The Sting of Justice (9 page)

Authors: Cora Harrison

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

BOOK: The Sting of Justice

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When Ulick had gone, Mara turned to Toin. ‘I suppose you heard all of that?’

The old man smiled. ‘Gossip is my weakness,’ he said lightly. ‘Ulick told me all about that business when he dropped in to see me before Father David’s burial Mass yesterday morning. I told him that I didn’t think it would work out. Sorley was too shrewd to fall for something like this. A divorce could be granted under Brehon law, but the English hate these Brehon laws and refuse to recognize them. Henry VIII is supposed to be very strictly religious. He would not be likely to grant Ulick an earldom with his scandalous past. In any case, the Earl of Kildare is far too important to the English. They would never risk offending him just to gain over someone as fickle and unreliable as Ulick. It isn’t as if he had any great lands or influence. No, that was all a piece of Ulick’s nonsense. He was a bit upset, though. I noticed that he did not come into the church until after the service started.’

It may not have seemed like nonsense to Rory, thought Mara as she made her way to the back of the church. Rory was not too intelligent a young man and would have little knowledge of affairs outside his daily life. Did he perhaps think that the glittering prospects before him were about to vanish? After all, he had the betrothal document signed by Una as well as by her father. Without her father’s backing or influence it would seem an easy matter to a young man like Rory, accustomed to getting his own way with women,
to persuade Una into a speedy marriage and then he would be able to enjoy an easy living amidst all of the luxury of the silversmith’s home. Mara decided that if Rory had overheard the conversation between the silversmith and Ulick, he might well have decided that the death of the silversmith would be essential to allow his plans to go forward. Thoughtfully, Mara beckoned to her scholars waiting by the door of the church.

‘Go and see if you can find Giolla the beekeeper, Fachtnan,’ she said when they joined her.

Giolla must have been waiting just outside the door as Fachtnan returned with him almost immediately.

‘I wonder, Giolla, could you come with us when we go and look at the ruined church; I want to see the place where the hive was pushed over.’

Giolla did not reply, but bowed his head gravely. His face looked apprehensive, but Mara said no more until they reached the graveyard and she carefully examined the hole in the wall. Giolla was eager to talk now. He had been worrying about things, in fact, he had lain awake most of last night, he said, wondering whether Sorley’s family would be able to demand a blood price from him if it were certain that his bees were the cause of Sorley’s death.

‘I was thinking about what that woman, the mother of the lad Marcan, said. Do you remember, she said that I shouldn’t have them in a public place? Could I be in trouble over that, Brehon? The priest, Father David, gave me permission. You see, you have to put these straw hives under some sort of shelter, you can’t leave them open to the sky or the rain would damage them, but you have to have them
somewhere where the bees can fly in and out without hindrance and these little alcoves in the ruin were ideal. What do you think? Could I be held to be responsible?’

Mara shook her head, ‘I don’t think that the question will arise,’ she said, ‘it is not as if the hive was blown over or something like that. If that were the case, then it could be said that you should not have left them where that could happen, but they are well tucked into the stone alcoves and a good distance from the path. From what we saw the last time it looked as if someone had pushed the hive, at least I thought so at the time. I’d like to have another look now, though, if you don’t mind.’

Followed closely by six scholars, they went through into the ruined church where, once again, the bees hummed placidly as they pursued their normal orderly and industrious life. Mara carefully examined the hole at the back of the still empty alcove.

‘What do you think, boys?’ she enquired, turning around.

‘Not been there for long, that hole,’ said Aidan sagely.

‘You can see how there is no moss here and the stones look paler here on the inside,’ Enda nodded agreement.

‘These stones haven’t been exposed to the weather for many a long day, I’d say,’ said Fachtnan.

‘So what do you think happened?’

‘I’d say that someone took out a stone,’ began Fachtnan.

‘There it is,’ said Shane excitedly. He leaned over and picked a stone from the grass at the base of the empty alcove. ‘That looks like it, doesn’t it, Brehon? Look, you
can see the way the back of the stone has been weathered and the front, a little bit, but the sides are clean.’

Mara looked at the stone carefully. There was a strand of pale green lichen on the back of the stone and a clump of bright green moss on the front of it – but the sides were a pale untouched grey.

‘Wait,’ said Shane. ‘Come on, Hugh, you come and be a witness.’

Both darted off and ran around the wall of the ruined church. After a minute a black head and a red head appeared over the uneven remains of the wall.

‘We’re on the other side, now, Brehon,’ said Hugh.

‘And I can see the stones at both sides of the little gap have lichen dangling from them.’

‘It matches exactly.’ Shane’s high clear voice was triumphant.

‘Have a look around and see whether you can find a stick lying in the grass,’ called Mara and then turned back to Giolla.

‘Have you got the overturned hive here?’ she asked.

Giolla shook his head. ‘I can’t show it to you just now,’ he said, ‘I am draining all the honey out of it and if I take it out of the cabin all the bees will come over to it. But there is definitely a hole in the straw. I’ll show it to you later this night if you like, if you come back when it is dark. The bees don’t come out after nightfall.’

‘I’ll take your word for it for the moment,’ said Mara, ‘but make sure you keep it. It could be used in evidence. Could you clean it out when you take the honey?’

‘The bees will do that for me,’ said Giolla happily.
‘When I finish with it, I’ll just leave it out here a few paces from this new skep that I’ve got over there and they will have it as clean as a new pin by the end of the day. They will take back every drop of honey from it.’

‘Strange that no one heard him shout,’ remarked Shane. ‘You would think that he would – at least one shout.’

‘I was thinking about that, too,’ said Enda.

Mara cast her mind back to yesterday morning. ‘Of course,’ she exclaimed. ‘The bell was tolling for five or ten minutes before the service began. Father David was seventy-six years old – the bell tolled seventy-six times. That sound would have drowned any other sounds – and, of course, we don’t know how soon he was stung on the back of the throat. He would not have been able to call out after that.’

So now it was of the utmost importance to discover who was late into the church.

‘Thank you, Giolla, for showing us everything,’ she said, ‘Will you make sure to keep that hive safe and not to show it to anyone else? My scholars and I will go through the law texts to see if you face any problems, but I must tell you now that I am inclined to regard the death of Sorley, not as an accident, but as
duinetháide,
an unlawful, secret killing.’

Her scholars were looking at her with bright-eyed interest and Giolla seemed startled, but Mara said no more so after a minute he asked courteously: ‘Would you like to come back to my house and have some mead with me? I make it from my own honey.’

‘Thank you, but no, I must find Toin, bid him farewell and then we must go back to Cahermacnaghten.’ Mara was
conscious that her voice sounded absent-minded, but her mind was busily scrolling through the names of all those people who might have come in late for the burial service of Father David. Which one of them had stood there, behind this ruined wall, perhaps crouched down – it was less than the height of her two youngest scholars – and which one had gently tipped over the hive as soon as Sorley had seated himself on the top of the ancient tomb?

Mara gave a last look around and then saw Toin who was walking slowly and feebly. He stopped in the middle of the path and stood waiting. He was not looking towards the Brehon and the boys, but back down the path. The woman whom Mara had seen earlier in the church, Cuan’s mother, she guessed, came and joined him. There was no sign of Cuan himself.

‘You stay here,’ said Mara to her scholars. ‘Spread out and search the long grass carefully. See if you can find the stick that was used to poke the stone through. I’ll just go and have a word with Toin.’

‘Are you all right? Should you sit on the bench and wait for your servant?’ Mara asked as she approached the old man, standing deliberately in the middle of the path as she realized that the woman was about to slip past her.

‘I’m all right.’ Toin’s reply was given in a dismissive tone and Mara did not pursue the subject. No doubt he was sick of questions about his health. She looked enquiringly at the woman by his side.

‘This is Deirdre,’ said Toin after a minute. ‘She was Sorley’s wife.’

‘Divorced wife.’ The woman’s voice was harsh. Though
her shoulders were wide, she did not have the bulk of her daughter, probably she did not have a surplus of food, Mara guessed, but otherwise there was a great resemblance.

‘I’ve been telling Deirdre about the death of her husband, Brehon.’ Toin seemed to lay emphasis on the word ‘husband’ and this time Deirdre did not contradict him. She made no further effort to move away but stood looking from Mara to Toin.

‘You are the Brehon of the Burren,’ she said after a minute.

‘Yes,’ said Mara. ‘I’m sorry that we have not met before.’

‘I live on the side of the mountain,’ said Deirdre with a short laugh. ‘Not many come calling where I live! I’d better be getting back there, now.’

‘Stay a while.’ Toin placed his hand on the woman’s torn cloak. ‘You can talk to the Brehon. Your position may be changed now. You must think of your son.’

She stood very still then, watching the old man intently.

‘Could we go and talk somewhere?’ Mara was determined not to let this chance go. Toin seemed to be on familiar terms with Deirdre; it would be a help to have him present while she talked to the woman.

‘Come back to my house.’ Toin tried to smile. ‘I can offer you both a cup of wine and for myself I can have something stronger that Malachy left for me.’

‘I’ll just tell Fachtnan where I am going.’ Mara hastened along the path but as she went she heard Deirdre’s voice say gently: ‘Take my arm; you’re not fit to walk.’

Toin’s face was grey by the time that they reached the house. He poured a cup of wine for Mara and for Deirdre, then went to a small chest, unlocked it, took out a flask and swallowed some of the contents. After a minute he sat down and a faint shade of colour seemed to come into his corpse-like face.

‘My best brandy,’ he said with a smile. ‘Malachy’s poppy syrup is all very well, but it makes me fall asleep.’ He glanced at Mara and then looked compassionately at the woman sitting bolt upright and awkwardly on one of the velvet-cushioned chairs. ‘Deirdre, my dear,’ he said gently. ‘I have told the Brehon some of your sad history. I have also told her that few who knew you believed in your husband’s accusations.’

‘That’s all a long time ago,’ said Deirdre. She had a deep voice for a woman. There was almost a rusty sound from it as if the voice itself was seldom used.

Toin took another swallow from his brandy flask. Mara drank some of her wine, but Deirdre, she noticed, touched nothing. She made as if to stand up, but Toin stopped her with a quick gesture.

‘Don’t return to that dreadful place up on the mountain, Deirdre,’ he said urgently. ‘Go back down there to the castle. Your putting aside was unlawful, now you must take your rightful position. Your son will need you. Cuan will not be able to manage all the affairs of that great castle and the silver mine – you know that. You and Una have strength, but he has none. You must be his strength.’

Deirdre sat down again. Her face showed little, but the eyes were sharp and intelligent.

‘What makes you think that the boy will get anything?’ she said after a minute.

‘Talk to the Brehon,’ said Toin. His voice was faint and he took a gulp from his flask like a man who is desperate to keep life in his body for another few hours.

‘You were legally divorced?’ Mara put the question as gently as she could but there was no trace of embarrassment or shame on Deirdre’s face as she gave another one of her short, gruff laughs.

‘Legally,’ she echoed. ‘Though the church says no, the man, that lawyer in Kinvarra, he said yes.’

‘What was the evidence?’ asked Mara.

‘My husband … Sorley gave evidence.’

‘And what did that consist of?’

She shrugged. ‘Lies.’ She said the word impassively.

‘And did you deny the accusations?’

‘I wasn’t called to give evidence.’ Her tone was as flat as if she were talking of someone else.

‘You weren’t even called to answer the accusation?’ Mara was startled. Her voice rose and she saw Toin look across at her keenly.