Scales of Retribution (16 page)

Ten

‘
C
ould I just have a quick word with you, Brehon, before I go? I just want your advice about something.’

‘You startled me, Fachtnan. I thought you had all gone.’ But one glance at Fachtnan’s worried face made her say quickly, ‘Come into the schoolhouse. We can be private there.’

Once inside, Fachtnan seemed to have difficulty in beginning. Mara looked at him with surprise. He had a deeply troubled look. Perhaps he was worried over his failed examination, but somehow she did not think so. He had seemed quite happy with the offer of a teaching post; he was a humble boy. Unlike others that she had taught, this would not have been a great blow to his pride.

‘Is it about your future?’ she asked when the silence had grown to an uncomfortable length.

He ran his hands through his rough, dark hair and looked at her with a hint of desperation in his eyes.

‘In a way, yes,’ he said. ‘At least I thought it might be my future, but it’s all come so quickly. I wasn’t expecting it.’

Mara could not resist a smile at his puzzled, worried face. ‘Come on, Fachtnan,’ she coaxed. ‘Speak plainly. I’m too old for these riddles.’

‘It’s Nuala,’ he said, the words shooting out of him.

‘Nuala!’ Mara’s smile vanished. Had Fachtnan some evidence against Nuala, something that he feared might reveal an involvement with Malachy’s death?

Fachtnan took a deep breath, opened his eyes very widely and said in almost a whisper. ‘She’s asked me to marry her.’

‘What!’ Mara felt quite flabbergasted. This was the last thing that she had imagined. ‘What do you mean? She just came up to you and asked you to marry her?’

Fachtnan nodded. ‘That’s right. Moylan had told her that I had failed my examination and she wanted to tell me that it didn’t matter – that I could marry her and help her to manage the hospital that she wants to build at Rathborney. She said that there would be plenty of money for us both and for . . .’ Fachtnan paused and flushed slightly, ‘and for any children that we might have. I suppose it would be a union of a man on a woman’s property, as the law puts it. She says that I could manage the farm and help her with her hospital, and keep an eye on the children while she was busy with her doctoring.’

‘I see,’ said Mara dryly, ‘she seems to have thought of everything.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘And when did this happen?’

‘Just now, just a little while ago. She came to the gate and called me. And then we walked down the road together. She said that she had something to ask me, a favour, she said.’ Once again, Fachtnan blushed. ‘Then she talked about the examination and then she said, “I wonder would you think of marrying me, Fachtnan?”’

‘I see,’ said Mara again. Nuala, she presumed, had her bath, washed her hair, dressed in a clean
léine
, perhaps surveyed herself in the looking glass and decided not to waste the effect.

‘She’s only fourteen, too young,’ she said aloud, and then watching his downcast face, she asked gently, ‘What do you think yourself? Would this marriage suit you? You’ve always been good friends, you and Nuala?’

‘I did think I might marry her in a few years’ time,’ admitted Fachtnan. ‘But this seems to have come a bit suddenly. I—’ He broke off and looked at her. He looked confused and there was an appeal for help in his eyes.

‘In a way this is your business, your parents’ business and, of course, the business of Ardal O’Lochlainn, Nuala’s uncle,’ began Mara, but then she thought of her responsibilities. Fachtnan wanted help now. His parents were three days’ ride away. She had to give him her opinion.

‘I think if I were you,’ she continued, ‘I would not want, for Nuala’s sake as well as for your own, to take any such important step at the moment. Nuala has just lost her father and her emotional state is not good. I think that she needs time – time to reflect, time to get over her sorrow and, above all, time for this murder to be cleared up and the guilty person found.’

‘I said something like that,’ confessed Fachtnan, ‘but then she got very annoyed and she shouted at me that if I didn’t want her, then she would ask Enda, instead.’

Mara’s lips twitched; she tried hard to control herself, but a laugh burst out despite herself. ‘I think Enda has other fish to fry,’ she said. ‘If I were you, I would say no more about it, Fachtnan. When she thinks it over, she’ll know that you are right. Just meet her as a friend, as usual. Don’t look embarrassed, or anything. Just pretend that it never happened.’

Fachtnan looked sheepish, then relieved. ‘Thank you, Brehon,’ he said. ‘Well, I’ll be off now.’

I must go and talk to Brigid, thought Mara as the last set of horse hoofs clattered down the road. She knew a moment’s temptation to tell her of Nuala’s proposal – Brigid would enjoy that – but she realized reluctantly that she could not betray a confidence.

However, there were other matters to discuss with her housekeeper. She felt slightly contrite about imposing another party straight after the impromptu celebrations of last evening, but Brigid loved cooking and did enjoy an occasion to display her talents.

‘Why don’t you take it easy?’ scolded Brigid when she heard the news. ‘You’re less than two weeks away from having a baby. Most women would still be lying in their beds. Why don’t those lads just go down to the bonfire at the market square in Noughaval? They’ll have a good time there and will leave you in peace. Why a party now? Why not wait until next week when they are leaving? Fachtnan and Enda will want to celebrate, won’t they?’

‘I’m afraid,’ said Mara, ‘that poor Fachtnan has nothing to celebrate. Young MacClancy failed him in his final examination. I don’t want to deny Enda of a chance to make merry, though. He did very well – not surprisingly.’

‘Oh!’ Brigid was silent after the exclamation. She was very fond of Fachtnan – had mothered him when he arrived as a five-year-old and had watched him grow up, always affable, always sweet-natured and never any trouble. She rubbed her fingers through her sandy hair, disturbing the neatly pinned braids. ‘How is he taking it?’

‘Quietly,’ said Mara. ‘I’m going to keep him on as a teacher – he can study in between. I’m sure that he will get through next year. In fact, I think that he would have got through this year if things had been different.’ She could not mention Nuala’s surprising offer to Fachtnan, but it did come into her head that it would be a good match for the boy – possibly once he had passed his final examination, and become an
aigne
, he would prefer to stay at this basic grade of lawyer rather than embarking on more long years of study in order to become a Brehon. With his wife’s fortune he would have the opportunity to decide and the income to support both.

‘Master MacClancy, indeed! I told you that I didn’t like that young fellow,’ said Brigid emphatically. ‘Not a proper teacher, he wasn’t. Larking around and letting Aidan get above himself.’

‘So I was thinking that instead of a celebration party for Enda, this year we would just have a party at midsummer, St John’s Eve, but if it’s too much trouble for you, Brigid . . .’

‘Oh, don’t be talking!’ Brigid gave an impatient flap of her hand and Mara backed out of the schoolhouse with an appreciative smile. What would she do without Brigid?

Outside the door, she hesitated, looking down towards the Brehon’s house. There was no sign of Eileen now; the baby must have woken and she had probably taken him inside for a feed. With a slight feeling of guilt she returned into the schoolhouse. Guilt, she realized, would be part of her for some time to come. Guilt that she was not with her child, and guilt that she was neglecting her work with her scholars and the affairs of the kingdom.

The schoolhouse was very quiet. Not even Bran was there. He had chosen to go with Fachtnan and she was glad of that as the big dog would love the exercise of loping along beside the pony. Mara unlocked the cupboard and looked into the top shelf. It was piled with year books dating back to before her own birth. It was a practice started by her father and she had faithfully kept it up. Now she took out the book marked MDX and opened a new page.

ANTE DIEM DUUM KALENDAS JUNIU
, she headed the page neatly in her square minuscule handwriting, detailing the death of Malachy the physician.

Everything was very quiet. And then a swallow flew in through the open door, banked and swiftly flew out again, with a shrill twittering sound, the cuckoo sounded from the nearby wood and outside the window two beautiful peacock butterflies chased each other in the sunlight and briefly flew inside, perched on the open cupboard door and returned towards the sweet-smelling outdoors. In the distance a cow bellowed with that sudden, explosive moo that meant her calf had strayed, and then the softer reply came and once again everything fell silent.

Mara wrote on, describing the events of the eleventh of June, two days before the Kalends, as the Latin calendar phrased it. She wrote fully, describing the terrible death and noting the events that may have led up to it, but stopped when she was halfway down the page. When would she be able to finish this page, she wondered? When would the affair of the secret and unlawful killing of Malachy O’Davoren, physician in the kingdom of the Burren, be solved?

The shadow at the doorway made Mara, deep in her thoughts, raise her head with a start. Her daughter, lightfooted as always, stood there.

‘Aren’t you looking pretty. I love that blue gown on you!’ said Mara impulsively.

‘I made it myself,’ said Sorcha coming across the flagstoned floor and dropping a kiss on her mother’s cheek.

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Mara. From a very young age, Sorcha had loved to create. Like her father Dualta, and Dualta’s father, the stone mason, she was good at everything that involved the hands and the eyes. Brigid taught her to weave, to spin and to sew, while Cumhal patiently sieved and prepared clay for her to make small models, and even taught her a little wood carving when her hands were strong enough for the tools. She had been a happy and charming child, loved by all, flitting in and out of the schoolhouse like one of the summer butterflies, always busy, always singing and laughing.

Was she happy now? wondered Mara, reaching up and smoothing the brown hair with an affectionate hand. What was Oisín like as a husband? He always seemed so immersed in his affairs, absent mindedly patting Sorcha as though she were a well-behaved but unobtrusive dog in the household. Her thoughts ran on as her daughter took up Brigid’s theme of not overworking and then she suddenly switched back as Sorcha finished triumphantly by saying, ‘And Oisín thinks that you made a big mistake.’

‘What big mistake?’ asked Mara.

‘Oh, Mother,’ Sorcha sighed in an exasperated manner. ‘You haven’t listened to a word that I am saying. I’m talking about your work. You really should not have sent Boetius MacClancy away like that. Oisín thinks quite highly of him.’

‘And what does Oisín know about law affairs?’ queried Mara, doing her best to suppress the tart note in her voice.

‘Oh, more than you think,’ said Oisín’s wife serenely. ‘Oisín knows so much. He meets so many people and picks up things. He is very talented,’ she finished proudly.

‘But not actually a qualified lawyer, and certainly not a Brehon,’ pointed out Mara, trying to sound amused.

Sorcha shook her head at her, endeavouring to make her blue eyes look severe. ‘Oisín wants me to talk to you seriously about this, Mother. He is sure that he can get Boetius MacClancy to come back again. Oisín met him this morning. Apparently, Boetius hasn’t found too much to do at the Doolin law school. Siobhan actually tried to get him to weed her garden to keep him occupied!’

‘Good for Siobhan,’ said Mara lightly. ‘So has Oisín been over to Doolin this morning? He must have been up at the crack of dawn.’

‘No, he met Boetius MacClancy over near Kilcorney. He’s staying with Caireen at Caherconnell.’

‘I hope she realizes that her reputation will be ruined if she keeps an unmarried young man in the house,’ snapped Mara. After all her careful preparation of Fachtnan, he probably had a wasted journey if that wretched man was there sitting beside Caireen and making sure that she watched every word she said.

‘Oh, Mother, don’t be so old-fashioned,’ said Sorcha with a laugh. ‘After all, her son, Ronan, is there. Oisín met him, too, this morning. Apparently, Brehon MacClancy is advising them both about legal affairs. Now, come out of this gloomy place. Come back and sit in the garden and we’ll both enjoy our babies. Eileen is just giving him his bath. My little Manus has had his and now he’s fast asleep, God bless him, he’s a great boy to sleep – much quieter than the other two.’

‘I’ll just finish this and then I’ll be over,’ said Mara. She would have a few minutes with her baby son. And she would send Eileen for a short walk so that she had him to herself.

After Sorcha’s words it was no surprise to Mara to see the heavy, ungainly figure of Boetius MacClancy clumping his way across the grykes, just as the abbey’s bells rang for the noonday recitation of the angelus. He was looking extremely hot, Mara was meanly glad to see. He had shed his cloak so his large stomach protruded even more under a
léine
damp with sweat. She handed little Cormac back to Eileen and rose to her feet. Boetius was not making good progress on the uneven ground so she had plenty of time to walk down the road and into the law school. Cumhal could direct him once he arrived. This was going to be an interview conducted on formal grounds, she decided.