Laws in Conflict (24 page)

‘On a heavily laden cargo ship,’ said Fachtnan quietly. ‘Anthony Skerrett was telling me about his sailing boat and how fast it can go. I’m sure that even now a sailing boat could catch up with the Gomez ship.’

‘Yes, but,’ argued Shane, ‘it doesn’t really make sense for the captain to kill Carlos Gomez here in Galway. If he wanted to kill him, surely it would make more sense to wait until they were well out to sea, well on their way to Spain and then to push him overboard or something. The sailors would be under Alfonso’s command and he could easily make sure that there was no one else on deck at the time. Who’s to say that it wasn’t an accident?’

‘Well argued,’ said Mara with an approving nod. Shane had a lawyer’s mind, able to see both sides of a case. A minute ago, with Hugh, he had been making a case for the captain of the ship being responsible for the murder and now he had turned the matter on its head and shown that another interpretation was possible.

He looked pleased at her words, and then added, ‘By the way, Brehon, we met Setanta. He told us that he was staying another night; one of the fisherwomen had paid him to help her to take her stall down before the curfew bell and to help her to put it up again the following morning. He said to tell you it would be best to stay indoors after dark as he had heard that there was going to be trouble on the streets tonight. He said that there was a rumour—’ Shane shot a look at Hugh, and then finished quickly, ‘But you know all that, Brehon.’

‘That was kind of Setanta to send that message,’ said Mara. Setanta had said something else to them; she knew that from the looks that they were exchanging. Something was afoot and Setanta knew about it. As he supplied fish to the Galway market he had picked up quite a bit of English. Had he dropped a hint about something to the boys, something about the trouble that was forecast for tonight? And did Ardal O’Lochlainn know all about this also?

Still, whatever it was, Setanta was reliable and sensible and would not have involved her two young scholars in any dangerous activity, so Mara put the idea from her and began wondering whether James Lynch would compensate the fishermen and women for their losses. After all, if he took rent for the fish market stalls then he should be responsible for the damage. Again, that was not any of her business, so she went back to unravelling the mystery surrounding the death of Carlos Gomez.

‘And what about the Athy household?’ she asked, looking over at Moylan and Aidan. She would keep her information to herself for the moment and see what the boys had to say.

‘Big spender, Richard Athy,’ said Moylan succinctly. ‘House furnished with the best of everything. Got very splendid stables up near to The Green, too. They make Lawyer Bodkin’s stables look like hovels. They are good enough for people to live in. Not too many horses, there, though. He must be waiting for a new consignment from Spain, I reckon – that’s if he can afford to import them. We tried to have a chat with the stableman but he wouldn’t say anything – seemed in a really bad mood. Perhaps his wages had not been paid. He kept looking over towards the Great Gate as if he expected to see his master coming. But if he was waiting for Richard Athy, then he was disappointed. We walked back that way and didn’t see a sign of him.’

‘We thought we’d find out if he owed any money in the shops, so we did one of the shop boys in a furniture shop a favour by helping him to mend a window shutter,’ said Aidan. ‘He had a bruise on his cheekbone and when I asked him about it, he told us that Richard Athy did it to him. It seems that the Athy account was well overdue and the boy had been sent to ask for money. Richard Athy hit him in the face and told him not to be so cheeky.’

‘Coward,’ said Fiona scornfully. ‘Imagine picking on a boy. Why didn’t he go around and face up to the shopkeeper, himself?’

‘Had no money, I suppose,’ said Hugh.

‘People get angry sometimes because they are frightened,’ said Fachtnan. ‘Richard Athy had probably overspent and when he heard that Carlos Gomez, with the Gomez fortune to back him, was going to set up a horse importation business here in Galway city, well, that might have seemed to be the final blow to him.’

‘How did you get on with his boys, Brehon?’ asked Fachtnan.

‘And the dog,’ put in Fiona.

‘The dog wasn’t a problem,’ said Mara absent-mindedly as she turned over the problem of taking evidence from small children. She was conscious of an expectant silence and looked up.

‘And they said . . .’ hinted Shane.

‘The older boys seemed to think that their father did not go out again after taking them home, but the little fellow, John – he would be about three years old or so – well, he said he saw his father creeping out at midnight.’

‘Probably made it up,’ said Aidan.

‘Little fellow like that probably doesn’t even know when it’s midnight,’ said Moylan scornfully.

‘William probably knows the truth; he’s about my age and quite sensible,’ said Shane.

Mara said nothing, but she reflected that an older child would be more likely to lie than a younger one. She had not liked that look of apprehension, or even fear in William’s eyes.

‘We found out something else for you, Brehon,’ said Moylan with a satisfied air. He looked around at the assembled law school members. ‘No one has mentioned the gates. Well, of course, there are sixteen of them and we didn’t get around to all of them, but we visited the Great Gate – the one leading out to The Green – and also the gate at Shoemakers Towers – the two of them are nearest to Lough Atalia – and we were joking with the gatekeepers, and asking them if they were drunk on Shrove and making them prove they weren’t by reciting the names of those they remembered.’

‘And Anthony Skerret went out and so did the Spanish captain, and he thought he remembered seeing Richard Athy, but he wasn’t sure. But he was certain that he saw David Browne. He remembered him because he said he was cold sober and that wasn’t like him,’ said Aidan triumphantly. ‘And it was my idea to do that. We tried various names on them, including yours. They were very positive that you had not sneaked past them,’ he added slyly.

‘Well done,’ said Mara heartily. She had thought of that herself, but wondered whether the record would be reliable. The guards would have had to be prompted she guessed.

‘May I sum up, Brehon?’ asked Fiona. Mara seated herself at a small side table where Jane had thoughtfully provided ink, parchment and pens. At Mara’s nod Fiona rose to her feet and began to enumerate the suspects, ticking them off on her fingers as she went.

‘In the matter of the murder of Carlos Gomez on the Shrove Tuesday before the season of Lent I find that the following are under suspicion: Walter Lynch by reason of jealousy; David Browne by reason of greed; Catarina Browne by reason of greed; Alfonso Mercandez by reason of fear; Anthony Skerrett by reason of jealousy; Richard Athy by reason of greed and fear. I gave Richard Athy two motives because he might be greedy but also fearful because of his debts, and because his transactions with the Spanish captain might come to light and disgrace him in the city. And if he is badly in debt he could be frightened of losing his beautiful tower house,’ explained Fiona before sitting down.

‘But you put in Walter,’ said Hugh reproachfully. ‘I thought we were on his side.’

‘We’re not really on anyone’s side; we are seekers after the truth,’ said Mara soberly. Hugh and Shane exchanged glances, but neither dared say anything. It was obvious that they disagreed but she did not lecture them. Their warm hearts were moved by the plight of a boy whom they knew and liked, and who was now facing a terrible death when the life would be choked out of him on the word of his own father.

In any case, Mara had a problem of her own. Yes, she would seek the truth with all the power of her brain and her trained intelligence.

But what should she do with that truth once all was uncovered?

A person found guilty of murder in the city state of Galway would be hanged by the neck until dead.

It is said that three things mark a good king:

1. A rich harvest.

2. A full cooking pot.

3. Ships putting into port.

It is a sign of a good king to have ships arriving at the ports of the kingdom because the goods that are carried on these ships bring prosperity to the people. They bring wine from France and from Spain, spices from Turkey, fine cloth from England and horses from Wales and from Spain.

M
ara was woken from an uneasy sleep by the sound of a bell clanging imperatively, noisily and warningly. She sat up in bed feeling confused and disorientated. Her head had ached so badly that she had retired to her room and lain on her bed, hoping that a short sleep would restore her to the usual feeling of calmness.

But her sleep had not helped. It had been full of strange nightmares – visions of Ottoman pirates, of English kings, ships laden with cargo and of daggers embossed with silver, something about the Athy tower house and, oddly enough, of Henry Bodkin saying something about the mayor’s position which she strove to remember. And when she woke, suddenly all was clear to her. The whole pattern fitted together.

She sat up in bed and looked towards the window. To her surprise it was still daylight. She got up from her bed and listened, hearing now, quite distinctly, the clang of a bell. No, it had not been part of her daytime dream. The curfew bell, harsh and unmelodic, unlike the church bell, tolled its warning and yet the sun had not set. She put on her shoes and then went out on to the landing outside her bedroom. There was a window there and she swivelled open one of the two casements between the central stone mullion and thrust her head out, looking down over Lombard Street.

There were plenty of people still in the street, shopping, visiting their banks, buying from the gold and silver merchants, or even visiting the money lender. They, like she, had been startled by the harsh warning of the curfew bell.

But now the bell had ceased, and yet the people in the streets were still standing, still listening. For a moment Mara wondered, and then she leaned further out, resting her elbows on the stone window ledge. Yes, there was another sound and now she recognized it. The rhythmic thud of soldiers’ boots echoed through the stone streets, getting nearer and nearer. The sound seemed to spur the listeners and hurriedly they began to move away, each seeking the refuge of home behind a stout door and well-shuttered windows. Soon only the noise of marching feet could be heard.

The mayor had rung his curfew and called out his army well ahead of sundown.

Quickly, Mara checked her appearance in the convenient mirror beside the window and then went out of her door and down the stairs.

As she reached the top of the flight that led to the door she heard the iron knocker clang and clang again. A servant appeared, but Jane Bodkin was quicker.

‘It must be Henry – he’s forgotten his key,’ she said as she looked quickly up towards Mara. Her face had a worried look and she hastened towards the door, almost tripping over in her speed to get it opened.

But it wasn’t Henry. It was Cecily Blake, Valentine’s wife, accompanied by a couple of servants. For a moment Mara hardly recognized the pink-and-white, placid, plump face. Cecily looked ravaged with fear and apprehension. In her arms she bore her tiny son, Jonathon, the pride and joy of Valentine Blake. Behind them came a nursery maid and a manservant, both laden down with bags and baskets, but it was obvious that Cecily had not wanted anyone other than herself to carry the precious little boy, heir to Blake’s Castle and all its splendours.

‘Jane,’ she said breathlessly. ‘May we stay? Valentine says that all will be safe, but I am worried about my baby. I don’t want him at the castle tonight. Not with all those men in and out. Please, please, dear Jane, may we stay with you and Henry? Terrible things are going on.’

‘Of course!’ Jane was taken aback, Mara could see that, but she was a hospitable woman and she took Cecily by the arm and drew her in, giving a quick look at the maidservant who had just appeared, and mouthing to her, ‘The green chamber’.

The manservant who had accompanied Cecily immediately withdrew, almost as soon as his mistress’s feet had crossed the doorstep. He shut the door behind him with a determined clang and Mara thought she heard his boots running down the steps outside.

‘Is Henry not here, then?’ she asked Jane in a low voice as Cecily was being ushered with her baby upstairs.

Jane shook her head. Her small, pinched face was tight with worry. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘The curfew bell has gone early. I pray that he won’t be trapped in his chambers.’

Quite likely, thought Mara. The mayor had taken the city unawares; the curfew bell had been expected at the normal hour of sunset and now it had rung a good half-hour earlier. Still, as long as he stayed indoors he would be safe. Leaving Jane to hasten upstairs after her new guests, she opened the heavy front door herself and stepped outside.

A hush had fallen over the city. The only noise to be heard was the heavily-shod, marching feet of the troops. They would be coming from the barracks beside the Great Gate and were by now making their way towards Gaol Street and the fish market.

Mara went down Quay Street without meeting a single person. At the crossroads, she turned towards the inlet of the sea. The air was fresh and a west wind was blowing. The troops were busy in the streets and the customary guard on these western city walls was missing.

The sun was now sinking down behind the swell of the ocean. The sky above it was still streaked with an angry red, throwing a purple path across the waves. There was cluster of ships out there. Mara narrowed her eyes; she knew these vessels. These were not the traditional fishing boats; these ships were much larger, each sixteen to eighteen feet long, coated in black pitch and they had a distinctive sail formation. It consisted of a single mast with a main sail and two foresails, all of them a dark red-brown.

O’Malley of the Ships, thought Mara. What was the O’Malley clan doing so near to the city of Galway on this night out of all other nights? What was going to happen?