smoke-blackened joints of ham hung from the rafters, turning slowly in the draught from the fire, and the painted wooden shutters were closed over glassless windows. The dresser, built by Diarmuid’s father, still stood against the bottom wall of the room and the same unchanging collection of pewter mugs and candlesticks stood upon its dark, polished surface.
‘Don’t bother with any ale for me, Diarmuid,’ she said briskly as she saw his hand go to the flagon that stood on the floor beside the dresser. ‘I’ve just been dining with Ardal O’Lochlainn at Lissylisheen and I couldn’t eat or drink another thing. But have some for yourself,’ she added hastily, noting how obediently he replaced the stopper on the flagon the instant that she spoke.
‘No, I won’t bother,’ said Diarmuid sitting on the three-legged stool opposite to her.
‘I remember the two of us sitting here, side by side, on this old settle,’ said Mara with a smile. ‘Your mother used to give us oatcakes spread with honey. I used to love them.’
‘I’ve got some here now,’ said Diarmuid jumping to his feet and bringing over an oatcake, liberally spread with honey, before she could stop him. Mara accepted it, not liking to mention that she now hated anything so sweet.
‘Do you still keep bees?’ she asked, holding the platter in her hand and wondering how she could avoid eating it.
He shook his head. ‘No, I gave my last lot to young Niall when he set up as a farmer. He gives me pots of honey from time to time. I don’t need much. Niall does well with them. He sells the honey at fairs.’
‘He’s become a very good farmer, hasn’t he? It’s surprising really as he was brought up to the milling business. Do you think that he will go back up to Oughtmama if he gets the mill?’
Diarmuid shook his head. ‘The word is that his taoiseach doesn’t want him to have it.’ He carefully avoided looking at her as he said this, kneeling down to tend the fire, and she took the opportunity to slip the oatcake to Wolf. Dear Diarmuid, she thought affectionately, he was being very careful to show that he wasn’t trying to get information from her. However, she had no such compunction. He would be one man that Niall would certainly talk to. She said nothing, just held her hands out to Wolf allowing him to lick the stickiness of the honey from her fingers and then gently scratching the soft downy fur behind his large upright ears. Diarmuid got up from the floor and sat back again on his hard wooden seat. And still Mara waited for him to be the one to speak.
‘Niall was saying to me that if he did get it he would stay on at Noughaval, but sell the mill and the lands and the old abbot’s stone house to Liam,’ he said after a minute.
‘Liam!’
‘Yes, the O’Lochlainn steward.’ Diarmuid seemed surprised at her astonishment.
‘But why would Liam want a mill?’
‘Well, according to Niall, one of the cowmen at Lissylisheen told him that Liam has been egging on the O’Lochlainn to buy the mill ever since the MacNamara taoiseach offered it to him.’
‘Garrett MacNamara offered the mill to the O’Lochlainn!’ exclaimed Mara in tones of well-feigned amazement.
‘Oh, yes, hadn’t you heard that?’ returned Diarmuid. ‘They say that Garrett MacNamara has overspent himself and that he is in the hands of money-lenders in Galway. The word is that he is desperate for money.’
Mara was silent. Amazing how matters which she had considered to be secrets, locked within her breast, were actually being discussed over the hedges and in the fields of the kingdom! Though, when she thought about it, it was not so surprising. Life was lived mainly out of doors and voices carried. Liam and Ardal, no doubt, had been discussing this matter for days. Perhaps the whole kingdom had by now worked out the solution to these two murders that troubled her so much.
Suddenly she felt sick of the whole affair. She leaned past Wolf, threw a sod of turf on the smouldering fire and smiled at Diarmuid. She wished that she could relax and just enjoy an evening’s gossip with an old friend. They could chat together with Wolf lying on the mat between them and turning his large noble head from one to the other as the conversation flowed and ebbed. Perhaps this could have been her life if she had married Diarmuid instead of her fellow student, the stonemason’s son, Dualta. Perhaps this could still be her life. Dearest Diarmuid, he would make an excellent husband, but … Mentally, she shook herself. She was Brehon of the Burren and she had a job to do. She could not afford to waste this opportunity of a talk with someone who, simply and honestly, would tell her all that he knew. Diarmuid was a man that everyone would confide in. She was not a silly girl, musing about her lovers, she reminded herself sternly; she was thirty-six years old and a woman with great responsibilities.
‘Tell me all about it,’ she said, and her voice was calm, friendly and detached. ‘Why on earth should Liam want the O’Lochlainn to buy a mill?’
Diarmuid chuckled and stretched out his legs to the fire, leaning his back against the warmth of the chimney wall. ‘When did Liam ever want anything to happen unless it was to benefit himself? Only the birds in the air know how much he has salted away for himself. He’s been steward to the O’Lochlainn clan for the last forty years. Never took too much off anyone, mind you. It was just a matter of a little present here and a little present there, a sheaf of oats, a flagon of ale, a bit of silver, but over the years it has all been mounting up. Of course it helps that Ardal O‘Lochlainn and his father, Finn, before him, were not the type to be counting. The tribute was something that the clan gave and were thanked for and there was no looking into it and no questions asked. The O’Connor is the same, but this new young taoiseach of the MacNamaras is a very different matter. The word is that the clan don’t like him. Who knows what might happen next?’
‘And now Liam wants to be a miller?’ Mara decided not to discuss the MacNamara problem any further. And she was still puzzled by the news that Liam was the one who wanted the mill. Aengus was probably not too much younger than Liam, but he had been a stringy, active man who had been doing the work for most of his life. She couldn’t see Liam heaving sacks around and running up and down the stairs of the mill. In any case, his honour price as a steward would be higher than that of a mill-owner.
Diarmuid shook his head with a smile. ‘No, not the mill,’ he said. ‘Liam would have no interest in the mill. He’ll buy it, perhaps, and put someone in and charge a rent, or else perhaps it is the O’Lochlainn himself who wants the mill. No, what Liam had in mind was the big stone building there, the old abbot’s house. He was going to have it repaired and he was going to set himself up as a briugu.’
‘A briugu!’
‘Well, Liam loves company. He’d even hope to entertain the king himself once he got everything set up. It would be a great place for a hospitaller, there at Oughtmama. It’s just off Clerics’
Pass and all the merchants travelling along that road from Galway to Burren or Corcomroe or Thomond would be inclined to stop and stay the night there or at least have a drink and a meal.’
‘I know that. Yes, it would be a good place. I just wondered if Liam could possibly be rich enough to be a briugu.’
‘Oh, he’s rich,’ said Diarmuid wisely. ‘And, of course, he has no family. Never did marry! There’s no point in him dying rich and then his money just going back into the clan. That’s the way that he would look at it. He would want to enjoy his last few years. He must be sixty now if he’s a day. If the O’Lochlainn buys the mill, then he would put in a miller and perhaps an inn for the ordinary people to come and drink their ale, and Liam would be there with his finger in every pie. He would love it. It would be a substitute for a wife and family for him.’
‘I wonder why he hasn’t anyone,’ mused Mara. ‘He would have been a handsome fellow in his youth before he ran to fat. I’m surprised that he didn’t marry.’
‘It happens,’ stated Diarmuid. He stretched out a hand towards her, and then hastily withdrew it and placed it on Wolf’s head. ‘I thought I would get married myself once, but …’ He raised his eyes and looked at her. ‘It didn’t work out for me then, but I sometimes wonder if it could work out for me now.’
It was as near to being direct as anything that Diarmuid would ever say to her; Mara understood that. She knew that he would not wish to appear presumptuous: that he, a farmer, would seem to be putting himself forward as a husband for the most powerful woman in the kingdom. He would also, she thought, not want to jeopardize the warm friendship that existed between them by embarrassing her in any way. All those thoughts went through her quick brain in a few instants and in that time she realized that she could not offer this man, who had loved her faithfully and for so long, a second-best marriage, a marriage for companionship and convenience. She rose to her feet, placing her hand for a second on top of his and then withdrawing it.
A Secret and Unlawful Killing Page 19