Deed of Murder (2 page)

Up to that moment Fiona had been the focus of all eyes. Every man in the room had wanted to dance with her; every woman had envied her looks. She was fifteen years old and gorgeous – a tiny girl, but with a perfect figure, perfect features, hair like spun gold, gleaming white teeth, eyes as blue as a sapphire and a laugh that rippled like the strings of a zither.

She had been dancing with twelve-year-old Shane, the youngest pupil in the law school, laughing into his face, letting him whirl her around, pulling off the ribbon that braided her hair into one thick plait and allowing her blonde curls to float free.

Mara had smiled tolerantly to herself as she looked on. Fiona was a flirt. She knew quite well that the two eldest from the law school were madly in love with her. Fachtnan and Eamon were, from the time that she had appeared, almost at daggers drawn about her and the position had remained. She had deliberately walked away and chosen Shane who was too young to appreciate the honour done to him. There were times when Mara had half-regretted her decision to admit Fiona, daughter of a renowned Scottish Brehon, and an old school friend of hers. Mara and Robert MacBretha had been amiable rivals for the top place at Cahermacnaghten Law School more than twenty years ago and Fiona had inherited her father’s brains. The girl was bright, clever and funny, a good scholar with a keen legal brain; but her spectacular looks caused trouble in a law school full of boys.

‘How strange to have a girl law student!’ exclaimed the Bishop of Kilfenora, breaking into her thoughts. He looked with disapproval at the wild abandon of Fiona’s dance. Now all the young people had gathered in a circle around the two and were beating time with their hands – applauding the performance. Fachtnan, though he had a yearning look in his dark eyes, was laughing at the spectacle of his beloved dancing with a twelve-year-old, but Eamon had turned his back and was busy chatting earnestly with one of the king’s friends and allies.

‘Not the first for Cahermacnaghten,’ Mara reminded Bishop Mauritius with a smile. This man had to be handled carefully. Not only was he bishop of the kingdom, but he was also a member of the ruling royal family, a cousin of her husband, King Turlough O’Brien. He was the cause that her baby son Cormac was having an official christening a good eleven months after his birth. The bishop had departed for Rome just before the child was born and had lingered there during the winter months. Little Cormac, who had a premature and difficult birth, had been hastily baptized by Brigid, Mara’s housekeeper, on the traumatic day of his birth, so the official ceremony had waited for the bishop. Mara set herself to entertain him by asking some questions about Rome and about his travels.

And after that she lost sight of Fiona.

If only that silly business with Ulick Burke, Lord of Clanrickard, had not distracted her. Ulick, in full flow, drew every eye to him. Mara found him a tiresome man, quite exasperating at times, but even she could not deny his ability to tell a good story. Now, despite herself, she could not help listening to him as he took his place in front of the huge fireplace, his small slim figure standing out against the more burly stature of the other guests. In any case, he was her husband’s greatest friend and she had to be courteous towards him. Turlough O’Brien, King of Thomond, Corcomroe and Burren was never happier than when entertaining friends and relations, but his favourite guest was always Ulick Burke, Lord of Clanrickard with its extensive lands north of Galway, a man famous for having more wives than could be counted!

A large crowd was beginning to gather around them – Ulick was always amusing. But the young people continued dancing, taking new partners now. To Mara’s satisfaction she saw that Nuala, a distant relation and a great pet of hers, was being led out by Seamus MacCraith, the poet, the most handsome young man present.

Nuala, from the time that she was quite a young child, had been in love with Fachtnan. He was four years the older, but, even as a ten-year-old, had always been kind to the dark-eyed, intensely intelligent daughter of the physician. Things had not gone well for Nuala in the last year and she now had accepted that Fachtnan’s feelings for her were just brotherly. Mara hoped that she would fall in love with Seamus MacCraith, though she feared that the young poet, like the rest of the young men in the room, was smitten by Fiona’s extraordinary beauty. Still, Fiona was nowhere to be seen now after her spectacular dance with Shane, so Mara turned a polite face towards Ulick, her husband’s best friend and godfather to her son Cormac.

‘And there, in the middle of London, there is His Majesty, King Henry, the eighth of that name, and there he is in his great palace at Whitehall, prancing around like a mummer, dressed in silks and velvets and every inch of him hung with gold.’ Ulick, though such a small, slim, middle-aged man, lifted his head, expanded his chest and became before their eyes the tall young King of England, roaring out jokes and commands in English and reverting quickly to the Gaelic tongue to paint the scene at Whitehall Palace for his audience, allowing them to picture the arbour of gold on wheels, screened from the audience, and then the dramatic moment when the curtain was drawn back to show the king and his friends with names from old romances, moulded from gold, hanging around their necks.

‘And then in comes young O’Donnell, Hugh Dubh, and him bowing and scraping. “
May it please your lordship, certainly Your Majesty, indeed and I will, my lord king.
” That’s the way he was going on, whining like a beggar . . .’ The mockery was cruel, if funny, and probably untrue, thought Mara; the chances were that young Hugh O’Donnell would have spoken in Gaelic, not in bad English, and have allowed his Brehon to translate for him. It amused the company, though. Donán O’Kennedy, Turlough’s son-in-law, was convulsed with laughter, his broad shoulders shaking with mirth.

‘Tell us about what happened to the gold, afterwards, Ulick,’ he called, looking for approval from his father-in-law, Turlough, who was roaring with laughter. But Ulick was wise enough to know that he had reached the climax of his story with the submission and humiliation of O’Donnell so he ignored Donán and looked around for more wine.

‘And he gave up his title of King of Donegal for an English title?’ marvelled Turlough.

‘
Sure and why wouldn’t I
?’ whined Ulick, still in character as Hugh O’Donnell. ‘“
Didn’t I get masses of gold and silver and promises of more? And now I am an English knight
.”’ He tossed his head in a young man’s gesture and so good an actor was he that Mara could almost imagine O’Donnell’s long mane of black hair instead of the thinning blonde-grey hair of this middle-aged man.

‘We’ll show him, won’t we?’ roared Turlough, his arm around Ulick’s shoulders. ‘We’ll teach O’Donnell what it is to be Irish. Let him not come anywhere near here with his English soldiers and his English guns. We’ll serve him the way that we served the Great Earl last year. Send him back up north with his tail between his legs – a man who could give up being king and leader of his clan in order to get empty titles from the King of England!’

‘Fill up your glasses, everyone! Let’s drink to King Turlough Donn of Thomond, Corcomroe and Burren,’ shouted Ulick, and the servants at the castle scurried around with their flagons.

And the laughter, chatter, music, dancing had gone on until the early hours of the morning.

A good excuse for a party, anyway, thought Mara, looking affectionately across at her husband who was laughing loudly at a joke told by Ulick Burke, godfather to the little prince. This beautiful castle, newly renovated by Turlough for his second wife, was the ideal setting for a gathering such as this. It was good for her scholars, too, to mix with the great men of the three kingdoms. Soon the eldest three would have finished their studies and would be looking for a position as
aigne
– lawyer – in some noble household. So far only Eamon had been making opportunities to talk with these powerful men and women. Fachtnan, Moylan and Aidan had shyly kept their distance and Mara resolved that she must remedy this. Fachtnan, in particular, should be looking for a position as he would, hopefully, pass his final examination in June. Mara looked about for him, but could not see him, and was distracted by Donán, Turlough’s son-in-law, who wanted to discuss with her his problems with sore throats.

‘You should talk to Nuala about this,’ she told him, trying not to be irritated with a young man in the prime of life, who seemed continually concerned with his health. ‘Look, she’s over there. Even though she has not yet qualified, she’s the best physician that I have ever known; she’ll tell you all about sore throats and what to do about them.’ She had half-thought of suggesting that he talk to Ragnelt, his wife, about it, but the young woman had such a bored, withdrawn look, that she changed her mind.

‘Brehon, you must dance with me.’ Ulick claimed her and, though she disliked him, she was relieved to get away from Donán. For once, Ulick did not sharpen his tongue on her, but restricted himself to praising Turlough and commenting on his bravery and his popularity.

‘It’s no wonder,’ he said with what seemed like genuine sincerity, ‘that he is such a thorn in the side of those who would make Ireland a vassal of England. You know what the Great Earl said of him, don’t you?’

‘“
The worst man in the whole of Ireland.
” I think that Turlough took that as a compliment,’ said Mara with a smile.

‘Goodness only knows what he thinks of him now after the battle last year,’ commented Ulick. ‘Turlough should be careful. A man like The Great Earl has everything to lose.’

A man that has everything to lose
. The words immediately brought back to Mara the scene at the flax garden after the successful bid from Muiris O’Hynes. Cathal, his wife and his family had stood there in such terrible anguish. Owney, the son, had sworn an oath and had slammed his fist on to the wooden table with such force that a crack had appeared. Gobnait had set her lips and looked grimly at Muiris who was now going to rob her family of their livelihood. And Cathal, as white as the bales of linen in the background, had snatched up a knife. It had taken all of the strength that Eamon and Fachtnan possessed, between them, to hang on to his arms and prevent him from hurling it at Muiris. Cathal had everything to lose. The business that he had built up so painstakingly and well over the years was now to be taken from him.

Muiris, in the meantime, had walked away. He was a sensible man and knew when words only made a bad situation worse. Mara wondered whether he now regretted his purchase. That it had been a last minute decision was shown by his late arrival.

I think I’ll talk to him before sending Eamon over across the Shannon to O’Brien of Arra; Eamon and I will go over to Poulnabrucky first thing in the morning and see whether he wants to change his mind. I can easily draw up a new deed of contract for the lease if he does so, decided Mara. Meanwhile, she smiled automatically at Ulick’s witticisms and her feet nimbly followed the lilting tune of the reel played by the fiddlers, seated high above the crowd in a small balcony that overlooked the great hall at the castle.

I’ll talk to Eamon tonight and arrange everything, thought Mara. She knew that the picture of Cathal’s stricken face would come between her and sleep if she did not do something before she retired to her rest.

But when she looked for Eamon she could not see him.

Two

T
wo of her scholars missing! And Eamon the lawyer, also! Mara sat up in bed and gazed in bewilderment at Brigid her housekeeper. A quick glance at the window confirmed that it was still early morning. She would have expected that they would all have been still asleep after the late night of dancing – it must have been the early hours of that morning when they eventually went to their beds – the boys to their leather tents set up in the field at the side of the castle and Fiona to a small wall chamber within the castle itself.

‘Moylan told me about the two lads,’ said Brigid, ‘and then I went to find Fiona and discovered that she was missing too.’ Her mouth was as tight as the braids of her severely plaited red hair and her eyes were full of fury. Brigid and her husband, Cumhal, felt themselves responsible for the scholars and when at the law school the scholars’ houses were directly under their supervision while Mara herself lived in the Brehon’s house, a few hundred yards down the road from Cahermacnaghten law school. Here, in a castle crammed with guests and soldiers, supervision was not so easy.

‘I’ll eat my breakfast and then I’ll see Moylan and find out what he knows.’ Mara hoped that she sounded calm, but inside she was uneasy. There was something strange about this. The scholars were going to stay the weekend at the castle, join in all the festivities and then on Monday return to their studies at Cahermacnaghten law school – less than a mile away, just over the border between the neighbouring kingdoms of Corcomroe and Burren.

It was nearing the end of the Hilary term. The scholars would return to their homes in a week’s time. Moylan and Aidan would ride together towards the south-west of Thomond, Fachtnan and young Shane would go north once Shane’s father, the Brehon who served the O’Neill, Earl of Tyrone, had arrived. Fachtnan would ride with them as his home at Oriel was on the way.

Eamon would be the first to leave. This morning he was due to take the deed for the flax garden to be signed by O’Brien of Arra. He would then return to Cahermacnaghten with the signed deed, which would be handed over to Muiris O’Hynes, and after another few days would depart for the MacEgan law school in Galway. The other boys would leave for their holidays soon afterwards, but Fiona would spend Easter with Mara – the journey to Scotland, with the possibility of rough seas, would not be worth the risk for so short a holiday.