Verdict of the Court: A mystery set in sixteenth-century Ireland (A Burren Mystery)

by Cora Harrison

  ‘He locked us in the barn,’ said Cormac dramatically.

  ‘Took the ladder away when the three of us were up there,’ amended Art, always a stickler for the exact truth.

  ‘And he hit one of the twins when he tried to follow us.’ Finbar’s voice came in gasps, but he was determined to share the moment.

  ‘And he’s a girl,’ added Cormac rather confusingly, but with a note of outrage in his voice. He himself was not slow to wrestle with Cael, but it was a different matter for her father to hit her. Cormac at his worst had never been hit by either of his parents as Mara had decided long ago that there would be no corporal punishment in her school. Her scholars, she had resolved, would be motivated to learn for the interest in the law and perhaps out of competition with each other, but not because of fear. And Turlough, of course, was so enraptured by this son of his later life that Cormac could get away with murder so far as he was concerned.

  ‘Tell me later,’ said Mara. She slowed her steps to a stately walk. Plenty of men had passed her and were now crowded onto the bridge. The guard at the gate had held. Now it was for her to bring the majesty of the law to bear on Maccon MacMahon, to order him back to the castle and to keep a strict eye on him.

  ‘She’ll put him in the dungeon with the rats,’ remarked Cormac gloatingly to Art.

  ‘And chained to the ground, down beside the dead body,’ added Art with relish and Mara, while suppressing a smile, hoped that the same thought was going through the head of Maccon MacMahon at this very moment.

  Maccon was making a huge fuss as they approached. ‘I keep telling you that I have permission from the King himself. He will be so angry if he is dragged out here just because you have to be so stubborn and so stupid. Why should the King want to delay me on my important business? He knew that I would only stay for a short time.’

  Maccon, thought Mara, was a quick thinker. He had taken advantage of the heavy cover that the fog would have afforded and stolen out. The first flaw in his arrangements had been dislodging the three law-school boys from the twins. His second, of course, was to underestimate Mara and not to realize that she would have given instructions to the captain of the guard that no guests were to be permitted to leave. She marched up to the group now, and ignoring him for the moment, thanked the men on the guard for their carefulness, and then gave instructions to the captain who had arrived at that moment to escort the MacMahon and his children to their quarters in the south-eastern tower. For Turlough’s sake she would not put them under arrest in the main guard, but she added in a clear voice, ‘And, Captain, will you have one of your men wait in the room with the MacMahon.’ This, she hoped, would make sure that Maccon would not prime his children with any false information.

  ‘Take your hand off me!’ Maccon was in a belligerent frame of mind; the sound of Turlough’s voice in the distance seemed to egg him on to fresh protests.

  ‘Mara,’ he began but she swept past him. Like the other guests he had addressed her as ‘Brehon’ during the feast and she was irritated by this attempt at familiarity.

  ‘The captain of the guard will take care of you for the moment,’ she said in an offhand manner. ‘And you, Shona,’ she continued. Then she put her hand on Cian’s pony and said to him authoritatively, ‘Dismount and lead your pony.’ He did so in silence and Cael copied her twin. She thanked them gravely and walked in between them, but when she came to the door and met Domhnall and Slevin, she seized the opportunity.

  ‘These two young people,’ she said, indicating the twins, ‘have information that will be of huge importance to this case. Slevin, will you take the ponies to the stable and ask one of the lads to see to them. When you have done that, please join Domhnall. Domhnall, I want you to stand on guard outside the solar while I am questioning them. Cormac, please find the King and tell him that the captain of the guard will inform him about the attempted escape from the castle and then come back and join us, Cormac. Your evidence will be useful. It was very quick-witted of you three young scholars to find a way of informing me what was going on,’ she said gravely and saw them straighten with pride.

  Slevin went off with the ponies and Cormac, after a quick request to his mother to keep his throwing knife safe for him, went around towards the south side of the castle, where Turlough, by the sound of his voice, seemed to be surveying the river.

  ‘Come up the solar with me,’ she invited the twins, and smiled to herself to see how Art and Finbar flanked the pair as if they were guards in charge of a pair of prisoners.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked them when they arrived. Eyeing their white faces and blue fingernails she made them sit beside the fire and handed each a sweetmeat from the dish on the table.

  ‘It was not our fault,’ said Cian defensively. ‘We were made to go.’

  ‘Forced by duress vile,’ said Cael. She eyed Mara. ‘Does this mean that we won’t get the silver you promised us?’

  Mara smiled. ‘You just keep on working for me. What did your father say? Why did he suddenly decide to take you away?’

  Cael shrugged and Cian copied her. ‘Don’t know,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t give us reasons. He came out to the barn and we were up in the loft and he shouted to us to come down. Didn’t say nothing. Just shouted at us to get on our ponies. He had them ready. He and Shona were already mounted.’

  ‘And then he took the ladder away,’ added Cian. ‘Cormac shouted down after us: “Where are you going?” and he didn’t answer and hit Cael when she tried to argue.’

  ‘Did Shona know where you were going, or why?’ asked Mara.

  ‘She didn’t say anything to us,’ said Cael. ‘We don’t talk to her much.’

  The twins, thought Mara, lived a life that was quite separate from their father and their elder sister. Living in fosterage at Brehon MacClancy’s place at Urlan they would see little of their father – probably only during this Christmas festivity had they had any contact with them. Shona, who had been living at home with him during the past year, would be a more fruitful source of information. She got to her feet.

  ‘Let’s go and find the others,’ she said.

  However, when they reached the landing outside the great hall, Turlough’s voice sounded from within. He and Cormac must have gone up the stairs of the south-western tower.

  ‘And I sent my throwing knife through the solar window because I knew that the Brehon would have a fit if any of her suspects had escaped her,’ came Cormac’s light high voice and Turlough laughed heartily. Mara sighed. That was a mistake to have sent Cormac to his father. Instead of an outraged captain of the guard telling his King about the attempted escape of a guest, a possible suspect in a murder case, a guest who, like the other guests, had been ordered to remain with the castle grounds, what had happened now was that Cormac and Turlough between them were turning the matter into high farce.

  Just as Turlough opened the door from the great hall, Rosta limped heavily down from the stairs leading from the King’s private quarters. He was carrying a hammer and had a few nails sticking out of his mouth, which he removed at the sight of his King.

  ‘I’ve just hammered a piece of board over the hole in the window, my lord,’ he said to Turlough. ‘Nasty night out there, we don’t want that mist and cold getting into your room. The carpenter will make a proper job of it tonight while you are at your dinner in the hall. I’ve sent a message to him. But in the meantime, that temporary job will hold.’

  ‘Good man yourself,’ said Turlough. ‘Don’t know what I would do without you, Rosta. This place would fall to pieces if you weren’t here keeping an eye on everything for us.’

  What a nice man Turlough is, thought Mara, feeling a rush of affection for her husband. Rosta’s face lit up with pleasure and she could see how important the King’s opinion was to this man whose life as a fighter was now over, but who brought to his position as cook to the King the same dedication and single-minded devotion he had shown when a warrior.

  She turned to her husband with
an affectionate smile.

  ‘Perhaps the other scholars could go with you while you are checking your boundaries, my lord,’ she said formally and then she added, with emphasis. ‘I would like to speak to the MacMahon in a little while by myself and I have asked the captain of the guard not to let him communicate with anyone else until I have a chance to talk to him first.’ She looked at Turlough intently and hoped that he would get the point that she didn’t want him talking to MacMahon before she had a chance to interrogate the man herself.

  Fortunately there was a clamour of suggestions from the scholars, advising where to check for intruders, and Turlough, with a wink at her, took them off.

  Mara glanced down at the twins. They were wet, white-faced and downcast. She felt very sorry for them and looked an appeal at Rosta. He nodded cheerfully in reply and encircled each with a large arm.

  ‘Go with Rosta,’ she said gently. ‘He could do with some help and your wet clothes will dry in the warmth of the kitchen.’

  And then she went across to the south-eastern tower and prepared to interrogate Maccon MacMahon.

  ‘Shona, would you wait in your room,’ she said when she came in and found Maccon and his daughter sitting listlessly by the fire while the captain of the guard stood stiffly by the door. There did not seem to be much contact between father and daughter. Maccon sat one side of the fire, staring into it, and Shona on the other side, her face buried in her hands. Mara wondered whether she was weeping but as soon as she spoke, Shona looked up, dry-eyed, but white-faced. There was an air of tension and of apprehension about her, but she got to her feet immediately and without a word left the room. Mara could hear her footsteps going up the stairway.

  ‘Would you wait outside,’ she said to the captain. She had wanted to interrogate Maccon by herself, but it was, she thought, important for a man who had already defied her orders to know that he was still under armed guard. She waited for the door to close and then looked across at Maccon in silence.

  ‘Could you give me the reason why you defied my orders,’ she said after a minute.

  He sighed with feigned exasperation. ‘But I have already told you, Brehon, that I had urgent business at home.’

  ‘What business?’ She snapped out the question almost before he had time to finish his sentence and was pleased to see how discomforted he looked.

  ‘It’s private,’ he said after a moment.

  ‘Very suspicious,’ she shot back her response.

  He bristled. ‘Why suspicious?’

  ‘Because I’m sure, with your family connections to a Brehon, you know that anything you tell me in confidence will remain secret. I think,’ said Mara, in a reflective tone, ‘I, personally, would feel it better to confide, in strict secrecy, some business matter, than to be suspected of murder.’

  That shook him. His voice rose in pitch. ‘I had nothing whatsoever to do with the murder of Brehon MacClancy – I swear by all that I hold most sacred, I’ll swear even by the lives of my children that I had nothing at all to do with that.’

  There was a note of sincerity in his voice and her heart sank. She had begun to think, during the last hour, that she might have found the murderer, might with some more probing find the motive and would be able to announce the result. It might, she had been thinking, have something to do with Shona – a revenge killing, perhaps. The flight could have been prompted by MacMahon’s pride, his reluctance to confess his guilt in front of his King – and perhaps in front of a woman, she had thought on her way up the stairs – reminding herself that she was not now on her home territory in the Burren where the people of that stony kingdom had accepted a female Brehon over twenty-four years ago and had been content to be judged by her ever since. The people of Thomond might have different ideas and under a show of respect to the King’s wife might not like the idea of a woman sitting in judgement over them.

  But she could not now hide from herself the instinct that MacMahon spoke with some sincerity. As she gazed at him appraisingly, confident that her face showed only a polite interest, her mind whirled. So why had he been so insistent to leave? Why had he grabbed the twins and taken them from the fun and companionship which they were enjoying so hugely? Even if he truly had urgent business, some sort of deal which he dared not miss, why take them? And why take Shona? Unless he wanted to separate her from Enda, of course.

  At that moment there was a gentle tap on the door. The captain of the guard stood there and beyond him was Turlough. He was by himself, so the children had taken themselves off.

  ‘My lord wishes to speak with you, Brehon,’ said the captain and without waiting for instructions, he slid in through the open door, joining MacMahon inside and shutting the door firmly behind him. Turlough withdrew into the window recess on the landing and Mara followed him, more curious than annoyed. Turlough had a huge reverence for her work as Brehon and would not have interrupted unless it were something of importance.

  ‘Just thought of something.’ His whisper in her ear was loud and would probably carry. However, there was nobody on the stairs so she did not interrupt him, just nodded for him to continue.

  ‘You remember the body?’ He waited for her nod before going on.

  ‘Yes, I do vaguely recollect a body,’ she felt like saying.

  ‘Well, I’d say that it was a citóg stuck the knife into him.’

  ‘What! A left-handed person.’ All her impatience vanished, but then she was sceptical. ‘How on earth could you tell? You only just looked at him and then the knife fell out.’

  ‘I’m sure though.’ Turlough was finding the whispering too tedious and had reverted to his normal, battlefield tones. ‘Been looking at wounds since I was Cormac’s age.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mara. She heaved a sigh. ‘You’re going to tell me now that Maccon is right-handed.’

  ‘That’s it.’ Turlough beamed at her with such pride in her cleverness that she tried to shake off her annoyance.

  ‘Can you tell me if any one of the guests is left-handed,’ she said wearily.

  ‘Just Raour – but of course he had nothing to do with the matter. The boy hardly knew Brehon MacClancy. I’d say that he hardly exchanged more than three sentences with him,’ said Raour’s grandfather with a touching faith which Mara felt unable to disturb at this stage. She hoped, sincerely, that Turlough would not have to know about his grandson’s treachery – probably more a boy’s vanity and a manipulation of him by those in charge of Henry VIII’s household, she thought. If it turned out that Raour had nothing to do with the murder of Brehon MacClancy, who had noted the evidence of his title, then she would have a private word with Raour, she decided. Probably he might now be regretting matters and could be easily persuaded to give up this empty title and to adhere to his grandfather’s belief in Gaelic Ireland.

  So Raour is the only left-handed member among the guests at the Christmas supper, she thought, as she nodded to Turlough and turned to go back to questioning Maccon MacMahon as to why he thought fit to disregard her command and leave the castle when he had been told that he should stay.

  Though she thought that she had kept her face bland and expressionless, she was aware during the rest of the interview that he was subtly conscious of the change in her. His denials of any motive other than to deal with private business grew louder and more assertive – almost, she thought, as if panic at not being allowed to go had possessed him. She wondered why he was making such a huge fuss about the matter. Why should it be so important that he leave the castle on this very day?

  ‘Rest assured that nothing you say will influence me to permit you to leave before I give the word,’ she said with emphasis as she concluded her interrogation. She had almost said before I have solved this murder but it had come into her mind suddenly that this was a murder enquiry that might fail. Raour was the only left-handed person among the guests. and yet everyone had placed him as dancing in the lights in front of the pipe players. She herself had noticed him there and had smiled to herself. Heavy th
ough he was, Raour was a talented dancer and was making certain that all would admire him. He had not strayed from the top of the room, beside the table on the dais for the whole evening. It did not seem possible that every single one of the guests, including Mara herself, would have overlooked a move to the bottom of the room where he would no longer be centre of attention and under his grandfather’s eyes.

  And then she suddenly thought back into the past and her heart plummeted.

  Enda had come to her at the age of eight – older than most of her pupils, but the very talented, very intelligent son of a farmer. She had straight-away noticed the left-handedness and had challenged him to overcome that difficulty and to acquire a script as neat and as legible as that of his right-handed companions. She had made no attempt to get him to use his right hand. He had been taught by the monks at Murrisk Abbey, who had attempted this and then had given up the struggle. She guessed that they had found it best to let him go his own way and to write left-handed. He was a determined boy and had risen to her challenge and soon become one of the brightest and most advanced scholars in her school.

  It will break my heart if he has done this stupid thing, she thought.

  Eleven

  Cáin Adomnán

  (The Law of Adomnán)

  An offence against a woman is a more serious matter than an offence against a man of the same honour price. In the case of murder the culprit may, according to Church law, have a hand removed as well as paying the honour price of the woman, or that of her husband if she is without occupation. The normal eraic is also payable.