The Sting of Justice (30 page)

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Authors: Cora Harrison

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

BOOK: The Sting of Justice
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‘An indication of Rory’s guilt, surely, rather than mine.’ Toin cocked a bushy white eyebrow at her in an amused way.
‘Possibly.’ Mara’s tone was non-committal, but then she added quickly, ‘But only if it had been found straight after the murder. However, as a matter of fact, that place was
searched very well by my scholars after Mass on All Saints’ Day, on Friday and another boy, Marcan, searched the area immediately after Sorley’s death on Thursday and I don’t think that anything as noticeable as the plectrum would have been missed by any of them. This meant that I knew then that it was probably not Rory who murdered Sorley. It had to be the guilty person trying to lead me to think that Rory was the killer. I think what happened is that Rory mislaid it – probably it had vanished into your pouch – and you immediately offered the gold replacement. He took it, of course; he was always a greedy boy, and gold is better than silver. You kept the silver plectrum and you put it in the little alcove in the graveyard. I remember Tomas talking of you making too many visits to the church.’
He said nothing, just nodded, his expression amused and rueful, like that he wore when she took a piece of his during the chess game.
‘And, of course, your name was mentioned in the evidence that we took at Poulnabrone. You were sitting on a bench outside the church, alone, while Tomas went back to fetch your medicine. I think that was the time that the beehive was overturned. By the time Tomas arrived, Sorley was dead and there was nothing to attract your servant’s attention. He would not have been able to see the body from the wooden bench where you sat. We were all busy thinking about who came late into church, but of course your name did not arise because you did not attend the service after all.’
‘I’m not denying anything.’ Toin’s voice was fainter now. The over-bright eyes had begun to dull. ‘I’m just interested in seeing how your mind works. You’re right, of
course. I did kill him; I hadn’t planned it, but when I saw the opportunity, I took it. I wanted to punish him; time after time, I saw him scream at my son and hit him, an innocent boy who had always given Sorley his love and his duty. I didn’t care whether the man died.’
‘And your collapse, was that feigned in order to give you a few minutes alone without Tomas?’
‘No,’ said Toin wryly. ‘I don’t need to feign weakness and pain; I live with both, they are my constant companions. I sat on the bench, sent Tomas for the poppy syrup, saw Sorley, wandering along with his eyes fixed on his wax tablets, saw the bees in the hive,’ and the weak voice grew weaker, but then with tremendous effort of will, it strengthened. ‘I suppose,’ said Toin, ‘I wished for him to be stung and the wish prompted the deed.’
‘And, of course, you had your stick with you. It was when I saw Anluan’s stick that the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.’
‘It was done quickly,’ said Toin. ‘It was done, and I’m still not sure whether it was wrong or it was right.’
There was a silence after that. What would the judgement of heaven be upon Toin’s deed? The root of the matter had all happened eighteen years ago. Did the love of man for his son justify that death? Toin lay with his eyes closed and Mara could not bring herself to say any word of reproof or of condemnation. Her place was to establish the truth and appoint restitution, not to condemn.
‘So Sorley was correct after all.’ Mara was suddenly struck by the thought and she smiled. ‘Deirdre did have a lover.’
‘No, he wasn’t right.’ Toin opened his eyes and spoke
vigorously. ‘Deirdre and I were lovers on one occasion only. He never knew anything of the matter. Many years later, he just wanted to get rid of her and he bribed the Brehon of Kinvarra. Deirdre was shocked by it all. She was a very religious woman. She never even acknowledged that Cuan was my son; though I knew the truth once I saw his pitiable little hand. Poor lad,’ added Toin compassionately. His face was reflective, thinking back over the past.
‘There is only one thing more that I must ask you,’ said Mara. ‘I still am not certain what happened to Rory the bard.’ There was a dread within her of asking this question, but she forced herself to do it. Would this man, so kind and so gentle, a man who was driven to do an evil thing on the spur of the moment, pushed by anxiety for his unfortunate son and anger at the terrible blight cast on so many lives by this evil silversmith — was Toin also responsible for the murder of a venal, but harmless young man in the first flower of his manhood? Or was her surmise correct?
‘Rory,’ Toin’s voice strengthened. There was even a slight smile on the dry lips. ‘I’ve known many “Rorys” in my life. You can do a lot with them by the application of a little silver. Don’t worry about Rory. He’s gone off to Brittany with Cathal; they’ll like him over there; they enjoy the Irish music. I paid for his passage and gave him enough silver to keep him going for quite some time.’
‘I see,’ Mara nodded. Her lips curved in a cynical smile. ‘He went to see Una first thing in the morning that he left; no doubt he extracted some silver from her, also. He should do well, that young man.’
And then a thought struck her and she asked: ‘But what
was this business of leading everyone to believe that he was lost on the mountain?’
Toin chuckled, a weak, hoarse sound, but undeniably a chuckle. ‘I planned that; I thought it would keep you busy and keep your mind away from Cuan. You would have found out sooner or later that Rory had walked across the mountain pass to the harbour at Fanore and gone in Cathal’s ship. You would then have thought that he fled the country because of guilt. He would have been, in everyone’s mind, the man that killed Sorley, the silversmith. And, of course, I would have protected Deirdre’s secret and allowed my son to retain his inheritance.’
Mara smiled. ‘Well, I sent Cumhal over to Drumcreehy and a man on the quayside told him that Cathal left early because he had to pick up a passenger at Fanore. I was fairly sure, though I could not be certain, that it was Rory. I suppose you sent the sea captain off early as a way of keeping me hunting after clues, also; you were a good customer of his, he would have done that for you. He would not have gone earlier than he planned for a nobody like Rory.’
‘The truth is there for you now,’ said Toin. He drew in a deep breath and made a visible effort to rally his strength. ‘But it must now be confessed openly to all in the kingdom, once I am dead. No one else must be burdened by any breath of suspicion. I would just ask this one thing of you, Brehon, that you spare Deirdre and my son by not allowing my reasons to become public.’
Mara nodded silently. She could do that, she knew. No one on the Burren would question her; most would be sympathetic to Toin and saddened by his death. ‘Marbhaid
cach marbh a chinta’, ‘every dead man buries his offences’, was a proverb well known to all.
‘Let’s get this will witnessed, then.’ Toin’s voice was brisk, but his lips told another story. He would not have much longer to set his affairs in order. ‘Tomas will call two stablemen. I told him to have them ready. Once that is done, I want you to bring in the king and Malachy and Nuala. Tell them to come with the priest. Convince that young man that I want to make my last confession in public and before witnesses.’
 
 
‘I confess to Almighty God, to all the angels and saints, and to you, father.’ The faint voice of the dying man lent a fearsome solemnity to the words uttered so perfunctorily at Mass every Sunday. Mara knelt down on the floor beside the bed and Turlough also dropped to his knees on the other side. Distressed, he stretched forward a hand and Toin took it and held it. After a minute he continued, with long pauses to gasp in enough air to keep his dying heart still beating, his brown eyes looking anxiously at Turlough. ‘And I confess to you, my lord king, that I have sinned grievously in thought and deed.’
The young priest moved slightly, as if to focus the penitent’s attention on himself, but Toin’s eyes remained fixed on Turlough’s compassionate face.
‘I confess that on the eve of
Samhain
, I caused the death of Sorley the silversmith by overturning a bee hive with the intention of causing harm or death to him.’
Then the sick man’s voice strengthened.
‘I ask pardon for this deed of God Almighty; of you, father; and of my dear lord and king, Turlough Donn O’Brien.’ The voice faded and the dark eyes closed. The young priest lifted his hand, but then Toin opened his eyes again. Now they had to strain to hear the feeble murmur.
‘I also ask pardon of God, of my king and of the king’s Brehon, that, to conceal my crime, I wove a tissue of lies and tried to put others under suspicion.’ His voice broke. His mouth opened and closed as if the energy needed to form the words was too much for him. Beside her, Mara heard Nuala make a small moan. She put an arm around the girl and looked an appeal at Malachy.
But then Toin seemed to rally. In a surprisingly strong voice, he said, ‘May the Lord have mercy on my soul.’
‘Now may God bless you and forgive you your sins.’ The priestly voice was loud and confident. ‘May He bring you into everlasting life. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.’
And as the November new moon reached its midnight place, high over the sacred mountain of Mullaghmore, Toin breathed his final breath.
 
 
When the early morning bell for matins sounded from the abbey, Mara and Turlough rode home from Rathborney to Cahermacnaghten. It was a silent journey. She had read the will to him as well as to Malachy, Nuala and to those who had served Toin so faithfully. Only the servants had received their bequests with simple pleasure. Turlough had been overwhelmed by feelings of bewilderment, gratitude and
sensations of unworthiness, and, strangely, Nuala had almost seemed to share those emotions, receiving the news with a passionate outbreak of weeping.
Mara and Turlough had left her there at Rathborney with her father. After a few hours’ sleep, she and Malachy could inspect the house and farm which was to be hers. Nuala would need some time to recover from the emotions of the night and the shock of knowing that all of these possessions were to be hers. But recover she would, and she would make good use of Toin’s legacy.
I’ll leave her to her father today
, thought Mara as she and Turlough rode through the valley. The morning was misty, but already there was a promise of a fine day in the pale gold of the sky over Mullaghmore. The mountains were now clear of fog, their outlines crisp in the dawn light, and the rounded heads of a line of oak trees glowed amber against their silver flanks.
And make the time to talk to her next week
, her thoughts ran on …
and I must go and see Cuan and try to put a bit of backbone into him
…
and keep Toin’s secret as a sacred confidence
…
and give Deirdre some advice
…
and make sure that Una gets her dues … and force them into rebuilding that wretched village and caring for the mineworkers
…
oh, and check that Finn O’Connor makes proper provision for Sheedy
…
and have a word with Muiris about the budding romance between Aoife and Daire
…
and make sure that everyone knows that Rory has gone to France so that no ugly rumours attach themselves
to
Cuan
…
and talk to Turlough about Ulick
…
Mara’s mind was filled with that strange clarity that
comes sometimes after a sleepless night. She continued sorting out her tasks for the week ahead. But then she smiled to herself, remembering Toin’s words: ‘
Don’t try to take the world on your shoulders. You’re not responsible for everyone in the kingdom. You can’t order everything. just try to relax and let things take their course
.’
The sun was just rising as their horses breasted the last hill before the law school. Smoke rose from the kitchen house: Brigid was preparing breakfast, shouting orders to Nessa. In the distance, Sean sauntered down the Kilcorney road driving the cattle towards the milking cabin and Cumhal briskly chopped wood in the yard. The sky to the east was now a glory of pale gold, streaked with the delicate blue of a fine autumn morning. The paved road was softened with piles of yellow hazel leaves and crisp brown nutshells and the sealing-wax red gloss on the rose hips blazed in the hedges above them. In a sheltered spot across the road, a spindle tree still kept its flame-coloured leaves and its berries glowed in the early morning sunlight like tiny flowers – the dull pink segments spread wide open to reveal the orange seed within their star-like shape.
Mara reined in her horse and turned to the man riding silently by her side.
‘Turlough,’ she said, ‘it’s going to be a lovely day. Let’s go over to Ballinalacken Castle after breakfast: it’s Sunday and there will be no workers there; we’ll have the place to ourselves and you can show me that splendid bedchamber.’
And later on, at sunset, she thought, as she watched his face with a feeling of great tenderness, they would sit, just the two of them, by the new, three-mullioned window in
the hall and look across the white-capped waves to watch a sky that flamed with banners of crimson, saffron and royal purple behind the misty blue outlines of the Aran Islands.
And they would talk of their future life together.
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