The Sting of Justice

by Cora Harrison

  ‘I didn’t want him to die,’ he said, his voice still thick and choked up with the violence of the sobbing. ‘I just wanted to come home again and to please him. I didn’t want my father to die. I don’t know which of them killed him, but I didn’t want it to happen, not like that, not stung all over his face and neck. It was horrible. I can’t forget it.’

  So someone does mourn Sorley after all, thought Mara, and by all the wonders, it is his neglected and abused son.

  ‘Which of them did do it, do you think?’ she asked, in an easy, conversational tone.’

  ‘I don’t know, do I,’ said the boy petulantly. ‘They were both always talking about it. Una said that she would get all the money, when father died, but she hasn’t so that has gone wrong. My mother was just the same, muttering that she would like to kill him. I don’t know what to think, but I don’t want to be blamed for anything, because I never told them to do it. I don’t want all that silver, only a little bit. I don’t want to be in charge of the mines. My mother keeps talking and talking to me and telling me what to do and trying to change me and I just came up here for a bit of peace and quiet.’

  ‘That’s the right thing to do,’ said Mara gently. ‘I always do that myself. When I want to get away from people and do some thinking, I just take my dog and go for a walk until my thoughts clear.’

  Cuan looked at her with gratitude. I suppose people don’t often agree with him, or tell him he has done the right thing, thought Mara. She went on sitting there quietly, though conscious that time was passing and that the sun was getting lower in the sky all the time. She would give the lad all the time he needed, she decided. Already the few broken words had given her a very different picture of Deirdre to the one which Toin had painted for her. When everything was added up, the most likely murderer is the one who had the most to gain. But in this case, the one with the most to gain was, in mind at least, a broken-spirited child. She reached over and patted Cuan on the shoulder.

  ‘So what did you like best when you were at home with your father, when you were young?’ she asked softly.

  Cuan looked surprised and then thought for a while. ‘Listening to music,’ he said eventually.

  ‘So, you are musical,’ said Mara thoughtfully. She glanced at the boy’s deformed right hand. No point in asking him whether he played a musical instrument.

  ‘Can you sing?’ she asked with a sudden inspiration.

  The boy’s face lit up. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘would you like to hear me?’

  As unselfconsciously as a bird he lifted his voice and sang, a melodic little ditty, popular at the time with the bards. His voice was not very strong, but it was true and very sweet. Mara listened appreciatively and prayed for the right words to come to her when the song had finished. When the last note had died away, she spoke with all the authority with which she delivered her judgements at Poulnabrone.

  ‘It would be a shame for a man with your musical talent to waste your time with mines and the silversmith business. Put your mother in charge of the mine. She is a clever woman; a competent woman and she will manage the business well. Put Daire in charge of the silversmith business. Let him recruit other young smiths. He will do that well for you. Pay him what he is worth; he will not let you down. When you have fixed all that up then go to the bard school at Finvarra and engage some musicians. Spend your days making music, perhaps writing songs. Be happy and enjoy your life. Don’t let others run your life for you.’

  Cuan stood up. He looked bewildered, but already he held himself straighter. He could be quite a good-looking lad if he dressed himself and groomed himself the way other boys of her age did. His features were not as harsh or as heavy as his sister’s. In fact, he did not resemble either his mother or his father in looks, or in character, thought Mara. She patted him on the shoulder again, made her way towards the gate. Sheedy would have to wait, she thought. Turlough might well have arrived; he and Toin would be wondering what had kept her. When she reached the pathway she turned back and called out, ‘Cuan,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Cuan.

  ‘Get yourself a comb. Musicians always look well dressed and well groomed.’

  ‘I will,’ said Cuan fervently. ‘I think I’ll ask Toin. I was thinking of talking to him about the bard school at Finvarra. I know he goes there sometimes. Toin is very fond of music. He will advise me. He is always very kind to me.’

  Mara paused. Would it be fair to burden Toin with this lad? On the other hand the boy was quiet and unassuming and it might prove a distraction.

  ‘Why don’t you come down with me, now,’ she said. ‘I’m going to see Toin just now.’

  ‘May I?’ he asked the question in such a childlike way that she was touched. ‘You can ride, I’ll trot,’ he said. ‘I am a very good runner,’ he boasted.

  He was light and lissom, thought Mara, as she watched him run along the path beside her mare. He seemed to be enjoying the exercise so she did not rein in the mare until they came to the flat path outside the church of Rathborney. She stopped there and allowed him to catch his breath.

  ‘Oh, by the way, Cuan,’ she said casually. ‘I was going to ask you about Father David’s burial service. You came in a bit late, didn’t you? I wondered if someone delayed you.’

  ‘I was just talking to the son of Cathal the sea captain,’ he said earnestly, looking at her with the touching faith only shown by the very young, or the very naive. ‘I was asking him if he had managed to find the silverware. He had been diving for it; I heard that. He said he hadn’t managed to find it yet, and then he started telling me about sea voyages that he had taken to places like Spain. We stayed there talking until he realized that the bell had stopped tolling.’

  They were all at the window when Mara handed her horse to a waiting servant at the gate. Toin came to the door himself.

  ‘Cuan,’ he said with surprise.

  Mara opened the little wicket gate to the inner garden and pushed the lad inside. ‘Cuan would like some advice from you, Toin,’ she said, as she walked up the garden path, making sure that the embarrassed boy was ahead of her. ‘He would like to be a singer, not go into the silversmith or the mining business. He sings well. He just needs to employ a good musician for a bard, some lute player perhaps and he could have a fine life there in Newtown Castle. I think that he needs the sort of clothes and grooming that a musician would have so I brought him for you to advise him.’

  Toin did not hesitate. ‘I would be honoured,’ he said. ‘Come indoors and we will talk it over. My manservant would like to have a handsome young man instead of a decrepit old one to work with.’ With a quick glance that was as effective as any barked order, Toin made eye contact with Tomas who came forward, bowed before Cuan and swept him out of the small hallway.

  ‘Come inside,’ said Toin to Mara. ‘The king has been waiting eagerly for you.’

  Mara followed him into the warm room richly furnished with polished oak furniture and hung with tapestries sewn in rich colours. Malachy was sitting over by the fire, Nuala was at the window and Turlough had just jumped up from his chair.

  ‘Just in time for supper,’ said Turlough greeting her with a hearty kiss. ‘Tell her what we’ve planned, Toin.’

  ‘We’ve sent over to Cahermacnaghten to say that you’ll be staying the night, Brehon.’ Toin’s voice was amused.

  ‘Oh, am I?’ said Mara, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ said Turlough innocently. ‘Nothing to do with me; it’s Toin’s stableman that has gone galloping off.’

  ‘If you stay, we’ll stay,’ said Nuala eagerly. ‘Would you like to see your room? I’ve just been up there making sure that everything is all right. Would you like me to take you up there?’

  ‘I’ll do that, Nuala. You have a patient to look after, remember, isn’t that right, Malachy?’ Turlough took Mara’s arm and steered her towards the stairs. ‘Herself and Toin have been talking about physician schools and herbal remedies of the last hour. It’s t
ime she did a bit of nursing now.’

  ‘She’s doing me out of a job,’ said Malachy with an indulgent smile. ‘Toin tells me that he feels much better with her than with me.’

  ‘So what’s your business with Toin?’ asked Mara as soon as the door closed behind the two of them.

  He didn’t answer immediately, just crossed over and sat on the bed and she went to join him, slipping her hand into his. He looked a little embarrassed, she thought, and it was a minute before he spoke.

  ‘Well, you see the last time that I was here I was telling Toin what a fool I was to have fallen into Sorley’s hands, by guaranteeing Ulick’s loan. I was a fool, I know that.’ His voice was rueful.

  ‘I know,’ said Mara. ‘I saw your signature on that document among the scrolls in Sorley’s chest. And witnessed by that Galway lawyer! Didn’t you have the sense to ask Sean Mac Flannchadha to have a look at it for you? Or me, why didn’t you ask me?’

  ‘I just wanted to get it over and done with and put Ulick’s mind at rest. I was so sorry for the poor fellow,’ he said uncomfortably.

  ‘But didn’t you understand what interest was?’ queried Mara with an exasperated look. ‘He was charging very high interest: twenty marks for every hundred that Ulick borrowed from him. You do understand, don’t you, that if, as I imagine, Ulick could not pay the interest, you were making yourself responsible for it?’

  ‘He did mention something about interest,’ confessed Turlough, ‘but I didn’t understand; I thought it was a bit like our system of making a man a client by giving him a gift. I thought that he might want my protection, something like that …’ His voice trailed away.

  ‘It’s a good job that I’m marrying you,’ said Mara fondly. ‘You need looking after.’

  ‘Yes, but listen.’ Turlough’s face was beaming now. ‘Toin has promised that I need not worry about it any longer. He’s going to look after everything for me. All my troubles are over now!’

  ‘I think in future we can manage without this. If you want silver, ask me. Half the time I don’t know what to do with the fees I get for the scholars. I go to Galway in summer and buy gowns for Sorcha and for the children, or give her money for goods that she wants for the house, but I could always lend you some. Still,’ she relented, seeing his disappointed face, ‘I suppose if you have to owe silver to someone, Toin would be a nicer person to be in debt to than Sorley. Now let me just comb my hair and wash my hands and face and then let’s go down to supper. I like that smell.’

  And then, touched by his downhearted expression, she combed his moustaches and the thatch of brown hair which had earned him the nickname of ‘Donn’, the brown-haired, and by the time that they arrived back into Toin’s hall he was looking his usual self, all borrowings from silversmiths forgotten.

  After all, she thought, with Sorley dead and the debt transferred to Toin, perhaps there would be no further problem. Once they were married she would keep an eye on his dealings with Ulick.

  FOURTEEN

  AN SEANCHAS MóR (THE GREAT ANCIENT TRADITION)

  The king is bound by law to do justice to his meanest subject.

  A king carrying building material to his castle has only the same claim for right of way as the miller carrying material to build his mill.

  The poorest man in the land can compel payment of a debt from the king himself.

  The man who steals the needle of a poor embroidery woman must pay a far higher fine than the man who steals the queen’s needle.

  WHEN THEY GOT DOWNSTAIRS, the whole house was filled with savoury scents, the table was spread with snowy linen, glittering goblets and shining silver. Seated by the fire was an elegant young man, freshly bathed and combed and richly dressed. The manservant had obviously found clothes for him, also. The snowy white léine and rich crimson gown, tailored to suit an emaciated old man, fitted the slim young figure perfectly and the rich colour enhanced a pair of beautiful brown eyes.

  Toin led him up to present him and visibly enjoyed the start of surprise from Turlough when he said, ‘My lord, this is Cuan, the son of Sorley the silversmith.’

  Toin had already told Nuala all about Cuan, Mara guessed from the gentle way that Nuala greeted him and from her rapturous pleasure at the little song, which with childlike obedience he had sung for her at Toin’s request. Nuala was fourteen and Cuan was seventeen, but she seemed the elder of the two. She had always been very grown-up. The long illness and the tragic death of her mother over a year ago had forced her into an early maturity. She sat and chatted with the boy when he had finished the song, and although he did not say much, what little he did say was sensible and, in his new clothes and with the wine bringing colour to his cheeks, he almost looked like the son of the household. Nuala was good with him. She treated him just as if he were one of the boys at the law school and he was soon at ease with her, and also with Toin whom he had obviously known for a long time, though he stammered over his words when Turlough or Malachy addressed a kindly remark to him. He was certainly not to be classified as a druth, thought Mara listening carefully. She was inclined to think that Toin’s account of the boy, in his childhood, was probably correct. He was a pleasant boy, not overburdened with brains, but friendly by nature and certainly not suffering from any mental handicap. His murmured replies to Nuala’s questions were all quite rational.

  Rory came in a few minutes later and then there seemed to be a change in the atmosphere. Rory gave Cuan a long, thoughtful look and Cuan blushed like a child. Had Rory already accused him of being close at hand when Sorley met his death, wondered Mara. There was certainly an unease between them, though perhaps that could have been the fruit of past resentments.

  ‘What glorious weather we’ve been having,’said Malachy and Mara, usually bored by discussions of the weather, seized on the subject with relief. While Turlough, Toin, Malachy and she shared memories of past autumns the silence between the two young men passed unnoticed. In any case, the door was open to the banqueting hall and that was full of bustle as servants came and went carrying in, first of all, long cloths of linen, followed by trays of costly silver and precious Venetian glasses, flagons of wine and of ale, then platters and baskets heaped high with food. When all was ready, Tomas approached Toin with a low bow.

  ‘Will it please you to be seated, my lord,’ he said. The words were formal, but the care with which he stretched out an arm to escort Toin through into the hall and gently helped him to his seat at the head of the table showed the depth of feeling that existed between servant and master. Though wifeless and childless, Toin, because of the essential sweetness of his nature, was being carefully cared for by his servants in these last months of his life.

  The banqueting hall was a magnificent room, a long high room with a ceiling of great arched beams of oak wood, a floor of gleaming green and white Connemara marble, the walls, in the Italian fashion, boarded in chestnut wood, with candle sconces carefully placed so that each illuminated the beautifully carved panels. The table was a long one, left over from the days when Toin held his great banquets. Places had been laid for each guest at a rather unfriendly distance of a couple of yards from each other. Mara cast a quick glance around when the servants retired to fetch the hot dishes of food.

  ‘Shall I sit here, Toin?’ Mara quickly moved a place setting and inserted it into a gap, ‘Cuan can sit next to me, and then Nuala on his other side. Is that all right, Toin? My lord, you sit here, next to Toin and opposite me. And Rory down there on Malachy’s other side.’

  Turlough was surveying her with an amused look, but she didn’t care; it wouldn’t matter to Toin who sat where, but Cuan might as well have a good dinner, cocooned between herself and Nuala. The boy was nervous and ill at ease with Rory; that was obvious. He took up a knife, then looked at his deformed right hand, flushed, transferred the knife and tucked the other hand under the table.

  ‘Could you always sing, Cuan?’ asked Nuala. He turned to her with surprise, dropping the knife onto the table. He was poor
with his left hand, thought Mara, watching him carefully from the corner of her eye. Obviously he had tried to use it in preference to the right hand, but it didn’t work for him. She herself was the same. Once when she had injured her right wrist, she had tried very hard to write with her left hand, but she just could not do it.

  ‘I mean,’ continued Nuala, ‘Fachtnan says he could sing like an angel before his voice broke, but now he makes a noise like a bull calf.’

  ‘Whereas,’ said Rory, helping himself to some more wine, ‘Cuan has always sung like a nanny goat.’

  It wasn’t so much the words – the law scholars bandied much worse insults between them in a carefree way every day of the week – it was more the concentrated malevolence in Rory’s voice, thought Mara, eyeing him across the table with a steady, cold look as she noticed Cuan flush and clench his hands, his eyes full of misery.

  ‘I wouldn’t drink too much wine, Rory,’ she said evenly. ‘I notice that it can often lead young men into saying silly things.’ And then she filled her glass and sipped it appreciatively. ‘Wasted on young people, Toin,’ she added lightly. ‘Just give them ale.’

  Turlough roared appreciatively at that and Malachy’s dark face lit up with a smile.

  ‘I’m drinking ale, but then I have the patient to look after since my father has already had two glasses of wine,’ said Nuala primly.

  Malachy protested, though with an indulgent smile. Turlough teased Malachy and in the ensuing merriment, the angry flush died down from Cuan’s face.

  ‘I was talking to Cuan about a bard school,’ said Mara to Nuala. ‘And now I find you want to go to a medical school. I suppose a day will come when there is a school for everything.’

  ‘Well, I went to the monks at Emly,’ said Turlough ‘and I just can’t imagine what Nuala wants to go to school for. Hell has no terrors for me now.’

  ‘You were probably not concentrating on your studies, my lord,’ said Nuala severely.