Eye of the Law (33 page)

Mara almost missed the opening. Only the slight draught that stirred the hem of her cloak warned her that there was something different about this part of the wall. She lowered her hand and there was nothing there, just a gap.

Was this the way back or the way forward? She would have to take the risk. Everything in life was a risk, Mara told herself. If she missed this opportunity, she might not get another one like it. Once she was certain, she would go straight back, retrieve her mare from the basket maker, ride home and then come to a decision about what to do next. She hesitated about whether to light a sulphur stick but decided to go right through first. There undoubtedly was a movement of air so there was probably little danger of poisonous fumes. Putting down her hand to feel her way, as she bent down as low as she could manage, she noted that these stones did not have the encrusted powdery lime clinging to them; no doubt this way through was also man-made.

A series of caves: that’s what it was. A series of caves and someone had the enterprise to make the links between them. But why? This was not done in the last few days; weeks and weeks, perhaps done over a space of few years, no doubt many months of patient, secretive cautious hammering and chiselling would have gone in to the construction of these passages.

Once Mara was standing upright, she rubbed her hands once more, slotted each hand far up the opposing sleeve of her
léine
in order to make sure it was dry, then unloosened the string of her pouch and counted the sulphur sticks. Yes, there were still seven of them. This time she would immediately look for the exit; she planned, as she struck the soft pink head against the ridged steel of the container.

This cave was taller than the others. Mara raised the sulphur stick and looked around. The ceiling was hung with rods of petrified lime, but it was the walls that took her attention. Almost straight in front of her there was another exit, this time a natural one, she thought, though it may have been slightly widened at one spot at the bottom. She could walk straight through this and she did so carefully, holding the precious sulphur stick high out of the reach of the persistent air current that still moved on ground level.

Mara wondered how far she had come – possibly a hundred yards, though probably less, but the thought left her head as she saw something standing in the centre of this cave. She stopped and stared at it and then a smile curved her lips. It was a low vehicle with four wooden wheels, very long and very wide, with two shafts at hand height on the back of it. In her mind she apologised to Aidan: this was a turf barrow and that was what he had said. She remembered his words clearly: ‘
He could have put the body on one of those turf barrows, you know how low they are, then he could have thrown some old sacks over the body and people meeting him would have thought he was just wheeling along a pile of winter cabbages. He could have bent double over the barrow, bent down lower than the walls, so that he would haven’t been seen from the fields.
’

Aidan had been right about the turf barrow; this was what had been used to convey the body. But he had been wrong about the old sacks: here in these secret caves they had not been needed, nor had the murderer needed to bend double.

And Aidan had been wrong about accusing Becan of the murder; Becan had been the accuser, had been the one who had stumbled upon the truth before she had arrived at the correct conclusion.

Suddenly Mara’s elation died away. She was not the first person to make this journey in the last week. Becan had been there before her. He probably had the foresight to bring a lantern with him, but he had been there; she was sure of that now. He had seen the turf barrow. What had he done next?

Recklessly Mara lit another sulphur stick and went forward in the footsteps of the man whose body she had recently committed to the sparse soil of Aran. She went forward to find full evidence against the murderer.

Mara saw him immediately. She had not expected to meet him, but her courage was high and she showed no sign of dismay at the sight of him as she stepped through yet another arched opening and into a room-like cave filled with the light of a large lantern. This was far less damp than the others that she had passed through. It was higher, of course; she had been aware that the passages between the individual caves had become upward slopes – always slopes, never steps or stairways. The way for the turf barrow had been made smooth. This room was a storeroom; its walls were lined with barrels and casks and large wooden boxes.

Mara’s eyes went rapidly to the far side of the room. There was a ramp there, and beyond it was the O’Lochlainn’s barn. A tall heavy press in the barn had been moved aside. She noticed immediately that it had small wooden wheels underneath it; from the back they were visible, but from the front the wheels would have been hidden by the carved flange of wood attached to the bottom of the press. Once back in place, the wooden press would have completely concealed the entrance to anyone in the barn. Mara remembered Turlough’s words about how most of the old enclosures had an underground room beneath their buildings. The barn at Lissylisheen had probably once been the main living place before the tower house had been built and this room that she was in now would have been the underground storage place.

‘Brehon!’ He had given such a violent start that the barrel, filled with springy sheep wool, which he had been wheeling through the entrance, spun out of his hand and crashed to the floor at Mara’s feet. She didn’t look at it and neither did he. The small, enclosed space was filled by the sound of his heavy breathing. He looked over his shoulder hastily and then back at her. She could see the thoughts rushing through his mind and then his ready tongue came to the rescue.

‘Lord save us, Brehon, you gave me a shock, turning up like that. Where in God’s name did you spring from?’ Once again he looked up at the unblocked entrance to the barn, but he knew that she had not come from there.

I am the third person that has appeared in the caves before this man, thought Mara. And the first lost his life instantly, possibly even before he knew that he had been seen. And the second had lost his life too. Perhaps Becan had been bending over the turf barrow, searching for traces of blood that would betray the cargo that it had carried on that Thursday after St Patrick’s Day. Perhaps he had been examining the soft clay on the floor for telltale wheel marks, just as she had done herself, and the murderer had picked up a heavy club and had bludgeoned him to death.

He had no staff here, as far as she could see, but like everyone else he carried a knife at his belt. Instantly she took control.

‘I must have got lost,’ she said carelessly. ‘I should have taken the advice of the basket maker when I was talking to him an hour ago. He told me not to explore that cave, some nonsense about Balor.’ She looked at him intently as she said these words and noted the change in his face. A stranger, two strangers, to be killed and their bodies wheeled down on the turf barrow and deposited outside Balor’s Cave – that was a much easier matter than getting rid of the Brehon of the Burren, not just the king’s appointed judge, but also the king’s wife. And now there was mention of the basket maker knowing where she had gone. Mara smiled at him gently and moved forward.

‘I can get out through here, can’t I?’ As she spoke the words, she had swiftly walked across to the wooden ramp that covered the original steps and led out of the storage room.

‘Up here?’ she queried putting her foot on the ramp.

He had followed her and was just behind her. She could hear his breathing and it took all of her courage not to glance behind as she went nonchalantly up a wooden ramp and into the barn.

‘Well, I never knew that you had this underground storage room at Lissylisheen.’ She steered her way through the barrels of salted lamb in the barn, praying that someone else would be around and quickened her step until she was at the door of the barn. The fresh breeze smelled wonderful after the smell of old decay in the damp slimy caves and the gleaming white of the limestone walls was pleasantly cheerful after the darkness.

‘Is there anyone that you could send down to Kilcorney to collect my mare?’ She asked the question with a slight laugh, which, to her pleased amazement, sounded quite genuine.

‘There’s no one here but ourselves, Brehon,’ he replied.

She could tell from his tone that he was uncertain as to how to handle the situation.

‘Walk down the road with me then,’ she said in a voice which, she was pleased to hear, came out as authoritative and brisk.

He didn’t know how to handle the situation; she was relying on that. I am the Brehon of the Burren, she recited silently to herself. She dared not think of anything else, not of the baby, not of Turlough, not of Brigid and Cumhal, nor of her scholars. To her enormous relief there was a great bellowing in the distance, growing louder every second. Then shouts of men were intermingled with the cattle noises and around the corner came a local farmer, Niall MacNamara, wildly waving a stick and shouting.

‘Better step back inside the gate, Brehon,’ said the man. ‘That bull of Niall’s is a nasty one and now he’s got his herd of cows with him, he’s in no biddable mood.’

Mara did as she was told in a nonchalant way. She was immensely cheered by the sight of Niall. His farm was at Noughaval, but he also owned a mill and some land on the other side of the kingdom. By some fortunate chance he had chosen this afternoon to move cattle from Oughtmama to Noughaval and there he was, passing Lissylisheen, flourishing his stick at the bull and calling out a breathless greeting to her.

Behind the cattle came Niall’s brother; though classified as a
druth
, a man lacking in full wits, he was an enormously strong and amiable fellow. Mara greeted them both cheerfully and once they had passed she immediately stepped out into the road after the two brothers and the herd of cattle, neatly avoiding the plentiful blobs and spatters of cow manure all over its surface.

‘We can go now,’ she said, raising her voice above the cattle chorus. ‘Just walk with me as far as Cahermacnaghten and Cumhal will send one of the men to fetch the mare.’

She wasn’t sure whether he would obey her; he hesitated for a long moment, but then, perhaps reassured by her casual manner, he joined her. Nothing needed to be said for the moment; she was glad of that. She kept her eyes fixed on the comforting bulk of Niall’s brother and walked as closely to him as she could. The noise of the cattle was too loud to make conversation comfortable so they continued to march down the road without a word being exchanged until they came to the crossroads where the two men departed towards Rusheen, still driving the cattle along the road.

‘Lovely to see the flowers coming back again.’ Mara turned determinedly in the direction of Cahermacnaghten. ‘I love these bugle flowers, don’t you?’

She watched him from the corner of her eye while lightly touching a slender finger to the furry, half-opened buds of purple-blue blossoms and realized that he was being torn by two emotions. One was the hope that she had not come to the correct conclusion about the murder of the two men from Aran, and the other was the fear that she was just inveigling him into her net. On the one hand lay continued safety and the trust of the community and on the other hand was nothing but disgrace, ruin and destitution. He would take the chance, she guessed and was confirmed in her guess as he continued to walk by her side, his face bland and his eyes stony.

‘Seán,’ said Mara as they reached the gates of Cahermacnaghten law school, where her servant was doing a little desultory sweeping of the courtyard, ‘could you please go and fetch my mare from the basket maker at Kilcorney. Cumhal,’ she called, noting with satisfaction that he, also, was working in the yard, sharpening all of his tools, ‘is it all right if I send Seán over to Kilcorney, to the basket maker’s place, to fetch my mare?’

She barely heard Cumhal’s reply, but noted that words had registered with the man by her side. Donie was cleaning the harness outside the stables and another of the servants was milking in the cow cabin. With alacrity, Seán fetched the cob out of the stable and threw a long leg over his back.

Mara surveyed the scene; yes there was plenty of aid within call if she needed any. She bent down and caressed her enormous wolfhound and then turned back to the silent man at her side.

‘Come in, Liam,’ she said, clicking her fingers to Bran to order him to accompany her. ‘Come into the schoolhouse. We will be quite private in here.’

Seventeen

Every Brehon has to distinguish between
gat
(theft by stealth) and
brat
(theft with violence).

A
big, genial man, large and affable, Liam had been steward to the O’Lochlainn family since before Mara was born. Finn had relied completely on him, and when Ardal succeeded Finn, he in turn had trusted everything to Liam. Mara gazed at him thoughtfully, as she ushered him into the schoolhouse. She was remembering the words spoken by her neighbour, Diarmuid O’Connor, at the time of the Michaelmas tribute at the end of September. Mara was blessed by a wonderful memory and Diarmuid’s words were as clear in her mind as if she had just heard them that morning.

‘
Only the birds in the air know how much he has salted away for himself
,’ Diarmuid had said. ‘
He’s been steward to the O’Lochlainn clan for the last forty years. Never took too much off anyone, mind you. It was just a matter of a little present here and little present there, a sheaf of oats, a flagon of ale, a bit of silver, but over the years it has all been mounting up. Of course it helps that Ardal O’Lochlainn and his father Finn before him were not the types to be counting . . .
’