A MASS FOR THE DEAD
Page 21
“Here,” said the seneschal, pointing with his staff to a seat between the Beaton and his daughter. “Your place is here, this evening.”
I sat down, feeling suddenly shy. Mariota looked a bit the worse for her ordeal, her eyes had a shadowed look to them that I longed to ease, but I fancied they brightened and relaxed when she saw me. She was dressed in a fine blue gown that brought out the color of her eyes, while the high neck of it hid the bruises on her throat. Her hair fell loose down her back like a river of white gold. Her father stood and embraced me, before we all sat down again at the feast.
“And so you have returned my treasure to me,” Fearchar said. “I must be thanking you for it. And,” he added, looking sidewise at his daughter, “I am thinking she herself will be wanting to thank you in person.”
I nodded, in what I hoped was a matter of fact way. For what of her betrothal to the MacNeill? Although, from what His Lordship had said yesterday, she had broken it off, it irked me that Mariota herself had not once mentioned it to me. But we did not speak of this, and commenced eating the good venison, frumenty, manchet bread, and fresh cheeses, all washed down with mead and His Lordship’s claret. In addition there was salmon, and a fine blancmange, along with numerous other dishes.
Mariota was uncharacteristically silent, and I spoke more with her father. He professed himself curious to hear how the sad affair on the Oa had ended, although, for myself, I could not believe that Mariota had not told him of it.
“She was asleep most of the day, Muirteach. I gave her some poppy juice, and she slept until just a short time ago, when she awoke. There was no stopping her then, but she must change and come down to the feast.”
“And why was that?” I asked Mariota, who was delicately reaching for some salmon at the time.
“There was someone I was needing to see,” she answered, her eyes downcast.
I looked curiously around the hall, thinking to see her mysterious MacNeill, but I could not be sure who he might be.
“And who was that?” I asked her. “Your MacNeill, then?”
She looked at me, laughed and rolled her eyes a little, like the old Mariota, and it was good to me to see her face lighten and to hear that sound. “Och, no, Muirteach. You were hearing of it from your cousin, were you not?”
I nodded.
“Well, she is not knowing all of it. We were never betrothed, at all. It was just thought we might become so.” She blushed, then added, “Or well, we almost were, but I put an end to it.”
I felt confused, for that was not exactly what I had heard from His Lordship, when he had spoken of it that day before.
The moment felt awkward, and to avoid further conversation I concentrated on eating my meat tile, nicely spiced as it was. I could swear I heard the Beaton chuckle softly, but then a fit of coughing seized him, so perhaps I was mistaken, as noisy as the hall was with the servants running here and there, bringing more food and drink, and seeing to the feasters.
The meal wound to a close, and the bard began to play. A new song it was, one I had not heard before. At first I did not listen too closely, but suddenly Mariota nudged me with her elbow, hard, and whispered “Muirteach, it is yourself that they are singing of.”
Dogged as the black hound, that does not loose the scent of his prey.
To revenge his own father he followed the crazed one,
Through the wild jaws of the old hag herself, and even onto the precipice.
Where evil found its own swift path to the justice of Our Lord.
“I was not thinking that it was happening quite that way,” I muttered to the Beaton, sure that even my ears were crimson. Yet I felt some pride in the song the bard had written, and was glad when Mariota shook her head to disagree.
“It is a fine song Muirteach, indeed. And close enough it is to the way that things were happening. As I should know.”
The song ended, and His Lordship stood to silence the musicians and gain some quiet, which took some time in coming, as the hall was crowded. Then His Lordship spoke.
“You are all knowing of the thing that came to pass on the Oa, yesterday. And how the wicked murderer of the good and saintly Prior Crispinus met death at his own hands, after confessing his sin.”
I wondered at his description of my father as “good and saintly” but guessed that that was how most people would remember him. It was only a few of us that would know the truth of it all; it seemed His Lordship would make sure of that.
I took a sip of my wine, which tasted suddenly bitter, while His Lordship continued speaking.
“Word has been sent to the Priory, which I myself endowed these twenty years ago and more, that the evil man has been found, and is even now judged by the Heavenly Father himself and meeting Our Lord’s own punishment.”
A murmur of approval greeted this announcement.
“I think most of you are knowing,” he continued, after waiting for the noise to die down again, “that it is the Prior’s own son, and nephew to that MacPhee of Colonsay, our own much loved Gillespic, who was solving the murder and bringing the guilty one to justice. And so for this, I asked the bards to compose the song that you have just heard. Muirteach, come forward.”
I am not sure how it was that I got out of my chair and approached His Lordship, who was standing in his place at the center of the high table. But somehow it was that I walked there, feeling all the eyes of the company upon me as I did so.
“Muirteach, we are much pleased by your resolution of this. And for this we award you lands both on Colonsay and in the Rhinns here on Islay, some 10 merks of good farmland, with houses, and the cattle on them as well.”
I thanked him, and he continued, with much eloquence and lordly show.
“In exchange for this we ask only your continued faithful service to us.”
I assured him of my loyalty, and thought to return to my place, but His Lordship motioned me to stay and continued speaking.
“In addition to this, as a reward for his faithful service, I now make Muirteach our Keeper of the Records. So that he and his heirs to come will keep and hold the records of the doings of the Council of the Chiefs of the Isles, when we meet at Finlaggan, and the records of other matters as they shall come to pass.”
What could I do? Although I wondered somewhat cynically what these “other matters” might entail, I stammered my gratitude, knelt and swore again my loyalty to himself, and then somehow found my way back to my seat.
The Beaton smiled at me, and congratulated me, and I saw Mariota’s eyes beaming in the torchlight of the hall.
“Muirteach, that is aye wonderful!” Her nose wrinkled in that way she had that I liked to watch so. “Perhaps the thatch will not be leaking so badly in your new houses as it does in your old cottage.”
“And why should you be caring about that?”
She smiled, looking me in the eye. “Och, I am just not liking the thought of you and that great hound of yours dripping wet whenever it is raining.”
And with that admission I had to be content.
The End
Glossary
Amadan (fm. Amadain): (ah-mah-dan) fool
Bairn: (behrn) a child
Bìrlinn: (bur-leen) Scottish galley, varying in size from a few to many oars.
Brat: (brat) mantle
Cailleach: (cah-lyaCH) old hag, also the name of the whirlpool now known as the Corryvreckan
Dia: (jee-ah) God
Each Uisge: (eh-aCH oosh-kuh) water horse
Eilean: (ay-lan) island
Gille Mor: (gil-lyuh more) sword bearer
Iorram: (ir-ram) a rowing song
Léine: saffron shirt, made of linen
Luchd-tighe: (luCHk tye-uh) chief’s bodyguard
Mazer: drinking cup
Merk: a unit for measuring land
Mether: wooden square sided drinking cup
Mo cridhe: (mo CHree-yuh) my heart
Nabhaig: (nah-vak) a small boat
Nathrach: (nah-raCH) o
f a serpent
Quaich: (kwayCH) round saucer-like drinking cup
Sgian dubh: (skee-an doo) dagger
Sìthichean: (shee-ee-CHyun) the faerie
Uisgebeatha: (oosh-kuh beh-ah) whiskey (literally, the water of life)
Ùruisg: (oo-rooshk) goblin
Author’s Note
Gillespic, Crispinus, and John MacDonald, the Lord of the Isles actually existed. Their personalities and Crispinus’s various wives, children, and other activities are totally invented, as is Muirteach. The MacPhee clan was the hereditary “Keepers of the Records” for the Lords of the Isles, and, in part, this book came from my desire to tell the story of how this might have come about.
The rhymes and charms in this book were taken from the Carmina Gadelica, collected by Alexander Carmichael in the 1800s, except for the verse in the last chapter, which was invented. Readers wishing to know more about the Lordship of the Isles might enjoy reading The Lords of the Isles by Ronald Williams, which gives a good overview of this period in Scottish history.
About the Author
SUSAN MCDUFFIE has been a fan of all things Scottish, and a devotee of historical fiction, since her childhood. At times she used to wonder if she was mistakenly born in the wrong century, but her discovery that Clorox was not marketed prior to 1922 reconciled her to life in this era. She has visited Scotland several times and done extensive research for A MASS FOR THE DEAD, the first Muirteach MacPhee mystery. Susan has lived in New Mexico for the past twenty-nine years and shares her life with a Native American sculptor and four rambunctious cats. Susan loves to hear from readers and can be contacted via her website, www.SusanMcDuffie.net or through email at s.mcduffie@att.net
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Cast of Characters
Map of Colonsay and Oronsay
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Glossary
Author’s Note
About the Author