Read A Secret and Unlawful Killing Online
Authors: Cora Harrison
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery & Detective
A Secret and Unlawful Killing (6 page)
‘Would you call her, or shall we go in to see her?’
The girl shot a quick sideways glance at her. There was something slightly odd about the expression, not sorrow — there appeared to be little genuine grief there; her face seemed defensive rather than grief-stricken. There was also a shade of impatience in her look, almost as if she wished that she could be left in peace to do what she had to do.
‘Fionnuala,’ she called and when an elderly woman appeared at the door, Maeve moved quickly over to her.
‘Fionnuala,’ she said, ‘the body of my father has been found in Noughaval churchyard.’
‘Fionnuala,’ she said, ‘the body of my father has been found in Noughaval churchyard.’
Mara looked at her with interest; she was sure that she hadn’t mentioned the churchyard to Maeve.
‘God bless us and save us,’ said Fionnuala. She crossed herself, but there was something perfunctory about the gesture and her eyes were wary as they looked at the Brehon.
‘I think you had better take Maeve indoors,’ said Mara mildly. ‘She’s had a bad shock.’
‘Yes, of course,’ replied Fionnuala, and there was nothing false about the motherly way that she put her arm around the slight figure of the girl. Mara felt relieved. At least she could leave Maeve in her hands with an easy conscience.
‘I’ll need to find the road to Poulnabrone,’ said Mara. ‘I suppose if I strike across the fields there towards the west I’ll meet it.’
‘Yes, Brehon,’ said Maeve. ‘The road is just two fields away. I’ll open this gate for you,’ she said hurriedly, moving out of Fionnuala’s arms and rushing over. Obviously she wanted to get rid of the Brehon as soon as possible. Mara wondered why, but perhaps it was natural. Perhaps she wanted time to grieve privately. Many people handled sorrow like that. ‘You’ll find a gap just straight across the field,’ Maeve continued, ‘that will take you into the second field. The gap is open at the moment so you’ll have no trouble.’
Mara thanked her, mounted her mare and went through the gate. It was strange that no further questions had been asked, she thought. However, grief can rob a person of their wits; she had often witnessed that. She rode steadily across the field to the gap at the far end and then looked back over her shoulder. There was no sign of Maeve or Fionnuala so
no doubt they had gone into the kitchen. Mara hoped that this Fionnuala was a motherly person. She might well be more of a parent to Maeve than that strange, bad-tempered man, Ragnall MacNamara.
no doubt they had gone into the kitchen. Mara hoped that this Fionnuala was a motherly person. She might well be more of a parent to Maeve than that strange, bad-tempered man, Ragnall MacNamara.
The second field Maeve had described seemed to have been abandoned; it was very overgrown with hundreds of hazel bushes sprouting from the grykes between the slabs of stone. The bright purple flowers of the field bugle were everywhere underfoot and the pale cream faces of the burnet rose twined around the hazel stems and raised their small pretty flowers to the sun. Ragnall should have cut down this hazel scrub and then put a few goats in here, Mara thought impatiently. She wondered why the steward had neglected this piece of land so much. However, the farm was probably only a small part of his income as he would, of course, receive a portion of all the rents and tributes which he collected each year on behalf of the MacNamara
taoiseach.
It was a big farm, nevertheless; too big, thought Mara, for Maeve to be able to inherit it all. The Brehon law was strict about that: land must be kept within the kin-group and the clan. Unless Maeve married a cousin, she could take only land enough to graze seven cows as her dowry. That would mean about twenty acres of this good grazing land of the High Burren.
taoiseach.
It was a big farm, nevertheless; too big, thought Mara, for Maeve to be able to inherit it all. The Brehon law was strict about that: land must be kept within the kin-group and the clan. Unless Maeve married a cousin, she could take only land enough to graze seven cows as her dowry. That would mean about twenty acres of this good grazing land of the High Burren.
Mara got down from her horse and led her carefully through the clustering twigs and small branches; she would not risk a tear to the golden hide of her finely bred mare. As she pushed her way through the thickets she could hear the small tan-coloured hazel nuts crunch beneath her feet. The foxes and the pine martens would have a great feast here and plenty of nourishment to get them through a hard winter.
By the time that Mara eventually reached the road, the sun had already moved well out of the east and was approaching its September zenith. However, she did not turn north towards Poulnabrone — if she were late, she knew that the people of the Burren would wait courteously and patiently for her — she turned towards the south and towards the new tower house of Lemeanah.
Teige O‘Brien, a first cousin of King Turlough Donn O’Brien, had built Lemeanah soon after he had become
taoiseach
of the O’Brien clan on the Burren. It was a four-storey-high tower with doors set into the outside walls of the third and fourth floors, ready for a new extension to be built sometime in the future. It was the biggest tower house on the Burren, built in a magnificent style, which Mara was sure that Garrett MacNamara envied. Smoke poured from its chimney, and servants and workers bustled in and around the small cabins that surrounded it. On the north side of the tower house was a field with some stallions galloping about whinnying loudly, and Mara’s mare raised her head as if to answer them.
taoiseach
of the O’Brien clan on the Burren. It was a four-storey-high tower with doors set into the outside walls of the third and fourth floors, ready for a new extension to be built sometime in the future. It was the biggest tower house on the Burren, built in a magnificent style, which Mara was sure that Garrett MacNamara envied. Smoke poured from its chimney, and servants and workers bustled in and around the small cabins that surrounded it. On the north side of the tower house was a field with some stallions galloping about whinnying loudly, and Mara’s mare raised her head as if to answer them.
‘Hush, girl,’ said Mara, hurriedly stroking the golden neck. Quickly she dismounted. Her sharp eye had caught sight of a flash of blue on the top of the wall. She narrowed her eyes against the sun. Yes, it was Maeve climbing into the field near the tower house. Apparently she had gone by a quicker route than the way she had sent Mara. She had not gone for comfort from Fionnuala, but had come to her lover. Was it for comfort or to prepare him for the Brehon’s visit? Mara did not know the answer to that question.
Someone else had seen that flash of blue also. A tall young man had vaulted the wall near to the tower house and
was striding rapidly across the field, ignoring all of the playful young stallions, and making directly for the girl in the blue
léine.
Mara waited patiently for a few minutes to give a chance for the news to be passed on, and then she mounted again, riding sedately down the road, with her head turned away from the young couple and towards the stony fields opposite.
was striding rapidly across the field, ignoring all of the playful young stallions, and making directly for the girl in the blue
léine.
Mara waited patiently for a few minutes to give a chance for the news to be passed on, and then she mounted again, riding sedately down the road, with her head turned away from the young couple and towards the stony fields opposite.
By the time that she reached the gates of Lemeanah, the two had disappeared from the field. Mara thought that Donal might have come to meet her, but there was no sign of him. He had obviously not inherited the courtesy of his father, Teige, she thought; he must certainly have seen her as she rode down towards the tower house. Or perhaps he had his own reasons for not encountering her. However, she had little time to waste if she was going to get to Poulnabrone for noon, so she refused the offer to dismount from a servant who came running to the gate, and sent him instead to find Donal O’Brien. There was a flash of puzzlement in the eyes of the man; he found it strange that she should ask for the son rather than the father, but he did not dare question the Brehon so he straight away went in search of his young master and Donal appeared several minutes later.
His mantle was not torn; Mara noticed that immediately. It was made of finely woven grey cloth, but then most people on the Burren wore grey made from the wool of the mountain sheep. These produced the most rain-resistant wool and that was important here on the edge of the Atlantic where rain showers swept in almost continuously. Perhaps he had another mantle, though. A family of this wealth could easily afford two or even three cloaks for the son and heir of the family.
‘Ah, Donal,’ she greeted him, looking closely at the handsome, sullen face. ‘I thought I saw you in the yard. I want you to pass on a message to your father. Ragnall MacNamara has been killed and I will be making an announcement at Poulnabrone at twelve noon.’
‘Yes,’ he said, his eyes refusing to meet hers. ‘The news came a while ago. My father has already gone up to Poulnabrone.’
So Maeve’s mission was unnecessary, thought Mara. Or perhaps it was more to tell her young lover that no awkward questions had been asked by the Brehon. She wondered how to deal with this young man. Perhaps being direct would be the best method.
‘I saw you with Ragnall’s daughter, Maeve, at Noughaval market, yesterday,’ she said rapidly.
His face paled slightly, but then he nodded.
‘I understand that Ragnall had refused permission for any betrothal between you and Maeve,’ she continued. ‘So what happened when he turned up at Noughaval yesterday? That would have been a surprise to you; you would have expected him to be on the road all day and I suppose so he would have been if the fog had not been so dense. He must have decided to turn back when he reached the sea.’
Donal said nothing, but a spark of anger smouldered in his eyes. Was it anger against her or against Ragnall? Mara wondered.
‘So what happened when he arrived?’ she asked abruptly.
He licked his lips, thought for a moment and then explained hurriedly: ‘Nothing happened. When we saw him, Maeve and I went away. I took her home to Shesmore and then I came back here.’
‘What time did you arrive home?’
‘Mid-afternoon,’ he said, after a moment’s pause for thought. That would be about right if he had done what he said, thought Mara. Either he was telling the truth or he was quick-witted enough to tell a plausible lie.
‘Did anyone see you arrive home?’
He licked his lips again. His dark eyes were wary. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No one was about. Everyone was either at the market or else out in the fields. I went up to my room and I stayed there until suppertime.’
That would be fairly unlikely, thought Mara. An active young man, and a beautiful afternoon with the golden September sun warming the fields … Surely he would have gone out with his dogs and his horse if he had no tasks. However, it might be possible. The boy was obviously very much in love and miserable at the denial of his request by the father of his sweetheart. Perhaps he did lie on his bed and brood. Or perhaps he did come back and then go out again She decided rapidly on her course of action. It would be best to surprise the truth out of him now, if possible, before he had time to think up a story.
‘You lost your brooch,’ she said, delving into her pouch and producing it.
He held his hand out instantly.
‘It is yours?’ she asked, still retaining it in her own hand, but angling it so that he could see the three tiny lions enamelled in red.
He hesitated then, and a look of fear came into his eyes.
‘It is yours, isn’t it?’ she persisted.
He made no move to take it from her now. His dark eyes
were hooded by a fan of downcast black lashes, so she could not read their expression, but his mouth was tight.
were hooded by a fan of downcast black lashes, so she could not read their expression, but his mouth was tight.
‘Any of your servants will know whether it is your brooch or not,’ she told him bluntly.
‘Where did you find it?’ he asked. He was looking at her now, but his expression was guarded. His young face looked suddenly aged and wary.
‘Where did you lose it?’ she countered sharply.
He shifted his position so that his face was no longer lit by the sun but was shadowed. The wariness had intensified.
‘I lost it somewhere,’ he said hesitantly. ‘I don’t know where I lost it, exactly. We were hunting … myself and the three O’Lochlainn lads … We were hunting foxes with a pack of dogs. We took the dogs and we went out after foxes.’
‘And did the O’Lochlainns help you to search for your brooch?’ she asked with an air of concern which rang to her ears as showing a satisfactory degree of friendly interest.
‘No.’ He replied to this promptly as if he had guessed that the question would be coming. ‘I didn’t realize that I had lost it until I came home.’
‘And where were you hunting?’ asked Mara.
He shrugged. ‘Can’t remember really — it was a few weeks ago — all over the High Burren, I think … You know, from Slieve Elva over to Carron.’
She considered this. ‘Did you go through Noughaval?’
‘Yes,’ he said eagerly. ‘Yes, we went through Noughaval.’
‘What about the churchyard? You didn’t go through the churchyard at Noughaval, did you?’ she asked, looking at him keenly. It would be strange for a hunt to go through the
churchyard. There was a great respect for the bodies of the dead on the Burren. Even if the hounds went through the churchyard, the riders would usually circle outside calling off their dogs.
churchyard. There was a great respect for the bodies of the dead on the Burren. Even if the hounds went through the churchyard, the riders would usually circle outside calling off their dogs.
He hesitated for a moment and then bowed his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We didn’t go through the churchyard.’
Mara allowed the silence to linger for a few moments before turning the mare’s head towards the north.
‘I must go now,’ she said. ‘I will see your father at Poulnabrone. Are you coming too?’
He shook his head. ‘No, Brehon,’ he said warily. ‘I have tasks to do here.’
After Mara had ridden through the gatehouse and had turned her mare’s head towards the north, she turned back. Donal O’Brien was still standing, very still, in the spot where she had left him. He looked, to her, like a man who was bearing a heavy weight of anxiety on his broad shoulders.
BERRAD AIRECHTA (COURT PROCEDURE AND JUDGEMENTS)
A
court shall be held in a place that is sacred within the kingdom. That is to say it should be by a great rock, known as
the Brehon’s chair,
or on the top of an ancient mound, or beside an ancestral burial place.
court shall be held in a place that is sacred within the kingdom. That is to say it should be by a great rock, known as
the Brehon’s chair,
or on the top of an ancient mound, or beside an ancestral burial place.
T
HE FIELD AROUND THE dolmen of Poulnabrone was full of people when Mara arrived. It was almost as if the birds of the air had carried the news of the secret and unlawful killing of Ragnall MacNamara. It would have been natural for the MacNamara clan to be there, she had appointed this time to hear the case about the blacksmith’s candlesticks, but the other three clans, the O’Lochlainns, the O’Connors and the O’Briens were there also, in strong numbers. With one of the rapid weather changes so customary in the west of Ireland, the sun had disappeared and the
sky had turned the colour of polished pewter. There was no wind, but the atmosphere held the ominous promise of a storm to come. The air had turned chill, but no one in that huge crowd moved.
HE FIELD AROUND THE dolmen of Poulnabrone was full of people when Mara arrived. It was almost as if the birds of the air had carried the news of the secret and unlawful killing of Ragnall MacNamara. It would have been natural for the MacNamara clan to be there, she had appointed this time to hear the case about the blacksmith’s candlesticks, but the other three clans, the O’Lochlainns, the O’Connors and the O’Briens were there also, in strong numbers. With one of the rapid weather changes so customary in the west of Ireland, the sun had disappeared and the
sky had turned the colour of polished pewter. There was no wind, but the atmosphere held the ominous promise of a storm to come. The air had turned chill, but no one in that huge crowd moved.
The ancient dolmen with the four upright stones and the jagged tip of the soaring capstone was silhouetted against the leaden sky, dwarfing the humans who surrounded it. It had been the burial mound of the ancient inhabitants of the Burren and then the hallowed place where the people of the kingdom came to hear the judgements and pronouncements of their king and of his Brehon. Mara had already been Brehon of the Burren for fifteen years, but when she spoke at Poulnabrone she never failed to feel thrilled and yet humbled by the strength of the tradition in this sacred stony place.
Cumhal, her farm manager, was there, as he always was whenever he was needed, and he took the mare from her as soon as she dismounted. The six scholars, neat in their white
léinte
and polished leather sandals, were lined up beside the dolmen. Mara smiled at them as they bowed to her. There was an air of suppressed excitement about them; judgement days were often tedious, filled with small wrangles over boundary stones and cattle trespass, but this one would be full of drama. However, she was glad to see their faces were grave. She always insisted on the highest level of decorous behaviour in public, but inside, she knew, they were bubbling with anticipation. As her scholars they would be closely involved in the investigation. What an exciting start to the Michaelmas term for them.
léinte
and polished leather sandals, were lined up beside the dolmen. Mara smiled at them as they bowed to her. There was an air of suppressed excitement about them; judgement days were often tedious, filled with small wrangles over boundary stones and cattle trespass, but this one would be full of drama. However, she was glad to see their faces were grave. She always insisted on the highest level of decorous behaviour in public, but inside, she knew, they were bubbling with anticipation. As her scholars they would be closely involved in the investigation. What an exciting start to the Michaelmas term for them.
‘Brehon, this is a terrible, terrible thing to happen.’ Garrett MacNamara pushed himself through the crowd followed
by a tall, brown-haired man, who stood affably behind him, looking around at the crowd in a friendly fashion. Mara recognized this man instantly although it was a while since she had seen him.
by a tall, brown-haired man, who stood affably behind him, looking around at the crowd in a friendly fashion. Mara recognized this man instantly although it was a while since she had seen him.
Murrough, the younger son of King Turlough Donn, greatly resembled his father. He had the same light green eyes, the same war-like moustaches curving down from either side of his mouth, the same brown hair, though his father’s was greying. However, the son looked quite different to the father in his dress. While Turlough wore the
léine
and
brat
of his ancestors, Murrough was dressed in the latest English fashion of skin-tight hose and very short velvet doublet barely reaching to the top of his legs. He looked very out of place, thought Mara, in this assembly of clansmen. The O‘Brien clan, in particular, viewed him with a certain disdain; Teige O’Brien, with a broad grin on his face, was whispering behind his hand to his cousin, Cian, the silversmith.
léine
and
brat
of his ancestors, Murrough was dressed in the latest English fashion of skin-tight hose and very short velvet doublet barely reaching to the top of his legs. He looked very out of place, thought Mara, in this assembly of clansmen. The O‘Brien clan, in particular, viewed him with a certain disdain; Teige O’Brien, with a broad grin on his face, was whispering behind his hand to his cousin, Cian, the silversmith.
Mara came forward to meet the young man. ‘Murrough!’ she said. ‘You are well? And your family, also?’ She did not enquire about his father; Turlough, she knew, was not getting on well with this son, though previously Murrough had always been the favourite, and still was, she suspected, despite his infatuation with all things English. She wondered briefly whether Murrough knew of his father’s hopes to marry Mara, Brehon of the Burren, and what he thought of it. However, their relationship had always been warm and friendly and she was pleased to see that there was a beaming smile on his face as he greeted her and asked after her family.
‘Do you think you can handle this affair?’ he asked teasingly.
Mara smiled at him sweetly, raising her dark eyebrows in
a look of polite enquiry. She always enjoyed his wit and his sense of fun.
a look of polite enquiry. She always enjoyed his wit and his sense of fun.
‘Handle?’ she asked in a puzzled tone of voice.
‘This is a very serious matter,’ he said with an amused glance at Garrett. No doubt Garrett had been pouring out his thoughts to the king’s son.
‘Every death is a serious matter,’ said Mara gravely.
‘Oh, the death, that, of course,’ said Murrough, his green eyes dancing with mischief, ‘but there is also a matter of stolen goods, a pouch full of silver; not just an ordinary theft, but a theft from a
taoiseach.’
Again, he gave a quick amused glance at Garrett.
taoiseach.’
Again, he gave a quick amused glance at Garrett.
‘The law makes provision for all theft, and for all cases of serious injury and of death,’ said Mara evenly, ignoring the irony in his tone. She did not wish Garrett to feel that he was being laughed at by this boy. Without waiting for an answer she addressed Garrett.
‘I agree, Garrett, this is, indeed, a terrible matter. There is no doubt, I think, that Ragnall’s death is a secret and unlawful killing, but I will make the announcement now and call for evidence.’ She moved a little closer to Garrett, deliberately turning her back on Murrough, and said in a low voice: ‘Of course the people were called to Poulnabrone to hear this case between Fintan, the blacksmith, and Ragnall, the steward, but now that Ragnall is dead I think we can let this matter drop, do you agree? Ragnall had no right to take those branched candlesticks from Fintan’s man, Balor; the whole of the Burren knows that Balor was classified as a
druth
and, as such, he could not have had the authority of his master to give the candlesticks. I assure you that is the legal position.’
druth
and, as such, he could not have had the authority of his master to give the candlesticks. I assure you that is the legal position.’
She waited calmly, looking up at him. Garrett was a tall man, who looked more than his thirty years. He was staring down at her with his prominent gooseberry-coloured eyes and furrowing his brow. He would look better with the hairstyle of his youth, she thought. The English fashion for hair curled back, on him, revealed an abnormally high, white forehead which had until recently been covered with the Irish
glib
(fringe). The height of his forehead seemed to accentuate the size of the huge fleshy nose and the heavily swelling lower lip. An unattractive man, she thought, despite his fine English-style clothing, and yet, he was reputed to have married well. Slaney, his wife, came from one of the most important families in Galway and bore the reputation of being a magnificent specimen of womanhood.
glib
(fringe). The height of his forehead seemed to accentuate the size of the huge fleshy nose and the heavily swelling lower lip. An unattractive man, she thought, despite his fine English-style clothing, and yet, he was reputed to have married well. Slaney, his wife, came from one of the most important families in Galway and bore the reputation of being a magnificent specimen of womanhood.
‘Balor?’ he queried.
She nodded. ‘Yes, the bastard son of Aengus the miller, Niall’s younger brother,’ she said calmly. ‘I classified him myself. I can assure you that the law is quite clear on this point. Ragnall had no right to remove those candlesticks without the permission of their rightful owner. I think that the easiest thing would be just to give them back quietly, don’t you?’
Eventually he nodded reluctantly.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell Fintan that he may have them back.’ She had no notion of revealing that Fintan had possibly already removed the candlesticks. She waited for a moment to see whether Niall had told his
taoiseach
about the missing candlesticks, but he made no answer, just nodded his head again. It was good that Niall had kept that matter to himself, she thought. There was going to be trouble enough over this secret and unlawful killing; she did not want any
more. She moved towards her traditional place, just beside one of the huge upright stones of the dolmen. Fachtnan, the eldest scholar at the law school, handed her a scroll and she raised it. Instantly silence fell.
taoiseach
about the missing candlesticks, but he made no answer, just nodded his head again. It was good that Niall had kept that matter to himself, she thought. There was going to be trouble enough over this secret and unlawful killing; she did not want any
more. She moved towards her traditional place, just beside one of the huge upright stones of the dolmen. Fachtnan, the eldest scholar at the law school, handed her a scroll and she raised it. Instantly silence fell.
‘Dia’s Muire agat,’
she said in the traditional greeting and back came the answer: ‘God and Mary and Patrick be with you.’
she said in the traditional greeting and back came the answer: ‘God and Mary and Patrick be with you.’
‘I, Mara, Brehon of the Burren, announce to you that a killing took place of the steward, Ragnall MacNamara, at Noughaval on the evening of the feast of Michaelmas.’ She paused; a little ripple ran around the crowd with those nearest repeating her words so that those on the outside of the crowd could hear.
‘I now call on the person who killed the steward, Ragnall, to acknowledge the crime and to pay the fine. Ragnall’s honour price as a steward is half the honour price of his lord, Garrett MacNamara, so it is the sum of seven
séts
or three and a half ounces of silver. The
éraic,
or body fine, for an unlawful killing is forty-two
séts,
or twenty-one ounces of silver. The whole fine, then, is forty-nine
séts,
twenty-five ounces of silver, or twenty-five milch cows.’
séts
or three and a half ounces of silver. The
éraic,
or body fine, for an unlawful killing is forty-two
séts,
or twenty-one ounces of silver. The whole fine, then, is forty-nine
séts,
twenty-five ounces of silver, or twenty-five milch cows.’
There was no sound; no one moved and no one spoke.
‘For the second time, I call on the person who killed the steward, Ragnall, to acknowledge the crime and to pay the fine of forty-nine
séts,’
said Mara. She waited, surveying the crowd, but no one stirred.
séts,’
said Mara. She waited, surveying the crowd, but no one stirred.
‘For the third time, I call on the person who killed the steward, Ragnall, to acknowledge the crime and to pay the fine of forty-nine
séts,’
said Mara, but she knew by now that no one would reply.
séts,’
said Mara, but she knew by now that no one would reply.
‘As soon as forty-eight hours have passed since this
killing took place,’ she continued, ‘I will declare it to be a case of
duinetháide,
a secret and unlawful killing. The
éraic
will then be doubled to eighty-four
séts.
Add to that the victim’s honour price of seven
sets
and the fine will then be ninety-one
séts,
forty-five ounces of silver, or forty-five milch cows.’ She waited for a moment, now she could hear a low murmur of conversation. Heads were turned, one to the other. This was a huge amount of cows for any single individual to be able to afford. The whole
fine
(family group) would have to come to the rescue of the murderer. She held up her scroll again, and again silence fell.
killing took place,’ she continued, ‘I will declare it to be a case of
duinetháide,
a secret and unlawful killing. The
éraic
will then be doubled to eighty-four
séts.
Add to that the victim’s honour price of seven
sets
and the fine will then be ninety-one
séts,
forty-five ounces of silver, or forty-five milch cows.’ She waited for a moment, now she could hear a low murmur of conversation. Heads were turned, one to the other. This was a huge amount of cows for any single individual to be able to afford. The whole
fine
(family group) would have to come to the rescue of the murderer. She held up her scroll again, and again silence fell.
‘I will now take evidence about this case,’ she said. ‘First, I call upon my two scholars, Aidan and Moylan, to give evidence as to how they found the body.’
The two boys managed a more coherent account than usual, she thought. They even managed not to interrupt each other. While she kept a respectful face turned towards them, her eyes were busy scanning the crowd. The O‘Lochlainn’s clan was there in almost full strength, she thought, as she saw them grouped around the tall figure of Ardal, their
taoiseach,
a fair number of O’Connors also, and plenty of the O’Brien clan. All of the MacNamaras, of course, that could be taken for granted — or were they all there? Suddenly her attention sharpened. Quickly her eyes went from face to face, all faces were concerned, all grave, but none bore any sign of sorrow, she thought. This was what had alerted her to look for the miller from Oughtmama; she had been looking to see what emotion Aengus MacNamara showed at the news of his enemy’s death.
taoiseach,
a fair number of O’Connors also, and plenty of the O’Brien clan. All of the MacNamaras, of course, that could be taken for granted — or were they all there? Suddenly her attention sharpened. Quickly her eyes went from face to face, all faces were concerned, all grave, but none bore any sign of sorrow, she thought. This was what had alerted her to look for the miller from Oughtmama; she had been looking to see what emotion Aengus MacNamara showed at the news of his enemy’s death.
But Aengus MacNamara was not there.
‘Has anyone else any evidence to give,’ she asked, after
she had thanked the two boys. Silence greeted her. She had not expected anything of importance to be volunteered. Every tongue would be guarded in this public place. No one would want to implicate a friend, a neighbour, a relative, or a member of the clan. These enquiries would have to be made quietly and privately and the truth would have to be discovered as soon as possible for the sake of everybody in the kingdom. For over fifteen hundred years they and their ancestors had lived by this system of justice that relied on the goodwill and the co-operation of the clans to keep the peace within its community. The truth would have to be acknowledged here at Poulnabrone, the fine paid, and then the community could go on living at peace with their families and their neighbours.
she had thanked the two boys. Silence greeted her. She had not expected anything of importance to be volunteered. Every tongue would be guarded in this public place. No one would want to implicate a friend, a neighbour, a relative, or a member of the clan. These enquiries would have to be made quietly and privately and the truth would have to be discovered as soon as possible for the sake of everybody in the kingdom. For over fifteen hundred years they and their ancestors had lived by this system of justice that relied on the goodwill and the co-operation of the clans to keep the peace within its community. The truth would have to be acknowledged here at Poulnabrone, the fine paid, and then the community could go on living at peace with their families and their neighbours.
‘Fachtnan,’ she said when the crowd had begun to disperse, ‘do you see Aengus the miller anywhere?’
‘No, Brehon,’ said Fachtnan, standing on a nearby rock, brushing his rough curly dark hair out of his eyes and scanning the closely massed MacNamara clan. ‘He doesn’t seem to be here. Would you like me to ask Fintan MacNamara, the blacksmith? He’s his cousin.’
‘No, I’ll talk to him myself,’ said Mara. ‘Would you ask him to come over, Fachtnan?’
Fintan came willingly. When she had seen him yesterday at the head of the dissident clansmen he had looked like an angry bull, his dark eyes sparkling with rage and his broad chest lifting with the long breaths he sucked in, but his eyes were peaceful now. He was looking tidier than usual, she thought. He had shed the blacksmith’s leather apron, and his high-coloured face was cleansed of the usual spots of soot, though it still bore the scorch marks and scars of old burns.
A hard trade, thought Mara, though a highly valued one, as no community could manage without its blacksmith. Fintan was busy from morning to night with making, mending and repairing. Every house and every farm bore examples of his work, but nothing she had ever seen previously was as fine as that magnificent set of candlesticks. She had only glimpsed them briefly in the bottom of Ragnall’s cart, but they had stayed in her mind. Each candlestick had been moulded in the shape of a gnarled oak tree with the branches springing from it. Every branch ended in a cluster of perfectly formed oak leaves and this cluster held the candle in its midst. A wonderful piece of work, a piece of work to be prized by its maker: but would he have killed to recover it from the clutches of the greedy steward?
A hard trade, thought Mara, though a highly valued one, as no community could manage without its blacksmith. Fintan was busy from morning to night with making, mending and repairing. Every house and every farm bore examples of his work, but nothing she had ever seen previously was as fine as that magnificent set of candlesticks. She had only glimpsed them briefly in the bottom of Ragnall’s cart, but they had stayed in her mind. Each candlestick had been moulded in the shape of a gnarled oak tree with the branches springing from it. Every branch ended in a cluster of perfectly formed oak leaves and this cluster held the candle in its midst. A wonderful piece of work, a piece of work to be prized by its maker: but would he have killed to recover it from the clutches of the greedy steward?
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