Scales of Retribution (18 page)

‘Well, I find that very interesting. Now go and have your meal, Enda. Did you see any sign of Fachtnan?’

‘No, isn’t he back yet? Perhaps the sorrowing widow is proposing marriage to him – perhaps she has persuaded him to stay the night,’ said Enda flippantly. Mara suspected from his grin that Enda had heard the story of Nuala’s proposal. Perhaps the girl had carried out her threat and offered herself as a good proposition to Enda.

‘Brigid, is Fachtnan home yet?’

‘Well, I thought he did come back, Brehon.’ Brigid had a worried frown on her face. ‘I told the lads to tell him that I left some ale in the kitchen house for him and I thought I saw him go in there earlier – I went across to have a look at little Cormac and then I stayed for a minute to talk to Nuala – and when I went into the kitchen the ale was gone. But I must have been wrong because there’s not been a sign of him. It’s not like him to be late back. It’s almost bedtime for Hugh and Shane. I gave them a little longer because it was such a fine evening and they wanted to finish a game of chess. I’ll go down to the school now and send them off, and if Fachtnan hasn’t arrived yet, I’ll come back and let you know. Do you think we should send one of the men out looking for him? Or Enda? Perhaps he’s had a fall or something.’

‘I think that would be—’ began Mara and then stopped. There was a yell from the gates of Cahermacnaghten and then the noise of two pairs of feet running frantically down the road.

‘Brigid!’ It was Hugh’s voice.

‘Brehon!’ That was Shane, and Mara instantly handed the baby to the waiting Eileen and rushed to the gate. She could see them now and both faces were white.

‘It’s Fachtnan!’ Shane screamed the words.

‘He’s dying!’ Hugh was behind him.

‘Calm down,’ said Mara; her immediate instinct was to get the information as fast as possible and then to take action. She put out her hand to slow the boys down. ‘Tell me, one at a time. Where is Fachtnan?’

‘He’s in the scholar’s house.’ Shane gulped. ‘We thought he was dead first.’

‘He’s nearly dead,’ said Hugh.

‘He’s been sick all over the place,’ said Shane. ‘He had a bucket. He must have used that first, but there’s vomit everywhere – on the covers, on the floors.’

‘Oh merciful God,’ exclaimed Brigid with a terrified look. ‘It’s not the same thing as happened to Malachy!’

Mara stood very still. She wasn’t sure that she could cope with this. Fachtnan had been under her care since he was five years old. He was one of her children. It was impossible that anything like that should happen to him.

‘He’s alive, though,’ said Hugh. ‘He groaned. We were going into our room and then we heard him groan so we opened the door and found him. He looks terrible.’

‘Go immediately to Lissylisheen.’ Mara began to regain her wits. ‘Take your ponies. Go as fast as you can. Find Nuala. Tell her everything, bring her straight here. Tell her to bring any medicines that she may need.’

‘I pray to God that we are in time,’ said Brigid as she ran down the road. Mara followed going as quickly as possible. Cumhal had appeared, alerted by the boys’ yells, and without asking any questions he was helping them to saddle the ponies by the time that Mara came in through the schoolhouse gates.

Moylan and Aidan appeared at the door of the scholars’ house when she crossed the cobbled yard.

‘Enda’s with him; he’s still vomiting. It’s a bit of mess in there. Do you want me to get water and buckets and things?’ Aidan looked horror-stricken and hardly waited for Brigid’s nod before rushing off. Moylan followed him.

The scene inside the room was appalling. Fachtnan must have been here for hours, was Mara’s first thought. Of course, it was like him, if he felt ill, to say nothing and just go to his bed with a bucket beside him. Now, however, he was barely conscious, his body racked with spasms of dry retching.

‘Oh, Holy Mother of God,’ muttered Brigid. ‘I’ve never seen any of the lads as sick as that. Enda, get me some water in a cup. We’ll see if a few sips help.’

Fachtnan’s eyes half-opened when Brigid slipped a hand under his head. He made an effort to sip the water, but most ran from his mouth.

‘Get some hot water from the kettle above the fire, Enda,’ said Brigid. ‘Pour it into that leather waterpouch hanging up above the fire. We’ll put it on his stomach to ease him a little.’

Thank God for Brigid, thought Mara. She had long years of experience of boys’ illness; whether it was stomach upsets from eating sour apples, or something picked up at the fairs, Brigid had all her tried and tested remedies. She stood aside watching Fachtnan’s face and listening to his breathing with dread.

‘Let’s get him out of here.’ Cumhal and one of the men from the farm were at the door. ‘Come on, lad, let’s be having you. Get him a clean nightshirt or something, Brigid. He’ll feel better when he’s not smelling the vomit. That’s right, Moylan, bring that bucket here. We’ll clean him up a bit and then move him out of this room.’

In a few minutes, Fachtnan was stripped, washed, wrapped in a clean linen sheet, and then Cumhal lifted him in his powerful arms. ‘We’ll take him into our own place, Brehon,’ he said. ‘He’ll need a bit of nursing. That’s it, lad, just get the stuff out of you. Hold that bucket there under his mouth, Aidan. Go on, Fachtnan: get rid of that poison.’

And now the word was said. Enda, returning with the leather waterpouch, stopped at the doorway, a look of dread on his face, and then, mastering himself, came in, handing Brigid the warm bundle and slipping a hand behind Fachtnan’s head.

It was soon over and Fachtnan slumped back exhausted.

‘Let’s take him now,’ said Cumhal.

‘Come on, lads, leave that room. We don’t want you getting what he has.’ Brigid’s eyes met Mara’s for a moment and then slipped away. She took the hot waterpouch and followed her husband from the room. Mara went too, telling the three boys to wash themselves thoroughly. For the moment they would all try to believe that this was some infection that Fachtnan had picked up. The alternative was unthinkable.

Nuala arrived just as Fachtnan was being tucked into a small truckle bed in Brigid’s and Cumhal’s house. She had her medical bag with her, but she took nothing from it. She just knelt on the floor, gently opened the boy’s mouth and inspected the lips and tongue. Then she looked up at Mara.

‘It’s not wolfsbane,’ she said reassuringly.

‘How do you know?’ It was Brigid that asked the question; Mara said nothing.

‘He would have burns on his mouth and tongue, and throat also. How sick has he been?’

‘Very!’ said Aidan. ‘Spewed up his guts.’

‘How much?’ Nuala was sharp and practical.

‘How much?’ Aidan looked horrified. ‘I don’t know; you don’t expect me to go and measure it, do you?’

‘Don’t be stupid, Aidan! Go and help Shane and Hugh,’ snapped Nuala. ‘They’re in the Brehon’s garden. I told them to bring all the mint they can possibly find – every leaf of it. Go quickly – you, too, Moylan. I want it back here in two minutes. Do you hear? Go on.’

They had disappeared before the last words left her lips – glad to be doing something, thought Mara, wishing that there was something that she could do.

‘The vomit was originally solid food, I’d say, Nuala,’ said Enda quietly. ‘By the time that I saw him though, he was just vomiting yellow liquid.’

‘Bile.’ Nuala nodded in a satisfied fashion. ‘No black blood, nothing like that?’

‘No!’ Enda shook his head, appalled at the thought of vomited blood.

‘How is he?’ Oisín was at the door. No one answered.

‘When did he first vomit?’ asked Nuala.

‘No one knows,’ said Mara. ‘No one saw him come home.’

‘I did,’ said Oisín. ‘He came back in the middle of the afternoon. I was just sitting on the wall having a cup of wine. I spoke to him for a minute or two. Offered him some wine, but he didn’t want it. He went off in through the gate leading his pony. That was the last that I saw of him.’

‘We’ve got the mint, Nuala.’ The three boys burst into the room unloading the strong-smelling green leaves from their pouches.

‘Give handfuls to everyone. Now crush it and put it as near to him as possible. All over the bed and as close to his face as possible. I want him to smell it. This will be safer than giving him anything to drink – that might start up the vomiting again. Here, give me some, Shane.’

Nuala took a handful and squeezed it tightly, then held it in front of Fachtnan’s nose. He half-turned his face away from the strong smell, but Mara put her hand on his cheek and gently turned it back again. Everyone else was following Nuala’s orders. Brigid placed the hot waterpouch on Fachtnan’s stomach and added a few mint leaves on top of it for good measure. Shane was rubbing some leaves between his hands so violently that it seemed as though he would rub the skin from them. Oisín put some leaves on the floor and ground them with his boot. The room was full of the aromatic smell.

It seemed to Mara that Fachtnan’s face was slightly less white. He was no longer racked by those terrible spasms and the blood beat more strongly in the wrist that she was holding. Cautiously, she drew in a breath. She tried to reckon how long it was since the last attack of retching and thought it must be almost ten minutes. Nuala was searching through her medical bag with sure hands. She looked competent, assured and somehow happier than she had seemed of late. She held up a small phial of finely ground powder and reached for the cup of water that Enda was holding.

‘I think I could try some skullcap, now,’ she said. ‘I think that is the right thing for him.’

With a tiny silver spoon she measured six spoonfuls into the water. Cumhal propped up Fachtnan, holding his arm behind the boy’s shoulders. Nuala reached forward and suddenly seized his nose, pulling it upwards and when his mouth jerked open she poured the dose down his throat.

‘Works every time,’ she said nonchalantly. And then looking at the astonished faces around, she said irritably. ‘More mint, quick, I’m sure there is more to get.’

‘There should be,’ said Mara recovering herself. ‘I made a long path of it last year, leading into the wood. Take as much as you can carry, lads.’

There was a silence after they left. All the adults watched Fachtnan’s face with dread. The thought of Malachy’s terrible death was too near everyone’s mind, thought Mara. Of course, Nuala had declared confidently that Fachtnan had not taken wolfsbane, but could she be certain?

By the time the boys were back with more pouchfuls of mint everyone had begun to breathe more easily. Fachtnan looked troubled from time to time, but each time relapsed into sleep, breathing in the mint-scented air.

‘There’s a sedative in that stuff I gave him,’ said Nuala. ‘He should sleep soundly now if the vomiting stops.’

‘What made you think of the mint?’ asked Brigid curiously. ‘I never heard of it.’

‘Read it in grandfather’s notes,’ said Nuala in an offhand manner. ‘It makes sense. Anything you give by the mouth risks being rejected by the stomach. This comes through the nose and calms everything.’ She looked around at the crowd of people in the small room and said abruptly, ‘I think he should be left to sleep now, so everyone should go. I’ll call if I need anything.’

Everyone left obediently, except Mara who continued to sit by the bedside. Nuala looked at her and Mara shook her head.

‘I have to stay, Nuala,’ she said in a whisper. ‘He is my responsibility. Tell me, what do you think happened to Fachtnan? Was it something that he caught from another person, something that disagreed with him?’ She hesitated for a moment and then said, ‘Or was it something that was given to him?’

Nuala said nothing for a moment. She looked at her medical bag, picked up a ragged piece of mint and began to knead it between her finger and thumb, and then she looked at Mara.

‘I don’t think that he had an infection. It would not have responded so well to the mint and the skullcap. I think it was something that he ate, or drank.’

‘But what? I’ve known Fachtnan for fourteen years. I’ve never known him to be ill no matter what he ate or drank. Brigid will tell you the same. She used to say “that boy has a stomach like cast-iron”.’

‘Perhaps it was something poisonous?’

‘But I thought you said that it wasn’t wolfsbane.’

‘There are more poisons than wolfsbane, Mara,’ said Nuala with a superior air. ‘Many good medicines are poisonous if you give more than a certain carefully measured dose.’

Mara met her eyes. ‘So you think someone gave him poison – why? To kill him?’

‘Probably not.’

‘Why then?’

Nuala thought for a moment and then shrugged her shoulders. ‘Not the right stuff. This was probably alder buckthorn or at least the bark of it.’

How does she know, wondered Mara? But she said nothing.

‘It’s often known as purging buckthorn.’ Nuala was looking at her, perhaps puzzled by her silence.

‘Why do you think that someone did it?’ Mara looked very directly into the dark brown eyes. The eyes were, as always, full of intelligence, but there was a depth of unhappiness in them at the moment that made them hurtful to look at.

‘Perhaps to frighten . . .’ said Nuala, after another long silence.

‘To frighten him? Fachtnan? Frighten him off?’ queried Mara.

Nuala shrugged again. ‘Or to frighten you – have you thought of that? There may be someone who would like you to stop investigating. This might have been just a warning, just someone saying “stop, or I’ll do something worse, the next time”. And of course that could happen. It’s easy to kill someone by poison if you know enough about herbs and their uses. You could grind up the seeds of that plant “Lords and Ladies” – a plant that is in every hedgerow – and the person who drank the mixture would not survive.’

‘So how can I keep the boys safe?’ Mara asked, watching Nuala intently.

Nuala shrugged, the sullen look coming back to her face. ‘You can’t,’ she said simply. ‘They have to eat and drink – all except little Cormac who is being suckled by Eileen. Anything can have poison slipped into it.’ She stopped and then added with her eyes fixed on the window, ‘There is only one thing you can do, Mara, stop investigating the death of Malachy. It’s all too dangerous. Someone does not want this questioning to continue. Why not stop? You are a woman newly risen from childbirth. No one would blame you.’