Deed of Murder (8 page)

‘Do we know anything much about Eamon’s past life, Brehon?’ asked Shane. ‘I was wondering why he was so anxious to go over to Arra in the middle of the night. He didn’t stop anywhere on the way, did he, Fiona?’

‘No,’ said Fiona, ‘but I think that he went in the middle of the night because he had been drinking and he thought it would be fun to just go – and he persuaded me into it. If I had said no, perhaps he would have waited for the morning. The puzzle is why he didn’t come back with me. He must have had some reason to go north instead of going back across O’Briensbridge. I think that if we knew that, we might find the solution to the problem.’

‘I’ve thought of a reason,’ said Shane suddenly. ‘Eamon was very keen on money. What was it that he said to you, Fiona, about getting a bagful of silver? Perhaps he went north because he decided to go to the flax garden – after all that was where he was found – to go and talk to Cathal . . .’

‘And give him the chance to steal the deed before it was delivered to Muiris.’ Moylan shouted the words in his excitement, but Mara said nothing. She loved to see her scholars’ minds working quickly.

‘
For a bag of silver, you can knock me over and take the deed from my bag, Cathal
,’ supplemented Aidan.

‘Or Owney,’ said Shane wisely. ‘He’s a great hurler. He’d be strong enough to kill someone. Perhaps he didn’t mean to; perhaps he just knocked him down.’

‘Nuala thinks that Eamon was killed, not by being thrown down the mountainside, but by being hit in the exact, dangerous spot at the base of the throat,’ said Mara.

‘
Bretha Déin Chécht
, number four,’ exclaimed Shane. ‘The windows to the soul. The thyroid cartilage is one of them.’

‘So someone grabbed Eamon by the throat and squeezed, or punched him right on the thyroid spot, and then threw the body down the mountain,’ said Aidan.

‘Depend on it,’ said Moylan, ‘the secret lies in the flax garden. After all, that’s the only possible reason for Eamon to go north after O’Brien of Arra had signed the deed.’

‘Did he put the ribbon back, Fiona?’ asked Hugh and Mara nodded approval to him. That was a good question.

Fiona shut her eyes, obviously concentrating hard. ‘Yes, he did,’ she said, opening them quite suddenly and fixing their blue light on Hugh, who blinked and blushed. ‘Yes, he did. I’m certain of that. I remember that when he rolled it up it wouldn’t quite slip through again and so he had to untie it and retie it.’

Mara reached into her pouch and took out the pink tape, still tied in a loop, still with the neat bow on top of it. She examined it carefully. ‘I didn’t make that bow,’ she said. ‘I loop it differently, but that doesn’t get us a lot further. Remember that either Eamon or the O’Brien will have undone it before signing and then retied it. Still it’s a valuable point that you made, Hugh, because it might suggest that the murderer of Eamon checked the deed before taking it away. That would explain why the tied loop was found just in the place where Eamon was probably killed.’

‘Perhaps we could hunt through all the belongings of the suspects to see whether we could find the deed,’ suggested Aidan.

Mara’s eyes went to the lengthening shadow of the apple tree outside the window. She could tell the time so accurately by that shadow; for more than thirty years she had watched it from the schoolhouse window. ‘Well, I must be getting back to Ballinalacken – the hunters will have returned,’ she said. ‘What would you boys like to do? I’m going to suggest to Brigid and Cumhal that they stay here. After Mass at Kilfenora cathedral tomorrow at noon, my visitors will go home. Do you want to stay here at Cahermacnaghten or come back to Ballinalacken with me?’

She looked at her scholars and saw signs of doubt on their faces. Fachtnan was not here – he would normally have given the lead. Eventually Moylan said tactfully, ‘You have enough to do without having us to look after, Brehon. Shall we stay here?’

‘Just go and have a word with Brigid about this, will you, and if it is all right by her, then you can stay here tonight.’ She understood. They were tired of the splendours of Ballinalacken castle and wanted to be back with their muddy field, their balls and hurling games, thought Mara. ‘I will see you all at Eamon’s burial service at Noughaval tomorrow,’ she added. Turlough would understand that she would not be able to accompany him to the cathedral tomorrow.

‘I’ve thought of something, Brehon,’ said Moylan tentatively. ‘You’ll be busy tomorrow with your guests and everything, but would you trust us to make a search of the mountain area around the flax garden and see whether we can find the deed? After all, it might have just slipped out and fallen into a hole somewhere.’

‘That would be good,’ said Aidan enthusiastically. ‘We could divide the area between us. Danann could come too; he’d enjoy that.’

‘I’ll have a word with Cumhal and see whether he can spare Danann,’ promised Mara. Better still, perhaps Cumhal might go, also, and keep an eye on all. She did not normally fuss about her scholars, thinking that they needed to gain habits of self-reliance under her care, but now she suddenly felt vulnerable. Would the girl sitting opposite her now be dead if she had accompanied Eamon, or was her mind moving in quite the wrong direction?

Was the murder of the young lawyer the result of anger, rather than of greed? Thoughtfully, she wiped the entries on the board clean with her damp sponge and waited until she heard the boys’ voices talking to Brigid at the door of the kitchen house before turning to her remaining scholar.

Fiona had not followed the boys out but sat and waited demurely to speak until Mara had looked at her. ‘You’d prefer me to go back with you, is that it?’ she asked.

‘That’s it,’ said Mara firmly. ‘I feel worried about you. And I’d like you to promise me that you will not go off with anyone again without asking my permission.’

‘I’m not likely to,’ said Fiona sadly. ‘I’ve learned my lesson, I suppose.’

But what was the lesson? wondered Mara as they both rode in silence across to Ballinalacken Castle.

Not to arise jealousy in the minds of young men. Was that it?

Could the murder of Eamon have been the result of a young man’s anger?

Or was it a matter of retaining a profitable business?

Or could there have been some other motive?

Seven

Bretha Nemed

(Laws for Professional People)

T
he hunting party had brought back immense appetites and very loud voices. Mara sat at the end of the table and watched the face of her husband at the top of the table. He had had a very good day. The sport had been excellent and he had spent the lovely sunny April day out in the fresh air on the stony mountain in the company of his nearest relations, allies and friends. He smiled down at his wife and lifted a glass in salute and Mara lifted her glass in return to him – one of the precious set of glasses that her father, the first Brehon of the Burren, the first
ollamh
of the law school of Cahermacnaghten, had brought home from his trip to Rome.

‘Seamus, a poem,’ he called impetuously to the young poet. Mara had placed Seamus MacCraith between Nuala and Fiona and hoped that the three young guests would amuse each other. Seamus would make a possible husband for Nuala, she thought. He was quite a gifted young man and had written some extraordinarily beautiful poetry about Mullaghmore Mountain on the Burren when he had come there on a winter’s afternoon, some months ago. Nuala was so brilliantly intelligent that it would be a pity for her to marry a husband too far beneath her in brains.

However, the morning’s hunt had not inspired him – or else he was too interested in his conversation with Fiona.

‘Not yet, my lord, these matters need time. I have to sow the seed and wait for the flower,’ he called out, his beautiful voice making a song out of the simple sentences.

Ulick Burke eyed him severely. ‘What is it the law says, my boy? My dear Brehon, you will put me right if I err: “
There are three things which do not profit the world by anything they do, whatever their fame for wisdom, art, and piety: a grasping miser; an arrogant poet; and a kept priest
.” Methinks that such arrogance is unbecoming in such a young man. If the king asks for a poem, then as a good workman you should produce the poem.’

Seamus MacCraith looked at him furiously. ‘I do not claim for myself the status of a workman, my lord; that would be very wrong. I am merely the channel through which the words of God flow in praise of the kingdom that He has created. You know what the great Fithail says: “
There are three duties of one who is Fili: to teach their people to live fearless in strength; to teach their people how to avoid the attention of the Mighty Ones and to teach their people the Laws of Nature
.”’

Mara looked at Ulick with amusement. How would he answer that?

‘And what about Triad two hundred and forty-eight?’ demanded Fiona with a triumphant glance at Ulick. ‘I don’t suppose that you have heard of that, have you? We at the law school learn all of these.’

Ulick smiled gently at her. ‘I think I remember it, dear girl. How does it go? “
There are three improprieties of one who is a Fili: to claim as their own work, what the Gods have done through them; to demand gain or pleasure as a servant of the Mighty Ones; to allow themselves to be kept by labour that is not their own.
” Yes, no man should claim that God is working through him, just in order to allow themselves to be kept by a labour that is not their own, you would agree, my lord bishop,’ he said to Turlough’s cousin, who was busy asking a servant for more wine, but who had caught the word ‘God’ and nodded gravely at Ulick.

‘He agrees,’ said Ulick enthusiastically. ‘How wonderful to be on good terms with the church! I had been afraid that the little affair of having five wives had earned me the disapproval of Rome.’

‘I meant,’ said Fiona flushing slightly, ‘that Seamus is right in wishing to wait for inspiration – from God, perhaps.’

‘My dear child,’ said Ulick smiling at her benignly, ‘I know full well what you meant, and don’t think that I am unsympathetic. I remember well how it felt to be young . . .’

‘“
There are three qualifications for poetry
”,’ interrupted Fiona. ‘“
These are: endowment of genius; judgement from experience; happiness of mind.
” That’s from Triad four hundred and seventy-eight.’

That’s not correct, thought Mara, that’s the wrong Triad; but she said nothing. Nuala had asked Seamus MacCraith a question about the years of study for qualification as a poet and Mara decided to keep Ulick’s attention on herself. There was something that she was curious about, in any case.

‘You know a lot of law, Ulick, don’t you?’ she asked, taking a sip from her glass and eyeing him over the top of it. ‘How does that come about?’

‘I’m a magpie, my dear Brehon,’ he replied. ‘A mere magpie, picking up little nuggets of shining bright knowledge here and there.’ He tasted his wine, taking one fastidious sip, then drank the whole glass down and turned to look for a servant to refill it.

‘And yet, you remember, even more correctly than my scholars usually do, the exact number of an obscure triad. I feel that you must have studied the law at some stage in your life.’ She made the comment looking very straight at him.

He had been stirring his food with a fork and had just speared a piece of meat, but at her words he dropped the fork and allowed it to remain on the floor. He bore the look of a man who is thinking hard, turning various answers over in his head.

‘Study the law, I?’ he prevaricated.

‘That’s what it seems like,’ she said firmly, making a signal to a servant to pick up the fork. These forks were very precious to her. They had been brought from Rome by her father many years ago and Turlough had told her that in the whole of Ireland he had never seen such things – not even the Great Earl used forks.

Ulick gave a light laugh. ‘Well, I did think of studying law, took quite an interest in it, but that was before my two brothers died and the clan decided that I would make a good
tánaiste
– heir to the chiefdom of Clanrickard,’ he said lightly.

‘So you probably know a lot about the law – the law of contracts – you would have studied that and known that unless the document can be produced, a deed is invalid.’ Mara wondered whether she was wise in saying this, but she was interested to see his reaction. For the moment, she decided to reserve the knowledge that the blow to Eamon’s throat, on the exact vulnerable spot where the thyroid was located, appeared to show either medical or legal knowledge.

She saw no reaction, though; he was busy calling out to Turlough. ‘My lord, a toast,’ he called, and now he was on his feet. ‘A toast for the wolf – may he long provide good sport for kings – and warm cloaks for the king’s followers!’

There was a great laugh at that. Turlough’s face was alight with fun and good humour. Ulick was a great friend as well as companion of arms. Mara turned towards Donán, Turlough’s rather unprepossessing son-in-law. He was always a man to take offence easily so she racked her brains for a pleasant subject of conversation. There were so many things that one could not mention to him. Certainly not his castle at Nenagh, which had been seized several years ago by the Great Earl and, because of that occurrence, had forced Donán to rely on his father-in-law’s charity. Mara thought about asking about his children, but then decided that might remind him how his sons’ inheritance was lost. That subject of conversation would not be wise, so eventually she decided to choose a neutral subject and so she discoursed on hunting dogs. That, however, only made Donán observe in a disagreeable manner that he, personally, could not afford to keep a wolfhound. Mara looked in despair at Nuala, on his other side. Seamus MacCraith was now wholly occupied with Fiona so Nuala responded bravely by talking to Donán. He turned out to suffer from rheumatism and he had tried every remedy that Nuala could suggest.