Scales of Retribution (8 page)

‘Yes, do.’ Mara had a quick, inward struggle, but it was no good trying to evade facts; she was not able to feed her son and Sorcha would be returning to Galway in a week or two. She had to have a wet nurse, and this Eileen, at least, was no giddy girl, but a woman of about Mara’s age, or more. She watched resignedly as Sorcha fed the baby; no matter who it was, she was going to be jealous. She just had to put up with it, and get on with solving the murder and sorting out the problems that Boetius had left her with after failing two of her scholars in their important summer examinations.

‘Here’s Oisín!’ exclaimed Sorcha, and a minute later, to the accompaniment of joyful squeals from the children, Oisín came into view; Aislinn riding high on his shoulders and Domhnall clinging to one hand.

Baby Manus woke and howled, his large brown eyes surveying the company indignantly. With one arm Sorcha reached out for her own child, slipped him under the linen shawl that she wore around her shoulders and allowed him to feed from her other breast.

‘Now we’ll have peace all around,’ she said.

‘Aren’t they the image of their father,’ said Ciara looking at the three dark-haired, dark-eyed children.

‘The living image,’ said Sorcha.

‘All descended from Dubh (black) Daibhrean himself,’ said Mara. ‘My father used to tell me about him. I remember him telling Ardal O’Lochlainn and myself the story of the different races that came to Ireland. Ardal with his red hair and his white skin was a descendent of the Celtic race, and me with my dark hair and dark eyes was a descendent of the Firbolg race.’

‘It’s true,’ said Ciara. ‘Sorcha is the only one of the O’Davoren clan without the dark hair and eyes. Look at Nuala, the image of Malachy, of course.’

‘Sorcha takes after her father Dualta,’ said Mara briefly. ‘Oisín is a true O’Davoren.’ She hoped that this talk about the O’Davoren clan would not lead to talk about Malachy’s murder. He, of course, like his daughter, had been O’Davoren in looks, but he had missed out on the brains that the O’Davoren family seemed to possess. Malachy had been a poor physician. Somehow he had lacked the ability or the application to do justice to the people of the Burren who had sought his help and advice.

Mara surveyed her handsome son-in-law, admiring the adroit way that he managed to greet Ciara and herself, kiss his wife, stroke the rosy cheek of his youngest child, accept a bunch of tiny pimpernel flowers from Aislinn, admire Domhnall’s prowess at jumping across grykes, at the same time as stretching out on the warm surface of the clint and exposing his tanned bare legs and arms to the heat of the sun.

Oisín was Mara’s second cousin. He had come from an obscure branch of the O’Davorens – there were neither physicians nor Brehons in his immediate family. His father, his grandfather and his uncles had all been coopers and had been content to live out their lives in the useful trade of barrel making. Oisín, though, had been ambitious. In his teens, he had visited Galway to sell some barrels there and had decided that the life of a merchant was the one for him. Though still a young man of just thirty, he had done so well that he now had a fine stone house as well as a shop in the city of Galway.

Sensitive as always, Sorcha waited until Nuala had got up in a bored way and sauntered back towards the house before questioning him.

‘Well, what was Malachy’s woodland like?’

Instantly he sat up, full of energy. ‘I couldn’t have believed it,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘That place is a goldmine. The trees are magnificent. It’s only twenty acres, but it must be worth more than a farm of two hundred acres.’ He beamed at his wife. ‘I must get my brother over here to pick out some of the best trees for felling. I’ll save a fortune if I have my own oak for storage barrels. I could never, in my wildest dreams, have guessed that I could have inherited so much from Malachy.’

Was that true? wondered Mara. Had he not estimated the value of that woodland before now? Oisín was shrewd and knowing. And surely oak trees do not change much in five or six years. In fact, as far as she could remember that piece of woodland in Kilcorney looked much the same in her own childhood as it was now. Oisín had spent weeks staying with Malachy when he was courting Sorcha and had never failed to visit him whenever he was in the Burren. He must have seen that woodland hundreds of times. It was a favourite walk for courting couples. There was, perhaps, something slightly artificial in the way he laid so much emphasis on not realizing its value.

‘I think this little fellow has had enough,’ said Sorcha. She peered down at the tiny baby and then smiled at her mother. ‘He’s fast asleep; do you want to take him?’

‘Could I hold him?’ asked Aislinn wistfully.

‘When we are indoors,’ promised Mara. ‘I just want to have a turn holding him myself now. I didn’t see too much of him while I was ill.’ She saw Ciara give her a long look and busied herself with her baby, averting her gaze. Did she sound as jealous as she felt? she wondered.

‘You’ll be making wine barrels with it, will you?’ Ciara turned her attention to Oisín.

‘I’ve got a brilliant idea,’ he said, his white teeth flashing in a brilliant smile. ‘You’ll be interested in this, Mother!’

Mara turned her face towards him, wishing that she had stopped this ‘Mother’ business when he first asked Sorcha to marry him. There was less than seven years in the difference between herself and her son-in-law, so it was all rather absurd. However, she guarded her tongue very carefully. Sorcha’s affection was hugely important to her and she would do nothing to imperil relationships.

‘Yes?’ she queried.

‘Well, you know you have always said that you mostly use the last quarter or so of the cask just for cooking or mulling – and you wouldn’t be the only one. True wine lovers all do the same thing. And of course, no matter how careful you are with the tap, sooner or later air gets in and then the wine starts to spoil.’

‘That’s true,’ said Ciara. ‘Teige always complains that we are feeding him the dregs of the barrels and that we should reserve these for the hot wine at night for the men-at-arms.’ Her face clouded suddenly and Mara knew that her thoughts had gone to her easy-going, affectionate husband, now in the company of his men-at-arms, fighting for his lord, face to face with the Earl of Kildare and his English troops. Would it end in tragedy?

‘Well, tell us your idea,’ said Mara hastily. She could not bear to allow her thoughts to dwell on Turlough out there, leading his kingdom’s forces, and perhaps never having the opportunity of seeing his new born son.

‘I suddenly thought of this idea a few weeks ago.’ Oisín, as always, was fluent and confident. ‘I thought: why not make half-size barrels, or even quarter-size barrels? I could make this my speciality. O’Davoren wines for wine lovers! I could, very likely, sell some to the people in all parts of the country, not just here in the west of Ireland. Perhaps even the Earl of Kildare himself.’

‘It’s a good idea,’ admitted Mara. ‘Will your brother be willing to leave Thomond, though, in order to work for you?’

‘Oh, I just want some advice from him and then I’ll set up my own operation. Build a few houses for the tree-fellers and a few shelters where the wood can season. After that I’ll think about employing some coopers to make quarter-size barrels.’

‘Well, it does sound a brilliant idea,’ said Ciara rising to her feet. ‘I shall have to tell Teige about it. He’s very fond of a good cup of wine in the evening. I must go now, Brehon. It’s been wonderful to see you and the baby, but I must get back to Lemeanah Castle and see what my young people are up to.’

‘Won’t you come into the house and have some refreshment?’ asked Mara. ‘Brigid will kill me if I allow you to go without anything to eat or drink.’

‘I won’t,’ said Ciara firmly. ‘You stay where you are and enjoy the sun. I’ll call in on Eileen when I get back, and I’ll ask her to come and see you tonight if she is interested.’

‘I’ll go to the gate with you,’ said Sorcha, rising to her feet and depositing her plump baby on her husband’s lap.

There was a moment’s silence after she left. Mara held her sleeping son and admired the red and gold colouring of a tiny firecrest who was flashing in to peck the tiny oval seeds from the pink-flowered herb Robert plants in the grykes, and then flying away triumphantly. The man beside her sat very still, rocking his baby son. She glanced at him curiously and saw that his eyes were not on the child, but gazing across the clints as if he was viewing, in his mind’s eye, the unseen woodland that was going to bring him prosperity, or perhaps even riches. He felt her glance and turned to smile at her.

‘So, Mother, the sooner Malachy’s affairs can be wound up, the better for me.’

‘The murder has to come first,’ she said firmly. ‘There will be certain complications about Malachy’s affairs. You do realize that, although you are the heir to clan lands, under Brehon law his daughter must get land to graze seven cows and the house that she lives in – that is the house that she used to live in with her father.’

‘No problem about that,’ he said easily. ‘I’ve been thinking and I had a look around Caherconnell. The herb garden stretches to about two acres; the house meadow where Malachy had his cows and his hens should be another four or so, and then there is the big field where he kept his horse. All of that should amount to enough – and, of course, there is the property at Rathborney. I understand that the property was for Malachy’s use until Nuala comes of age, I suppose that will be for Caireen, will it? That’s what I was told, anyway.’

‘I’m not sure who gave you to understand that, but it is incorrect,’ said Mara emphatically. ‘The property at Rathborney was left to Nuala by its owner, Toin the Briuga. I drew up the will myself and these were the terms, as well as I can remember them.’ She half-shut her eyes and recited.

‘“
And I bequeath to Nuala, daughter of Malachy O’Davoren, physician in the kingdom of the Burren, my house at Rathborney and all the revenues from the farm situated in this place
.

‘“
This gift
,”’ continued Mara opening her eyes and looking very directly at her son-in-law, ‘“
is for her to have and to hold without conditions
.” And the will went on to say, if I remember rightly: “
However, this testator would like to express a hope that the gift will enable the said Nuala, daughter of Malachy O’Davoren, to fulfil her ambition to have a school of medicine and also to enable her to pursue her studies in that subject
.” I may have misremembered some of it,’ she concluded, trying to sound modest, ‘but I would say that it was the gist of the matter.’

‘I’m impressed by your memory, Mother.’ Oisín didn’t sound too put out and he spoke lightly, his tone casual. ‘Still,’ he added, ‘I’m sure that you will do your best for me, and of course, for your daughter and grandchildren.’

‘I do my best for everyone in my interpretation of the law,’ said Mara serenely. Suddenly she began to feel better. She enjoyed pitting her brains against a worthy adversary. Oisín was bright and clever, but he underestimated his mother-in-law if he thought that he could bribe or bully Mara, Brehon of the Burren.

Six

The fee for fosterage ranges from three
séts
, one-and-a-half ounces of silver, for the son of a small farmer, up to thirty
séts,
fifteen ounces of silver, for the son of a king. The fee for a girl is higher than for a boy because a girl is less likely to be of benefit to her foster parents in later life.

R
ather to her surprise, Mara saw no more of Boetius on the day that she sent him off to record the names and amounts of poisons on Malachy’s shelves in Caherconnell. She was just as glad, as it gave her an opportunity to have a long talk with Fachtnan and to assure him that she would be delighted to employ him as an assistant for the coming year.

‘I’ll need help in the school, what with the baby and everything,’ she told him, ‘and I can think of no one that I would be more pleased to have and who would suit me better. You will be of great assistance to me. So don’t worry about a thing. Nothing has changed. Now tell me, what do you think that we should do with Hugh?’

‘He’s upset,’ said Fachtnan sympathetically.

What a nice boy he is, she thought. He is able to put aside his own bitter disappointment and enter into the feelings of the younger boy.

‘Perhaps you could give him a bit of extra help over the next few days,’ she suggested. ‘It would be good for Hugh and good for you also. While you are going over the early stages of law and Latin and poetry, you will be improving your own memory as you are trying to help Hugh to memorize everything. I’ll ask Enda to take over Moylan and Aidan. We mustn’t take up any more of young MacClancy’s time. I think that you and Enda can manage, do you think so?’

Fachtnan was a little hesitant and said eventually that Aidan might be a bit difficult. ‘He got on very well with
Ollamh
MacClancy and I think that has gone to his head a little.’

Things must have got quite bad, thought Mara, for Fachtnan to say that. He was a boy that never liked to tell tales. Aloud she said, ‘I’ll be in and out. I think you’ll find that Aidan will soon settle down again. Enda can be quite firm when he wants to be.’

After supper Eileen arrived. Mara was quite astonished when a grey-haired woman with lined skin followed her housekeeper into the room. She had not expected Eileen to look so old. She looked far older than Mara, whose black hair was still without any grey and whose skin was still plump and fresh.

The woman was well spoken, though, intelligent and alert. She looked very clean and her
léine
was snowy white.