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Authors: Cora Harrison

Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery & Detective

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BOOK: A Secret and Unlawful Killing
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‘So you killed him?’
He nodded and then shook his head. ‘No … well, yes … well, I don’t know. I lifted my fist and I hit him on the head with it. I don’t think I really meant to kill him. I just got into a rage with him. I hit him in the same way that Aengus hit me with his stick.’
‘And your knife?’ queried Mara. ‘Did you take the knife from his pouch?’
He frowned. ‘No, at that minute I saw Guaire O’Brien, the linen merchant, coming in through the gate. I slipped behind a tree and then managed to get out through the back gate when he wasn’t looking. I went straight down to Shesmore. Maeve saw how upset I was. In the end, I told her everything. I didn’t know that I had killed him then, but I thought it would be the end of everything for us. I thought that he would never forgive me for knocking him out. I was furious with myself for losing my temper like that.’
‘And when did you find out that he was dead?’ asked Mara.
‘Well, when he didn’t come home after a few hours, we got worried. And then we found his horse out on the lane by the house. I went back to the churchyard and I found him lying there. I started to cover him with earth and then I heard the old priest coming so I ran away again. I went back to Maeve. I asked her what I should do. She thought we should say nothing. She believed me that I did not mean to kill him.’
His eyes lingered fondly over Maeve’s tiny face, and with no trace of self-consciousness she held out her arms to him. Suddenly she seemed to have acquired a new maturity. It was
as if she were his mother. They held each other for a moment and then Donal released her. He looked over at Mara. She looked back at him, trying to assess whether he had told the whole truth.
‘You’ve left out something, I think,’ she said, watching him closely. ‘Ragnall was hit on the forehead with a small stone cross.’
He frowned. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I didn’t hit him with a stone cross. And I hit him on the side of the head, not on the forehead. I remember that. I hit him just above the ear. I just thumped him. I couldn’t believe it when I came back and found him dead. After all that had happened up in Oughtmama, it just seemed like a nightmare that was going on and on.
It was as I had pictured it, thought Mara. That evening she had remembered the blue-black bruise above the ear and then the disfiguring gaping mess in the centre of the forehead. At the time it had not seemed important, but now tonight, thinking of those injuries, and of the missing pouch, she had realized that there had been two blows and two attackers. A rich young man like Donal, reared in the strict honour code of the O’Brien clan, would never have stooped to steal a pouch of silver from the MacNamara steward.
‘I believe,’ she said slowly, ‘that you were not the man who killed Ragnall. I think, Maeve, that your father was killed after Donal left him.’
To her surprise neither asked any questions, though Fachtnan looked at her with a startled query in his wide eyes. She gave him a nod and then a slight indication of the head towards the door. He slipped out immediately, leaving her with the two lovers. The boy was more moved, more relieved
by her words than the girl, she thought as she watched them embrace again. Maeve, despite her kittenish looks, was probably a pragmatist, who took the practical viewpoint that her living lover was of more importance than her dead father. Her father had probably never been much of a father to her. He had been a dour, stern man, not a man to rear a young girl. Maeve would not miss him much. It was good, though, that no cloud would remain over this young couple. She would have a talk with Donal later about keeping his temper, but she would not spoil this moment of delirious happiness for them now.
‘You had better take Maeve home, now, Donal,’ she said gently after a few minutes. ‘Fionnuala will be waiting for her. I’ll come and see you in a few days, Maeve, and then we’ll have a talk together about your future.’
Maeve nodded demurely, but her glowing eyes showed that she had no doubt about what would be said. Donal, however, hesitated at the door for a moment, looking back in a troubled way.
‘But what about Oughtmama, Brehon?’ he said.
‘I think you can leave that matter to me,’ said Mara soberly.
GÚBRATHA CARATNIAD (THE FALSE JUDGEMENTS OF CARATNIA)
A tighernae,
lord, may lose his honour price
, lóg n-enech,
for many serious offences and failings.
T
he king and the
B
rehon will decide together whether this punishment is merited.
A
mong the offences are:
1.
B
etraying his honour
2.
C
asting blame on the innocent
3.
F
ailing to fulfil his obligations to his clan
4.
E
ating stolen food
(
because a
tighernae
has the means to purchase his own food
)
5.
T
olerating satire
 
 
‘
L
ET ME START BY saying that your name will never pass my lips until I speak of this to your lord and mine:
King Turlough Donn O’Brien,’ said Mara gravely. She looked at the sullen face of the man opposite to her. She had summoned him to her law school; had sent Cumhal for him once day broke that morning, and he had come, but not for seven hours. There had been a time, that morning, when she found herself half wishing that he would not come, that this ordeal would pass away from her, but she had reproached herself instantly for that thought. The secret and unlawful killing of Aengus the miller had to be acknowledged and recompense made.
If he did not come to her by the end of the school day, she decided, then she would have to go to him.
In fact, school had ended and the scholars were crossing the yard, jostling each other cheerfully, full of repressed high spirits and hungry for their supper, by the time that he had appeared silently at the door.
He looked at her warily now.
‘Speak of what?’ he asked. He tried to make his voice sound light and unconcerned, but his eyes betrayed him.
‘Of Michaelmas Eve and of the murder of Aengus the miller,’ she said.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s that to do with me?’ He tried to sound carefree, but she knew that it was a front. ‘If you want to solve that mystery, and, of course, we are all waiting for you to do that, then you should talk to Maol MacNamara. Slaney says that Maol saw young Donal O’Brien passing his house late on Michaelmas Eve.’
‘I’ve already spoken to Donal O’Brien,’ said Mara. ‘He swears that he is not responsible for the murder of Aengus.’
He sneered openly at that. ‘Of course! He is the favourite of the king. I had forgotten that.
Your king and mine
will
elect his father, Teige O’Brien, as
tánaiste
and then, I suppose, the plan is that son will follow father. No, of course, your murderer can’t be Donal O‘Brien. You have to find someone else to bear the blame.’ His voice was heavily sarcastic.
‘I do know that Donal O’Brien was at Oughtmama on that evening. I’ve known that for some time. I know, also, that he and Aengus struggled together. Aengus injured Donal, knocked him out with that stick of his and then went off, leaving him lying unconscious on the floor. No doubt, he thought, as was probably true, the young man had collapsed as much because of the amount that he had to drink, as because of the blow. It was unlucky for Aengus that he did not stay with Donal and bring him back to his senses. If Aengus had done that then he would not have met his murderer.’
‘So what have I to do with all that?’ He tried to sound bored, but he watched her in the way that she had once seen a fox watching a farmer who approached near to his den among the shattered limestone slabs.
‘Because you were the one who cut the miller’s throat and stretched his body out on the floor beside Donal,’ said Mara.
‘That’s just a guess on your part.’ He sounded triumphant and Mara gave him a minute to enjoy the sensation.
‘You don’t correct me,’ she observed quietly, then.
He frowned, puzzled, still not seeing his mistake.
‘You are not surprised to hear that the body of the miller was originally found in the mill, not in the millstream?’
He flushed a dark red. His mind was quick and cunning though, and in a second he regained his composure.
‘I bow to your judgement, my lady judge,’ he said. ‘If you say that the body of Aengus was originally found in the mill, then that’s the way it was. We all know how clever you are and what trust the king places in you.’
‘You mentioned Slaney a minute ago,’ said Mara evenly. ‘I believe that she is the key to this murder. Without Slaney, without her greed, her passions and her desire to better herself in the world, there would have been no murder at the mill on the night of Michaelmas Eve.’
That shocked him. His face went red and then white. His eyes narrowed. For a moment Mara felt slightly alarmed. This man was ruthless; he had murdered Aengus just to ensure his worldly position. A man who would take a life for something like that was a man who would not baulk at further violence. She cast a quick glance at the window. She could hear Seán’s voice as he brought the cows in for milking and, more reassuring still, the heavy strokes of a mallet. Cumhal, she knew, was repairing the high wall of the law school enclosure, just to the back of the schoolhouse. The man’s eyes followed hers and she could see that he had noted the presence of her servants. In an instant he had recovered his composure.
‘Slaney?’ he queried with a puzzled frown. ‘What can Slaney have to do with this matter?’
Mara did not answer, but looked at him with narrowed eyes, trying to understand the depth of his ambition and the extent of his ruthlessness. What solution would be best for the kingdom? The result of her investigations would have to be made public at Poulnabrone, but once the truth was known by the people of the Burren, then what could be the
future for the murderer? She considered the matter carefully for a while, but decided that the next step had to lie with the man who sat silently opposite her.
‘Let me tell you what happened on that night,’ she said. She now felt full of confidence. She knew how to handle the affair. There was only one way in which this matter could end.
‘Well, tell your story,’ he said, crossing his legs and throwing a log onto the fire. ‘Don’t make it too long, though. It’ll be dark soon, and I have to ride back to Carron tonight, unless, of course, you are going to offer me hospitality. I hear your guests get wonderful meals at Cahermacnaghten.’
She ignored that. ‘This is how the story goes. You went to kill Aengus. You had a knife in your hand. You went after him. You are a fit, active man and he was a man well advanced in years. He ran back towards the mill, perhaps because he knew that another young man was there and might, if he had recovered, protect him against you. Or perhaps he just wanted to put a door between you and himself.’
‘And, of course, you were there and you saw all of this!’ His tone was scornful and his expression confident. He had had time to think and he had reckoned that his position would make him unassailable.
‘The evidence is clear,’ she said sharply. ‘You grabbed Aengus, cut his throat, probably just inside the door of the mill, and then you had an unexpected piece of luck.’
Mara half closed her eyes, peering through them into the fire as if she could picture there that small wooden room filled with the sound of gushing water and the smell of blood
beginning to overwhelm the scent of warm grain. She almost felt as if she had, indeed, been a witness. When she spoke again her voice was assured and decisive.
‘Aengus had lit a candle earlier so once you had cut his throat you could see everything. You saw young Donal O’Brien lying unconscious on the floor and you realized immediately that he could be the scapegoat to carry your sin. You took his knife from his pouch and you plunged the blade into the wound. Then you placed the knife, with its O‘Brien crest, not on the floor where Donal might see it when he roused himself, but on the shelf where it could be discovered once the murder was being investigated. And then you left Oughtmama. Donal O’Brien found the body when he recovered the following morning. He panicked; he put the body in the stream and tried to make it look as if Aengus had committed suicide. He told me the full story of how he scrubbed the boards and had everything clean by the time Niall arrived on the Monday morning to collect the tribute.’
‘You haven’t accounted for one matter yet,’ he said calmly. ‘You have told me the story of
how
you think this murder was committed, but you haven’t told me
why.
I could have no sensible reason to murder that old man.’
‘You had,’ she said.
‘Tell me it, then,’ he challenged.
And so she told him.
And after she told him there was a short silence, which she broke by saying: ‘You have two choices now. You can stay here tonight and ride to Thomond with me tomorrow and together we will tell the whole story to the king …’
She gave him a searching look, but his face was locked into an expression of indifference, the eyes stony, the mouth compressed, so she finished her sentence.
‘ … or you can leave here now and go back to Carron and from thence to where you wish.’
Then he rose to his feet, went to the door without a backward glance. She heard him call peremptorily for his horse, but she did not stir. She had finished her written statement to the king – no word of that would have to be altered, but she had to think of what to say to him. She had to think, not just of Turlough, but also of the effect on the whole kingdom. She sat for a long time and, although one part of her mind registered the quiet knock on the door, she did not move nor call out.
‘Brehon,’ Fachtnan’s voice was apologetic and she realized that this was at least the second time that he had called to her.
‘Sorry, Fachtnan, come in,’ she said, rolling up the leaves of vellum again, tying them neatly with a piece of pink linen tape from her pouch and then turning towards him.
‘Nuala and Malachy came by a while ago, Brehon. Malachy said that he wouldn’t disturb you. They had just come from Oughtmama. Malachy said to tell you that Niall had recovered his wits, but that he has ordered that Niall should stay where he is for the next few days. Fintan has sent Balor to look after the farm and Malachy says that Niall just needs some rest and perhaps a few short walks now. Nuala has made him a strengthening tonic from her herbs.’
‘That will do him a lot of good,’ said Mara cheerfully. ‘Nuala does great things with that herb garden of hers.’ There
was something touching about the pride with which Fachtnan spoke of Nuala.
‘But that’s not all, Brehon,’ continued Fachtnan. ‘Niall wants to see you. Malachy said to be sure to tell you that. He’s gone home now, but Nuala is still here. Would you like to see her?’
 
 
Cumhal was burning branches and twigs from the ash logs in the centre of the yard and the scholars were roasting apples dipped in honey and then skewered onto peeled rods of alder wood. From time to time a shower of sparks set them all shrieking and running back into the gathering shadows. Nuala was amongst them, more daring than most, as she slipped her apple into the glowing centre of the fire and then quickly snatched it out again.
‘We’ll have no apples left for
Samhain
if you eat them all now,’ observed Mara, but no one took any notice of her words and she was perversely glad of it. Why should they worry about the future at their age? The festival of
Samhain
was a good twenty days away and this evening with the sun just setting in a sky filled with soft blues, yellows and reds and the air crisping up towards a night of frost, this was the time for fun and laughter and the sweet scent of roasting apples.
‘The physician will be back to collect the little lady in a while, Brehon,’ said Brigid. ‘He has to dress the hand of a shepherd on Baur North. I told him to leave her.’ Her eyes were fond as they rested on Nuala. ‘Fachtnan said that you might want to talk to her,’ she added.
‘I won’t bother her now,’ said Mara. ‘Let her enjoy herself.’ She knew what Niall would have to tell her and she was fairly sure that he had said nothing to either Malachy or Nuala. She waited for a moment, watching the fun and turning her plans over in her mind.
‘I’ll give the lads tomorrow morning off, Brigid, as they will have to be at Poulnabrone by vespers. I must see Niall at Oughtmama and I’ll go on from there across the Shannon to Arra to see the king. Could you and Cumhal see that they all get there in time and that they are as neat and tidy as possible.’ She hardly needed to say that, she knew, but chatting idly with Brigid and watching the merry youngsters around the fire distracted her from the thoughts of that moment when she would have to stand at Poulnabrone and tell the people of the Burren, the O‘Lochlainns, the O’Connors, the O’Briens and the MacNamaras, the terrible truth about the two murders in their community.
BOOK: A Secret and Unlawful Killing
3.23Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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