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Authors: Cora Harrison

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BOOK: A Secret and Unlawful Killing
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‘But tribute was paid,’ said Ardal eagerly. His blue eyes sparkled. He loved the law. The more intricate a matter was, the more it interested him.
‘Yes, tribute was paid. It had to be paid every Michaelmas – the amount was not specified. The phrase used was “fair tribute”. That’s in a lot of old leases. This is where the tribute is different from the English law about taxes. English taxes always specify the amount to be paid. But to go back to the mill … After tribute, all revenues from the mill were to belong to the miller, but the
banna
specified that the mill was to be used for the good of the clan and the clan was to have preferential use of it.’
‘I see,’ said Ardal. He looked somewhat downcast. Obviously
the idea of owning the mill had gripped him. She could just imagine, looking around the neat, well-cared-for room and remembering the carefully groomed O’Lochlainn land and livestock, that Ardal would have made a great success of the mill at Oughtmama.
‘So the mill would be no good to us even if Niall was willing to sell, is that what you’re saying, Brehon?’ asked Liam. She was surprised to notice how frustrated he looked.
‘I was just thinking that if the MacNamara himself offered you the mill then you could perhaps claim that he had given up the
banna
on the property,’ said Mara thoughtfully. ‘It’s a complicated legal problem, though. I would certainly have to consult King Turlough Donn on this matter.’
‘But you think it might be possible, Brehon,’ pressed Liam. ‘I’m sure that the king would abide by your advice.’
I’m sure he would, thought Mara, but her policy was always to defer to the king’s judgement in public. It was a ploy that she found very useful in order to postpone a decision.
‘Well, we’ll have to see,’ she said vaguely, draining her cup and sitting back in her chair. ‘Of course, you don’t know whether Niall would be willing to sell to you, or not, so I suggest that you wait until after the judgement at Poulnabrone on Saturday. King Turlough himself may attend.’
‘I would say that Niall would sell,’ said Ardal thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think that he was ever too interested in the mill. That was probably why Aengus bought the farm for him. He’s a good man with the cows, Niall. Mind you, I’d say Aengus was not an easy man to work for. Poor Balor was willing, but Aengus terrified the lad out of the few wits that he has.’
‘Why don’t you build a mill for yourself?’ queried Mara. ‘Why does it have to be the MacNamara mill? I can imagine there would be a lot of trouble about that. It has been in MacNamara hands since time immemorial.’
‘There’s no suitable river on O’Lochlainn land,’ said Ardal. ‘All those streams up in the mountains are just trickles. It’s only by combining them that enough flow is got to work the mill. Running water is valuable around here. You know what this place is like: plenty of rain, but no rivers.’
‘Of course,’ said Mara. ‘I hadn’t thought about that. You’re right, of course.’ The O’Lochlainn clan owned most of the land in the kingdom, but the Burren limestone seemed to swallow up the water and hold it underground. There was only one river in the kingdom that would have sufficient flow to turn a water wheel and that was in the hands of the MacNamaras.
‘We could perhaps have a word with Niall before Saturday,’ suggested Liam. ‘Would you be agreeable to that, Brehon? We’ve always been on good terms with Niall. We lend him a neighbouring hand from time to time.’
‘I think it would be best not,’ said Mara decidedly. ‘If you are going to give evidence of belief in Niall’s paternity, Ardal, then it would look as if Niall might have bribed you by offering to let you purchase the mill. Surely it can wait until after Saturday?’
‘Of course, of course,’ said Ardal hurriedly. He was a very courteous, sensitive man and Mara could see now how he was hunting in his mind for a subject of conversation that would close the matter of the mill. ‘It was a good day at the Michaelmas Fair, Brehon, wasn’t it? Did you see much of it?’
‘Yes, I did,’ said Mara. ‘It turned into a lovely afternoon, didn’t it?’ Ardal had given her the opportunity to slip in the question that she wanted to ask Liam so she turned a smiling face towards him, saying, ‘I suppose the fair went on well into the evening?’
‘Yes, after the foggy start it turned into a lovely day, thank God,’ he replied. ‘I don’t think a single one of the merchants packed up until nearly sundown and even then most of them carried on with the
craic
in the alehouse.’
‘Even Guaire O’Brien, the linen merchant?’ she queried with a light laugh. ‘I would have thought he would have gone straight home after Áine and a few other women had dealt with him.’
‘No, no, he stayed to the end of the fair. I don’t suppose he did much business, though, once he had cut the right lengths for everyone. No, I saw him go at sundown.’
‘So he didn’t have a chat with Ragnall in the churchyard, did he?’ asked Mara.
‘No,’ said Liam slowly. The gleam in his eye showed that he understood her question, but he repeated, ‘No, Ragnall went into the churchyard on his horse a good half hour before Guaire packed his linen up. I remember seeing the cart unattended for quite a while. I kept expecting to see Niall come along any minute with his own horse to pull the cart away.’
‘And Niall came as Guaire was leaving?’
‘A bit after, I’d say. Guaire was one of the first to pack up. I didn’t actually watch him go myself, I was too busy organizing our own men to get the O’Lochlainn tribute properly stowed onto the carts. Then, as I said, we all went
into the alehouse. Rory, the bard, had a new song, and Roderic was there with his horn, and, all in all, we made a great night of it.’
‘Another cup of wine, Brehon?’ asked Ardal hospitably.
‘I won’t, thank you,’ said Mara. She got up and walked over to the window. The two men joined her. The rain had ceased.
‘You can see I was right,’ said Liam. ‘You find that at this time of the year. The storms just blow in from the Aran Islands and then they blow themselves out.’
‘Liam is a great man for the weather,’ said Ardal, smiling appreciatively at his steward. ‘You can always get a forecast from him. We never start the haymaking until he gives the word.’
‘I think I should get back now, Ardal,’ said Mara. ‘I need to prepare some work for my scholars; I have a busy day ahead of me tomorrow.’
I must go to Shesmore first thing tomorrow morning, she thought as Liam clattered down the stairs to order her horse to be brought round. Her mind went back to the picture that Liam had drawn of Ragnall, still mounted on his white horse, going into the churchyard. What had made him get off his horse? And what had happened to the horse afterwards?
‘Thank you, Ardal,’ she said aloud. ‘That was a lovely meal and it’s always a pleasure to be in your company.’
‘The pleasure is all mine, Brehon,’ he said with his usual grave politeness, but his face did not look too happy as he accompanied her down the stairs and helped her onto her horse. Liam joined him. The last view she had of them, as she looked back before turning into the Cahermacnaghten
road, they were both still there on the doorstep, both still staring solemnly after her.
Once out of sight of the two of them, Mara slowed her mare to a steady walk. She needed time to think. Obviously this business with the mill was of great importance to Ardal. He was that sort of man. He had set his mind on something; he had planned out his whole course of action; he had calculated the expenditure of time, energy and resources; he had decided that it was worth doing.
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?
BRETHA NEMED TOÍSECH (JUDGEMENTS OF PRIVILEGED PERSONS)
A
man may rise from his position in life by several means.
I
f he is a farmer and he does well he may buy land and from being an
oca
re
become a
bóaire. I
f 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.
 
 
M
ARA 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.’
BOOK: A Secret and Unlawful Killing
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