The Celtic Riddle (23 page)

"I am," I replied. I had to laugh too. I loved these three old guys.

"So what's left in the way of lines of the poem?" Paddy asked. "The
stag of seven slaughters, I know, but what else?"

"Let's see," I said, looking at my notes. "Lake in a plain, a
piercing spear waging war, and a god that fashions heroes for a lord,
whatever that is."

"Kevin has an idea for one of those," Jennifer said. "We were going
there after lunch. Some observatory, or something."

"Oratory," Malachy corrected her. "The Gallarus Oratory. Kevin
thinks that would be the place for lake in a plain. Religious place,
very ancient. Yer man Eamon Byrne's kind of place. 'Tis a bit obscure
to be sure. The clues we've left are getting harder. But Kev sees it
this way. There are no lakes in plains around here. They're all in the
mountain valleys. So he tinks 'tis the Gallarus Oratory, on account of
it's in the shape of an overturned boat, and it's resting on one of the
few flat areas there are. So if we're done here, let's get going."

The Gallarus Oratory was an extraordinary structure, very old, and
set in a windswept plain with a view over to the water far away and
three hills that looked like curling waves whose motion had been caught
and frozen in some cataclysmic event in earth's early history. "The
three sisters," Malachy said, following my glance. "That's what they're
called. Now come look at the oratory."

It was made without mortar, just thousands and thousands of stones
carefully placed to create a tiny early Christian church, maybe twenty
feet by sixteen, its sides tapering up to form a corbelled arch roof
and ceiling. It did indeed look a little like an upturned boat, its
keel in the air. There was only one small window and one low door
facing each other at either end.

I touched the walls inside. "A beauty, isn't it?" Ma- lachy said.
"No mortar, but it's still watertight, after a thousand years! More. It
is supposed to date to the eighth century. It's the same construction
as those clo-chans we saw on the slope of Mount Eagle, except they were
round, and this is a rectangle. A beauty," he repeated.

We heard a shout outside and hurried to find Jennifer and Paddy
waving a piece of paper that had been folded and wedged until it was
about an inch square.

"Found it around the back, between the stones," Paddy said.

"Hurry up, open it!" Jennifer exclaimed. "I've got the alphabet."

The two of them unfolded the paper as quickly as they could, but not
fast enough for the others who crowded around.

"Is there anything on it?" Kevin asked, trying to peer over Paddy's
shoulder.

"There is!" Jennifer crowed. "But it's too windy here. We'll have to
translate it later. What about the hero one, what could that be."

"Now let's think about that," Malachy said, as we headed back to the
van. "What do you say to the god that fashions heroes for a lord, Kev?
Any of your brilliant ideas on this one?"

"Did you say hero?" Kev yelled.

"I did," Malachy said.

"Well, who's the greatest hero of the west of Ireland?" he said.

"Grand idea, Kev!" Malachy said.

"Okay," I said. "I give up. Who is the greatest hero of the west of
Ireland?"

Kevin and Malachy looked horrified at my ignorance. Paddy merely
smiled and opened up the van.

"Why Fionn MacCumhail!" Malachy said, saying something that sounded
like Finn McCool. "Head of the Fianna, wasn't he? The greatest warriors
ever. And, as it turns out, Fionn fought one of his greatest battles
right here in Dingle. Can you get this thing moving any faster this
time, now Paddy? And do you tink it's up to the climb?" he said, giving
a tire a little kick.

"We'll go as fast as it will take us, Malachy," Paddy said. "Fast as
it will go. Now hop in. Will you be following behind, Ms. McClintoch?"

"Where are we going?"

"Two possibles. Fionn MacCumhail's table, which is a dolmen in the
Slieve Mish Mountains, or some sites around Ventry, where an epic
battle was fought by MacCumhail. The dolmen will be a bit of a climb,
and I may have to be the one to do it. If that's the case, I won't be
doing it today," he said, squinting into the sun, now low.

"Then let's pause here for a moment," I said. "What about the other
one, the one about the piercing spear waging war?"

Kevin scratched his head. "This one's got me puzzled," he said. "But
I'll keep thinking."

"I'd think the piercing spear might very well be in Eamon's own
study," I said. "It was filled with swords and spears and stuff. It
could be Margaret's clue-she claims she destroyed hers without looking
at it-and if so, Eamon might have wanted to make it easy for her to
find. The first one was right on the property, at least down in the
little cove. Maybe this one is there, too. If it is, she's probably
found it already, unless she really meant it about not looking for any
of them."

"How would we get that one?" Jennifer asked. "We'd have to get into
the house to do it."

"Tere's no way I'm going into that fecking place," Paddy said.

"Me neither," Malachy said. "Nor I," Kevin agreed.

"I was just passing by on my way to Rose Cottage," I said, handing
Margaret Byrne my card at the door of Second Chance. For a moment, she
stared at it. "This is my assistant, Jennifer, by the way. Jennifer,
this is Mrs. Byrne. I'm sorry to trouble you, and I'm not sure whether
you were aware or not, but as you can see, I am the co-proprietor of an
antiques and design shop in Toronto called Greenhalgh & McClintoch.
I have noticed that your home is up for sale, and it occurred to me
that you might be thinking of selling some of the contents. I'm
particularly interested in some of your husband's maps, which I saw the
other day, if there are any that are not being given to Trinity
College. I have a client who is a map collector and several of them are
quite good. If those are not available," I went on, "I'd be most
grateful if you could show us anything that you're thinking of selling."

"We have not yet decided what we will be selling," Margaret said
reluctantly. "We will, of course, be getting rid of some things. We are
thinking of moving to cozier quarters," she said, "and won't have the
space, you understand."

"Of course," I agreed. Perhaps, I thought, the family really was as
broke as everyone in town was saying. "I do hope you will decide before
I leave for Canada, which I think will be very soon. By the way," I
said, taking an envelope from my bag and handing it to her. "A letter
of reference from my bank."

Margaret looked at it for a moment. "Come in," she said at last.

"Will you be looking for another place around here?" I asked,
brightly attempting to make conversation.

"I doubt it," Margaret said. "I think I'd like to go back where I
was born. It's in Connemara. Do you know it?"

"I don't," I replied, "although I've heard Conne-mara's spectacular.
That's close to Galway, isn't it?"

"It is," she replied. "Absolutely beautiful. I think I might like to
go back."

"Is that where you met your husband?" I asked. She nodded.

"Did you meet him after he'd been to sea, after he knew Alex?"

"Before that," she said. "We were engaged, but he went off to sea. I
became engaged to another man, but then Eamon returned, and I was swept
off my feet again." For a moment, she sounded sad, almost wistful, and
I began to feel horribly guilty. This treasure hunt occasionally felt a
little like a parlor game, and it was easy to forget that these were
real people, with real feelings. It was only by concentrating on the
task at hand and reminding myself that finding the treasure might be
the key not only to Alex's future, but also an end to the violence,
that I was able to carry on. Then she turned abruptly. "Here," she
said. "My husband's study.

"The people from Trinity College have been here as you can see," she
said, pointing to glass cabinets stripped bare, darker red marks
showing where the weapons had rested against the velvet. "They have not
left much. Are you interested in oils? These were my father's. Quite
good, I believe." Not too sentimental, that woman, but perhaps she was
just being pragmatic.

"Lovely, aren't they, Jennifer?" I said. Jennifer nodded vigorously.
In truth, there was only one oil there that had any value beyond the
sentimental, in my opinion, so I made a note of that one. While
Margaret stood watching us, we carefully looked everything over,
lifting objects from time to time, moving others slightly to look under
them. At last I found what I wanted; at least I was reasonably sure I
had. I went to the glass doors and looked outside. "Lovely day, isn't
it?" I said before turning away. I was rather overusing lovely, it
occurred to me, but perhaps it was because I was nervous.

My presence in the window was the signal for Alex, now hidden behind
the potting shed, and who if found could claim to be crossing the
property to get to Rose Cottage, to use my cell phone to call the
house. The telephone rang three times. There was one in the room, but
Margaret ignored it. A few moments later, Deirdre hove into view. Once
again, she seemed surprised to see me. "It's for you, Madam," she said,
ignoring me.

"Excuse me for a moment," Margaret said. I was elated. I was banking
on the fact that Margaret would not take a call in my presence. The
trouble was, Deirdre stayed put.

Jennifer walked up to her. "Sorry, but would it be all right if I
used the bathroom?" she asked. Deirdre looked startled and hesitated
for a moment, and I thought all was lost.

"Oh, you mean the toilet," she said finally. "Yes, please follow
me." Quickly I lifted the glass case, now empty, where once Byrne's
favorite spearhead, the one he attributed to Lugh Lamfada, had rested.
I pulled the piece of paper out quickly, and by the time Margaret
returned, I was standing looking out over the grounds once again.

"They hung up," Margaret said.

"How annoying," I said. "Ah, here's Jennifer."

I looked around a little more, extracted a promise that she'd call
me if she decided to sell the old Oriental carpets in the room, then
offered more than it was worth for the painting, paid cash, and told
her I'd send someone around to pick it up later, if that was
satisfactory. Apparently it was.

A few minutes later, Jennifer and I were sitting in Rose Cottage
with the others, clue in one hand, ogham alphabet in the other,
Jennifer regaling them with the story of our adventure. By the time she
was through with her tale, Margaret Byrne was only microseconds away
from discovering what we were after, and Deirdre about to call the
police.

The story was better, or more edifying at least, than the clue:
"Umbilicus Hiberniae, the sacred center" it said. Not very helpful, but
there was one more clue to go, if my theory was correct. Then we'd see
what there was to see.

Alex had gone down to the pier and brought back some wonderful fish,
determined to prepare a meal for us all, his first dinner party, he
said, in his new home. It was somewhat daunting with no electricity,
but Paddy got the fire roaring, Jennifer and I lit candles and set the
table, and we had a rather jolly time of it in his cozy little cottage.
There was the fish, cooked in a pan over the fire, potatoes hot from
the coals and slathered in Irish butter, and lots of fresh vegetables
followed by strawberries in thick Irish cream. It was a bit strained at
first, between Paddy and me, although I could find nothing to fault in
his manner that night, no matter how I tried. He was solicitous to
Jennifer, kind to Malachy and Kevin, helpful to Alex, and generally
stayed out of my way, calling me Ms. McClintoch when called upon to
address me. He had the casual charm of the Irish that was quite
disarming, when the conversation and the companionship drew him out of
his normal reticence, and finally I decided a truce was in order. "We
didn't get off to a very good start the other day," I said to him as we
were setting out the food on the table.

"We didn't," he agreed.

"I thought you'd run us down in the water. It was your boat, I
think," I added carefully.

"Could have been," he said. "Do you still think I was at the helm?"

"No," I replied. "Malachy and Kevin said you wouldn't do such a
thing, and that's good enough for me.

He smiled. "They're grand old boys, aren't they? And no, it wasn't
me, although I regret to say it may have been my boat. There were a few
extra knots showing on her than there should have been for its just
being in the boatworks. The boys at the works took her out to see she
was going all right, after they'd worked on her, but not as far as all
that."

"Who do you think might have taken it?"

"Conail," he replied.

"Why?"

"Kind of hotheaded thing he might do. Get us both at one time, if
you see what I mean: scares you off the hunt and gets me in trouble at
the same time. They're a bad bunch up there at Second Chance," he
added. "Treated me rough, they did. Tink they're better than everybody
else, but they're not. Except Eamon. He was a fine one. Took me in,
made me feel like one of the family. Treated all of us right-Michael
and John and me. Not her, though. Margaret. A bad piece of work, she
is. Treated me like dirt. Conail too, and Sean. The two sisters, they
went along with it."

"Only two of them?"

"Not Breeta," he said softly. "Not her. She's a fine one, like her
Da."

"You should call me Lara," I said.

"Should that be Aunt Lara?" he smiled.

"No, it shouldn't," I replied. Don't push your luck, I thought.

Late in the evening, well fed and warmed by the conviviality, we
left Alex ensconced in his cottage and picked our way carefully
overland to the main road, not wishing to run into Sean McHugh and his
rifle at night, and thence back to town. I dropped Malachy and Kevin
off before going on to the friend of Paddy's from whom he'd borrowed
the van. He took off from there on his motorbike, and I took Jennifer
back to the Inn.