The Sting of Justice

by Cora Harrison

  However, when she released the scholars from the schoolhouse at dinnertime Brigid was waiting for her with a message from Cumhal.

  ‘You won’t be seeing Cathal for a month of Sundays, Brehon,’ she announced. ‘Cumhal was told at Drumcreehy that the sea captain set off in his ship last Wednesday, going to France, he was; so Cumhal was told.’

  ‘Strange! I thought he said that he wouldn’t be going for another week. We met him, King Turlough and I, when we were going to the abbey on Sunday.’ Mara looked around for Cumhal, wanting to question him further. Normally he took his dinner at the same time as the lads. Perhaps he had heard the reason for the sea captain’s sudden change of plan.

  ‘He’s gone over to the bard’s house at Dooneyvardan, Brehon,’ said Brigid, following the direction of her eyes. ‘There’s some men come over from Rathborney, from Newtown Castle. That young bard, Rory, is missing and the silversmith’s wife is trying to find him.’

  Wife, not daughter, noted Mara, listening with interest. Perhaps Deirdre wanted to get rid of this strong-minded, surly daughter of hers. She would probably be able to get Cuan to agree to give his sister a substantial dowry – perhaps almost as much as the father had intended.

  ‘The story is that Rory was seen going up Cappanabhaile Mountain yesterday morning and there hasn’t been sight or sound of him ever since, and you know what a heavy rain and mist there was the last few nights,’ continued Brigid with relish. Though the kindest of women, she did enjoy a disaster.

  ‘What! Do they think that he’s still on the mountain?’ Mara was startled.

  ‘That’s exactly what they do think, Brehon,’ said Brigid with heavy emphasis. ‘There was plenty saw him go, but there’s none to say that they saw him return. Muiris is getting up a slógad to hunt for him. And there’s Cumhal now, coming across the Moher Field.’ She rushed to the wall, closely followed by all the scholars, who had forgotten their hunger in the excitement.

  ‘Muiris,’ said Mara thoughtfully. Of course Muiris was usually the one who organized the mountain rescue parties. Despite his low stature, he was immensely strong, had huge endurance and always seemed to be very competent at directing a large crowd of well-meaning helpers.

  ‘Any news,’ shrilled Brigid, as Cumhal crossed the last wall. He said something, but his words were lost in the distance. However the shake of his head was ominous.

  ‘Would it be all right if I took young Donie and a few ropes, to join in the slógad, Brehon?’ he said when he came near.

  ‘Could we go, too, Brehon?’ pleaded Enda.

  Mara looked at the noontime sun, illuminating the pale yellow hazel leaves and warming the nut clusters to a rich fawn, and then turned to gaze at Cappanabhaile Mountain. The sky was a clear blue with no clouds in it and the folded terraces of the mountain shone silver. This day would probably be bright and sunny until dusk and then would come a mist, filling up the valleys and spreading gradually up to the High Burren and on up to the mountains above. Cumhal said nothing; the decision would have to be hers, but it he had any fears for the safety of the boys he would have voiced them instantly.

  ‘Yes, we’ll all go, for a couple of hours only, though. And we’ll take Bran.’

  ‘That’s a great idea, Brehon,’ enthused Shane. ‘Bran knows Rory very well. He’s bound to find him.’

  Cumhal said nothing still; he was a man of few words, but he took from his pouch a purple fillet and handed it to her. Mara had often seen Rory wearing this around his head. Undoubtedly Cumhal had found it at Rory’s house in Dooneyvardan. She hid a smile. She often thought that Brigid and Cumhal knew her mind before she had fully made it up, herself. Cumhal had obviously expected her to join in the hunt for the missing young man and had brought something for Bran to track.

  ‘Feels sweaty,’ said Moylan taking it from her. ‘Bran will definitely be able to find him if you show him this.’

  ‘Don’t put too many other scents on it,’ warned Mara taking it back and storing it carefully in her pouch. It probably didn’t matter too much; Bran was quite familiar with the name ‘Rory’ and would look for him once she gave the order.

  ‘Rory’s probably broken his leg,’ said Aidan with relish.

  ‘Or arm,’ said Hugh, not to be outdone.

  ‘A broken arm wouldn’t stop him coming back down the mountain, birdbrain,’ said Aidan scathingly.

  ‘Now then, Aidan, you mind your tongue, or else there’ll be no dinner; take no notice of him, Hugh,’ said Brigid, ushering the boys into the kitchen house. Brigid had a very soft spot for Hugh; his red-gold curls and his small freckled face seemed to bring out her maternal instinct. ‘They’d better put on their heavy boots once they’ve had their dinner, Brehon,’ she called back. ‘And put their mantles in their satchels, too.’

  ‘Thanks, Brigid,’ said Mara. She could leave everything to Brigid and have a quiet half an hour to think carefully about this disappearance. In all probability this disappearance had nothing to do with the murder of Sorley, but perhaps it had. Something told her that it fitted the pattern which was beginning to form in her mind.

  Muiris had gathered a large crowd by the time the group from the law school had arrived at the foot of the mountain. There were many people there from Rathborney, but also a big group from the High Burren and its valleys. Some of these had walked, but the majority had ridden. Toin’s field had been pressed into service for the horses and his stableman was there revelling in the excitement. He had been the last to see Rory and so his story was greatly in demand.

  ‘I said to the master, that’s Rory all right, my lord,’ he was saying as Mara handed over her mare into his charge. Toin, himself, was there, his face grey and anxious. Mara crossed over to him.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said reassuringly. ‘With a crowd like this, they’d uncover a fieldmouse up on that mountain.’

  He smiled at that, but his eyes were dull, sunken deep into the sockets on his emaciated face. Mara looked at him sharply and then looked all around. There were a few of the servants there from Newtown Castle. Daire was there, she discovered, chatting to Aoife and to her brothers, but Cuan was nowhere in the crowd.

  ‘Have you seen Cuan since Wednesday night?’ she asked.

  Toin looked uncertain, shook his head, and then nodded it. ‘I think so,’ he said hesitantly, and then immediately contradicted himself, saying, ‘or perhaps that was Sunday.’ He looked confused and Mara did not press him. There was a pungent smell of poppy syrup from him; his pain was getting to an almost unbearable stage, she thought compassionately and the dose that he needed now was robbing him of his wits. She saw Malachy chatting to her neighbour Diarmuid and signalled to him with a lift of her eyebrows. He came across instantly.

  ‘Toin, I think you should be in bed,’ he said, feeling for the old man’s pulse. ‘Shall I leave Nuala with you? I’d like to go up the mountain, myself. If the lad has broken a leg or an ankle, it will be better if I bind it up on the spot and stop any further damage while they are carrying him down, but Nuala would wish to stay with you. She enjoys your company. She told me yesterday that she has learnt so much from you that she is writing it all down.’

  Toin managed a smile. ‘No, take the child,’ he said. ‘It’s not right for a young girl to be cooped up with an old man. Let her enjoy herself with the boys and girls of her own age. I’m beginning to feel a little better now. I’ll go back to the house.’

  Tomas was on hand and they set off, Toin leaning heavily on his servant. Mara looked a question at Malachy.

  ‘A matter of weeks,’ he said briefly. ‘The heart’s slowing right down now. When I put my hand on his chest this morning, I could feel it stop, and then start again, very slowly. He’s an old man. That’s probably the way that he will go – that would be the merciful way.’

  ‘We have to get into groups.’ Fachtnan came running across, followed by Nuala, her black plaits bouncing against her thin back as she strove to keep up with his long legs.

  ‘Four or five
to a group, Muiris says,’ she gasped. ‘Who will come with us?’

  ‘Well, perhaps if I lend you Fachtnan, Enda and Moylan,’ said Mara to Malachy, ‘I’ll keep Aidan, Hugh and Shane and with Bran that will make five in our group.’ She had been going to ask Cumhal to take some of the boys, but he had already planted himself next to Muiris and some other habitual climbers. Cumhal would be of more use if he did not have to be burdened with the care of the scholars. It would be better for them to go with Malachy. Moylan would be well behaved without Aidan, and Nuala would enjoy their company. She looked around. Everyone was moving quickly and efficiently into groups and waiting quietly for Muiris to give the orders.

  It was wonderful the force of neighbourly solidarity, thought Mara; a few days ago, this man Muiris was looking for the blood of the young bard, and now he, and all of the others, few of whom could have liked Rory much, none of whom was related to him; all of these people had given up a day’s work at a busy time for them and had turned out to search for him.

  ‘Keep together until we reach the foot of the mountain and then spread out,’ shouted Muiris. He had Daire and his two sons and Aoife by his side. ‘If anyone finds him then give a good loud bellow, not a shout or a screech – these sounds don’t carry on the mountainside, just a good old béic on two notes, that’s what will be heard by us all.’

  A few of the younger ones, his own sons and daughter amongst them, giggled as he gave a demonstration yodelling sound, slapping his horny hand against his mouth, but he hushed them with a glance.

  ‘I’ve got a hunting horn,’ he continued, and blew one short blast on it. ‘One means I’ve found the man. But if I blow two long blasts, it means that the mist is coming up and you’d better all get down the mountain as best you can. I’ll keep blowing until everyone is safe down. With the help of God,’ he added in a perfunctory fashion. It was obvious that Muiris was going to rely on himself rather than on God.

  ‘We’ve got a horn, too, Muiris,’ shouted the O’Lochlainn boys. They had Mairead with them, noticed Mara, feeling thankful that she had allocated Enda to Malachy’s group, as she watched how the girl tossed her red curls, eyeing the young men around her.

  ‘I’ve got a tin whistle,’ called Nuala in her clear voice and Muiris gave her one of his rare smiles. Nuala was very popular among the people of the Burren, more so than Malachy, who tended to be rather distant in his relationships with them.

  ‘The physician’s group better stay fairly near my group,’ he said. ‘If the man is injured, then we can get Malachy to him by the quickest route. And now, in the name of God, let’s get to work.’

  Never once, thought Mara, as she and her little group followed the long procession trailing up the path beside the little Rathborney river, did Muiris mention the name of Rory. It was probably best that way. Now Rory was a man lost on the mountain for twenty-four hours – not Rory the bard who had deceived and humiliated the beloved daughter of Muiris.

  It was easy walking for some time as the pathway led along a valley between the Cappanabhaile and Gleninagh mountains. The river ran beside the path; once it must have been a large river to have carved its way between the two great peaks, but now it was just a trickling stream that dived into an underground cave as soon as the hill began to get steep. Many ancient enclosures, their walls still massive and towering over the humans, lined the way. In a place where water was scarce and before man lacked the iron tools to dig for wells through the rock, this was the place to live.

  The crowd, mostly the young and the fit, made rapid progress and when they reached Drumbrickaun, most turned and began to climb the lower slopes of the mountain.

  ‘Spread out,’ shouted Muiris. ‘No point in everyone going up the same way, bunched together like that: spread out and check behind every rock.’

  ‘Aren’t we going up Cappanabhaile?’ complained Aidan, watching his friend Moylan scrambling over the rocks like a mountain goat.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Mara serenely. ‘There’s no point in releasing Bran here; he would just be dashing around and licking everyone. Let’s go up as far as Lios na gCat.’ She hadn’t taken the purple fillet from her pouch yet, though the reason she had given Aidan was not entirely valid. She was puzzled by the absence of Cuan; he was probably the only male from Rathborney who was not present; she was anxious to see whether he was still at his mountain farm.

  A few other groups followed them, obviously thinking of going around by the west-facing slopes at Feenagh. There was no hurry, though. Judging by the sun it was only about an hour after noon; the light would last another four hours or so and, with luck, the mist should not fall until dusk. The air was still balmy; as they rounded a bend on the narrow stony lane they surprised a mountain hare, sleeping peacefully against a warm rock. He bounded away merrily, his white tail waving an impudent salute to the indignant Bran, who strained at the leash until Mara admonished him.

  ‘It shows how warm the weather is still; that hare will be almost white all over when another month goes by. The king told me that our hares are different to the hares in England; they have much smaller hares which remain brown in winter and summer,’ Mara told her scholars. None of them was listening; they were all looking over their shoulders at the crowd that was now fanning out across the mountain slopes.

  ‘There’s Lios na gCat,’ said Shane thankfully. ‘Are we going to turn off here, Brehon?’

  ‘Let Bran smell that sweaty hair fillet,’ said Aidan eagerly. ‘It really pongs …’ He stopped abruptly because a slight figure had emerged from the filthy, derelict house. ‘I didn’t know anyone lived there,’ he muttered, looking around at the filthy farmyard and the moss-covered cabins.

  Mara waited for a moment. The two groups behind them overtook and then turned right to go up the mountain slopes. She could hear them call to each other as they separated, one going to the left and the other keeping straight ahead.

  ‘Ah, Cuan,’ called Mara, her tone bland and friendly. ‘Have you heard the news? Rory the bard has been missing since early on Thursday morning.’

  He came towards them slowly. He had heard her; she was sure of that. It seemed more as if he were giving himself time to think before he replied.

  ‘No,’ he said eventually, ‘no, I hadn’t heard that.’

  He was still dressed in the fine clothes that Toin had lent him, she noticed. They were no longer so fine, though. The red tunic was torn in one place and splashes of mud marred its smooth wool. The léine, which he wore beneath it, was grubby and soiled with yellow sweat stains. The hem was filthy and so were his sandals.

  ‘Have you seen him since Wednesday night?’ demanded Mara.

  His eyes went from her to the listening boys and he flushed. His dull eyes suddenly became full of fury. She could see how the memory of humiliation was still fresh in his mind. She wondered whether Rory had come to apologize. And if he had done so, what had been his reception? If the apology had been accepted, there would have been no point in Cuan staying up here in his mountain farm. Where was the young bard, then?

  ‘No, I haven’t seen him,’ he said eventually.

  ‘We’re searching for him,’ persisted Mara, ‘would you like to join us? He’s been missing since Thursday morning, now.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t!’ he shouted, thrusting his face almost into hers and causing Hugh to step back in alarm. ‘Why should I? Why should I look for that fellow? He’s done nothing but insult me and mock me from the day that my father brought him to Newtown Castle. What do you come bothering me like that for?’

  It was like a small child having a temper tantrum, thought Mara, eyeing him severely. Her grandson, Domhnall, used to have fits of screaming like that, before he learned to talk properly and to argue with his mother, instead.

  ‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that, Cuan,’ she said sternly, once the sound of his hysterical outburst died down. ‘Now, I would advise you to clean yourself up and to go down and take your rightful place in your father’s house. It’s for you
to uncover his hearth, as the law says, and to take possession of his goods.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Brehon,’ he muttered. His eyes sought hers, like an apologetic dog. She felt sorry for him and sorry for his humiliation. Perhaps she should have sent the boys away before speaking to him. She made them a quick signal and obediently they moved down the path towards the rusty gate. Mara waited for a moment then, but he said no more. It was time to leave; she would get no more out of him. The boys moved restlessly. They wanted to be off finding Rory.

  ‘I will meet you there tomorrow, Saturday afternoon,’ she said firmly giving him a quick pat on the arm. ‘We will settle everything, then. Don’t forget. I will be expecting you at Newtown Castle on Saturday afternoon.’ She repeated the words with emphasis. There were times when she began to doubt again whether he had all of his wits. There was something very unstable about him today.

  Cuan stared up the mountain, almost as if he were looking at a distant figure. He kicked a stone violently, clenched his fists as if about to hit someone and then turned on his heel and went back up the path and into the house. He slammed the door with such violence that the leather hinge, holding it in place, split and the door gaped open.

  ‘Whew!’ whistled Aidan. ‘Temper!’

  ‘Brehon, when are you going to release Bran?’ asked Shane impatiently.

  ‘Now, I think,’ said Mara. She took the purple fillet from her pouch and held it for a moment. It was woven from bright threads of purple with a few of red in the weft between. Was it Aoife that made it for the young bard? She held it out towards the dog’s eager nose. ‘Seek, Bran, seek,’ she urged and then bent down and released the leash from his neck.

  The dog understood her; she was sure of that. He sniffed at the fillet, looked along the path to the house, took a few steps back and then started to smell the path behind, the way that they had come up. His nose travelled along the grass-covered middle of it and once again he started to move back down the mountain.