Scales of Retribution (11 page)

Seven

I
nstantly the books were closed. Mara moved to her desk, followed by her faithful Bran, and faced her scholars.

‘And we do remember that everything said here is sacred to this law school and not to be spoken of outside,’ recited Hugh.

‘Never mind about that,’ said Enda impatiently. ‘Brehon, do you think that Blár O’Connor could be a suspect?’

‘I think he could be,’ said Mara. ‘Nuala realized that Malachy was treating an injury of Blár incorrectly. She gave the correct ointment to Blár’s wife. He’s a clever man and I think that he may well have suspected Malachy of prolonging treatment in order to get more silver, so he refused to pay him – which, under the law, he was quite entitled to do. If he had consulted me, I would have backed him up. However, he did not and Malachy, when he got the message about Blár’s son being gored by a bull, instead of coming instantly, just replied that he would come as soon as he was paid. In the meantime, of course, the young man died of loss of blood.’

‘And Blár regarded Malachy as the killer of his son.’ Fachtnan said the words thoughtfully, his dark eyes full of sympathy.

‘And as he happened to have a whacking great jar of wolfsbane there, he decided to give Malachy a taste of his own medicine.’ Moylan chuckled at his wit.

‘And of course, we know that the flask of brandy was on the table beneath the window.’ Mara decided to ignore Moylan, though the joke was in poor taste.

‘And the morning was hot,’ said Hugh. ‘The window would definitely have been open.’

‘I’ll make a note of that, shall I, Brehon?’ said Enda, writing busily. ‘We can easily find out that for certain once we get to work.’

Mara smiled. Her scholars were obviously keen to get started on investigations. She had always involved them in the legal work of the kingdom, feeling that practical experience was an essential part of their education.

‘Brehon, is Nuala really a suspect? She seems to think that she is,’ asked Fachtnan. Mara gave him her full attention. He had a worried look in his honest brown eyes.

‘I think she has to be, Fachtnan,’ she said. ‘After all she did have the means, the knowledge, of course, and also perhaps a motive since her father had rejected her and was doing his best to stop her from becoming a physician.’

‘And, of course, he also was trying to take away the Rathborney property that should be hers,’ said Aidan, proving that the boys had been talking over Nuala’s affairs among themselves.

‘And she would be a female heir to Malachy – get the land fit to graze seven cows and the house,’ mused Enda.

‘So that’s two reasons to suspect her,’ mused Hugh, ‘though I don’t believe that Nuala did it.’

‘A lawyer has to weigh all of the evidence,’ reproved Shane. ‘No personal feelings should be allowed to interfere with this.’

‘Very true,’ said Mara with a sigh. ‘You remind me of my duty, Shane.’

‘So who else disliked Malachy the physician enough to kill him?’ Enda held the quill poised in his hand and looked around the schoolroom.

‘And had access to his medicines,’ added Moylan.

‘I think we must add to that who had knowledge of the medicines,’ said Mara. ‘You see, a few days ago, I would not have known what aconite is – would not even know what it was made from.’

‘I came across a description in
Bretha Déin Chécht
,’ said Shane. ‘Just a minute, I have it here somewhere.’ He delved into his satchel and then took out a piece of vellum, covered in his small, well-formed handwriting. Quietly he read it aloud: ‘“Aconitum is a handsome plant with dark green leaves and bright blue flowers which are shaped in a distinctive hooded shape from which it gets one of its many names: monkshood. It is also called wolfsbane as it is very poisonous and often used to rid a land of wolves. The poison is made by pounding the roots of the plant. Great care should be taken in the handling as it is a deadly poison.”’

‘And Malachy, according to Nuala, had a large jar on his shelf, labelled aconite,’ commented Mara.

‘But most people around here cannot read,’ objected Hugh. ‘And even if they could, would they know that aconite is just another name for wolfsbane?’

‘Yes, but you must remember all the farmers who had got it from Malachy,’ said Aidan. ‘I think that wolfsbane is one medicine that many people of the Burren would know about. And would know how deadly it was.’

‘This is the next task,’ said Enda, writing busily. ‘We must conduct a door-to-door search of the farms to see who had bought wolfsbane from Malachy.’ He laid down his quill. ‘And, of course, this brings us to the next point. What about Murrough? He lost his favourite wolfhound. You remember how it happened?’ He looked around at his fellow scholars and continued fluently, ‘Malachy had baited his own woodlands with the stuff – had put it into a dead hare. Murrough walked his wolfhounds through those oak trees and his dog Rafferty cleared off – you know what Rafferty was like – anyway, he didn’t come back when Malachy called him, and eventually one of the other dogs found him and he was dead. Had died in agony, too, poor dog. Vomited up his guts! The whole ground was covered with it.’

Mara swallowed, feeling almost sick to think that the same thing could have happened to her beloved dog, Bran. She, too, had often walked with her dog in the oak woodlands, and had allowed him to run ahead of her and to enjoy himself chasing hares and squirrels. One would almost feel that the man had been struck down by the hand of God. Her lips tightened as she remembered the handsome, good-natured, much-loved Bláreen who had bled to death because Malachy had been more interested in silver than in saving lives. Were there others that this man had so injured that they had been moved to take his life? Her mind turned to Cliona. Thank God, the girl had known enough to reject the potion that Malachy had supplied to her husband. Was there anyone else who might have been injured? She turned to her scholars.

‘Any more ideas?’ she asked. ‘Anyone who might bear a grudge against Malachy?’

‘There have been a couple of deaths in the last few months,’ said Fachtnan thoughtfully. ‘It’s hard to say, though, that these people would not have died if they had had a better physician. Mostly they were very old or very young.’

‘Perhaps we could make enquiries as we go around the farms,’ said Aidan. ‘The important thing is to find someone who feels that the physician was the reason why that member of their family died,’ he added shrewdly.

‘That’s a good idea,’ praised Mara. ‘As you say, Aidan, we are looking for someone who would want to kill Malachy, not investigating his cases. Make a note of that, Enda.’

There was a moment’s silence as Enda’s quill scratched busily over the surface of the small sheet of vellum. He replaced the pen on the inkstand and looked up, his face alert.

‘Brehon, what does Malachy’s wife get after his death?’ he asked. ‘Not land I know, but . . .’

‘Under Brehon law,’ said Mara carefully, ‘she gets nothing, as you say, Enda. And to be honest, I doubt that Malachy had much savings from his profession. He seemed to be spending very freely during the past months – he had that new wing built on to his house for one thing.’ She paused for a moment, but then thought that these scholars of hers always had to know the whole truth. ‘I’m not sure that Caireen knew that she would not get the house nor the land – the position is different under English law and Caireen would have known that law in Galway.’

‘Not enough to kill a man for,’ stated Moylan.

‘Ah, but you forget the business,’ said Enda. ‘After all, the house is not just a house. It’s a physician’s house. It has the stillroom full of medicines, it has Malachy’s medical scrolls, his bag full of instruments. Everything is there—’

‘And,’ interrupted Mara, ‘Caireen’s son, Ronan, has just been declared a qualified physician. He has been certified by Malachy himself and a physician in Galway. Nuala told me that.’

‘Was Ronan there at the time?’ asked Aidan.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Mara. ‘At least Nuala said that he wasn’t. She and Caireen were the only ones of the family present.’ She noted that Aidan gave a disappointed sigh and then brightened up.

‘Wait a minute,’ he said then. ‘Don’t Ronan and his brothers inherit Malachy’s property? After all, the sons of all marriages, even those of the fourth degree, inherit, don’t they?’

‘No, at least, yes . . . you are right about the sons of other marriages, but remember Ronan and his brothers are not of Malachy’s blood – this is what I always tell you – the laws of inheritance are there to safeguard clan land,’ explained Mara.

‘They probably don’t know that,’ muttered Aidan, looking unconvinced.

‘But Ronan was not there so that’s off the point,’ said Enda impatiently.

‘Mother love,’ said Fachtnan with a quiet smile.

‘What do you mean?’ queried Moylan, looking puzzled.

‘Well, do you remember that mare belonging to Ardal O’Lochlainn? That blonde mare with the four dark socks? She was such a gentle animal. Anyone could ride her. Do you remember when she had a foal? Liam . . . remember Liam, everyone? Well, when Liam came into the stable in the early morning, he found a dead wolf lying by the doorway. The wolf must have come to attack the foal and the mare killed it.’

‘I see what you mean, Fachtnan,’ said Mara. ‘You think that Caireen might have killed Malachy in order to allow her son Ronan to inherit the position of physician. Ronan, as far as we know, was not in the house at the time – do put that on your list of things to investigate, Enda – but Caireen was the one who discovered the body, so we must have her, at least, as a suspect. That was a very good point, Fachtnan – like you to think of it.’ Mara noted how Fachtnan looked pleased at her praise. Poor lad, his confidence must be at a very low ebb after the blow dealt to him by that dreadful Boetius.

‘Though I would not have called that awful woman, Caireen, a lovely, gentle mare,’ joked Aidan, but the two older boys both turned impatient, frowning faces towards him and he hastily said, ‘it’s a very good analogy, Fachtnan.’

‘I agree,’ said Mara, concealing her surprise that Aidan would know a word like analogy. ‘I do think that this is a better reason than my original speculation that Caireen may have done it in order to inherit the property. Even if she did think that her inheritance would include the oak woodlands . . .’

Immediately, six alert faces stared at her.

‘That would be clan land, of course,’ said Enda.

‘Who does inherit the oak woodlands, Brehon?’ asked Hugh.

‘My son-in-law, Oisín,’ said Mara casually and watched their eager faces look suddenly embarrassed.

‘We must consider everyone,’ she reminded them.

‘It’s only a few acres,’ said Moylan.

‘And he lives in Galway.’

‘It wouldn’t be any use to him, would it?’

‘I think that it might,’ said Mara. ‘He has plans to use it for barrel making and I understand that oak is a great wood for barrels. This could be quite valuable to Oisín.’

‘He sounds innocent if he told you what he was going to use it for,’ said Hugh reassuringly.

‘That’s a point,’ said Mara, amused at their concern. ‘Still, I do think that he has to go on our list for the moment.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Now I must go back to my house. Come over to the Brehon’s house for your supper. We’ll have it in the garden. I’d like you all to meet my new son.’

‘Will little Cormac become a king or a Brehon?’ asked Shane with a glint of mischief in his dark blue eyes.

Mara laughed. ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ she acknowledged. She considered the matter for a few minutes. ‘A Brehon,’ she said decisively. ‘He looks clever!’

Leaving them laughing, she strolled back to her own house with a smile on her face. It was only as she entered through the gate that the smile disappeared. She had suddenly remembered something.

Oisín had not told her that he had a use for the oak woodland; it was Sorcha who had innocently betrayed her husband’s plans.

Nuala was not with the baby. She was on her knees feverishly plucking out weeds from a bed of summer flowers. Mara had made that a few years ago, designing it to be like a stained glass window with the diamond-shaped beds of purple flowers and the blue flowers separated from each other with narrow strips of limestone. During the last few months it had been neglected – increasing girth made weeding impossible for Mara – and buttercups had started to spring up, introducing a rather discordant note of brassy yellow.

‘Cormac’s fine; he’s fast asleep.’ Nuala spoke without looking up. ‘That Eileen is very good with him, I think. She seems to know a lot about different potions and salves. I was quite surprised. I think you will have no worries about him now. He’s looking well.’

‘Were there worries last week?’ said Mara, seating herself on a stone bench and bending over the baskets of lilies that stood on either side of it. She had planted these lilies last spring when they were just dry, papery bulbs and now they were tall white scented flowers. What a difference a few months made. Cormac had just been an unknown stranger in her womb, then, and here he was already putting on weight and becoming more boy-like all the time.