A Secret and Unlawful Killing

by Cora Harrison

  ‘And did you see anything down there in the water, Brehon?’ asked Aidan.

  ‘I think,’ said Mara, ‘that there is a knife down there.’

  ‘A knife!’ breathed Moylan.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Shane. ‘I’ll be the best. I’m the smallest. I’ll fit under the mill the easiest.’

  In an instant, he had kicked off his sandals, torn his léine over his head and was under the mill before Mara could protest.

  ‘Be careful,’ she called. She knew that he was neat and supple, and too clever to take unnecessary risks; nevertheless, it was a long minute before he crawled back out from under the wood. In his hand he held a knife.

  ‘Dry yourself with one of those sacks before you put your léine back on,’ she said, but her eyes were on the knife.

  It was a long knife, a hunting knife, very finely made with a silver handle and a long blade, finely tapered to a point. The blade was not what she looked at, though. There would be nothing to see on the blade if it had spent a week in the turbulent waters of the mill race. She held the blade in her hand and studied the handle. It was made from silver and in its centre, surrounded by an oval line of small jewels, was a medallion made from dark blue lapis lazuli and set within the blue were three small lions carved from rubies. It was the crest of Brian Boru, the three lions. Only one of the derbhfine could have owned this knife. Her mind went immediately to that other knife, now safely locked away in the big press in the schoolhouse. That also bore the crest of Brian Boru, but it was not as fine as this one.

  ‘Brehon!’ Fachtnan came up the steep slope with long easy strides, and gave a quick, surprised glance at Shane pulling a léine over his bare torso on an October afternoon. ‘Malachy and Nuala are going home now. Malachy says that there is nothing more that he can do for Niall. Just rest and warmth now and he may recover. Malachy wants to know if you need to see him.’

  ‘No,’ said Mara thoughtfully. She saw his eyes go to the knife and knew that he had recognized it as an O’Brien derbhfine knife. His dark bushy brows knitted in a puzzled frown. He would know the crest. After all, he and young Donal were friends and had often gone hunting together. She said no more, just watched him and saw that his lips paled and then set in an expression of firm resolution.

  ‘The knife was under the mill; I got it out,’ said Shane.

  ‘It probably slipped through the floorboards,’ said Hugh.

  ‘That was why Niall was injured,’ said Enda. ‘At least, that is a possible hypothesis,’ he added in a learned way.

  Fachtnan said nothing. He continued to gaze at the knife, and then looked at Mara. There was a question in his eyes and she nodded gently.

  ‘Yes, get your horse, Fachtnan, you can ride on ahead with Malachy and Nuala, we’ll follow very soon. I just want Aidan and Moylan to show me something first. Don’t hurry back, Fachtnan. As long as you are back in the law school for supper that will be time enough.’ At least, Nuala would have someone to go over the events of the past few hours and to share in her relief and triumph.

  ‘Is it the sheepskins, Brehon?’ asked Aidan eagerly as Fachtnan clattered away down the stony lane. ‘They’re over here in the old abbot’s house. Come on and I’ll show you.’

  ‘Do you think that Niall was waiting there, looking out for the murderer?’

  ‘Lying in wait sounds better, Hugh,’ said Shane judicially.

  ‘Yes, lying in wait,’ agreed Hugh. ‘But who is the murderer, Brehon? Do you know?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mara heavily, drying the knife and placing it in her pouch. ‘I’m afraid I do know now who the murderer was.

  EIGHTEEN

  CÓIC CONARA FUGILL (THE FIVE PATHS OF JUDGEMENT)

  There are five paths along which a case must be pursued:

  1. fír, truth

  2. dliged, entitlement

  3. cert, justice

  4. téchtae, propriety

  5. coir n-athchomairc, proper enquiry

  MARA, BUSY WITH HER THOUGHTS, rode slowly back down the road from Oughtmama, then up towards Carron and across the valley to Caherconnell and then to Cahermacnaghten. She took little notice of her scholars on the journey. It was, perhaps, regrettable that Enda had opened a sweepstake on the possible murderer and was briskly giving odds on the suspects. However, Mara normally operated a policy of tolerance towards the boys unless the occasion was serious and, in any case, she had plenty to think about.

  At that moment, her thoughts were on Fachtnan, rather than on Enda. He had been with her since his fifth year. She remembered him well at that age: a small, squarely built boy with a mop of dark hair, wide eyes and a warm smile. Even at the most turbulent stages of adolescence, he had never given her any trouble and her only anxiety was about the slow progress of his studies. There was a time when she wondered whether she should suggest to his parents that they take him away and let him be a farmer like his brothers, but something always held her back. It was his judgement, she thought. Even as a child he always made the right decision. Yes, she could rely on him now. This matter would be conducted correctly.

  The sun was beginning to set by the time that they arrived back at Cahermacnaghten. The sky above the Aran Islands was streaked with red, gold and dark blue and the ash tree outside the law school cast a long black shadow across the road.

  ‘Have a game of hurling while Brigid is getting your supper,’ she said to her exuberant boys when they reached the law school. ‘Thanks, Cumhal,’ she added, as she slid down and handed the reins to him. She walked across to the kitchen house.

  ‘You’ll find the lads as hungry as wolves, Brigid,’ she said, as she went in. ‘They had a great ride and they are all very pleased with themselves. I must say that they were quite a help to me today.’ She told Brigid all about Niall and about Maol.

  ‘Do that Maol good to do something for someone else for once,’ sniffed Brigid. ‘What about your own supper, Brehon?’

  ‘Just give me a platter of oat rolls and some buttermilk,’ said Mara. ‘I have some work to do in the schoolhouse. I’ll eat in there. You might add some honey cakes, as well. Fachtnan will probably join me there and you know how he eats!’

  In the end, she went off with a whole basket of food, some drinking cups and some ale and left Brigid open-mouthed with surprise. She knew how much Mara disliked ale and yet she had taken a large flagon as well as the buttermilk.

  The red light from the sunset was slanting in through the window of the schoolhouse, lighting up the white wall opposite. Mara placed the basket of food and the flagons in a cool spot near the doorway and sat down with a leaf of new vellum in front of her. She wrote steadily for some time, putting her thoughts into words, outlining her reasons. As she read it through, the weight of proof seemed to her overwhelming. She hoped that the king would be convinced by it. There could be no ignoring these murders, no hushing them up for the sake of a clan. The people of the Burren would have to know the truth and the fine would have to be paid. From time to time she lifted her head and listened, but she could hear nothing except the shouts of the scholars and the whack of the stick against the hurley ball. After a while Brigid called them in for supper and then everything was very quiet.

  There were three of them when they came. Mara heard the gentle clip clop of the horses’ feet on the stone flags and then the murmur of voices, two deep-toned, and one light and feminine. She went to the door.

  ‘Come in here when you’ve seen to the horses, Fachtnan,’ she said quietly. She did not wait for a reply, but went back inside leaving the door open. First she went to the wooden press and took the knife from the back of its top shelf and placed it on her desk. Then she sat down and took up the leaf of vellum again. She read through carefully what she had written.

  Mara, Brehon of the Burren to Turlough Donn, King of Thomond, Corcomroe and Burren.

  Here are the results of my investigations into the two cases of secret and unlawful killing which occurred here in your kingdom of the Burren.

 
The murder of Ragnall MacNamara took place at Noughaval churchyard around sunset on Michaelmas Day in the Year of Our Lord 1509. I believe that …

  ‘Brehon,’ said Fachtnan, putting his head in through the door, ‘Donal O’Brien would like to have a word with you.’

  ‘Come in, Fachtnan,’ she said cordially, rolling up the sheet of vellum and tying it with a strip of pink linen tape. ‘Come in, Donal. Maeve, come and sit by the fire. You look cold.’

  Indeed, the girl was shivering, her heart-shaped face blanched, her blue eyes enormous.

  Mara heaped some more sods of turf onto the fire, then took one of the wooden cups, poured into it a little mead from a flask in the press and held it to Maeve’s lips. She drank obediently, but her eyes never moved from the knife on the desk and they were wide with fascinated horror.

  ‘Pour yourself and Donal some ale, Fachtnan,’ she said. ‘Yes, do eat a honey cake, Maeve. The sweetness will make you feel better.’

  Mara busied herself hospitably for several minutes. Donal made a few attempts to speak, but she kept pressing more oat rolls and honey cakes on him and, in the end, it was Fachtnan who spoke first. His eyes, also, had been attracted to the knife, but he showed no surprise and no unease.

  ‘I hope you don’t feel that I have done wrong, Brehon, or betrayed your trust in any way, but I went to see Donal this afternoon, just after taking leave of Nuala and her father.’

  Mara turned an enquiring glance at him and then at Donal, who stood up, crossed over to the fireplace and knelt on the floor beside Maeve. The adoration on his face brought a lump to Mara’s throat. She looked back at Fachtnan.

  ‘I told Donal that if he had anything to do with these murders that he should come and tell you, and that was all that I said to him,’ continued Fachtnan bravely. His eyes, again, rested on the knife with its revealing derbhfine crest, but then turned back to Mara with an expression of confidence.

  ‘Good advice,’ said Mara mildly. Now everyone in the little room was looking at the knife. It was a long moment before Donal spoke.

  ‘What do you want to know?’ he asked, looking very directly at Mara.

  She looked back at him. ‘Just the truth,’ she said firmly. ‘No holding back of anything and no altering of any facts; just tell me exactly what happened at Michaelmas.’

  Donal put Maeve’s small hand to his lips for an instant, more like one who clears his mind than one who gives a caress, and then he spoke.

  ‘I did kill Ragnall,’ he said slowly. ‘I didn’t mean to. He … he insulted me. He said I wasn’t good enough for Maeve.’

  Mara said nothing. He gave her an enquiring, slightly bewildered look, but then seemed impelled to fill the silence.

  ‘I told him that he should think of his daughter’s happiness and he said her happiness wasn’t worth a stone to him, so I killed him,’ he finished defensively.

  Again Mara said nothing. She watched him carefully. He met her eyes defiantly. Maeve buried her face in his shoulder and he put a comforting arm around her tiny waist.

  ‘I am willing to acknowledge my crime and I will talk to my father tonight; I will tell him the whole truth. The fine will be paid in full to … to Ragnall’s daughter.’ He gave a small tender smile, but Maeve did not respond. She had lifted her head from his shoulder by now, but her violet-coloured eyes were still full of terror.

  ‘So you will tell your father the truth,’ said Mara thoughtfully. She allowed him to relax for a moment, before adding quickly: ‘What about telling me the truth, first?’

  Fachtnan turned to look at her and then turned his gaze back on Donal. His dark eyes were reproachful, and young O’Brien looked away.

  ‘Let’s start at the beginning,’ said Mara encouragingly. ‘I always find that is best, myself. Start at Michaelmas Eve. You were there in the alehouse. Aengus and Ragnall started arguing. It developed into a fight. Liam, the O’Lochlainn steward, told me all about it. You took Ragnall’s part and when Aengus, eventually, left the alehouse, you followed him. Tell your story from there.’

  ‘I went to see Maeve, I told you,’ said Donal sulkily.

  Mara shook her head. ‘You told me, but it wasn’t the truth,’ she said firmly. ‘You went right up to Oughtmama that night. Don’t deny it. There was a witness. Maol saw you.

  Donal stared back at her. He was young for his age, thought Mara. In some ways, he reminded her of Enda when he was fifteen. He had that mixture of truculence, offended dignity and at the same time a lack of confidence. She gazed at him in a friendly fashion, inviting him to trust her.

  Suddenly Maeve raised her head and turned a tear-stained face towards the young man.

  ‘You’ll have to tell her everything, Donal,’ she said. ‘This thing is not going to disappear. We must face it.’

  Mara beamed. ‘That is the most sensible thing that I have heard here today. You have to tell me the whole truth and then we can decide what to do. Tell me about Aengus.’

  Donal sighed, looking first at Fachtnan and then at Maeve. Both looked encouraging: it was obvious that Fachtnan, as well as Maeve, now knew the truth.

  ‘I followed Aengus home from the alehouse,’ said Donal. Now he was speaking quickly. ‘I was drunk and he had sneered at me so I got on my horse. I thought I would catch up with him in a few minutes but my horse threw a shoe just next to Fintan’s forge. Balor was there and he did the job for me, but by that time Aengus was well out of sight. I was still boiling over and I … I was …’

  ‘Tired of being treated like a child,’ suggested Maeve.

  He took this up eagerly. Obviously it was a phrase that he had used frequently to her. ‘Yes, that was it. I decided to follow him. There was a full moon and it didn’t take me too long. I could hear him in the mill pulling sacks around. I burst in on him, gave him a fright, poor old fellow.’ He gave a shamefaced grin and then his expression grew serious.

  ‘It’s terrible to think that he is dead, that they are both dead,’ he said, looking at Mara, his dark eyes full of remorse.

  ‘And what happened then?’

  ‘Well, he grabbed me by the mantle and knocked me off balance. I fell on the floor with a thump and my mantle was torn off …’ Now he had lost his reluctance and words poured out of him. From time to time he looked at Maeve and she gave him an encouraging nod.

  ‘So that was it,’ Mara said when he had finished telling her the whole story. ‘I guessed that. Your brooch was torn off when the mantle was pulled from your shoulders.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, taken aback. ‘So you found it at Oughtmama? I thought you said that you found it at Noughaval churchyard.’

  ‘I did,’ she said gravely. ‘Now tell me what really happened in Noughaval churchyard on Michaelmas Day. Why did you strike Ragnall? Not for a few hard words. You had heard plenty of them from him before.’

  He flushed a dark red. ‘I was frightened,’ he said abruptly, with a sort of fierce honesty. ‘I had spent the day feeling terrified. I thought everyone who looked at me could see what happened up there at Oughtmama. When Ragnall came to the fair, I forced myself to follow him. He seemed just as usual so I reckoned that he knew nothing. I thought I would talk to him. I followed him into the churchyard. I just chatted for a minute and then I said something about the flour in the cart and still he said nothing, so I was pretty sure that he hadn’t seen me that time up at Oughtmama. I thought that I was safe.’

  Donal would be like that, thought Mara. He would immediately blot out any unpleasant facts and hope, vaguely, that they would never resurface. As she thought, he was young for his age. Almost as young, in some ways, as her small grandson in Galway. Little Domhnall was always certain that no one could see him as long as he hid his eyes and this Donal seemed to share the same optimistic view of life. She could just imagine how he had persuaded himself that no one would ever guess what had happened up there in the mill house of Oughtmama.

  ‘So then I decided that I would ask him again about Maeve and whether we could get betrothed.
I thought that because I had taken his part against Aengus on Michaelmas Eve, that he would be more favourable to me. We spoke together. I told you the truth about what I said and what he said.’

  ‘But what happened then?’ asked Mara. ‘You didn’t lash out just because he said no, again.’

  Donal hesitated and then began to speak in a rush: ‘I was just turning to go away when he said, “I found something belonging to you.” And then he got down off his horse and put his hand into the satchel. And then he said in a gloating sort of voice, “I found it in the mill up at Oughtmama.” And of course, I immediately thought of my knife. I had missed it as soon as I went home, but I had hoped that it would not be found. I was terrified when he said that. I thought everything was finished for me. I felt that my family would be disgraced and that I would never be allowed to marry Maeve.’

  ‘So you killed him?’

  He nodded and then shook his head. ‘No … well, yes … well, I don’t know. I lifted my fist and I hit him on the head with it. I don’t think I really meant to kill him. I just got into a rage with him. I hit him in the same way that Aengus hit me with his stick.’

  ‘And your knife?’ queried Mara. ‘Did you take the knife from his pouch?’

  He frowned. ‘No, at that minute I saw Guaire O’Brien, the linen merchant, coming in through the gate. I slipped behind a tree and then managed to get out through the back gate when he wasn’t looking. I went straight down to Shesmore. Maeve saw how upset I was. In the end, I told her everything. I didn’t know that I had killed him then, but I thought it would be the end of everything for us. I thought that he would never forgive me for knocking him out. I was furious with myself for losing my temper like that.’

  ‘And when did you find out that he was dead?’ asked Mara.