The Sting of Justice

by Cora Harrison

  Mara was not deceived, though. Of course; if Cuan were convicted then the punishment would be permanent exile, or perhaps even death by being placed in a boat with no oars and launched out to sea in an offshore wind. The killing of a parent or close relation was the only crime that merited a savage punishment under Brehon law. If Cuan were guilty then there would be no possibility of him inheriting his father’s wealth and possessions. Even if not convicted, the young man could be blackmailed. He would be easily frightened.

  Una hesitated. Then her eyes left Mara’s and went, not to Cuan’s distressed young face, but to the face of the woman so like herself. The two pairs of grey eyes met, Deirdre’s looked worried, distressed even, but Una’s eyes were full of calculation. Was this an attempt at blackmail, an effort to make Deirdre uneasy about Cuan, perhaps even to elicit a confession? After all the murder of a divorced husband would not be as serious a matter as the murder of a father. Mara felt that she could almost see how various possibilities were being shifted and arranged in Una’s acute mind, but in the end she shook her head and said simply, ‘I haven’t seen Rory for some days.’

  That’s probably a lie, thought Mara, but aloud she said, ‘In that case, I suggest you make no accusations that cannot be backed by solid evidence. By solid evidence I mean the sworn testimony of at least two people, preferably without any interest in the outcome of the case.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Now I must go,’ she said. ‘Una, will you accompany me to the door? Cuan,’ her voice softened slightly as she saw his miserable face, ‘I hope that soon you will get to enjoy your possessions and the freedom that wealth will bring you. I’m sure that in your mother you will find a useful friend and counsellor. Think of what we discussed and live your life to the full. Slán leat,’ she added, thinking that it was not health so much as happiness, that she wanted to wish him — a more difficult matter altogether for a boy with his upbringing and sensitivity of spirit.

  Una, to Mara’s surprise, looked quite willing to accompany her to the door. She said nothing on the way down the stairs, but her expression was thoughtful and receptive when the light of the opened door shone on it.

  ‘Walk to the gate with me,’ said Mara quietly, seeing that an efficient stableman was already leading her mare from the stable.

  ‘You have some advice for me,’ said Una and there was a glint of humour in her grey-blue eyes. ‘You’d suggest that I should enter a nunnery, I suppose.’

  ‘No, certainly not!’ Mara’s voice was vehement. ‘If you had nothing to do with this murder, then I would advise that you come to terms with your brother; you will find it surprisingly easy to do, I would say. Suggest to him that you take over the Galway side of the business. There’s a house in the middle of the city, I understand. You can have a shop there; you can market the goods, you can engage a silversmith; do your own work also. You are clever, efficient and artistic. I’d say you could manage a business well – make beautiful silverware also. Who’s to stop you if you are the owner of the business? Make that bargain with Cuan, Una. Deirdre, your mother, will back you up. She is a sensible woman.’

  ‘And she would prefer to have me out of the house.’ Now a smile twitched at Una’s lips.

  ‘Of course she would,’ said Mara robustly. ‘No grown mother and daughter should share a house. It doesn’t work. You have your own establishment and if you fancy getting married, then just choose your own bridegroom. Manage your own affairs.’ There’ll be suitors and plenty once word gets around of the wealth involved, she thought, cynically watching Una’s eyes considering the matter.

  ‘I’ll do what you say,’ she said briefly. She hesitated slightly and then added, ‘What about Rory?’

  ‘Rory,’ said Mara thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think Rory will be seen again in these parts.’

  NINETEEN

  BRETHA ETGID (JUDGEMENTS OF inadvertence)

  A man may open a mine if he has ownership of all the land around it. He may only dig one shaft and may not dig side shafts leading towards the lands of other men.

  He must cause no harm to other property.

  If harm is caused, then a fine must be paid. This will be decided by the court and will take into account the damage caused.

  The fine for removing stones from another man’s land is five séts or two-and-a-half ounces of silver or three cows.

  JUST AS MARA REACHED the gate of Newtown Castle on her way back home, the most extraordinary roar suddenly filled the air. Ignoring the groom, she ran through the gate, closely followed by Una. They both crossed the road and turned around towards the mountain. Before their horrified eyes a great torrent of water was sweeping down the hillside. It was foaming and bubbling as it came and the force of it was so great that it carried along great boulders, turning and tossing them like pebbles in its pathway. There were trees in it, too. Not big stately trees like those around the castle, but those twisted, gnarled, bent bushes which came from the top of the mountain. This river was coming straight down from the steepest part of Cappanabhaile, not twisting and flowing sinuously inside its valley down the gentle slopes to Rathborney, but plunging precipitously from the summit of the mountain down to the castle yard. There were living things in it, too. A sheep with a sickening, twisted leg, and then a man, alive but only just, his black sodden head rising above the flow and sinking beneath it.

  At that, the sense of unreality which seemed to have numbed them was suddenly broken and without a word the porter flew to the bell and began to clang it wildly. Men appeared from the fields.

  Mara rushed towards the man noticing that Una seemed to have left her and returned inside the castle gates.

  ‘Quick,’ she shouted to the nearest worker.

  Instantly he was by her side. The ground was flat here and the torrent was beginning to spread out. He plunged into it and pulled out the drowning man efficiently grasping him by the hair and pulling him free of the water and onto a slight hump in the uneven ground. There was a sickening smell in the air, sulphur, thought Mara; it smelled just like those sulphur sticks that Turlough had given her to replace her faithful old tinderbox.

  ‘Turn him upside down,’ she said urgently. ‘He’ll have water in his chest and perhaps worse than water.’ The smell was poisonous and she was relieved when vomiting began. One of the Welsh mineworkers, she guessed, and wondered, looking up at the torrent still pouring down, how many others might still be trapped within the mine.

  ‘I’m going up there, Brehon.’ Daire’s horse leaped the stone wall of the field in one agile bound. He shed his fine new mantle on the ground as he galloped past. ‘I saw it when I was halfway across Gragans,’ he shouted over his shoulder. Within a few moments he and his strong horse had began to climb the lower slopes of Cappanabhaile.

  A group of miners were straggling down the hillside. They looked as if they were dragging someone between them. Mara put up her hand to shield her eyes from the slanting rays of sunlight. Daire had reached them now. He had stopped, had dismounted from his horse and was listening to them.

  ‘Bring that man inside. There’s a fire in the guards’ room and they have a pallet ready for him to lie on. Carry him in. Aodh, you bring the other men in when they come down. I’ve told them to light a fire in the courtyard and there will be hot drinks, and beds for any that are injured.’ Deirdre was by Mara’s side, efficiently organizing.

  ‘The courtyard is flooding,’ the girl Ciara, no doubt left in charge of the hot drinks, shrieked hysterically.

  ‘Get the sandbags from the gatehouse.’ Deirdre’s voice was loud and authoritative. ‘I’ll take these men back in with me to the yard to help to protect the buildings,’ she said to Mara. ‘Will you tell the others to come in as soon as they are down?’

  There was something familiar about the man who was being dragged down the hill. Mara narrowed her eyes. A small man. The late afternoon rays of the sun shone directly on the figures now and she saw the gleam of a bald head. It was Sheedy; she had no doubt about it. The picture of him, yesterda
y, with his pickaxe in his hand, flashed into her mind. ‘I must be getting on with my work,’ that was what he kept repeating.

  Daire was now leading his horse down accompanying the small group. Mara decided to wait until they arrived down in the meadow; there was little point in going to meet them. The flood was decreasing every minute. Probably some water had been pent up for some time and the rain of yesterday had caused it to burst forth. She walked across to the courtyard gate and looked in.

  The tower itself was in little danger as it was built on a small mound, but the bawn or yard was already filling up with water and the cabins built around its outside walls were in danger of being flooded. Deirdre was there, her cloak wrapped around her and her harsh voice directing the men. Bags of sand were being placed in front of the kitchen, the workrooms and the stables and in front of the gate. Several women with large brooms were sweeping the water towards some drains set into the back wall of the courtyard. Mara stood by the gate watching, her eyes fixed on the mountain, now a fast-flowing sheet of turbulent water. It was strange, she thought, how she had felt Cappanabhaile to be evil and menacing the last time that she had looked at it and now it had taken its revenge on those who had despoiled it.

  More men had now arrived and were battling with the flood. Regardless of the wet, Deirdre was now outside the gate and was directing them. Mara could see what she was doing. A drain was being dug which would turn the water harmlessly into a low-lying meadow beside the roadway into Newtown. It was a good solution and she admired the woman for being able to think of it so quickly. Where was her son, who should be safeguarding his property, she wondered, and come to that, where was her daughter? Just as she thought that, from behind the door opened and Una came out; she was not wearing her cloak and obviously had no intention of joining in with the work to save the castle. Her eyes, like Mara’s, went to the mountain and she drew the same conclusion as Mara had done.

  ‘The mine must be flooded,’ she said in the low steady voice which never seemed to express much emotion. And then she said, almost as an explanation, ‘I’ve been looking after the man who was saved from drowning. Would you like to come to see him, Brehon? He has an interesting tale to tell.’

  The man who had been dragged from the flood was looking a little better. He was in the guards’ room, a dark room with only gunslits to admit the light, situated just beside the front door on the ground floor. Ciara was holding a hot drink to his lips and someone had brought some blankets and put them around him and a brazier filled with newly lighted turf smoked at his feet.

  ‘How are you, my friend?’ asked Mara gently.

  The man shuddered. ‘I thought I would never keep my head up,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I was mending a wall up there and then I heard the sound of it. It burst out of the mine and came thundering down at me. I climbed on top of the wall but it was no good. The water swept me off and I couldn’t get to my feet. I kept trying to grab at things but the water was too fast for me.’

  ‘Don’t be thinking of it now,’ said Ciara comfortingly. ‘Take a drink of this. It will do you good. It’s carrageen and honey. It will keep the cold out of you.’

  The man took another gulp while Mara waited.

  ‘You don’t know what caused the flood, then do you?’

  The man nodded. ‘It must have been that madman, Sheedy,’ he said. ‘People say that he killed the master and now he’s probably killed the mine, too.’

  ‘Did the water came out of the mine?’

  ‘Yes, it spurted out of the mine all yellow and foamy. That was the first I saw of it.’

  Una got up and left the room. Mara patted the still bewildered man on the shoulder and joined her on the doorstep.

  ‘So the mine is destroyed,’ Una said briefly.

  ‘It may not be,’ Mara answered cautiously, ‘it all depends on how much harm the flood has done.’

  She did not answer, so Mara asked curiously: ‘Where is your brother?’

  ‘Cuan is in his bedchamber,’ she answered contemptuously. ‘He came down at the first alarm and then he turned and went back. He is afraid. He is afraid of water, he is afraid of fire, he is afraid of his own shadow and because I am a woman and he is a man, you say that he is more fitting to inherit my father’s wealth and property than I am.’

  ‘It is not I that say it,’ said Mara mildly. ‘The law says it and I just interpret the law.’

  ‘You should change the law, then, shouldn’t you?’ said Una harshly. ‘After all, we are both the children of Sorley. I am the elder, but because I am a girl I get nothing and my brother gets everything. And I have to go down on my knees to a coward like that in order to get my share.’

  She gave a short laugh and left with a scornful glance, and in her heart Mara found it hard to blame her. Perhaps, it would not have been too great a crime, after all, if Una had given a quick push to that hive of bees and reaped some rewards for all of her years of servitude to that unpleasant man, her father. Mara walked thoughtfully back to the field to meet Daire and the men dragging the captive, Sheedy.

  ‘He’s been working at this for weeks,’ said Daire. His voice was loud and clear and he continually looked back at Sheedy and each time Sheedy nodded happily, his watery eyes full of the pleasure of a child who has achieved a skilful piece of work.

  ‘He wanted to stop the water that washed the silver and the lead from poisoning his land so he dug a hole and diverted it back into the galleries that drain the mine. Ifor,’ here Daire indicated the dark-haired Welshman whom Mara had seen at the mine on Monday, ‘Ifor says that he was puzzled how full of water they seemed to be since we had been having such a dry spell.’

  ‘Is this true, Sheedy?’ asked Mara mildly.

  ‘I am the king, the king of the bees,’ he assured her, singing the words in a strange high voice.

  ‘He’s completely out of his wits, I’d say,’ said Daire in a low voice.

  ‘What is your name?’ asked Mara, looking at Sheedy intently, but he just continued to sing: ‘I am the king, the king of the bees.’ Was he a witness to the death of Sorley, she wondered? Was that the reason why he continued to harp on about the bees? In his deranged mind, the bees had obeyed the command of their king and had brought about the death of the despoiler of the mountain, Sorley Skerrett.

  ‘What shall we do with him?’ asked Daire.

  Mara thought for a moment. Brehon law decreed that an insane man should be held by his nearest relative until he could be questioned at the law court on judgement day. If he were found to be permanently insane then the kin group, that was all of the descendants of the same great-grandfather, would have to care for him, either by drawing lots or by some other arrangement. The usual thing was to pass the insane person around from household to household on a monthly rotation, unless some charitable person could be found to take permanent care of him.

  ‘Could you send someone for Diarmuid O’Connor?’ she said after a minute’s thought. ‘I’m sure he would care for him until the next judgement day. In the meantime, have you somewhere here where you can keep him in safety?’

  ‘I’ll have a word with Deirdre,’ said Daire and took the man coaxingly by the arm. ‘Come on, Sheedy, let’s go over there.’ Mara followed him, watched him cross the courtyard and saw Deirdre nod her head and point to a small stone cabin beside the gatehouse. Why was Sheedy obsessed with the words ‘king’ and ‘bees’ she wondered? What had he seen, or what had he done that Thursday at Father David’s burial?

  Mara climbed up to the top of the steps by the front door to the castle. The danger was now averted and the water was running steadily into the meadow. It would flood the meadow, but that was of little consequence. The castle and all its treasures were safe. The mist had cleared and the sun was beginning to edge the clouds. Daire was now directing men to go up the mountain and Ciara was busily handing out drinks to the drenched miners. There is little more that I can do here, today, thought Mara. There were a few hours to spare before suppertime, but she would
leave now. There was just one more piece of information that she needed. The porter had emerged from one of the cottages, wearing dry clothes and had gone back to his place of duty in the lodge. Everyone was busy so Mara crossed the courtyard and followed him in.

  ‘A terrible business, this,’ she said chattily, smiling at him as he gulped from a steaming cup. By the fragrant smell she guessed that it was liberally laced with mead. Deirdre would soon have the loyalty as well as respect from all the workers at Newtown Castle. It didn’t take much, she reflected; just a bit of fellow feeling, an understanding that people like to be valued, like to have their efforts appreciated.

  ‘It is, indeed, Brehon,’ he replied, wiping his mouth and then draining the last few drops from his cup before setting it down on the table.

  ‘And coming the day after the disappearance of the young bard, Rory,’ she continued. ‘Of course, that would have been shocking for you here at Newtown Castle. He was here a lot during the last few weeks, wasn’t he?’ She watched him carefully and saw his expression change.

  ‘Quite a lot,’ he muttered with a lack of enthusiasm. Rory had obviously spent most of his efforts on charming the master of the house and had not bothered with the underlings.

  ‘When was the last time that he was here?’ Mara made the enquiry in a careless manner, walking over to look out of the window where there was a sudden shout of laughter.

  ‘I suppose it must have been early on Thursday morning.’ The porter came over to join her. Ciara was crossing the courtyard and she had a flagon of the mead-laced hot drink in her hand; he made a quick signal to her before turning back to Mara. ‘I’d say I was one of the last to see him, Brehon; he came to see Mistress Una at dawn and it must have been after he left here that he went up the mountain.’ He accompanied Mara to the door with a show of great courtesy, picking up his cup as he passed the table. ‘There’s the mistress over there, probably looking for you.’ He sounded relieved as he pointed out Deirdre so Mara left him to replenish his drink and walked over to where Deirdre was emerging from a cabin.