My Lady Judge (11 page)
Turlough Donn read her thoughts. ‘What about that man Lorcan, the man that stole the cow, is he a possibility?’
‘He could be,’ admitted Mara, ‘but somehow it doesn’t seem like him. He doesn’t have the courage or the strength of purpose. Colman was clever. I think he didn’t ask for more than Lorcan could just about manage to give. The question is, was he blackmailing someone else and, if so, what hold did he have over him, or her? I suppose there are many people who might have a guilty secret,’ she added. During her fifteen years as Brehon she had known many secrets, as had her father before her. Her mind went through the people of the Burren, weighing possibilities, moving them around like figures on a chessboard.
CÁIN ÍARRAITH AND CÁIN MACHSLECHTA (THE LAW OF CHILDREN)
A child under the age of fourteen has no legal responsibility for any misdeed.
Liability for a child’s offence is borne by his father or by his foster-father if he is in fosterage.
A dependent child is classed as a
táid aithgena
, thief of restitution, from the age of twelve to seventeen. If he steals something it has to be restored and no penalty need be paid.
táid aithgena
, thief of restitution, from the age of twelve to seventeen. If he steals something it has to be restored and no penalty need be paid.
M
ALACHY WAS THE FIRST to arrive. Mara and Turlough had climbed down two of the terraces to wait next to the bodyguards when Mara heard his deep voice, followed a minute later by Nuala’s light, clear voice. They were arguing. Despite her anxieties Mara couldn’t hold back a smile.
ALACHY WAS THE FIRST to arrive. Mara and Turlough had climbed down two of the terraces to wait next to the bodyguards when Mara heard his deep voice, followed a minute later by Nuala’s light, clear voice. They were arguing. Despite her anxieties Mara couldn’t hold back a smile.
‘But how can I ever learn if I am not allowed to help you?’ Nuala was shouting passionately. ‘What’s the point of me staying at the bottom of the mountain while you dress wounds a hundred
feet above my head? I’m coming, Father, no matter what you say. I am your pupil. I have a right to be with you.’
feet above my head? I’m coming, Father, no matter what you say. I am your pupil. I have a right to be with you.’
Turlough Donn went to the edge of the terrace and peered over. ‘Nice to be so young and fit that you can climb and shout at the same time, isn’t it?’ he said with a grin.
‘She’s coming up, then?’ asked Mara. For a moment she was sorry, but that was illogical. Nuala was almost a woman. If she were old enough for a marriage to be arranged, then she was old enough to examine a dead man. Malachy could not protect her against death. She had seen her own mother’s dead body and had had the strength and maturity to realize that it was a merciful release from agony.
‘Thank you for coming so quickly, Malachy,’ Mara said, moving over to the edge of the terrace. She said no more until he had scaled the last steep ledge. Nuala was slightly ahead of him, her
léine
well hitched up to knee-length by the leather belt, her long legs tanned to a deep brown, showing that this was the way she wore it normally.
léine
well hitched up to knee-length by the leather belt, her long legs tanned to a deep brown, showing that this was the way she wore it normally.
‘There’s been an accident, Moylan told me,’ said Malachy.
‘It’s really Colman?’ enquired Nuala. She didn’t sound as if she cared too much, thought Mara.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is Colman. His body is lying in Wolf’s Lair. I think he has probably been dead since
Bealtaine Eve
, Malachy, but you will be able to confirm that.’
Bealtaine Eve
, Malachy, but you will be able to confirm that.’
She felt a faint repugnance at the idea of going up there again – she had been glad to move further down the mountain on the pretence of guiding everyone to the right spot – but now she put her feelings aside. She had a last duty to Colman. She had failed him in all the years that he had been at her law school. She had failed to teach him a respect for the law and a respect for the community that he served. She would not fail to ensure that his remains were treated with as much dignity and respect as possible. Quickly she led the way up. Nuala moved up ahead of her, but
Malachy stayed behind. He said no more to Nuala; knew it was useless, thought Mara. Behind them came King Turlough, breathing heavily. This time the two bodyguards came also, their iron-nailed boots ringing on the rough limestone.
Malachy stayed behind. He said no more to Nuala; knew it was useless, thought Mara. Behind them came King Turlough, breathing heavily. This time the two bodyguards came also, their iron-nailed boots ringing on the rough limestone.
Malachy’s examination was quick and thorough. He turned the body on its front, chest down, with one cheek resting on the rock. Nuala knelt behind him, her face slightly pale, but her demeanour calm and composed. She opened the medical satchel that Malachy always took with him, handed her father his knife and Malachy slit the back of the
léine
, baring the narrow neck. The king and the bodyguards stood with stern, reserved faces and a pair of grey crows flapped languidly above. Mara sat on a rock and wished with an aching intensity that she could close the staring eyes.
léine
, baring the narrow neck. The king and the bodyguards stood with stern, reserved faces and a pair of grey crows flapped languidly above. Mara sat on a rock and wished with an aching intensity that she could close the staring eyes.
‘Was it his own knife?’ asked Malachy.
‘I think so,’ said Mara briefly, trying not to meet King Turlough’s penetrating gaze.
Malachy picked up the right hand and examined it, moving it towards the knife handle in the neck.
‘I’m just testing whether the victim’s own hand could have dealt the fatal blow,’ he said.
‘Strange that you can move the body so easily,’ said Nuala. ‘I would have thought that rigor mortis would be present.’
‘Not after twenty-four hours,’ said Malachy. ‘Rigor mortis disappears after that time. This means that he has been dead at least twenty-four hours,’ he said, looking over at Mara.
‘There are bruises on his arms,’ pointed out Nuala. ‘And an abrasion here on his hand,’ she added, bringing out the word ‘abrasion’ with professional pride. ‘Look how the skin of the right hand has been torn as the knife was wrestled from his grasp. He couldn’t have done that to himself.’
‘You’re probably right,’ said Malachy grimly. ‘Let’s see the wound.’
Nuala leaned over and peered, but carefully avoided touching anything. Mara got up and walked over. Nuala was right; there were bruises and abrasions. She drew in a long breath of the cool morning air and then let it escape in a sigh of relief. Even if it were possible for Hugh to have knifed Colman, he could never have wrestled the knife from his grasp. Colman was nineteen and Hugh only twelve. No, she was certain now; someone else committed this murder.
‘I’m going to take the knife out,’ said Malachy calmly. ‘I’ll be able to tell then if it severed the spinal cord. If it did, this explains the absence of blood, as death is instantaneous once that happens. The knife can be cleaned up then and given to Colman’s parents. That looks like a very valuable knife.’
He compressed his lips, leaned backwards a little and pulled the knife out in one smooth motion. The wound did not bleed – despite Malachy’s words, Mara had almost expected that it would gush – but the blade was sticky with a white fluid. Flies started to buzz around it, and Malachy plunged it into a thick sod of grass between two rocks and dipped it in and out for a few minutes. Nuala handed him a bundle of bog cotton and he took it without a word, wiped the knife clean and held it out to Mara. The king stepped forward, took it and gave it to one of the bodyguards. His face was impassive, but Mara knew that he had done it to save her having to touch the knife and she was grateful. Her belief in herself was shaken by this untimely death and the crimes that had preceded it.
‘He would have died immediately,’ said Malachy in a brisk, professional voice. ‘The knife found the spinal cord instantly. It was a lucky blow. See, it sliced through here at the back of the neck. There would have been little or no blood.’
‘Would he have died on
Bealtaine
night? That would have been about thirty hours ago,’ said Nuala. Her voice was level and composed, an imitation of Malachy’s professional detachment.
Bealtaine
night? That would have been about thirty hours ago,’ said Nuala. Her voice was level and composed, an imitation of Malachy’s professional detachment.
‘I would say he died on
Bealtaine
night, all right,’ continued Malachy. ‘The absence of rigor mortis, given the frosty weather last night, probably fits time of death on that night.’ He was half-talking to himself, but Nuala bent over eagerly and followed his pointing finger, nodding her head wisely. There was no doubt that the profession of a physician would suit her. She had brains, courage and integrity. She would be an asset to the community in a few years.
Bealtaine
night, all right,’ continued Malachy. ‘The absence of rigor mortis, given the frosty weather last night, probably fits time of death on that night.’ He was half-talking to himself, but Nuala bent over eagerly and followed his pointing finger, nodding her head wisely. There was no doubt that the profession of a physician would suit her. She had brains, courage and integrity. She would be an asset to the community in a few years.
‘What about that boy?’ asked Malachy, wiping his hands on the grass, drying them on some cotton and then looking directly at Mara.
Mara started. ‘Boy?’ she said, faltering slightly. Did he know something? Turlough looked at her sharply and then looked back towards Malachy.
‘Yes, the boy, Feirdin MacNamara, the strange boy, he was there on
Bealtaine
Eve. I saw him.’
Bealtaine
Eve. I saw him.’
‘Yes,’ said Mara with relief. ‘I saw him, too. I wondered at his mother allowing him to come among that huge crowd, but he did not seem in any way aggressive; he was just climbing up by himself, picking up small pieces of rock and putting them in his pouch.’
‘I told Gráinne, his mother, that I thought he would be all right,’ confessed Malachy. ‘I reckoned that your warning at Poulnabrone, where you threatened a penalty of five
séts
, would stop anyone from teasing him. As far as I know, these fits of rage always emanated from an episode of teasing and name-calling.’
séts
, would stop anyone from teasing him. As far as I know, these fits of rage always emanated from an episode of teasing and name-calling.’
‘He’s a big, strong boy, I noticed that,’ observed the king. Nuala opened her mouth, but then shut it again. She seemed determined to be on her best behaviour. Her black brows, though, were knitted in an angry frown. Her father noticed and smiled slightly.
‘Nuala is fond of Feirdin,’ he said. ‘Feirdin finds herbs for her.
Nuala has taught him all about herbs, haven’t you, Nuala? He has a great memory. He remembers all of the names.’
Nuala has taught him all about herbs, haven’t you, Nuala? He has a great memory. He remembers all of the names.’
‘I don’t think he would murder anyone,’ said Nuala decisively. ‘He’s so gentle and kind compared to the other boys.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so either,’ said Malachy doubtfully, ‘but you never know … Colman might have threatened him in some way. He could have made him feel unsafe. That might have been enough to trigger a fit of rage.’
‘It’s possible,’ admitted Mara, but her mind moved from Feirdin to Lorcan. Colman had threatened him, had made him feel unsafe. Ardal O’Lochlainn would undoubtedly have started a lawsuit against the man if he heard of the unauthorized borrowing of his bull. In a fit of combined rage and terror, Lorcan might have murdered Colman in order to keep his secret.
‘The men with the litter are coming now, my lord,’ said one of the bodyguards. Mara went to the edge of the terrace and looked down. Donogh had not come himself but he had sent two sturdy men with a leather litter. They were obviously experienced climbers and they came up the mountainside with long, easy strides.
‘The
taoiseach,
the O’Lochlainn himself, was there when your message came, Brehon,’ one said to Mara when they eventually pulled themselves up on to the terrace. ‘He had just come to see if the master wanted anything in Galway. He said to tell you that he would accompany the body to Galway. They are getting a cart ready and they will bring it over to the foot of the mountain.’ Mara drew in a deep breath of relief. Ardal O’Lochlainn, brother to Donogh, was a man of both courtesy and charm. He would be a great help as he was a close friend to the Lynch family in Galway. All of his trading, imports and exports, was done through them. In fact, it was he who had recommended Colman to her law school.
taoiseach,
the O’Lochlainn himself, was there when your message came, Brehon,’ one said to Mara when they eventually pulled themselves up on to the terrace. ‘He had just come to see if the master wanted anything in Galway. He said to tell you that he would accompany the body to Galway. They are getting a cart ready and they will bring it over to the foot of the mountain.’ Mara drew in a deep breath of relief. Ardal O’Lochlainn, brother to Donogh, was a man of both courtesy and charm. He would be a great help as he was a close friend to the Lynch family in Galway. All of his trading, imports and exports, was done through them. In fact, it was he who had recommended Colman to her law school.
‘We’ll take the body down now,’ she said, making a quick decision. ‘Father Conglach will be able to give it the last rites before the cart goes.’ He would not be too happy about the body being moved, she thought sourly, but he could have been here by now if he had wanted to. Kilcorney was nearer than Glenslade. Perhaps it might be just as well if Aidan had failed to deliver the message. She bent down and supported Colman’s head while one of Donogh’s men put his arms around the body and the other lifted the inert legs. Mara helped to straighten the legs and crossed the heavy arms over the breast. She took a piece of linen from around her shoulders and placed it over the face, hiding those accusing eyes. It seemed to her as if everyone breathed more easily once she had done this. She looked at Nuala and, seeing her own tears mirrored in the child’s eyes, she put a comforting arm around the thin shoulders.
Even with the two bodyguards helping, getting the litter down to the foot of the mountain was a painfully slow business with a few heart-stopping moments when it looked as if both the living and the dead would slide down the loose scree to a certain death below. A light shower of soft summer rain fell when they were halfway down, and it cooled them, but added to the difficulties as the smooth sheets of limestone became treacherously slippery. Once again, Turlough Donn held out his hand and once again Mara took it gratefully. She would need all of her strength before this day was over. Malachy, she noticed with pleasure, was holding Nuala’s hand, and for once Nuala did not proclaim her independence by rejecting his aid.
They could hear the rumble of the cart when they reached the foot of the mountain, and stood catching their breath while their sweat dried in the heat of the sun. A rainbow spanned the sky and Mara turned her face towards it, seeing it as some sort of symbol of the renewal of life, as the Bible promised.
The lake at the foot of the mountain was very still, its surface
like a silver mirror reflecting the blues and pinks of the rainbow, broken only by a great splash of white where a score of sleeping swans rocked on its smooth surface. In front of the lake was a patch of sandy beach, golden in the midday sun. It was a bare spot, there: miles of flat rock, the lake, and the terraced slopes of Mullaghmore beyond. There was one tree: a strange tree, moulded by the western storm winds into a stiff, awkward asymmetrical shape, and beneath that tree, one hand on its bare trunk, was a small, thin figure. It was Father Conglach. No doubt he had heard them struggling down the mountainside and had decided to wait under the shade of the tree. And yet, thought Mara, how odd that he continued to stand there, very straight, very rigid, almost braced, making no move to approach them.
like a silver mirror reflecting the blues and pinks of the rainbow, broken only by a great splash of white where a score of sleeping swans rocked on its smooth surface. In front of the lake was a patch of sandy beach, golden in the midday sun. It was a bare spot, there: miles of flat rock, the lake, and the terraced slopes of Mullaghmore beyond. There was one tree: a strange tree, moulded by the western storm winds into a stiff, awkward asymmetrical shape, and beneath that tree, one hand on its bare trunk, was a small, thin figure. It was Father Conglach. No doubt he had heard them struggling down the mountainside and had decided to wait under the shade of the tree. And yet, thought Mara, how odd that he continued to stand there, very straight, very rigid, almost braced, making no move to approach them.
The cart rumbled into view. Three men accompanied it on horseback, each leading a couple of spare horses, and suddenly the peace was broken. The clatter of the iron cartwheels disturbed the swans and they reared up, their great wings spreading out as they rushed across the lake, their feet churning the water into waves. Then they were airborne, flying overhead in a great arc, the beating of their wings sounding through the quiet air like some strange music from distant pipes. The priest moved, as if suddenly released, and came forward to stand beside them as they waited for the O’Lochlainns. Father Conglach did not greet them and he did not look at the leather litter. Why not? thought Mara. Surely he could see the body there, surely that was why he had come over? Now she could see that he had a pony tied to the tree. If he came on horseback it should not have taken him so long to arrive – he must have been waiting for them to come down. King Turlough ignored him and began to stride forward to greet the O’Lochlainns, his two bodyguards marching after him. Donogh’s men placed the litter on the ground, stretched their cramped limbs and waited silently for the cart.
Other books
DUTCH AND GINA: AFTER THE FALL by Monroe, Mallory
Called to Controversy by Ruth Rosen
Clifton Falls by L A Taylor
A Fractured Light by Jocelyn Davies
What Was I Thinking: A Memoir by Paul Henry
Sojourners of the Sky by Clayton Taylor
Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 15 by Plots (and) Counterplots (v1.1)
To Prime the Pump by A. Bertram Chandler
Mary Tudor by Porter, Linda
La hora de las sombras by Johan Theorin