Deed of Murder (26 page)

‘Missed!’ shouted Turlough. But the two bodyguards seized him immediately by the arms, both expostulating vehemently, and dragged him away from the side of the ship. Mara noticed with amusement that neither bothered about Conor who had thrown himself flat upon the deck.

And then while everyone was looking at the English ship and at the arrows which still fluttered out from it, there was a deafening crack. The single mast in the centre of the
pucán
had swayed then fallen to one side, bringing down the red sail with it.

Nineteen

Di Chetharsllicht Athgab

(Dealing with distraint)
Sellach (the
onlooker
)

I
n a moment the bodyguards had twisted the axe from the boatman’s grasp and knocked him to the ground. One sat on his chest and held a knife to his throat while the other cut a length of rope and bound his hands and feet together until he was trussed like a parcel. He swore and struggled but eventually lay still, looking up at his ruined mast. His face was not ill-satisfied. No doubt he felt that somehow or other his rescue would be achieved; that the
pucán
would be boarded and that the plan could go forward.

The
pucán
glided to a halt and rocked gently on the waves. There was a shout of exultation from the nearest ship. Mara looked around desperately and saw a fourth ship, large and with many sails, rounding the end of Aran and pointing directly towards them. There were some bulky objects on the deck and she narrowed her eyes, trying to make out what they were.

‘It’s carrying boats; they’ve guessed what has happened to the ship. They’ll launch the boats when they get near the ridge of rocks. They’ll probably have guns, too. I’ve heard that they have two hand guns at the castle on Aran.’ Setanta’s eyes had followed hers. ‘Hold this,’ he said. Quickly he had passed the tiller to her. ‘Keep it straight,’ he instructed and a minute later was at the back of the boat, his fisherman’s knife catching a glint of the sun which had just emerged from the clouds.

In a moment he was running along the side of the boat, holding the rope in one hand. ‘Keep down, my lord,’ he yelled as a flock of arrows came across. Mara winced and felt herself duck automatically. One hit the side of the
pucán
, but the rest sank uselessly into the turbulent sea.

‘Keep them busy,’ shouted Setanta and quick-witted Fergal, the younger of the two bodyguards, stripped the red cloak from Donán, draping it over the broken section of the mast. The cloak fluttered in the wind and looked most realistic and the men on the ship shouted and raised their bows.

Another score of arrows came across and once again one reached the deck while the others fell short.

‘Only one man among them can shoot properly,’ shouted Turlough. ‘What the blazes is that young fellow doing?’

Setanta had reached the prow of the ship. He had tied his rope to a bar there and had quickly slipped overboard. Turlough pushed his protesting son aside and followed him quickly.

‘Merciful God in heaven,’ he yelled. ‘The lad is going to tow us!’

Mara longed to look, but she clung to the tiller. ‘Keep it straight,’ Setanta had said and she would obey his orders. Was it possible for a tiny boat made from hazel sticks and covered with cow hides, like the curragh, to pull the much heavier
pucán
, she wondered and then remembered the delight of her youngest scholar Shane, when, as a homesick eight-year-old, exiled from the inland sea of the Great Lake in northern Ireland, he had been allowed by a friendly fisherman to pull a large hooker along the length of the harbour wall. If a rather-undersized child of that age could pull a boat of that weight, perhaps Setanta, rowing hard, might be able to tow the
pucán
.

And so it seemed to be happening. After a couple of jerks the
pucán
began to move – definitely moving. But, of course, the pace was so slow. Without the sail the wind was of little use to them and the tide was receding.

Mara cast several anxious glances over her shoulder. The fourth ship, profiting from the strong west-northwest wind, was making great progress. It seemed to be bounding through the water, its sails fully expanded. At this rate it might catch them before they reached the safety of the harbour. She longed to join Turlough, to go and look over the prow and watch how Setanta was doing, but he had asked her to hold the tiller straight and she held on grimly.

Turlough was shouting encouragement and jokes down to Setanta, although there did not seem to be any response – he would probably be sensibly saving his breath for rowing. Mara smiled with pleasure. She could imagine what it must be like for Setanta to be on such familiar footing with the king of three kingdoms, Turlough Donn, the most popular king of Thomond, Burren and Corcomroe in living memory. Turlough was a great king, a great leader of men, an honest and sincere person, gentle and affectionate. She felt tears blur her eyes as she thought of all his virtues and then she looked across at the two men who had plotted against him and her mind filled with anger. They would pay the full penalty of the law, she promised herself. Once they had arrived back safely she would make sure that the news of their ignominy would be known across the length and breadth of the three kingdoms.

If we get out of here safely . . .
she said to herself, but then caught a glimpse over her shoulder of the fourth ship. For a moment, she thought it was impossible that it had moved so far in so few minutes, but no, it was definitely the same ship. She looked back at the harbour. It was a little nearer, but nothing dramatic. However, the
pucán
continued to move and Turlough continued to shout robust words of encouragement to Setanta.

And then something strange happened. Dotted all over the broad blue-green surface of the sea were curraghs. Fishermen from Doolin, Fanore, Gleninagh and from further down the coast were fishing in this rich stretch of water between the coast and the three islands of Aran. Somehow or other, they had understood what was going on. They would have heard the cannon, seen the English ships in pursuit, perhaps followed the path of the arrows, and now saw one of their own was being hunted. Setanta was an O’Connor, one of the main clans in Doolin; the man and his boat would have been known to all of them.

And then all of these men left their lucrative fishing grounds and, rowing lightly and strongly, turned their prows towards the harbour. For a moment Mara could not understand what was happening. But then, as she looked, she could see that they were joining each other. Joining together so that the boats stretched in a long line, forming a frail barrier between the fast-moving fourth ship and the wounded
pucán
being towed by the little curragh.

‘My God, Mara, do you see that!’ shouted Turlough.

‘I do indeed, my lord,’ she called back. ‘Your people love you and they will not allow traitors to betray you.’

With a glow of satisfaction which warmed her frozen body, she saw how O’Brien of Arra’s face had fallen with dismay at the sight of the fishermen’s blockade. Donán seemed to be sunk in lethargy, his face the hue of an overcooked yolk of egg.

But would it do any good? Presumably the fast-moving fourth ship was filled with men armed with bows and arrows. When they came near to the line of little curraghs would they not shoot? It would be easy to pick off the fishermen one by one and if they missed the bodies they could shoot the little boats. These skin-covered curraghs could be easily pierced and would sink just as easily.

And then came her answer. From the island came a loud single note – the sound of a horn, one of those huge, old-fashioned bronze horns. It sounded once, and then again. It must have been some sort of signal because Mara could see a sail being lowered from the dangerously nearby ship, and then another. Bit by bit, as happens with sailing craft, the ship wheeled around and set off back to the island, making its way in series of long diagonal swoops where it appeared to be making little progress but which, step by step, brought it nearer to the island.

‘Going back!’ Turlough was at her side in an instant, gazing back out to sea. ‘Why do you think they went back? They could easily have fired on these unfortunate fishermen. My heart was in my mouth for the poor fellows.’

‘I think your cousin on Aran, Brian the Spaniard, recognized that the game was up,’ said Mara, in those clear tones which she knew would carry above the sound of wind and water. ‘He guessed that we would have these two traitors in our hands and that a terrible punishment would await them. By withdrawing now, he can always plead that he knew nothing of this plot and he can claim that the evidence these two will probably try to give against him is false and that he is your majesty’s most faithful and most loyal servant.’

Turlough gave her an uncertain glance and hastened to go back to watch Setanta’s progress. Mara bestowed a keen, appraising look at Donán, the son-in-law, and at O’Brien of Arra. Donán had buried his face in his hands and O’Brien was staring ahead with a grim look on his face. She was glad that he had overheard the proof that his cousin and foster-brother on Aran had deserted him and left him to the king’s mercy.

It was probably the sight of all the fishermen uniting in support of Turlough that had determined the man on Aran that, not only had the plot failed, but there would be no support for it. Someone who lives on an island is dependent on the people who live on the coast – dependent not just for fuel for his fires, but also for linen for his clothing and goods for his house as well as for a market for his fish.

‘Not long more,’ shouted Turlough exultantly as they neared the shore. ‘By God, this man here is a great rower. How can he do it in water like this? He’s pouring sweat, poor fellow.’

The faces of the men-at-arms at the harbour wall, and of Ulick Burke amongst them, could now be seen very clearly. There were crowds behind them. It looked as though all of the people of the village and from the countryside around had come out of their houses to welcome their king. The other fishermen did not go back to the sea and to their fishing. Several threw ropes on to the deck of the
pucán
and they helped with the towing. Mara hung on to the tiller – it had been her part in the rescue and she was reluctant to give it up to anyone.

Before they landed she had to come to a decision about the man from Connaught who owned the boat. In theory, he had no rights if he was in a kingdom other than his own, except by invitation. But in fact, his offence was committed on the sea and, in any case, Doolin was in the kingdom of Corcomroe where another Brehon had charge of legal matters. The easiest and probably the wisest decision was to take no action. He was a very small fish, compared to the two big fish that had been captured.

Mara beckoned to the king who came back to her. ‘Shall we let the boatman go free?’ she queried. ‘No doubt both men from Connaught have been heavily bribed to do this, but they have been punished. Neither man has a seaworthy boat; nor will they find the people of Doolin anxious to help them in any way.’

‘Yes, yes, we won’t trouble our heads about them,’ said Turlough hurriedly. He looked at her hesitantly, but she did not meet his eyes. She knew his gentle, forgiving nature well, but she did not feel in the least forgiving. Too much harm had been done. Turlough would like to excuse Donán and O’Brien of Arra as well; let them get away with their crimes, but that was something she was determined was not going to happen. In her mind she was already setting the scene and deciding on strategy. She beckoned to the bodyguard.

‘Let the boat owner go as soon as we disembark,’ she said to him. Although she spoke quietly there was a sudden lull in the wind and she saw O’Brien of Arra look at her with some hope in his eyes. Perhaps he thought that he would be released also.

As the fishermen’s boats neared the harbour wall, several fishermen plunged into the water, walking out until they were waist high in it, untied the ropes leading to the
pucán
and carefully dragged it to its berth. Mara released her hold on the tiller and walked forward to where the bodyguard was untying the ropes around the boat’s owner.

‘The king’s mercy is releasing you,’ she told him curtly. ‘But never let me see your face again, or you may find yourself with a heavy fine. Get back to where you came from as soon as your boat is mended and you can pass that message on to your companion as well. Now stay here on your boat until the king’s party has ridden away, or I won’t be responsible for what might happen to you at the hands of his men-at-arms.’

Then she left him without a backward glance. The threat of violence from the men-at-arms was a more potent one than a court of law, she thought, but she did not repent her words. If this affair was to have a good conclusion she would have to be very tough.

The cheering when Turlough walked safe and well from the boat was loud enough to be heard in the next kingdom and it did not diminish when Mara followed him. The men-at-arms, looking guilty and worried, surrounded their king as if determined that, even in the face of a command, they would not leave him again. Everyone had a story to tell; how the cannon was heard, how they had seen the English ships, how they had guessed that these were up to no good . . .

Mara turned a deaf ear to several plans for exacting ransom from the English ships that she could hear going on around her. If the poor fishing people of Doolin wished to get some silver in return for dragging the ships off the rocks, she was not going to prevent them. Brian the Spaniard, Brian of Aran, would, she guessed, lie low for quite some time. Little could be proved against him and Turlough would probably be happy to overlook the possible part he had played in this plot.