Scales of Retribution (19 page)

‘I would blame myself,’ said Mara. She put out a hand and gently turned Nuala’s face so that they were eye to eye. ‘A death has to be investigated and retribution demanded from the guilty person; that is the law that I live my life by and I cannot turn my back on it now.’

Twelve

A woman can inherit a life interest in land when her father has no sons. She is called the
banchomarbae
(female heir). If she marries a landless man or a stranger from another kingdom, she makes the decisions and pays his fines and debts. After her death, the property of a
banchomarbae
reverts to her own kin and does not pass to her husband and sons.

T
wo or three times during the night Mara woke and walked to her window, leaning out as far as she could and looking anxiously over towards the school. There were no sounds from the enclosure and no lights either. Brigid had made up a bed for Nuala in her living room, but it seemed as though all slept. Most importantly, Fachtnan must have continued to sleep. Each time Mara breathed a sigh of relief as she returned to her own bed – to rest, but not to sleep.

What had happened?

It seemed from Oisín’s evidence that Fachtnan had returned at the usual time in the afternoon. Brigid had thought she saw him go to the kitchen house and she was probably right. Brigid usually was right.

But was the poisonous drug that he swallowed given to him during the day? Perhaps at Caherconnell? Could Caireen have tried to poison the boy by using one of her husband’s medicines? Or did Ronan, the newly qualified physician, deliberately pick something that would make Fachtnan very ill, but not kill him – and did he do that in order to frighten Mara from continuing the investigation?

Or, more horrendous, did someone put the drug into the cup of ale left for Fachtnan on the kitchen table? Brigid’s voice carried for distances of up to half a mile. If she had shouted to the other lads that Fachtnan’s drink was in the kitchen, then anyone in the vicinity could have heard her.

This was the thought that robbed Mara of her sleep.

‘How is he?’ As soon as Mara had given little Cormac his bath and enjoyed a few private minutes with him while Eileen ate her breakfast, she went across to the law school. Brigid was flying out to the pump with a kettle in her hand. Her sandy-red hair had been neatly braided and she looked much as usual. Mara felt a rush of happiness. Fachtnan must have slept well and the night had been undisturbed.

Brigid beamed. ‘You wouldn’t believe it, but he says that he is hungry. Nuala is in there with him. Go in, Brehon, go in and see for yourself.’

Fachtnan was pale but looking more like himself. As soon as Mara came in Nuala rose to her feet.

‘I must get back to Lissylisheen. Ardal will be wondering where I am if I don’t turn up at his breakfast table. Nothing to eat for him today, Mara. Just water, and not too much of it. I’ve given him a dose of skullcap this morning and I’ll come over again this afternoon to see how he is.’

And with that, she was out the door, and they heard her footsteps on the cobbles outside.

Fachtnan met Mara’s eyes. ‘That was embarrassing,’ he said frankly. ‘She was there beside my bed when I woke up this morning. I thought I was dreaming.’

‘Just relax. You’ve been very ill and gave us all a fright. You must have eaten something, did you?’ Mara kept her voice light. Fachtnan looked in no condition to talk about his brush with death.

‘No, I was so thirsty that I just drank the ale in the kitchen house. I didn’t bother with any food.’

‘But earlier? During the day?’

‘Just a few honey cakes and a glass of wine at Caireen’s – didn’t like the wine much, but I thought I’d better drink it in case it seemed rude not to. And I had a bit of Oisín’s – I didn’t like that either.’ Fachtnan’s eyes were closing as he spoke. Mara got to her feet.

‘Sleep now,’ she said. ‘I’ll pop in later on. Just call if you need anything – your window is wide open.’

‘This wretched murder has come at such a bad time for me,’ snapped Mara. It was stupid she knew, but she was beginning to resent the way that Eileen came in and took the baby from her as though she were the mother, and that she only lent Cormac to Mara for a strictly limited time. And yet, it was true that she had no time for her own baby just now.

‘Why don’t you ask the king to send over Brehon MacEgan from Thomond?’ suggested Brigid. ‘After all, there’s no hurry, is there? The man is dead. Finding out who killed him is not going to do anyone any good.’

‘Except those who are innocent of his murder, but who are now under suspicion,’ said Mara quietly.

‘You’re thinking of Nuala.’ Brigid said no more about MacEgan, the Brehon of Thomond. Nuala’s pale face, slumped shoulders and irritability would not have escaped Brigid’s notice. ‘What is it that you want to do?’ she asked.

‘I want to ride over to Caherconnell and interview Caireen and her son, Ronan,’ said Mara fretfully. She was conscious of sounding as she must have done when she was five years old and Brigid was trying to find out why she was sulking.

‘Why not send for them? It’s what your father would have done. Why should you go running after people like that?’ Brigid had a high opinion of the dignity and status of a Brehon.

Mara moved uneasily. It was not the way that she liked to do things usually, but there was no doubt that Brigid was right.

‘Very well then,’ she said in a resigned manner. ‘Could you ask Cumhal to send someone? This reminded her of the man that was usually sent on errands. ‘Has Seán come back yet from Thomond?’ she enquired impatiently

‘Not sight, nor sound of him,’ said Brigid emphatically. ‘But you know our brave Seán. He was probably just about to go back when he heard of the great victory, so he decided to wait and to take part in the celebrations.’

Caireen and her son Ronan arrived in the middle of the morning, when Mara was busy teaching in the schoolhouse. The five boys all lifted their heads from their book when her shrill voice sounded from the courtyard.

‘No, no, we’ll show ourselves in. We’re quite at home here, aren’t we, Ronan?’ And then a minute later, still at the same high pitch. ‘What a quaint place, isn’t it? Everything is so old-world, here, Ronan, isn’t it? Coming here from Galway, it’s like going back into the past, with almost everyone living inside their own enclosures—’ There was an abrupt silence.

No doubt, thought Mara, Ronan, who was no fool, had hushed his mother. She nodded to Shane to open the door to the visitors.

‘Well, what busy workers!’ Caireen gave Shane a sweet smile and then bestowed another on the four boys who rose politely from their seats.

‘But where is my friend Fachtnan?’ she demanded. ‘Not ill, I hope?’

Now why did she say that? wondered Mara. After all, there were lots of reasons why Fachtnan should not have been present: he could have been sent to fetch a book from the Brehon’s house, or deliver a message to Brigid, or could be out investigating the circumstances of the murder.

‘How good of you to come.’ Mara seated her guests and dismissed the boys for their morning break. They would normally have a game of hurling and then a drink of buttermilk or ale and a few cakes, before coming back to resume their studies.

‘Yes, I’m afraid that Fachtnan is not at all well,’ she said aloud, watching mother and son carefully for any reaction.

‘Ate something that disagreed with him?’ shrilled Caireen. ‘Well, that’s boys for you! Would you like Ronan to have a look at him for you?’

‘No, mother, I’m sure that’s not necessary,’ said Ronan quickly. ‘A night’s sleep had probably left him feeling a lot better.’

Once again, they seemed to know a lot about the illness that Fachtnan had suffered. Was Nuala right? Had Fachtnan been given something to make him very ill, but not to injure him in any way? And, if so, would it deter Mara from carrying out her investigation into the death of a man whom, in any case, she had begun to dislike heartily?

‘And your darling baby – he is well?’

‘Very well, thank you. Now I would like to ask you a few questions.’

‘What a coincidence!’ Caireen laughed happily and then quickly tried to turn the sound into a sob. She produced a large square of linen from her pouch and held it up, delicately touching, first one eye, and then the other. ‘I, also, wanted to ask you about some matters.’

‘Well, you ask first,’ said Mara politely.

‘I just want to know what progress has been made towards finding my husband’s killer?’ Caireen gave a loud, and rather unconvincing sniff, ‘I understand that you felt well enough to take over the investigation yourself . . . a few days ago,’ she added pointedly.

‘Ah,’ said Mara, ‘as always these matters have to remain confidential to me, until I stand up at Poulnabrone and accuse the guilty person and demand a fine.’

‘Poulnabrone,’ Caireen informed her son, ‘is one of the quaint old-fashioned customs they have here. Instead of a proper court with judges and lawyers as we have in Galway, they all go and stand around a few huge rocks that cover a hole in the middle of a field.’

‘Just so,’ said Mara briskly. Ronan, she noticed, looked neither embarrassed nor interested by his mother’s revelations. She rather admired his composure. He was self-possessed for his age. No doubt he was used to his mother and did not allow her to disturb him. ‘There is just one question that I wish to ask you before we talk about the murder,’ she went on. ‘I wondered whether Malachy left a will? He made none with me, but . . .’

Caireen looked at Mara and then looked away. ‘I’m not sure . . .’ she began but Ronan said impatiently, ‘Come on, Mother, there is no secret about it!’

He turned away from his mother and addressed Mara. ‘Malachy made a will leaving to his wife Caireen his house at Caherconnell, newly built by him this year, and whatever silver and possessions were in the house at the time of his death. This will was made in Galway and drawn up by a lawyer qualified in English, and native law,’ he added hastily, and Mara suppressed a smile. She did not suppose that Nuala would contest the will – though as the female heir the house and land to graze seven cows should have been hers. And if she didn’t, Mara would let it pass, though she was furious that Malachy had made no provision for his only child.

‘I have no interest in these things at the moment. My whole mind is on finding the murderer and seeing that she, or he, is punished,’ sighed Caireen.

‘Indeed,’ said Mara. A useful word, she always thought. She allowed a few seconds of respectful silence to fill the room before saying briskly, ‘Now let me take you back to the morning of the eleventh of June. The best thing for me would be if you could give a picture of the house as it was just before you discovered Malachy’s body . . . Who was in the house? Who was where? Who was doing what . . .? As much as you can remember.’

‘Nuala was in the herb garden,’ said Ronan in an authoritative manner.

Mara nodded. ‘Which part?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Ronan. ‘Does it matter?’

‘I just wondered whether you knew because you had seen her, or because someone told you that fact,’ said Mara.

‘I saw her from the window of my room, but I can’t remember exactly which herb bed she was weeding. Yes, I remember now: it was the camomile bed.’ Ronan’s voice was firm and his manner casual.

‘And I was in the kitchen talking to Sadhbh,’ said Caireen.

‘And the other servants?’

‘The men were outside, seeing to the cows and the horses, and the two girls were upstairs cleaning out our bedroom.’ Caireen gave a loud sniff, no doubt to commemorate spending the night with her husband.

‘Well, that seems very clear.’ Mara beamed at them both and made a note on the piece of vellum in front of her.

‘There is just one thing that puzzles me,’ she said, carefully replacing the quill in the pen holder, ‘and it is this: why did you, Ronan, not come to your stepfather’s aid when your mother called for help? After all,’ she continued, ‘her cries were loud enough to be heard by Nuala out in the garden; surely they would have reached you in your bedroom?’

‘I had already left the house by then,’ said Ronan, looking at her steadily.

‘Going where?’ Mara raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Nowhere in particular, Brehon. It was a fine morning and I thought I would exercise my horse.’

‘Let me take you through matters again. Ronan looked out from the window, saw Nuala weeding the camomile plants, then departed to exercise his horse, while you, Caireen, were downstairs and in the kitchen.’ She turned to Caireen, looking keenly at her. ‘Then you decided to see how your husband, Malachy, was getting on, so you went into the stillroom, found him on the floor, tried to revive him with some water – at the same time shrieking for help – is that the way that things happened?’

‘Yes, that sounds right,’ said Caireen, stealing a sideways glance at her son.

‘I’m just a little puzzled.’ murmured Mara. ‘When I spoke to Nuala a few days ago, she said that she had been weeding the patch of woundwort and had only just moved to the camomile bed when she heard Caireen’s shrieks.’

‘Perhaps I was mistaken.’ Ronan sounded indifferent.

‘One of them looks so like the other,’ suggested Caireen helpfully.

Mara waited for Ronan to speak, but when he said nothing she said quietly. ‘Hardly; one has blue flowers and the other pink.’

‘Of course, it would be difficult for Nuala to remember exactly how long it was that she had been weeding the camomile when she was summoned to her father’s last moments,’ suggested Ronan. He did not appear to be perturbed by the questioning. He rose to his feet. ‘Perhaps if that is all then, Mother, we had better be getting back. There is much to arrange. We are having the wake for Malachy tonight and will be burying him tomorrow.’

‘Oh!’ Mara was startled. She had been so immersed in the reasons for this murder that she had almost forgotten the death itself and all the ceremonies associated with it. The wake was always a most important event where a vigil was held around the dead relative’s coffin. Refreshments, sometimes even singing and storytelling, took place during the whole night and all relatives, friends and neighbours were expected to attend. ‘I so regret that I cannot be present,’ she said hastily. ‘You will understand as I have so recently risen from childbirth . . .’