Read A Secret and Unlawful Killing Online
Authors: Cora Harrison
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery & Detective
A Secret and Unlawful Killing (10 page)
‘What do you think, Brehon?’ asked Garrett.
Instantly a compromise solution came to Mara.
‘Only God knows the truth about this death,’ she said solemnly. ‘I think we should leave the final verdict to Him. We should bury the body now in the old churchyard here between the two churches.’
She looked around; there was still doubt on the faces of both Garrett and the priest, so she hurried on. Once
everything was organized, there would be no room left for argument. Her voice took on a tone of crisp authority.
everything was organized, there would be no room left for argument. Her voice took on a tone of crisp authority.
‘Eoin, you and Maol go into the mill and get a board to place him on. You’ll find some spades there, also, and you can dig the grave while we are preparing the body. Nuala, come with me and we’ll see if we can find some old sacks to wrap him in.’
Eoin and Maol gave a quick sideways glance at their
taoiseach,
but he made no move to stop them, so they set off downhill towards the mill. Garrett and Malachy followed them, glad to get away from the stench and to be doing something practical, thought Mara, though she doubted whether Garrett would lose his dignity to the extent of actually digging the grave.
taoiseach,
but he made no move to stop them, so they set off downhill towards the mill. Garrett and Malachy followed them, glad to get away from the stench and to be doing something practical, thought Mara, though she doubted whether Garrett would lose his dignity to the extent of actually digging the grave.
‘We’ll leave you to your prayers, Father,’ she said. ‘Come, Nuala.’
‘You think it is a murder, don’t you?’ asked Nuala softly as they made their way down through grass-covered remains of ancient buildings.
‘I think it might be,’ said Mara, ‘but I’m not sure.’
‘Strange isn’t it, two deaths in the week — they must be related,’ stated Nuala with the conviction of the young and the self-confident.
The mill was a two-storey building made from wood. It was dark and dusty inside after the clear bright air outside. It took a moment for Mara’s eyes to see around. She had not been inside it since she was a child and had ridden with Cumhal to buy flour from the miller. The stream flowed under the mill via a chute that directed its flow against the
paddles of the mill wheel. The weight of the water turned the wheel, which had a central shaft that went up through the ceiling into the upper storey and was attached directly to the upper millstone. When the mill was working then the upper stone would turn, grinding the grain, but now all was silent, except for the sound of the water and the swish of the paddles.
paddles of the mill wheel. The weight of the water turned the wheel, which had a central shaft that went up through the ceiling into the upper storey and was attached directly to the upper millstone. When the mill was working then the upper stone would turn, grinding the grain, but now all was silent, except for the sound of the water and the swish of the paddles.
Beside the main chamber downstairs was a small storeroom, and the four men appeared from this. Malachy had a shovel and spade in his large capable hands while Maol and Eoin were carrying a board. Mara looked around. There were no sacks of flour standing on the shelves at the far end of the room, though large baskets of grain stood waiting to be milled. Ragnall must have taken, as tribute, all of the sacks of flour that Aengus had already ground when he called at Oughtmama on that foggy Monday morning, surmised Mara. Did that mean that Aengus was killed on the following day? On the Tuesday, perhaps? Or perhaps on the same day, even? She stood back to allow Garrett, followed by Eoin and Maol, to go out, but then touched Malachy’s sleeve to detain him.
‘What do you think would be the day of death, Malachy?’ she asked as soon as the others were out of earshot.
‘Well today is Thursday …’ he said reflectively. ‘Monday at the latest,’ he said then with more decisiveness than she expected from him.
‘The body had only just begun to decompose,’ observed Nuala sagely. ‘There was a very warm sun yesterday, remember.’
Malachy nodded. ‘The days were warm,’ he said. ‘But that was balanced by the couple of cold nights and then of
course the flowing water would have kept it cool. No, bearing all these things in mind, it could have been Sunday. Yes, I would think it was Sunday.’
course the flowing water would have kept it cool. No, bearing all these things in mind, it could have been Sunday. Yes, I would think it was Sunday.’
‘That’s probably impossible because Ragnall took seven sacks of flour as tribute from him on Monday morning,’ said Mara. ‘It must be Monday afternoon at the earliest. I don’t think even Ragnall would have just helped himself. Aengus had quite a reputation for violence.’
Malachy shrugged. ‘I would be pretty sure that it was Sunday,’ he said. ‘After all, the sacks might have been left there on the shelf and Ragnall could have just taken them if there was no sign of Aengus.’
‘It’s possible, I suppose,’ said Mara doubtfully.
And then, as Malachy hastened to join the gravedigging party, she remembered the quarrel on Sunday between young Donal O‘Brien and Aengus. What had happened? Donal had galloped after Aengus, had followed him home? Something about impressing Maeve with his championship of his father … She must ask Liam, the O’Lochlainn steward, for the whole story.
‘Would these do to cover him?’ asked Nuala. She had gone into the depths of the shadowy interior of the mill and appeared carrying some old clean sacks. Aengus was obviously a tidy, careful man. The sacks had been washed, folded neatly and put away for reuse.
‘I can slit them’ continued Nuala. ‘I found a good sharp knife in there on a shelf. That will do it.’ She busied herself for a few minutes and then produced three slightly ragged, large squares of linen.
‘These will do very well,’ said Mara absent-mindedly. Her eyes were fixed on a single sack of flour in a dark corner
beside the mill wheel. ‘Open the door as far as you can, Nuala,’ she said, narrowing her eyes to look at the bag. Yes, she could read it properly now and she was not mistaken. The sack had the milling date, 25 September, stamped on it, seven days previously, she noted, but what was strange was that it was over-stamped with the MacNamara insignia of a prancing lion. Ragnall had seven bags of flour in his cart on that foggy Monday morning when she met him. She remembered thinking that an odd number like seven was strange; she would have expected six or eight. She bent down and examined the sack carefully. Obviously Ragnall had stamped it. This meant that it would have been placed in the cart, sealed and stamped.
beside the mill wheel. ‘Open the door as far as you can, Nuala,’ she said, narrowing her eyes to look at the bag. Yes, she could read it properly now and she was not mistaken. The sack had the milling date, 25 September, stamped on it, seven days previously, she noted, but what was strange was that it was over-stamped with the MacNamara insignia of a prancing lion. Ragnall had seven bags of flour in his cart on that foggy Monday morning when she met him. She remembered thinking that an odd number like seven was strange; she would have expected six or eight. She bent down and examined the sack carefully. Obviously Ragnall had stamped it. This meant that it would have been placed in the cart, sealed and stamped.
‘Why had it been taken out again?’ she said aloud with a puzzled frown. ‘Ragnall must have taken it as part of the tribute.’
‘Look, it’s torn,’ said Nuala, and Mara’s eyes followed the direction of her pointing finger. The sack was made from coarsely woven, unbleached linen and it had obviously been washed and reused many times — too many times: a thin trickle of flour was spilling out from a spot where the threads had begun to split. Mara looked at it thoughtfully, her agile mind raking through various possibilities.
‘We’d better go,’ said Nuala after a minute. She was glancing anxiously out of the open door. ‘Father O’Mahon is pacing up and down. I don’t think he is happy about burying Aengus in consecrated ground, even ancient ground like this. They all think it was suicide, except for you.’
Mara roused herself. Whatever the truth was about that lonely and agonized death, she felt sure that it was not suicide. She would have to do this one last thing for Aengus.
He had been a religious man in his life; in death his body should not lie at a crossroads and his soul condemned to roam, forever excluded from the heaven to which he had prayed so ardently. He would have the last rites from the Church that he had believed in so fervently.
He had been a religious man in his life; in death his body should not lie at a crossroads and his soul condemned to roam, forever excluded from the heaven to which he had prayed so ardently. He would have the last rites from the Church that he had believed in so fervently.
‘Is that the knife that you found on the shelf?’ she asked, seeing it in Nuala’s hand. ‘Let me see it.’ There was a glint of something from the hilt that made it unlike a miller’s knife. She took it from Nuala’s outstretched hand and gazed at it, noting the stains of dried blood on the blade and on the hilt. It was a fine knife, a hunting knife, too long for general use and too fine for a miller. It had a few jewelled stones embedded in the hilt and an enamel oval set well inside the silver. And in the centre of that oval were the three lions of the O’Brien crest.
‘No,’ she said evenly, ‘no, I really don’t think that it was suicide.’
MACHCSLECHTA (SECTIONS ON THE RIGHTS OF SONS)
There are three sons who can inherit their father’s goods:
Mac Aititen
, a recognized son
, Mac Óige,
a son of a pure woman
(
chief wife
)
and
Mac Aldaltraige Urnadma,
a son of a betrothed concubine.
Mac Aititen
, a recognized son
, Mac Óige,
a son of a pure woman
(
chief wife
)
and
Mac Aldaltraige Urnadma,
a son of a betrothed concubine.
‘
S
O WE NOW HAVE two deaths to account for,’ said Mara. Her six scholars sat very straight on their stools and their eyes were bright and concentrated. This was much better than Latin. She went on slowly and carefully, trying to sort out her own ideas as well as explaining the complicated situation to them.
S
O WE NOW HAVE two deaths to account for,’ said Mara. Her six scholars sat very straight on their stools and their eyes were bright and concentrated. This was much better than Latin. She went on slowly and carefully, trying to sort out her own ideas as well as explaining the complicated situation to them.
‘Ragnall MacNamara, the steward, was killed probably late on Monday evening,’ she said. ‘He was killed in the
churchyard beside Noughaval market. Aengus MacNamara, the miller, was killed two miles away at Oughtmama. His time of death is uncertain, but Malachy the physician thinks it could not be later than Monday. In fact, he thinks that he was killed on Sunday. The body was badly decomposed.’ She frowned at the quick ripple of excitement as Moylan and Aidan looked at each other with wide eyes. ‘There is a possibility that Aengus committed suicide,’ she continued. ‘He drowned in the stream that powers the mill; his neck was trapped under the sluice gate.’
churchyard beside Noughaval market. Aengus MacNamara, the miller, was killed two miles away at Oughtmama. His time of death is uncertain, but Malachy the physician thinks it could not be later than Monday. In fact, he thinks that he was killed on Sunday. The body was badly decomposed.’ She frowned at the quick ripple of excitement as Moylan and Aidan looked at each other with wide eyes. ‘There is a possibility that Aengus committed suicide,’ she continued. ‘He drowned in the stream that powers the mill; his neck was trapped under the sluice gate.’
‘Could it have been an accident, Brehon?’ asked Enda.
Mara shook her head. ‘No, that would be impossible. He must have been a strong man: after all, he spent his life carrying sacks. If by any chance he put his neck under the gate then he could easily have lifted it up. He either committed suicide or else he was murdered,’ she added bleakly, remembering the swollen body with the water trickling from the gaping mouth.
‘Why go to all that trouble to kill a man?’ asked Fachtnan. ‘Why not just hit him over the head or stick a knife in him?’
‘Perhaps the murderer wanted it to look like suicide,’ said Shane eagerly.
‘There’s some people coming,’ said Moylan. ‘Lots of them … listen!’
Mara went to the door of the schoolhouse and opened it. There seemed to be a large company of men riding down the quiet road that ran from Noughaval to the law school at Cahermacnaghten. She stood waiting and then glimpsed the familiar heads of the king’s bodyguards over the hedge.
‘It’s King Turlough Donn,’ she said over her shoulder to
her scholars. ‘He must have heard the news. I think you should all go and have your supper now and we will talk about this tomorrow. Remember, though, don’t speak of anything that you have discussed here, except among yourselves. Shane, run over to the kitchen house and tell Brigid, will you?’
her scholars. ‘He must have heard the news. I think you should all go and have your supper now and we will talk about this tomorrow. Remember, though, don’t speak of anything that you have discussed here, except among yourselves. Shane, run over to the kitchen house and tell Brigid, will you?’
Brigid would be in a fuss, she thought as she went to the gate. She would like to have had some notice if the king were coming to supper, but Mara felt a great wave of joy sweep through her at the thought of seeing him again.
‘My lord,’ she said formally, looking up into his pleasant open face, ‘you are very welcome.’
The king swung himself off the saddle with the quick agile movement of a man who has spent much of his life on horseback and advanced with wide-open arms.
‘Mara!’ he said, kissing her fondly, while his bodyguards rode into the law school enclosure. ‘You were expecting me?’ he asked, a query in his voice.
‘No,’ said Mara frankly, ‘but you are as welcome as the swallows in April.’
‘Didn’t Garrett MacNamara tell you then? I told him to tell you. We are inaugurating his
tánaiste
[heir] tomorrow. I thought I, Fergal and Conall,’ he jerked his thumb at the two bodyguards, ‘would stay here in your guesthouse and the rest of my men would be billeted with Garrett.’ He glanced around to make sure he was not overheard and then said tenderly, ‘I take every excuse to enjoy your company.’
tánaiste
[heir] tomorrow. I thought I, Fergal and Conall,’ he jerked his thumb at the two bodyguards, ‘would stay here in your guesthouse and the rest of my men would be billeted with Garrett.’ He glanced around to make sure he was not overheard and then said tenderly, ‘I take every excuse to enjoy your company.’
‘Though, of course, you are desolate at missing an evening in the company of Garrett and the well-born Slaney,’ said Mara with a straight face. She spoke quietly, but at the same time she also gave a quick glance around to make sure
that no one could overhear her. Only with Turlough could she allow herself to joke about Garrett and his wife; with everyone else she always preserved a veneer of impartial friendliness towards all of the people in the Burren.
that no one could overhear her. Only with Turlough could she allow herself to joke about Garrett and his wife; with everyone else she always preserved a veneer of impartial friendliness towards all of the people in the Burren.
Turlough chuckled. ‘Oh, I do miss you when I am away from you,’ he said. ‘Why can’t you make up your mind to marry me and leave this place and live with me in Thomond! I know what it is; it’s those wretched boys. You don’t want to leave them. Why can’t you bring them with you, set up a law school in Arra. The place is big enough, goodness knows!’
‘I’ll think about it,’ promised Mara with a smile. Their courtship had settled down to a good-natured teasing and enjoyment of each other’s company since his surprising offer of marriage last May — perhaps he, no more than she, did not really desire any great change. It wasn’t just the law school that she would miss if she went as his queen to Thomond; she knew that. She had been Brehon of the Burren for fifteen years now and she did not feel that she wanted to give up that position or to leave the gleaming limestone pavements and flower-filled grykes of the Burren for the monotonous fields of rich grassland in east Thomond.
‘It’s strange that Garrett didn’t tell you,’ said Turlough, reverting to the affairs of one of the three kingdoms he reigned over. ‘What an odd man he is! After all, you, as Brehon of the Burren, have to be there for the inauguration.’
‘He’s had a lot on his mind,’ said Mara quietly. ‘Have you heard that there has been a second death in the MacNamara clan?’
‘A second death!’ exclaimed Turlough.
‘Aengus, the miller, was found dead yesterday on the day of the burial of the steward,’ continued Mara. ‘I thought that
Murrough would have told you. He was at Carron that day, or so I heard.’
Murrough would have told you. He was at Carron that day, or so I heard.’
‘That son of mine never bothers communicating anything with me,’ said Turlough, his impatient tone belied by the indulgence in his eyes. ‘He’s too busy with his English friends, riding in and out of Galway and spending more time with his father-in-law over in Kildare than he spends with his own father in Thomond. And look at the way he dresses! It’s no wonder that my own clan don’t like him much. I suppose they are afraid that if he became king he might sell out to the English. They say that the O’Neill is thinking of doing this. I must say that I’d be happier if Murrough saw less of his father-in-law and spent less time crossing over to London in his company.’
‘Murrough’s young,’ said Mara consolingly. ‘He’ll get over this nonsense, especially if he and Eleanor have a son, soon.
‘No sign of that at the moment.’ Turlough brooded for a moment and then his face cleared. ‘After all, he is only young; you’re right. I suppose I committed a thousand follies myself at that age.’ Suddenly he swung around to face her. ‘So what’s this about the miller then? Another death?’ he said abruptly as if the words had only just reached him.
‘I’m afraid that it was murder,’ said Mara. She thought about it for a moment and then repeated ‘murder’, in a firm tone. She would not voice Garrett’s fears about the miller’s death being suicide to anyone, when she was convinced he hadn’t died by his own hand. She told Turlough briefly of the whole affair and he nodded.
‘Could there be a connection?’ he asked. ‘Two MacNamaras: the miller and also the steward; it would seem
strange if there was not a connection. You say that there was bad blood between the two men. You had to judge a case between them at Poulnabrone, isn’t that right?’
strange if there was not a connection. You say that there was bad blood between the two men. You had to judge a case between them at Poulnabrone, isn’t that right?’
‘That’s true,’ said Mara. ‘I haven’t begun my enquiries properly yet. That could be the connection …’
‘But there is something worrying you, isn’t there?’ asked the king, eyeing her closely. ‘Come on, I know you. You’re holding something back.’
‘There is one other thing that connects the two murders,’ said Mara slowly. ‘There was a brooch found in the earth that covered Ragnall, the steward, and there was a hunting knife found in the mill.’ She stopped for a moment and then continued. ‘I think that the brooch and the knife may belong to the same person.’
‘And who is that?’ asked Turlough, sitting on the low stone wall beside the road and absent-mindedly shredding a piece of golden vetch.
Mara glanced around. There was no one within earshot, the two bodyguards, Fergal and Conall, in the enclosure, were surrounded by the noisy crowd of scholars, Brigid was flying over to the vegetable store at the far side, Cumhal was driving the cows back to pasture after the evening milking and the road to Slieve Elva was empty.
‘The brooch belonged to young Donal O’Brien and I think the hunting knife might also,’ she said quietly. ‘It has the O‘Brien crest set into the knife and you know that crest may only be used by the
derbhfine.’
derbhfine.’
Turlough whistled. ‘Teige’s boy?’ he asked.
Mara nodded. Teige O’Brien was Turlough’s first cousin and therefore part of the
derbhfine.
The
derbhfine
was the family group descended from the same great-grandfather.
Anyone within the
derbhfine
could become
taoiseach
or king of the clan. Mara had known that Turlough would not like this news about his cousin’s son. There was a family connection and also bonds of friendship and liking on both sides. Teige was a very loyal supporter of his king.
derbhfine.
The
derbhfine
was the family group descended from the same great-grandfather.
Anyone within the
derbhfine
could become
taoiseach
or king of the clan. Mara had known that Turlough would not like this news about his cousin’s son. There was a family connection and also bonds of friendship and liking on both sides. Teige was a very loyal supporter of his king.
‘What could the connection be between young Donal and two of the MacNamara clan?’ Turlough asked, his face serious and concerned.
‘Brigid is in a state,’ said Mara, avoiding the question, and looking down the road where her housekeeper was bursting out of the gate. Brigid always walked quickly but this time she almost flew, her lips were compressed and the linen covering that she wore over her sandy-coloured hair was all askew.
‘My lord,’ she said shrilly, when she had come within shouting distance. ‘My lord, I did not know that you were coming and I have nothing fit for you to eat in the place at all.’
‘What had you planned to give to the lads and myself, Brigid?’ asked Mara soothingly. She didn’t care; let the king eat what they were going to eat. He should have let them know that he was going to come.
‘I was going to do the usual Michaelmas supper for them, Brehon,’ said Brigid, turning her distraught gaze on her mistress. ‘Since the lads were not here on Michaelmas Day I thought I would leave it until Friday. Cumhal has lit the fire in the yard and there is a small pig roasting.’
‘I knew I smelled something good,’ said Turlough heartily. ‘One of my favourite meals! Nothing like roast pork at this time of year with the nights turning frosty.’
‘I could make you a good wine sauce and perhaps an
apple sauce as well and then there are some roots,’ said Brigid, mentally turning over the contents of her larder. Her face was beginning to lose its worried lines.
apple sauce as well and then there are some roots,’ said Brigid, mentally turning over the contents of her larder. Her face was beginning to lose its worried lines.
‘And I can find a good flagon of wine,’ said Mara. Personally, as long as the food was acceptable, she thought that wine was the most important part of the evening meal. ‘We’ll have a cup of wine in my house, Brigid, while we’re waiting. Send one of the boys for us when you are ready.’ She wanted to discuss the two killings with Turlough and also to find out what he thought of Garrett MacNamara’s new heir. In the house they would be private; in the yard of the enclosure there might be a dozen ears listening in to the conversation.
‘Anyway, how are your family?’ asked Turlough, as together they strolled down the road towards the Brehon’s house. ‘How’s your lovely daughter Sorcha? Is she well? And her husband? And the grandchildren?’ He, like she, seemed to decide that it was best to postpone the discussion of the serious affairs of the kingdom until they were in the privacy of her home. If it were indeed young Donal O’Brien who was responsible for one, or both, of the murders, then the affair would be very grave.
‘They’re very well,’ said Mara lightly. ‘I spent a fortnight with them in Galway in August. It was lovely being there with them all. Domhnall and little Aisling seem to grow every time I see them. Domhnall is reading very well now,’ she boasted.
‘I suppose that you will be having Domhnall at the law
school soon,’ said Turlough, opening the gate and standing back to allow her to walk up the flagstoned path towards the front door.
school soon,’ said Turlough, opening the gate and standing back to allow her to walk up the flagstoned path towards the front door.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Mara, casting a quick glance towards her new flowerbed with the jewelled shades of pink, purple, blue and magenta blending together in a rainbow of colour. She stopped for a moment, ready to show it to him, and then, with a glance at his worried, preoccupied face, she walked on. Now was not the moment, she thought. ‘Sorcha would like to keep him with her until he is eight,’ she continued, ‘and I think she is right. Some of these children come here too early. Brigid and I do our best, but most of them would be better off with their mothers until they are a bit older. Enda, now, he came when he was eight and yet after a year or so he was as good as Fachtnan in almost every subject, and Fachtnan had been studying since he was five. If they have the ability, they learn quickly.’
The east-facing room in the Brehon’s house was dim and shadowy after the bright slanting brilliance of the sunset outside. Mara lifted down the tinder box from the shelf above the fireplace, struck a light and lit a couple of candles. They blazed up quickly, filling the room with the honeyed smell of warm beeswax. She took one candle and held it to the pile of dry pine cones in the fireplace and within seconds their warm spicy scent dominated the smell of wax. This room was always at its best in the evening: the heavy oak bench, stools and table gleamed with the splendour of dark gold, and the fire brought out the rich lights from the depths of the red velvet cushions and curtains. Mara looked around her with satisfaction, but the king’s face was still full of
gloom as he sank down heavily on the cushioned bench by the fireplace.
gloom as he sank down heavily on the cushioned bench by the fireplace.
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