Read The Sting of Justice Online
Authors: Cora Harrison
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery & Detective
The Sting of Justice (5 page)
‘Have you been meddling with my bees again?’
The boy’s eyes widened with a look of innocence, though there was a spark of mischief in his virtuous gaze. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I haven’t been near them, not for a long time.’
‘Well, someone has,’ said Giolla. ‘It must have been in
the last hour too. I looked at them just before the service, and all was well with them, then.’
the last hour too. I looked at them just before the service, and all was well with them, then.’
‘It wasn’t Marcan, then,’ said his mother decisively. ‘I had to call and call to get him out of bed this morning and get him dressed in time for the service. You know what boys of that age are like,’ she added, turning to Mara as a more sympathetic audience than Giolla. ‘He was with me from the moment he dressed until this very minute, so don’t you go accusing him of something that he could not have done, Giolla. You shouldn’t have those bees so near the church anyway. Poor Marcan came home with quite a bad sting on his forehead one day. I don’t know why Father David, Lord have mercy on him, gave you permission to keep those bees there.’
‘The bees won’t sting Marcan if he leaves them alone,’ said Giolla shortly. ‘Are you certain that you did not go near them, today, Marcan?’
‘Certain,’ said Marcan, with wide-eyed innocence. ‘Why, what is wrong?’
‘Sorley the silversmith has died from bee stings.’ Giolla looked rather pale and worried-looking now. He ignored the exclamations of horror from Marcan’s mother and went back into the ruined church. Mara followed him, looking at him keenly. The anger had faded out from his face and was replaced with a look of anxiety. He made no attempt to regret the death of Sorley, but it was obvious that he was concerned on his own behalf.
‘You will be seeing me again, I suppose,’ he said.
Mara nodded. ‘I suppose I will,’ she said. For a moment she hesitated. Her warm heart was moved by the obvious
apprehension on his face. ‘Don’t worry too much,’ she said as she left him.
apprehension on his face. ‘Don’t worry too much,’ she said as she left him.
She would not go straight back to the church, she decided. A quick walk around the graveyard and a few glances at those who were still standing chatting outside one or other of the gates would give her a fair idea of who was present. She kept her face preoccupied and her gaze aloof; no one would dare question her unless she spoke to them first. There was a very high respect in the kingdom of the Burren for the office of Brehon, and for her personally.
Yes, she thought, Cathal the sea captain was there. He was outside the Rathborney gate talking in a low tone to what looked, from the resemblance, like his son. He stopped when he saw her and looked keenly at her, but she did not respond. No doubt, Marcan and his mother had spread the news.
Where was Sheedy, she wondered? There seemed to be no sign of him in the graveyard and he was not amongst those outside the gates. She walked to the upper gate and gazed up the lane leading up the river valley between the two mountains. There were a couple of figures going up there, a middle-aged woman and a young man, perhaps the unfortunate banished son of Sorley’s – it did look like him. Ahead of this couple was another man; he was climbing the steep path at a fast pace. He was too far away for her to see his face; in any case, she did not know Sheedy very well, but she guessed that it was he.
By the time she returned to church, Sorley’s body was being carried out of the west door to a cart. It was just an ordinary farm cart with no attempt at softening it with
branches of laurel or flowers, Mara noted with interest. The bishop was standing beside it, talking gravely to Malachy, and the remaining people lined the pathway. The sun was warm and everyone lingered. No one seemed to know what to do or say. No members of Sorley’s family were present so there could be none of the usual condolences. The bishop began to recite the rosary and everyone responded with relief. The ritual murmuring of the phrases gave them an excuse to remain and perhaps hear more of this unexpected death.
branches of laurel or flowers, Mara noted with interest. The bishop was standing beside it, talking gravely to Malachy, and the remaining people lined the pathway. The sun was warm and everyone lingered. No one seemed to know what to do or say. No members of Sorley’s family were present so there could be none of the usual condolences. The bishop began to recite the rosary and everyone responded with relief. The ritual murmuring of the phrases gave them an excuse to remain and perhaps hear more of this unexpected death.
The Welsh mineworkers began to arrive just as the rosary finished. Probably a message had been sent by the efficient Una and their overseer had sent them down as a mark of respect. Many of them were already there, dressed in their working clothes, still with picks or shovels in their hands, standing silently on either side of the cart that carried the remains of their dead master. As Mara raised her eyes to the grey heights of Cappanabhaile, she could see a long line of tiny figures straggling down its slopes. The deformed man whom she had earlier noticed briefly in the church was still there. Mara’s eyes watched him with pity. He stood, as far as he was able to stand, amongst his former workmates and then just as the rosary finished and the order was given to move the cart, he struggled forward and placed his hand on the wheel of the cart and a strange sound came from him. For a moment, Mara thought it might be the start of a traditional keen, but then the man stepped back and Mara realized that the sound was a laugh, or a shout of triumph, almost a victory sound, a sound which celebrated the death not mourned it.
‘What happened to that man?’ asked Mara quietly as Malachy approached.
‘I don’t know.’ Malachy surveyed the crippled man with a professional interest. One of the other Welsh mineworkers came up, spoke to him, took him by the arm and helped him away. Mara did not understand all of the miners’ Welsh speech, but the repetition of the word, Anluan, made her guess that was the injured man’s name. She turned back to Malachy.
‘You mean you weren’t called to treat him?’ That was surprising. Malachy was the only physician in the kingdom of the Burren.
‘His scars look fairly fresh,’ observed Nuala. ‘It must have been a mining accident. His leg and his whole right side were probably crushed by a boulder. It’s the right side of his face that has been damaged, also.’
‘Well, I wasn’t called,’ said Malachy shortly.
Sorley probably didn’t want to waste any silver on paying a physician to treat one of his workers, surmised Mara.
‘Toin was talking to me about that mine the other day,’ went on Malachy. ‘He was saying that it was a miracle that there hasn’t been anyone killed up there – as far as we know, of course. Those Welsh miners keep their distance; they have their own village and they never mix with people on the Burren.’
‘Shouldn’t we visit Toin, now?’ asked Nuala. ‘He looked very ill when I saw him and he didn’t come into the church.’
‘I’m sorry that he tried to attend the service.’ Malachy’s voice was concerned. ‘Yes, we’ll go now if you have no further use for us, Brehon.’
‘Come to supper today, Nuala,’ said Mara. She would have liked to find out more about this Anluan, but it was probably none of her business. ‘Will it be all right if she goes to the
Samhain
festival with us, Malachy? The O’Lochlainns and Mairead are coming, and probably some other young people. Either Cumhal or Fachtnan will accompany her home.’
Samhain
festival with us, Malachy? The O’Lochlainns and Mairead are coming, and probably some other young people. Either Cumhal or Fachtnan will accompany her home.’
‘I’d love that,’ said Nuala, her eyes shining. ‘Oh, I do hope it keeps fine for a few more hours!’
‘Any invitation for me?’ asked Ulick hopefully.
‘It’s just some boys and girls,’ said Mara firmly. ‘I don’t think that you would enjoy it. Anyway, I presume that you will be off back to Galway now that your host is dead.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Ulick thoughtfully. ‘I think that I’ll enjoy seeing you at work, Brehon. I’ll tell you one thing, if I may: if that skep of bees was deliberately upset in order to cause the death of Sorley the silversmith then there will be quite a choice of names for your killer.’
FIDBRETHA (TREE JUDGEMENTS)
There are seven nobles of the forest:
1
. Dair (
oak
)
. Dair (
oak
)
2
. Coll (
hazel
)
. Coll (
hazel
)
3
. Cuilenn (
holly
)
. Cuilenn (
holly
)
4
. Ibar (
yew
)
. Ibar (
yew
)
5
. Uinnius (
ash
)
. Uinnius (
ash
)
6
. Octach (
pine
)
. Octach (
pine
)
7
. Aball (
apple
)
. Aball (
apple
)
If anyone injures one of these trees on another man’s property he shall incur a penalty of five séts, or two-and-a-half ounces of silver, or three cows.
‘L
ORD BLESS US and save us, that was a terrible thing to happen,’ said Brigid with huge enjoyment as Mara rode into the courtyard of the ancient enclosure which housed Cahermacnaghten law school with its kitchen house, scholars’ house, schoolhouse and farm manager’s house.
ORD BLESS US and save us, that was a terrible thing to happen,’ said Brigid with huge enjoyment as Mara rode into the courtyard of the ancient enclosure which housed Cahermacnaghten law school with its kitchen house, scholars’ house, schoolhouse and farm manager’s house.
‘So you’ve heard the news!’ No surprises there! Brigid always did hear all of the news. Despite all of her worries, Mara found herself smiling broadly.
‘Cumhal was over repairing the wall in the Moher field and he met Muiris O’Heynes on his way back from the burial mass at Rathborney,’ explained Brigid. ‘Muiris told him the whole story.’
‘What did Muiris say?’ enquired Mara, neatly jumping from the mounting block and handing the mare’s reins to Sean, one of her farm workers. ‘Give Brig a good rub down and let her cool off before you give her a drink, Sean, that hill is very steep and she’s very hot. Yes, Brigid, so Muiris told Cumhal all about Sorley, did he?’
‘Someone tipped over a hive and he was stung to death,’ whispered Brigid with evident relish as Mara marvelled at how rapidly news spread throughout the kingdom. Brigid waited for a moment, eyeing Sean to make sure that he was not dawdling in order to listen and then, when he had taken the mare into the stables, she leaned forward so that her face was quite near to Mara’s shoulder and whispered, ‘I’m not one to gossip, as you know, Brehon.’
‘No, of course not.’ Mara hoped her tone held the right mixture of curiosity and shocked denial.
‘Well, between us both and that gatepost there, Muiris told Cumhal that he knew who had done it.’
‘Done what?’ queried Mara.
‘The murder, of course, the murder of the silversmith.’ She paused dramatically while Aidan retrieved a hurling ball from in front of the kitchen house and waited until he had vaulted the wall back into the field before hissing: ‘Muiris says that it was young Rory the bard that murdered the man.’
‘It may have been an accident,’ said Mara blandly. ‘It appears as if a whole swarm of bees stung Sorley. He ran away from them and collapsed at the church door. Malachy thinks he might have had a seizure.’
‘Hmm.’ Brigid had a very expressive range of sniffs. This one seemed to express doubts about Malachy’s competence or, indeed, about his ability to come to a firm decision about anything.
‘Anyway, why on earth should Rory kill Sorley?’ Mara decided to move away from the subject of Malachy.
‘Well, I swore to say nothing to nobody about this so I’d only mention it to you, Brehon,’ Brigid lowered her voice even more, ‘but do you know that young
bithlúnach,’
Brigid always reverted to the old Gaelic of her grandmother’s time when she wished to be emphatic. ‘Well, that young scoundrel has walked out on poor little Aoife, and is paying court to the daughter of Sorley. Perhaps he got up to his usual tricks with her – and he’s no saint that one – we all know that – and Sorley was going to throw him out so Rory made the first move. It stands to reason that the daughter will be easier to
plámás
than the father. Muiris told Cumhal that Aoife is in a terrible state.’
bithlúnach,’
Brigid always reverted to the old Gaelic of her grandmother’s time when she wished to be emphatic. ‘Well, that young scoundrel has walked out on poor little Aoife, and is paying court to the daughter of Sorley. Perhaps he got up to his usual tricks with her – and he’s no saint that one – we all know that – and Sorley was going to throw him out so Rory made the first move. It stands to reason that the daughter will be easier to
plámás
than the father. Muiris told Cumhal that Aoife is in a terrible state.’
‘I wonder, Brigid, could I ask Aoife and her brothers to the
Samhain
supper tonight – as well as the O‘Lochlainns?’ The news about Aoife’s grief was no surprise; she and Rory
had been almost inseparable for the last eighteen months. Mara was sorry for the girl and, in any case, the issuing of the invitation would give her an excuse to go across to Poulnabrucky and have a word with Muiris. ‘Oh, and I’ve asked young Daire the apprentice silversmith, and Nuala and a few other young people. Is that all right, Brigid? I should ask you, I know, before I throw out all these invitations,’ finished Mara, feeling a genuine penitence. What would I do without Brigid, she thought for the millionth time.
Samhain
supper tonight – as well as the O‘Lochlainns?’ The news about Aoife’s grief was no surprise; she and Rory
had been almost inseparable for the last eighteen months. Mara was sorry for the girl and, in any case, the issuing of the invitation would give her an excuse to go across to Poulnabrucky and have a word with Muiris. ‘Oh, and I’ve asked young Daire the apprentice silversmith, and Nuala and a few other young people. Is that all right, Brigid? I should ask you, I know, before I throw out all these invitations,’ finished Mara, feeling a genuine penitence. What would I do without Brigid, she thought for the millionth time.
‘Lord bless you, Brehon, don’t you worry about that.’ Brigid was immediately diverted from the question of Sorley’s death. ‘There’s plenty for everyone. I expected a bit of a party tonight,’ she called over her shoulder as with rapid, decisive steps she crossed the courtyard towards the storeroom. In a moment, she was out with a basket of turnips on her arm.
‘Come on, lads,’ she shouted across the wall. ‘Put those hurleys away now. I want these turnips carved before a scrap of dinner is put on the table for anyone. I’ll get the candle ends.’
Mara lingered for a while in the courtyard, watching the boys whittling the turnips into skulls with empty eye sockets and grinning teeth. When Sean emerged from the stables he was immediately dispatched to pick a basket of apples from the tree that grew sheltered from the west by a little hazel woodland. This tree was always the last to be picked and the apples were carefully guarded from marauding crows until the day for
Samhain.
Samhain.
‘I’ll set up the tables in the schoolhouse, Brehon. That will be best. You don’t want all these youngsters in your
house.’ Brigid was flying in and out calling directions to Nessa, who helped in the kitchen, to Sean and to the boys. All would be perfectly arranged; Mara knew that. For once, there was nothing urgent for her to do. It would be an hour at least before the scholars had finished their dinner. Quietly she clicked her tongue at Bran, her wolfhound, who was looking at her hopefully; she would take him for a walk and sort out matters in her mind.
house.’ Brigid was flying in and out calling directions to Nessa, who helped in the kitchen, to Sean and to the boys. All would be perfectly arranged; Mara knew that. For once, there was nothing urgent for her to do. It would be an hour at least before the scholars had finished their dinner. Quietly she clicked her tongue at Bran, her wolfhound, who was looking at her hopefully; she would take him for a walk and sort out matters in her mind.
There were two routes to Poulnabrucky where Muiris and his family lived and Mara decided to take the lower road which descended steeply into a hidden valley. It was one of the few places on the Burren where trees grew and the small woodland of alder and oak trees was Bran’s favourite spot. The ground was thickly carpeted with crisp, golden-brown and yellow leaves, and the huge gnarled and looped grey tree roots, clinging to the stony ground beneath, formed homes for a large population of rabbits. While Bran chased happily after them, Mara paced the ground, crunching underfoot the empty, small, round calyxes of the acorns and thinking about the sudden death of Sorley that morning. The boy Marcan had seemed genuine in his denials and his mother, also, unless she was an amazingly fluent liar, had seemed to be speaking the truth. If these two were to be believed, then who had inserted that stick into the wall and tipped over the hive with its thousands of little furry inhabitants?
When Mara emerged from the wood shaking the last few tinder-dry leaves from her hair she saw that she did not need to go across to Poulnabrucky as Muiris was there in
front of her mending a stone wall. She stood and watched him for a moment, a square undersized man of immense strength and determination; a man to whom family was everything. She would have to handle this matter carefully, she thought as he called out a greeting to her.
front of her mending a stone wall. She stood and watched him for a moment, a square undersized man of immense strength and determination; a man to whom family was everything. She would have to handle this matter carefully, she thought as he called out a greeting to her.
‘I was going across to your house and now I’m saved the journey. I wondered if Aoife and her brothers would like to join some other young people for supper and a few games before going on to the bonfire?’ As she spoke she gazed admiringly at the wall, marvelling at the skill and strength that could make these huge stones into such an effective and beautifully constructed barrier without a trace of mortar used in the construction.
‘The lads will, I’m sure …’ There was a shadow on his face as he added, ‘Aoife is a bit upset and I’m not sure that she will want to come.’
‘Oh, what’s wrong?’ It seemed as if the speculation about Rory’s involvement with Una was correct.
‘Well, you know Aoife, always one to have the boys running after her,’ he said hesitatingly and Mara nodded. Aoife was the only daughter of Muiris, and Mara often marvelled how such a plain-looking couple as Muiris and his wife, Aine, could have produced a beauty like Aoife, with her blue eyes, flaxen hair and her apple-blossom complexion.
‘Well,’ went on Muiris angrily, ‘that young bard, Rory, started hanging around her over a year ago now, and since then she’s had eyes for nobody but him. He’s not what I would have wanted for her; her elder brother has married well and I would have liked a match like that for Aoife, but
she wanted Rory and you know what girls are like,’ he finished helplessly.
she wanted Rory and you know what girls are like,’ he finished helplessly.
Mara concealed a smile. Muiris, renowned for his toughness, was as pliable as damp straw in his pretty daughter’s hands; Aoife would get her way.
‘So you are going to agree to a betrothal and a marriage contract,’ she said. Perhaps Rory was just pretending an interest in Una in order to force Muiris to agree to the betrothal.
‘It’s not like that at all,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘It’s that the young fellow has walked off on her. He’s moved into Newtown Castle.’
‘Oh,’ said Mara, innocently. ‘But that was a good move, wasn’t it? I suppose that Sorley the silversmith took him on as a bard, did he? That would have been better than all this hand-to-mouth business of singing at festivals and weddings, Muiris. You can’t blame him for trying to better himself; he may even have hoped to earn enough to get married on,’ she ended encouragingly, though she doubted her own words even as they echoed in her ears. She watched him narrowly trying to decide whether it was spite or fact behind his report of Rory’s guilt.
‘Aoife went over to see him,’ continued Muiris, clenching his fist, his face full of anger and pain. ‘I didn’t want her to go, but she would do it. Rory hadn’t been to see her for a few weeks and she went off to see what the matter was. She went to the castle and asked for him. He came down and, you wouldn’t believe this, Brehon, he was furious. She told her mother that. He shouted at her to go away. He told her that he was sick of her following him around and that
she wasn’t to do it again. Him! Sick of her!’ Muiris moved his boot restlessly and kicked one sod of turf into the embers and then stopped himself, staring moodily at the toecap of his heavy leather boot. ‘That fellow has been hanging around the house caterwauling his miserable love songs week in and week out for over a year and now he tells her that he’s tired of her!’
she wasn’t to do it again. Him! Sick of her!’ Muiris moved his boot restlessly and kicked one sod of turf into the embers and then stopped himself, staring moodily at the toecap of his heavy leather boot. ‘That fellow has been hanging around the house caterwauling his miserable love songs week in and week out for over a year and now he tells her that he’s tired of her!’
‘I see,’ said Mara sympathetically.
‘She’s at home crying now. She does nothing but cry. I don’t know what to do about her. She won’t eat; she doesn’t sleep. I moved in with the lads to let her sleep with Aine, but she just cried all night. That’s what Aine said in the morning.’ Muiris sounded like a man at the end of his tether.
‘Very hard for a father to bear,’ said Mara gravely. She looked at him carefully. This was a self-made man, a man who had risen from nothing to become a prosperous
bóaire;
a man who adored his family and who could be moved to violence in defence of his beloved daughter. She felt some concern. She had no liking for Rory the bard, but she did not want Muiris to put himself in the wrong. ‘I’m glad that you told me this,’ she continued carefully.
bóaire;
a man who adored his family and who could be moved to violence in defence of his beloved daughter. She felt some concern. She had no liking for Rory the bard, but she did not want Muiris to put himself in the wrong. ‘I’m glad that you told me this,’ she continued carefully.
‘I felt like going over to Rathborney and giving him something to think about,’ he said grimly and she had the impression that he was not listening to her words, ‘but Aine persuaded me not to do it. It’s just as well. I might kill him if I saw that smug face of his.’
‘You were very wise not to do that,’ said Mara. ‘This is the trouble with having children, Muiris: when they are little, and they hurt themselves, you can pick them up and kiss them better, but when they grow up, sometimes you
have to let them grieve in their own way and just be there for them when they turn to you. Aoife will get over this, you know. I would advise you to keep away from Rory and to say nothing to him.’
have to let them grieve in their own way and just be there for them when they turn to you. Aoife will get over this, you know. I would advise you to keep away from Rory and to say nothing to him.’
‘I wondered could I do anything within the law?’ His voice was hopeful as he looked up at her questioningly.
Mara shook her head. ‘Not unless there was some sort of legal contract and there isn’t. Muiris, I think she is just as well without him. It’s hard on her now, but no doubt some other young man will come around and there will be a match made for her.’ Busily her mind trawled through the number of eligible young men in the district. The trouble was that Muiris O‘Heynes was an outsider; most people on the Burren belonged to one of the four clans: O’Brien, O‘Lochlainn, MacNamara or O’Connor. Despite all Aoife’s beauty and the evident prosperity of the family, fathers would not encourage their sons to think of her.
‘Forget Rory,’ she said decisively. ‘That’s my advice to you, Muiris, don’t try to do any harm to him; you will only injure yourself if you do that.’
‘Well, I’d better be getting back home,’ said Muiris. ‘Thanks for the invitation, Brehon. I’ll try and persuade her to go.’ He looked downhearted, but Mara could think of no further comfort to give him. There were no relations, as far as she knew, to whom Aoife could be sent; the poor girl would just have to swallow the disappointment and endure the pitying looks for a while.
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