Verdict of the Court (17 page)

And then she heard something. Her ears were full of the noise of splashing water and she could not distinguish the nature of the sounds. But it seemed to come from quite near to her.

Once again Mara heard it – a splash as if a stone were hurled into the water. It made her heart stop. Her enemy must be out there, knowing where she was, able to pinpoint her exact position – the murderer couldn’t help but hear the wild, noisy splashing which was her only way of keeping afloat. Once again the noise sounded, this time quite close to her ear. A heavy stone, she thought, by the way it hit the water. If that stone hit her head, her struggles would be over. She held her breath waiting. And then she thought that she heard something else. She tried to ease her frantic splashing and spluttering and to listen.

‘Don’t!’ said a girl’s voice abruptly. ‘Don’t throw stones; that’s probably a dolphin. I love to watch them. Back at home they come to my whistle. Go inside, Raour; tell my father that you couldn’t find me. Don’t worry. I’ll be in presently.’

‘I suppose that you’re waiting for your darling Enda.’ Raour’s voice was quite clear in the foggy air. Had he really thought that the frantic struggles were those of a dolphin, or was there a more sinister reason for the bombardment with large stones? He lobbed a few more in her direction and then she heard him say sulkily, ‘I’m not telling any lies for you; your father can go and search for you himself.’

Mara strained her ears. There were no further sounds; she had not heard Raour leave; he could still be hanging resentfully around, trying to take Shona’s attention, but she hoped desperately that he had left. I will have to take a chance, she thought, as she felt the weight of her clothes drag her down.

‘Shona,’ she called softly, but there was no reply. For a moment she panicked – perhaps the girl, after her initial defiance of her father’s order, had after all, followed Raour back into the castle. Once again she splashed frantically, and then to her relief heard a soft whistle, almost like a call. The sound was nearer to the water. Shona must have walked down to the river edge. I must take a chance, thought Mara. She could feel her legs, hampered by the heavy folds of cloth, beginning to sink down below the surface. I must and I will get Shona’s attention, she thought firmly. Her belief in her own abilities had seldom failed and now it lent strength to the shout as she bellowed out the girl’s name. When she ceased she almost expected another blow to the side of her head, but her frantic splashings were the only sounds near to her.

‘Wait!’ The word was as unmistakable as it was welcome. Mara continued to beat the water, assuring herself that she could survive until Shona ran back to the castle and summoned help. And then, unbelievably, there was the sound of wood against water. Someone was rowing.

There was a small boathouse on the shore with a boat belonging to the kitchen staff there, she remembered. Either Rosta or one of his men used it to take the salmon from the net at the weir. With enormous presence of mind, Shona, instead of running for help, had taken a rowing boat out towards her. Now she could see the girl’s back, the dark braided hair and the red cloak.

‘Wait,’ came Shona’s voice again. ‘There’s a row of stakes here. They use them to tie up the boats at low tide.’ Mara waited. She was no longer worried. There seemed to be something very competent and assured about Shona’s voice and now that the boat was within her view she could see that it moved steadily and smoothly across the water.

‘Can you catch a rope if I throw it?’

Mara gasped out something that she hoped sounded like yes. Catching the rope was more difficult than she had imagined. As soon as one arm ceased its frantic clawing of the water she began to slip beneath the surface and had to quickly resume her efforts. However, on the third attempt, she succeeded in snatching it. She slumped for a moment with relief and then, hearing a voice, lifted her head completely out of the water.

‘Hold it with your two hands. I’ll tow you; don’t worry. You might get water on your face, but you won’t sink while you keep hold of the rope.’

Shona’s voice was still sensible and matter-of-fact and Mara felt a trust in the girl. Her admiration grew. No questions, no exclamations, just an immediate and practical response. A girl to rely on, thought Mara, as she heroically spat out water after a complete submerging. Clenching the rope with a grip of iron she tried to forget the cold, the awful choking from the water in her lungs, and she concentrated on Shona, willing her to have the strength to manage the boat and to take them both to safety on shore. There were a few bad minutes while the boat had to be turned, Shona using one oar in a wide circle. The movement took Mara off-guard and to her immense annoyance and humiliation dunked her under the surface once more. Why on earth didn’t anyone teach me to swim, she thought with irritation and vowed that if ever she had a girl scholar again she would certainly be taught to swim, side by side with the boys.

‘Hold tight,’ said Shona and once again she spoke in a low voice, almost as though she knew that there was danger lurking.

Mara did not answer. Her mind now had left her present predicament – she had got into the rhythm of gently flapping her feet – her shoes had long gone – and her thoughts now went to trying to put a face to the arm that wielded the club to such deadly purpose and had almost caused her to drown. Someone had overheard her words to the captain, someone had seen her as a threat, had decided to get rid of her quickly – just as the body of the murdered man had been tipped into the river. It would probably have been taken as an accident, she concluded as she clutched the rope, neatly flipped her feet and kept her head well out of the water. A person who had murdered once often did not hesitate to murder again. That had been her experience in the past. It was imperative now that he, or she, be caught and named before another victim was found dead.

Shona was making for the boathouse. She seemed to be expert at the procedure, giving the stone wall one jab with the oar in order to position herself accurately and then gliding in under the roof. Mara hung on to the rope and then when she felt the boat stop, used hand over hand to haul herself inside as well. There was a strong, fishy smell from the water and she could dimly make out the outline of a row of lobster pots.

‘I’m holding the boat steady; can you climb out onto the jetty,’ came the whisper.

One half of the boathouse was covered over with a slatted floor and Mara presumed that was the jetty. She reached out a hand and pulled herself towards it. After a struggle she managed to get a knee onto the slats and then pulled herself up and stood for a minute streaming with water, using her hands to wipe her eyes and her face. Then she knelt on the flooring and spoke near to Shona’s ear.

‘I’ll never be able to thank you enough,’ she said. ‘Now is there a way that I can get changed into something dry without causing any fuss? I don’t want anyone to know about this.’

Shona’s face was invisible under the sheltering roof of the boathouse, but her voice was steady and practical. ‘Take my cloak; strip everything off or you will be ill. I’ll go up to your room and get you something to wear. If I meet your husband I’ll tell him that a clumsy boy spilt wine all over you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

‘I can’t take your cloak – you’ll freeze,’ protested Mara endeavouring to stop her teeth chattering.

‘You have to,’ said Shona firmly. ‘I’ll be all right. I’ll manage. I never feel the cold. In any case, think of the scandal if anyone comes to the boathouse and finds the King’s wife standing there, quite naked.’

And with that she was off and despite her chattering teeth Mara smiled to herself. Who would have thought that the shy, silent daughter of Maccon MacMahon would have so much spirit and enterprise in her? And so much good sense, also. Quickly she stripped off her clothes and seizing a handful of netting scrubbed herself with it and then put on Shona’s cloak, bending down over the water to allow her hair to drip as she combed it through with her fingers.

Shona was back by the time that Mara had begun to braid her hair. She had brought nothing complicated – just a thick
léine
, a pair of boots and a very warm, fur-lined cloak with a large hood. She had also brought a square of linen so that Mara could tie it over her head to save soiling the fur with the river water.

‘There’s a good fire in my bedroom; you can come and change there. I met Enda. He has told my father that I am not well and he will see us safely into the room,’ she said, once Mara was dressed.

So Enda was going to be in on this matter, thought Mara, but she did not mind. Her suspicions of Enda had begun to seem ridiculous. After all she knew this boy so well. Could he really have killed Brehon MacClancy just to have inherited the position of Brehon at the court of King Turlough? Murder for a situation was the act of an evil, ruthless person and that was not Enda. And this attack on her had, she felt, made suspicions of him seem impossible. She could not possibly imagine that Enda would try to kill the woman who was his teacher for ten years. Meekly she followed Shona from the boathouse and noted how the girl knew her way so well, going by a path heavily cloaked with a dense hedge of holly to shelter the winter-time vegetables.

Enda was standing by the drawbridge when they edged around the corner. He was apparently gazing nonchalantly into the mist. He raised one hand as Shona gave a light whistle and Mara quickened her pace. Once he saw them he went back into the castle and they could hear his footsteps ahead of them as they hesitated and then at a low whistle, they hurried up the staircase. There was no sign of him, however, when they reached the door to Shona’s bedroom and once inside the girl turned the key in the lock. Spread across the bed were a few piles of Mara’s clothes, taken from her clothes chest, and there was a large linen towel warming by the fire and a bowl of rose-scented water ready on the wash stand. Shona had efficiently organized everything in the time that it had taken Mara to remove her wet clothes in boathouse.

‘Wonderful,’ said Mara, shedding the cloak and seizing the towel. Back home at the law school she had a bathhouse, where the water in the iron tub came from a deep well and a charcoal burner heated the water. She longed for it now but did her best with the small basin of water provided. At least, she hoped, it would enable her to get rid of the fishy river smell from her skin and hair.

‘Take your time,’ said Shona. ‘No one will come.’

‘What if your father comes?’ asked Mara. ‘Perhaps we should have some story ready for him.’

‘My father is under armed guard,’ said Shona grimly. ‘In any case he won’t press me on any point at this moment. He knows that it would be dangerous to do that.’

Mara raised her eyebrows with a smile, while her mind worked fast. ‘You’ve got him well under control, then,’ she said lightly. She did not look at Shona but kept her head bowed down to the heat of the fire as she scrubbed her hair with the thick linen towel. There was a long silence after the remark and when she lifted her head and reached for the comb she cast a quick glance at Shona.

There was a very strange expression on the girl’s face. Not the smug expression of a well-loved daughter who could wind her father around her thumb, but a bitter expression of fury combined with sadness. Mara’s heart was moved with pity for her.

‘What is it?’ she asked softly.

There was a long pause. Mara could see that Shona was unsure. She opened her mouth as though about to speak and then closed it again. Her eyes looked down and she fidgeted with her fingers, sliding a ring of silver to and fro.

‘I can’t say,’ she said eventually. And then quite suddenly her eyes looked straight into Mara’s and there was an expression almost of terror in them.

‘I hate being a girl; I feel so powerless. I wish that I didn’t have a family. Cael thinks that she can escape by pretending to be a boy, but as soon as she starts to look attractive then all of that will stop and she’ll have to do what she is told, she’ll be at the mercy of any filthy beast that desires her,’ she said, the words tumbling over each other.

Mara nodded. ‘There are some men like that,’ she said softly. ‘Men that like to get a woman in their power. The law gives protection against such men; punishes them.’ She watched Shona intently.

‘The law can’t restore a reputation once lost,’ said Shona bitterly. ‘A girl …’ She hesitated and then went on, with an attempt at sounding indifferent and detached, ‘If a girl, as a child, has been raped and has had a child, then she is damaged goods if her secret gets out. No amount of silver can compensate for that.’

‘True,’ said Mara. She bent her head over the stone hearth and allowed her hair to hang down as she combed it in the warmth of the fire. ‘What happened to the baby,’ she said without looking around.

‘It died,’ said Shona in a dull voice.

The mother was too young to bear a child, thought Mara, her heart filled with such fury against a man who would do this to a girl placed under his protection that she felt she could gladly have murdered him herself. A lot was now explained. Cael’s insistence on being a boy, her incessant practice with her throwing knives, her hatred of Brehon MacClancy, all this now made bleak sense.

‘And your father?’ she questioned. What kind of man would allow this to go on; would still leave his two younger children in that man’s care? She got up from her kneeling position and went across to the mirror and began to braid her hair.

‘I hate him,’ said Shona bitterly.

‘Did you try to tell him …’ Mara paused and then added casually, ‘about Brehon MacClancy.’

‘He believed him; he told my father that I had disgraced myself with a
cú glas
, with a man of the roads.’

‘I think that you should have tried to tell your father the truth,’ said Mara decisively. ‘I think …’ But then she stopped as Shona said slowly and bitterly:

‘And have the same thing happen to Cael – that’s what he threatened. He said that it was all my fault, anyway, that I had enticed him, worn pretty dresses, that I was a … a …’

Shona stopped and Mara looked at her with pity. Probably there was no real relationship with her father – in any case she may have been very young, very young, pregnant and bewildered – shamed by the baby that she was carrying. And the threat to Cael may have been a real one and not one that the sister, who would have been returned to her father and probably married by the time that Cael became attractive to Brehon MacClancy’s perverted taste, could have prevented. Mara decided to move away from the subject. Nothing could be done about the past; the future was what counted. The girl had been stiff with apprehension for the whole of the visit and it had not diminished after the death of Brehon MacClancy two days ago.