A Secret and Unlawful Killing

by Cora Harrison

  The pace was exhilarating; she always loved the west wind; loved to feel the salt on her lips, and the strong rush of wind blowing through her coiled and braided hair seemed to clear her mind. She would take each case separately and solve each one and then she would see what the connection was, she resolved.

  ‘Motive and opportunity,’ she said aloud to a startled pine marten emerging from a slot in the stone wall, carrying a large rat in its mouth. She wished it well as it darted back into the shelter of the wall. She hated rats and the pine marten was very beautiful with its cat-like face and its enormous bushy tail. Winter was coming on and the wild creatures of the Burren would soon face their annual struggle for survival.

  The storm was getting worse. The sky to the west had turned to the blue-black colour of the sloes on the blackthorn bushes on either side of the small lane. Now she half regretted not seeking hospitality at Caherconnell. A brilliant spiked line of lightning flared up ahead of her and for the first time the mare slowed her pace. Two minutes later thunder rolled its solemn drumbeat. The rain began to fall in great sheets of water, blowing directly into their faces and hissing on the slate-black clints in the fields. The mare put back her ears.

  ‘Easy now, girl, easy,’ murmured Mara. To her left was the tall, grey, crenellated outline of Lissylisheen tower house. Without hesitation she turned the mare’s head towards the gleam of light coming from the courtyard. Instantly a man emerged from the stables, a slit sack covering his head from the worst of the rain. Another man raced towards the heavy front door and hammered on it. It was opened in a second; the first man took her horse and Mara ran towards the hospitable door. A minute later she was inside.

  ‘Brehon, you’re very welcome! Come in. Come in. Are you wet?’ Ardal came clattering down the stairs.

  ‘Hardly a drop,’ said Mara, slipping off her brat and shaking a few raindrops from the tightly curled outer surface. ‘This faithful companion of mine has kept the rain off me for nearly twenty years now.’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe it, but I sell quite a few of these to England,’ said Ardal, taking it from her. ‘Irish mantles, they call them there. They fetch a good price. I find it’s a great use of the wool and, of course, I have about a couple of thousand sheep these days grazing up on the Gortclare Mountains, up above Oughtmama.’ He carried her brat into the guardroom and hung it carefully near the fire. ‘Come upstairs. You’ll have some supper? Liam is here. We were talking of you a few minutes ago, and wondering how you were getting on.’

  Liam was standing at the window gazing out at the storm when Mara entered the hall. It was a smaller room than the one in Carron, but much cosier, she thought, with a large fireplace now filled with burning logs of scented pine. The table was black with age, but gleaming with polish, each point of candlelight reflected in its glistening surface. The walls were plastered and newly limewashed and a couple of large wolfhounds dozed by the fire.

  ‘You are well, Brehon?’ asked Liam, his voice as resonant of good living and fine drinking as was his large comfortably covered frame. ‘We saw you turn in as we were looking out. You just got here in time. Look at that storm now!’

  ‘I hear I’m just in time for supper,’ said Mara joining him and looking out at the pewter sky streaked with silver. Once again the jagged lightning zig-zagged down. They waited in silence and then eventually came the explosion of the distant clap of thunder.

  ‘It’s moving away,’ said Liam. ‘That’ll be over in a couple of hours.’

  ‘Have a cup of wine, Brehon,’ said Ardal hospitably. ‘You’ll enjoy this. It’s a good wine. I bought it from your own son-in-law, Sorcha’s husband, in Galway. You sit by the fire here and Liam will entertain you while I go and make sure that they have a good supper to put before you.’

  Mara took the proffered cup and settled down on a cushioned chair by the roaring fire. Liam came and lowered his massive form into the seat opposite. They were on good terms, the O’ochlainn and his steward. Liam had the air of being very much at home here within the walls of Lissylisheen tower house. He turned his beaming smile on her and threw a few more logs onto the fire.

  ‘You’re out in bad weather,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve been up to Carron to see the MacNamara,’ she said, sipping the wine. Yes, it was a good wine, rich with the fruity taste of the Rhône valley wines.

  ‘Didn’t get supper there, I warrant,’ said Liam with a knowing chuckle.

  Mara smiled, drank some more wine, but did not comment. She had been Brehon long enough to realize that her lightest word was wafted immediately through the whole kingdom of the Burren and that the greatest significance was placed on her utterances. Only with Turlough would she allow herself to joke about Garrett MacNamara and his wife.

  ‘We have a good roast saddle of lamb for you, Brehon,’ said Ardal coming back in, followed by a manservant who laid the trenchers on the table and placed a sharply pointed eating knife beside each place. Another servant bearing a flagon of wine followed him and together they went to and fro, spreading the table with bowls of rosy red apples and baskets of crusty small loaves of bread.

  ‘Lovely,’ said Mara happily. Normally she preferred beef, but the O’ochlainn lamb, fed on mountain herbs, was always tasty and her ride through the storm had given her an appetite. She sniffed appreciatively as the large joint was carried in.

  ‘Sit here, Brehon,’ said Ardal, pulling out a chair and carefully placing a soft, velvet cushion on it. He poured some more wine into her cup and then took up a long sharp knife and began to cut well-shaped slices from the meat.

  ‘We were talking about old Ragnall,’ said Liam taking the left-hand side of his host and handing bread across to her. ‘I was just saying to the O’Lochlainn that it seems amazing that he is dead. I can see him there at the fair, sitting on that horse of his, waiting for the clan to pay the tribute. Any news yet of his killer?’

  ‘Not yet,’ began Mara and then she stopped. She stopped partly because the servants were bringing in small jugs of creamy garlic sauce and more iron dishes piled high with turnips, and roasted apples, but also because something had struck her about Liam’s words. She chewed a piece of tender sweet-tasting lamb and swallowed some wine before she identified the full significance of what he said.

  Yes, of course, Ragnall’s horse, where was that horse? Now she could remember the scene clearly. Niall had his own horse to pull the cart. When they arrived at Noughaval Fair, Niall had unhitched his horse and taken it back with him to his own farm, no doubt so that the animal could be fed and watered and rested after his strenuous morning. But Ragnall had stayed, mounted on a horse, a white horse with a wall eye, Mara remembered.

  ‘What happened to the horse?’ she asked, looking keenly at Liam.

  He was taken aback: she could see that.

  ‘I wouldn’t know, Brehon,’ he said staring at her blankly. ‘What did happen? Has no one found it?’

  ‘Not that I have heard,’ said Mara. She watched them both. This had surprised them.

  ‘Did he take it into the churchyard with him?’ asked Ardal, holding a piece of lamb on the end of his knife. Liam finished chewing his before he replied.

  ‘Do you know, I think that he did,’ he said in the end. ‘If I remember rightly, he just rode in there through the gates.’

  ‘Seems strange to take his horse in,’ remarked Ardal. He seemed about to say more, but then hesitated.

  ‘My young lads think that he probably went in there to urinate,’ said Mara blandly.

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Ardal, looking slightly embarrassed.

  ‘You’d’ve thought he would have got some youngster to hold his horse for him,’ remarked Liam, ladling a few more slices of lamb onto his trencher.

  ‘He had a nasty temper that horse,’ said Ardal. ‘I remember someone offered me a foal with that breeding and I refused it. It may have been that Ragnall was not able to leave it with a boy in case it bit him. I wonder that we haven’t heard about it though. My land str
etches all around Noughaval. I would have been told if anyone found a horse straying.’

  Mara swallowed some of her wine and shook her head to the offer of turnips. The affair of the horse would have to be solved but in the meantime she might as well glean as much information as possible.

  ‘Of course, he may have gone in there to meet someone, to talk to someone,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘You said you saw him talk with Donal O’Brien, Liam.’

  ‘Yes, but Ragnall was the one that went into the churchyard first and then young Donal O’Brien followed him in,’ said Liam.

  A question hovered on Mara’s lips about the linen merchant but she decided not to ask it for the moment. After Slaney’s talk of a blood feud she had no desire to start any speculation that it might have been Guaire O’brien who killed the MacNamara steward. She turned to Ardal.

  ‘So you’re running two thousand sheep on the Gortclare Mountain, are you, Ardal?’ she asked, picking a fresh apple from the bowl and munching it appreciatively.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, looking at her keenly, ‘on my land above Oughtmama.’

  This was the second time that he had mentioned Oughtmama so she was not surprised when he added hesitantly, ‘I suppose the MacNamara said nothing more to you about selling the mill to me.’

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ said Mara dryly. ‘I don’t know yet that it is his to sell. Niall declares that Aengus was his father and that he was acknowledged as the miller’s son. As you know, I am going to try the case on Saturday at Poulnabrone.’

  ‘We were just talking about this before you came, Brehon,’ said Liam with an encouraging look at his taoiseach.

  ‘You see, Brehon,’ said Ardal tentatively, ‘I was wondering whether, if it is shown that Niall was the son of Aengus and if he does inherit the mill, then …’ He stopped for a moment and then finished. ‘Well, Liam here suggested that I might be able to buy the mill from Niall. I’ve set my heart on having that mill now and I wouldn’t care what it cost me.’

  ‘I’m not sure about whether you could do that,’ said Mara cautiously. ‘The situation is complicated. I’ve been looking into the year books from a while back and it looks as if the mill was clan property at one stage and then the taoiseach, that would have been some sort of a cousin of Garrett’s grandfather, sold it to the father or grandfather of Aengus.’

  ‘So it definitely belonged to Aengus,’ remarked Liam triumphantly. He put down his knife and leaned across the table.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mara slowly. ‘It belonged to Aengus, and to his father before him, but the circumstances are slightly complicated. There was a banna on the property.’

  ‘But tribute was paid,’ said Ardal eagerly. His blue eyes sparkled. He loved the law. The more intricate a matter was, the more it interested him.

  ‘Yes, tribute was paid. It had to be paid every Michaelmas – the amount was not specified. The phrase used was “fair tribute”. That’s in a lot of old leases. This is where the tribute is different from the English law about taxes. English taxes always specify the amount to be paid. But to go back to the mill … After tribute, all revenues from the mill were to belong to the miller, but the banna specified that the mill was to be used for the good of the clan and the clan was to have preferential use of it.’

  ‘I see,’ said Ardal. He looked somewhat downcast. Obviously the idea of owning the mill had gripped him. She could just imagine, looking around the neat, well-cared-for room and remembering the carefully groomed O’Lochlainn land and livestock, that Ardal would have made a great success of the mill at Oughtmama.

  ‘So the mill would be no good to us even if Niall was willing to sell, is that what you’re saying, Brehon?’ asked Liam. She was surprised to notice how frustrated he looked.

  ‘I was just thinking that if the MacNamara himself offered you the mill then you could perhaps claim that he had given up the banna on the property,’ said Mara thoughtfully. ‘It’s a complicated legal problem, though. I would certainly have to consult King Turlough Donn on this matter.’

  ‘But you think it might be possible, Brehon,’ pressed Liam. ‘I’m sure that the king would abide by your advice.’

  I’m sure he would, thought Mara, but her policy was always to defer to the king’s judgement in public. It was a ploy that she found very useful in order to postpone a decision.

  ‘Well, we’ll have to see,’ she said vaguely, draining her cup and sitting back in her chair. ‘Of course, you don’t know whether Niall would be willing to sell to you, or not, so I suggest that you wait until after the judgement at Poulnabrone on Saturday. King Turlough himself may attend.’

  ‘I would say that Niall would sell,’ said Ardal thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think that he was ever too interested in the mill. That was probably why Aengus bought the farm for him. He’s a good man with the cows, Niall. Mind you, I’d say Aengus was not an easy man to work for. Poor Balor was willing, but Aengus terrified the lad out of the few wits that he has.’

  ‘Why don’t you build a mill for yourself?’ queried Mara. ‘Why does it have to be the MacNamara mill? I can imagine there would be a lot of trouble about that. It has been in MacNamara hands since time immemorial.’

  ‘There’s no suitable river on O’Lochlainn land,’ said Ardal. ‘All those streams up in the mountains are just trickles. It’s only by combining them that enough flow is got to work the mill. Running water is valuable around here. You know what this place is like: plenty of rain, but no rivers.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mara. ‘I hadn’t thought about that. You’re right, of course.’ The O’Lochlainn clan owned most of the land in the kingdom, but the Burren limestone seemed to swallow up the water and hold it underground. There was only one river in the kingdom that would have sufficient flow to turn a water wheel and that was in the hands of the MacNamaras.

  ‘We could perhaps have a word with Niall before Saturday,’ suggested Liam. ‘Would you be agreeable to that, Brehon? We’ve always been on good terms with Niall. We lend him a neighbouring hand from time to time.’

  ‘I think it would be best not,’ said Mara decidedly. ‘If you are going to give evidence of belief in Niall’s paternity, Ardal, then it would look as if Niall might have bribed you by offering to let you purchase the mill. Surely it can wait until after Saturday?’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ said Ardal hurriedly. He was a very courteous, sensitive man and Mara could see now how he was hunting in his mind for a subject of conversation that would close the matter of the mill. ‘It was a good day at the Michaelmas Fair, Brehon, wasn’t it? Did you see much of it?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ said Mara. ‘It turned into a lovely afternoon, didn’t it?’ Ardal had given her the opportunity to slip in the question that she wanted to ask Liam so she turned a smiling face towards him, saying, ‘I suppose the fair went on well into the evening?’

  ‘Yes, after the foggy start it turned into a lovely day, thank God,’ he replied. ‘I don’t think a single one of the merchants packed up until nearly sundown and even then most of them carried on with the craic in the alehouse.’

  ‘Even Guaire O’Brien, the linen merchant?’ she queried with a light laugh. ‘I would have thought he would have gone straight home after Áine and a few other women had dealt with him.’

  ‘No, no, he stayed to the end of the fair. I don’t suppose he did much business, though, once he had cut the right lengths for everyone. No, I saw him go at sundown.’

  ‘So he didn’t have a chat with Ragnall in the churchyard, did he?’ asked Mara.

  ‘No,’ said Liam slowly. The gleam in his eye showed that he understood her question, but he repeated, ‘No, Ragnall went into the churchyard on his horse a good half hour before Guaire packed his linen up. I remember seeing the cart unattended for quite a while. I kept expecting to see Niall come along any minute with his own horse to pull the cart away.’

  ‘And Niall came as Guaire was leaving?’

  ‘A bit after, I’d say. Guaire was one of the first to pack
up. I didn’t actually watch him go myself, I was too busy organizing our own men to get the O’Lochlainn tribute properly stowed onto the carts. Then, as I said, we all went into the alehouse. Rory, the bard, had a new song, and Roderic was there with his horn, and, all in all, we made a great night of it.’

  ‘Another cup of wine, Brehon?’ asked Ardal hospitably.

  ‘I won’t, thank you,’ said Mara. She got up and walked over to the window. The two men joined her. The rain had ceased.

  ‘You can see I was right,’ said Liam. ‘You find that at this time of the year. The storms just blow in from the Aran Islands and then they blow themselves out.’

  ‘Liam is a great man for the weather,’ said Ardal, smiling appreciatively at his steward. ‘You can always get a forecast from him. We never start the haymaking until he gives the word.’

  ‘I think I should get back now, Ardal,’ said Mara. ‘I need to prepare some work for my scholars; I have a busy day ahead of me tomorrow.’

  I must go to Shesmore first thing tomorrow morning, she thought as Liam clattered down the stairs to order her horse to be brought round. Her mind went back to the picture that Liam had drawn of Ragnall, still mounted on his white horse, going into the churchyard. What had made him get off his horse? And what had happened to the horse afterwards?

  ‘Thank you, Ardal,’ she said aloud. ‘That was a lovely meal and it’s always a pleasure to be in your company.’

  ‘The pleasure is all mine, Brehon,’ he said with his usual grave politeness, but his face did not look too happy as he accompanied her down the stairs and helped her onto her horse. Liam joined him. The last view she had of them, as she looked back before turning into the Cahermacnaghten road, they were both still there on the doorstep, both still staring solemnly after her.

  Once out of sight of the two of them, Mara slowed her mare to a steady walk. She needed time to think. Obviously this business with the mill was of great importance to Ardal. He was that sort of man. He had set his mind on something; he had planned out his whole course of action; he had calculated the expenditure of time, energy and resources; he had decided that it was worth doing.