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Authors: Cora Harrison

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

BOOK: A Secret and Unlawful Killing
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‘Is Donal O’Brien here?’ asked Mara.
‘He is indeed, Brehon,’ said the earnest young man, his brow clearing of the anxiety of dealing with a Brehon on his own. ‘Will you come in and have a cup of ale while I find him?’
‘No, I’ll wait here,’ said Mara firmly and watched him run up the path while she turned over in her mind what she would say to young Donal. This was a difficult situation. It
certainly looked as if Donal O’Brien may have been the last person to see Ragnall MacNamara alive. But did he kill him?
‘Your knife,’ she said, instantly producing the knife from her pouch the moment he arrived.
The shock was immense. When she had shown him the brooch, he had immediately stretched out his hand for it in quite an unconcerned way, but now he actually took a step backwards as if she had slapped him across the face. His sunburned face turned a sickly yellow; under his tan, all the blood had drained away.
‘Where did you lose it?’ she asked gently.
He stared fixedly at her as if he feared to drop his eyes.
‘When you were out hunting?’ she asked. ‘Did you lose it the same time that you lost your brooch?’
She thought he was going to agree, but then his eyes hardened.
‘It’s not my knife,’ he said rapidly.
She let a pause linger while the shouts of the children echoed off the high stone wall of the tower house.
‘Whose is it then?’ she asked bluntly. ‘Your father’s, your uncle’s?’
He said nothing. He knew well that only members of the
derbhfine,
of the kin group descended from the one great-grandfather, had the right to use that form of the O’Brien crest.
‘Show me
your
knife,’ she said after a minute.
He put his hand to his pouch and hesitatingly took out a knife. It was an ordinary blacksmith’s knife with no engraving, no crest; it was the sort of knife that every farm lad would carry. It was not the knife of a
taoiseach’s
son.
‘And that is your knife?’
‘Yes,’ he said sullenly.
‘And you have had no other?’
‘I did have one, a
derbhfine
knife,’ he said reluctantly. ‘But I lost it sometime ago. I didn’t want to bother my father about it. I didn’t want any lectures about carelessness so I just got Fintan to make this one for me,’ he added, trying to force a note of conviction into his voice.
Unlikely, thought Mara. Everything about him, from his fine leather boots to the gold tore that he wore around his neck, spoke of a man who always made sure that his possessions were of the finest quality. He wouldn’t be afraid of his father, either. Turlough had said that his cousin Teige gave the boy anything that he wanted.
‘And when was that?’
He hesitated. ‘About a month ago,’ he said.
‘And Fintan made it for you?’
‘Well, no, now that I think, that was just an old knife that I had when I was younger.’
‘I see,’ said Mara and waited until he had drawn a perceptible sigh of relief before she pounced again.
‘Tell me about Michaelmas Eve,’ she said and watched him keenly. ,
‘Michaelmas Eve?’ he repeated, staring at her. He looked horrified.
Mara nodded. The boy was in a state of nerves. Her heart sank. It did seem as if he were guilty. Had he killed Aengus? Or Ragnall? Or both?
‘Yes, at the
céilí,
the evening before the Michaelmas Fair. You had an argument with Aengus?’
‘He was jeering at Ragnall, taunting him with having to pay a fine.’
‘And you intervened, on Ragnall’s side? Why was that?’
‘Because he was Maeve’s father,’ said Donal with a simple dignity that impressed her.
‘You hoped he would yield and allow the two of you to marry if you stood up for him and took his part.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Donal said, sounding a little unsure. He smiled then. It was an attractive smile; it lit up his whole face. ‘I was a bit drunk,’ he confided, with all the assurance of a man whom women, young or old, found irresistible.
‘And you followed Aengus home?’
‘No.’ He sounded quite indignant.
‘Where did you go?’
He shrugged. ‘Can’t tell you,’ he said. It sounded so like a small boy, that she found it hard to keep a smile from lifting the corners of her lips.
‘Tell me at Poulnabrone, then,’ she said casually. ‘In front of the people of the Burren.’
That scared him. He looked incredulous, as if he could not believe that anyone could be so cruel. He was spoiled all right. Probably no one had ever said ‘no’ to him or made him face the consequences of his actions before.
‘Well, if you want to know, I came over to Shesmore to see Maeve,’ he confided. ‘Old Ragnall was drinking fit to burst and I thought it would be safe for an hour or two. Fionnuala knows all about us. She would keep watch and let us know if he were coming.’
‘And Maeve will be able to bear witness to that?’
‘Of course,’ he said. And now he was blithe again. He was young, rich, privileged, and the greatest obstacle to the marriage that he wanted so badly had now been removed.
‘Then let us go and see her,’ said Mara. ‘Get your horse.’
With a lordly gesture he called for his horse and when it came swung himself into the saddle like a man without a care in the world. Mara had said no more while they were waiting, but she had observed him very carefully. He looked quite at ease now, a little scornful, a little amused.
 
 
Maeve was at home and came out into the yard as soon as the clatter of the horses’ feet sounded on the cobbles. Donal swung himself to the ground, threw the reins over the post and immediately took her in his arms. Mara stayed on her mare, looking at them both. There was no doubt that they were in love. She envied them. It must be a wonderful thing to love so wholeheartedly, not to weigh up reasons for and reasons against. They were an attractive young couple. If the boy proved to be innocent, there would be no objection to this marriage. The king had given the matter into her hands, and she thought she would enjoy seeing their happiness.
Gently she moved her mare a step forward.
‘Maeve,’ she said, and the girl disentangled herself while Donal gazed adoringly at the small flushed face.
‘You remember last Sunday, Michaelmas Eve?’ asked Mara. She watched carefully to see whether a look was exchanged between them, but Maeve kept her wide round eyes fixed on Mara.
‘Yes, Brehon,’ she said demurely.
‘In the evening, did Donal come here to Shesmore?’
This time there was a faint hesitation and a quick glance at her sweetheart’s face, but that was surely natural. She would be embarrassed about entertaining a young man when
her father was not at home. She cast down her long eyelashes over her pink cheeks and said, ‘Yes, Brehon.’
‘And how long did he stay?’
‘A couple of hours, Brehon. He was helping me with the cows,’ she added primly.
‘So, was it dark before he left?’
Maeve nodded her head with just the faintest touch of hesitation. ‘Yes, Brehon,’ she said after a few moments.
‘What time was it?’ asked Mara. She knew that there would be little chance of Maeve knowing the time. Most people took their time by the sun, or by the bells from the abbey or from the cathedral at Kilfenora. Few bothered with a candle clock. However, the question gave her an excuse to call another witness, so as soon as Maeve shook her head wordlessly, Mara called out: ‘Fionnuala, would you come out for a moment?’
The stout middle-aged woman appeared at the doorway. ‘Yes, Brehon?’ she asked enquiringly.
‘Can you remember what time your master came home on Sunday night, Michaelmas Eve?’
‘I’d say it would be a couple of hours after sundown, Brehon,’ said Fionnuala readily.
‘And did anyone else come that evening before your master arrived?’ asked Mara casually.
This time Fionnuala looked at her young mistress. It was just a quick glance, but undoubtedly some message was passed. Fionnuala turned back to Mara.
‘The young master, here, he came for a while,’ she said carefully. She nodded her head towards Donal.
‘And no one else?’
‘No one else, Brehon.’
‘And Donal left before your master arrived.’
Fionnuala smiled. ‘Yes, he did, Brehon. He went down the lane to Lemeanah as soon as I saw the light from a torch coming from Noughaval.’
Mara nodded. It might or might not be true, but that was the story that they had, all three, decided on. ‘I’ll leave you now, Maeve,’ she said. ‘Don’t you trouble about escorting me, Donal; I’ll take the path back to Noughaval. I’ll come and see you again in a few days’ time, Maeve.’
Perhaps the news would be good, then, thought Mara as she rode slowly along the narrow pathway that led to Noughaval. Perhaps she would be able to give permission for Donal O’Brien and Maeve MacNamara to be betrothed. If, as it appeared, Donal had been with Maeve for the evening, then he was probably not guilty of the murder of Aengus. But what about the murder of Ragnall? Was he guilty of that? Mara sighed impatiently. Every time she thought of one murder it seemed to get tangled with the other. Was there any possibility that the two deaths were not connected?
Whether connected or not, neither death would leave a great gap in the community. They would not be mourned. The sons of Aengus and the daughter of Ragnall would perhaps be far better off without a father. Nevertheless, the law demanded that the crime should be acknowledged and reparation made. If it were Donal that had killed Ragnall, then a fine would be paid to his daughter and recompense made. But would a daughter marry the man who had killed her father?
However, if it were Niall who had killed his own father,
Aengus, then the crime of killing one of the same blood would be deemed so horrendous that the law would demand that he be banished from the kingdom and condemned to a lonely and terrible end.
BRETHA CRÓLIGE (JUDGEMENTS OF BLOODLETTINGS)
Fingal (
kin slaying
)
is the most serious crime that can be committed.
N
o fine can be paid, nor no recompense made, by someone who has killed a member of his immediate family.
The murderer is banished from the kingdom by being placed in a boat with no oars and sent to drift out to sea.
 
 
‘Y
OU DESERTED ME YESTERDAY,’ whispered Turlough as she came and knelt beside his burly figure in the top pew in the church at Noughaval.
‘Why aren’t you at Mass at Carron Church?’ she whispered back, piously etching a cross on her forehead, lips and breast with one thumbnail.
‘Couldn’t stand another minute of Slaney,’ mumbled
Turlough behind the two immense hands which cupped his face. ‘I told herself and Garrett that you had invited me to dinner. Murrough was staying on, of course, so she didn’t care if I stayed or I went. You won’t believe this, but …’ he said, removing one hand from in front of his face in order to whisper hoarsely in her ear, ‘I think she’s making sheep’s eyes at that son of mine.’
Hmm, thought Mara. If Turlough, always the most innocent of men, had noticed the situation between Slaney and Murrough, then things were getting very obvious. Had Garrett noticed anything, she wondered, as they all rose to their feet while Father O’Connor ambled out from the vestry behind two spry young altar boys bearing lighted candles. Was that, perhaps, why Garrett was so keen to get every lucrative piece of property into his own hands? Was this his only way of keeping the stately Slaney as his own? Murrough had a wife, but she had borne him no sons and he just might seek a divorce from her and marry Slaney. Yes, she decided, Garrett had noticed and this was why he was behaving so stupidly and alienating his clan. He was desperate to load Slaney with all the ostentatious wealth that she felt her origins demanded.
‘Introibo ad altare Dei,’
came the quavering voice of Father O‘Connor, and as she sank to her knees Mara gave a rapid glance around the church. Yes, the tall figure of Ardal O’Lochlainn was there just behind them. She made a quick note to see him after church. This is the wonderful thing about the weekly duty of Sunday Mass, she thought enthusiastically, as she devoutly beat her breastbone and joined with the rest of the congregation in the muttered
‘mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa …’
It was such a great opportunity
for everyone to get business done that might otherwise take hours of walking or riding between far distant farms and enduring hospitable offers of ale and honey cakes.
As she rose to her feet for the recital of the Gospel, she had another quick glance around the little church. Yes, Niall was there. She must see him also. And so was Fintan, the blacksmith, with his wife and children and the enormous figure of Balor beside them, balancing a wriggling small son of Fintan on his wide shoulders. She would have to ask Fintan about that second encounter with Ragnall on Michaelmas Day. After having spoken to Ardal, she would leave Turlough with him, she planned, while she did her business and then they could ride back down the flowery lanes at a leisurely pace that would give Brigid time to plan a meal fit for a king. Mara smiled to herself. Cumhal and Brigid were at the back of the church with the six scholars and Mara was absolutely certain that at the same time as suspects, motives and opportunities were racing through the mind of the mistress, the mind of the housekeeper was busily reviewing the contents of her larder and her storeroom. Yes, indeed, this weekly Mass was a great institution.
 
 
‘Ah, Brehon,’ said Ardal as she made her way towards the tall, red-haired figure of the O‘Lochlainn
taoiseach
as he stood on the steps outside the church.‘I was hoping to have a word with you.’ He walked away from the crowd, courteously ushering her in front of him, but at the same time making clear that he wanted privacy. ‘You remember I spoke to you on Michaelmas Day about the dispute between myself
and the MacNamara over the streams on lands above Oughtmama?’ he said.
Mara sighed. She had enough to do without presiding over Garrett and Ardal’s quarrel over the water that flowed down from the mountain. Here in the west of Ireland rain fell on two days out of every three in the year. Surely water wasn’t that important!
‘Well, I had a visit from the MacNamara two days ago. He wanted to know if, now that Aengus MacNamara is dead, I was interested in buying the mill at Oughtmama from him?’
Mara’s eyes suddenly snapped wide open in astonishment. This was extraordinary. That mill had been in the hands of one of the MacNamara clan for hundreds of years. Why on earth should Garrett try to sell it? And what about Niall? She frowned thoughtfully.
‘Did you understand him correctly?’ she asked. ‘It wasn’t the land above it, the land on the mountain, that he wanted — just so that there was no trouble about the streams?’
Ardal shook his head. His blue eyes were anxious. He was a man who would guard his clan’s lands and property with his life, if necessary. This move of Garrett’s would be incomprehensible to him.
‘No,’ he said. ‘No, it was the mill itself. He even named a price. He wanted to be paid in silver, not in milch cows or by any exchange of land. He just wanted silver.’
‘And what did you say?’ asked Mara cautiously. The silver would not be a problem to Ardal, she thought. Unlike most people on the Burren, unlike even the O’Connor, he would have silver. He traded his horses in Galway and exported them overseas and the merchants in Galway paid in silver.
‘I asked him what Niall felt about this,’ said Ardal in a low voice. He cast a quick glance around. Niall was standing not far away, obviously hoping to speak with either the O’Lochlainn or the Brehon.
‘And what did he say?’
‘He said Niall had nothing to do with it. He said that Niall was not the son of Aengus, that Aengus had never acknowledged him, that Aengus had no
derbhfine
left alive, so therefore the mill reverted to being clan property and as such could be sold by the
taoiseach.
He was very anxious to get the matter settled, but I told him that I would have to speak with you before even thinking about it.’
‘But would you like to buy the mill?’ asked Mara.
‘I would indeed,’ said Ardal vigorously. ‘It’s great land up there and there are some very good houses left since the time of the monastery. In fact, I thought Garrett was going to do something about those buildings before now – they would be clan land, nothing to do with Aengus, though he was allowed the use of one as a living place. In fact, Garrett himself told me that Slaney had great plans to repair the abbot’s house; she was always going up there, he said.’
‘What would he have wanted it for?’
‘Well, I think perhaps to have it for the next steward. Ragnall was getting too old for the position and Garrett was thinking of having Maol as steward and leasing him the house and some land. Anyway, the sale, so far as I was concerned, would be for the mill itself and the old abbey lands around it, including the buildings on them. I got the impression that Garrett would like to get rid of them. If Maol marries Ragnall’s daughter, Maeve, then they would occupy the house at Shesmore of course.’
‘So you’d like to buy and he’d like to sell,’ mused Mara.
‘I think I could do better with the mill,’ said Ardal. ‘Aengus wasn’t a good man as a miller. He liked his own company; he didn’t welcome people. A lot of the farmers took to doing their own grinding. If I had it, I would put in someone friendly and hospitable. I have someone in mind. I would do up the abbot’s house as his
ban tighernae
planned and then use one of the small buildings as an alehouse. There could be two prosperous businesses there – a mill and an alehouse – and the valley would be a great place for the mares and foals. Even though the MacNamara is asking a high price, it still could be very worth my while.’
It would be, too, thought Mara. Ardal had brains and he was a hard worker. The O’Lochlainn clan were lucky to have him.
‘There’s only one thing that worries me,’ said Ardal, his eyes going to the figure of Niall who still stood silently waiting. ‘I would not like any man to be wronged, even if he is not a member of my own clan.’
Mara nodded. Now was the moment to ask her question. ‘Do you remember when Aengus bought that small farm from you, here at Noughaval?’
‘I do indeed,’ said Ardal readily.
‘What was your impression of the relationship between Aengus and Niall, then?’ asked Mara. It was a hard question to ask of a man who had just seen a new and exciting business proposition open up before him, but Ardal was an honest man. She knew that he would give her an honest answer.
‘I thought he bought the farm because Niall was his son,’ said Ardal without hesitation and Mara smiled with pleasure.
It was good to know that she was not wrong about him: Ardal O’Lochlainn was straight and honourable.
‘My memory is that nothing was put down about a relationship in writing, but that was also my impression,’ she said cordially. ‘Could you check the deed, Ardal?’
‘I’ve already done so,’ said Ardal. ‘There is nothing about a relationship there.’
‘I see,’ said Mara. ‘Well, I have promised Niall that I will hear the case at Poulnabrone. He may wish to call you as a witness. Would you be willing to testify?’
‘I would be willing,’ said Ardal firmly.
‘I’ll tell him that. I want to have a word with him.’ She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Turlough was obviously coming to the end of civilities with Father O‘Connor. ‘Go and entertain the king for a few minutes, would you, Ardal. I just want to see Niall.
‘Wait for me for a moment, Niall, I must have a quick word with Fintan,’ she said as she passed him. He looked very unwell, she thought. He had the look of a man who had not slept. His skin was pale and puffy and there were black smudges under his eyes. Fintan saw her coming and left his wife and family and joined her. She wondered whether Balor had told him of his confession, but Fintan looked relaxed and happy, pretending to roar at a small daughter that ran after him.
‘Balor said you were looking for me yesterday, Brehon,’ he said. ‘Was it about the bench?’
‘Oh, I was just passing, Fintan,’ said Mara. ‘I was coming back from the inauguration of the new
tánaiste
at Carron Castle so I thought I’d stop at the forge. My mare was going lame so I got Balor to have a look to make sure that there
was nothing wrong. He said she was fine, and he proved to be right.’
‘He’s a great lad with horses,’ said Fintan genially. ‘Well the bench is coming on good, Brehon. I think you’ll be pleased with it. Drop by any day, whenever you have the time and, if you like it, myself and Balor will bring it over in the cart and set it up in your garden.’
‘That will be lovely,’ said Mara. ‘Oh, and Fintan, there was something else that I wanted to ask you about. Do you remember when you went back to talk to Ragnall again on Michaelmas Day? Was there anyone with him? He was still in the same place, just near Liam, was he?’
Fintan was silent for a moment. She could see his mind running through explanations for his return, but then he just said simply: ‘He wasn’t there, Brehon. He was in the churchyard, talking to young Donal O’Brien. I was going to wait, but then I decided to leave the matter. After all I had the …’
He stopped abruptly and Mara smiled. ‘Yes, you had the candlesticks back by then, didn’t you? So you decided, like a sensible man, to leave matters alone.’
Fintan looked embarrassed, but relieved. ‘So you’ve heard that,’ he said with resignation. ‘I should have known that Balor wouldn’t have been able to keep a secret for too long. I went back. I was still in a bit of a temper, but then I calmed down. And like you said, I had the candlesticks back, so I just went home again. That was the way of it, Brehon. There were lots of our clan there. They’ll all have seen me. You can ask anyone you like. No one will be able to say that they saw me go into the churchyard.’
‘Can you remember what time it was, then, Fintan? Had the bell gone for vespers, yet?’
‘No, Brehon, it hadn’t. I heard it just as I was going back in through my own gate.’
‘Well, Fintan, that’s all I wanted to know,’ said Mara. ‘I’ll be along one day to see the bench. I’m sure I’ll be very pleased with it.’
She watched him rejoin his family and swing his little girl onto his immense broad shoulders. Turlough and Ardal were deep in conversation, so she walked over towards Niall.
‘Niall,’ she said, ‘on Michaelmas Day was it you that collected the sacks of flour from the mill?’
He hesitated and then nodded. He looked at her fearfully.
‘And Aengus gave them to you?’ No one could be sure, not even she herself, of the time of Aengus’s death, so the question should not strike him as strange.
‘No, Brehon, he wasn’t there.’
‘So how did you know what to take?’
His face cleared. ‘I was talking to him at the festival, in the alehouse, the night before. He told me that he might be at Mass at the abbey when we came, but he would leave the sacks by the door.’

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