Verdict of the Court (19 page)

‘That’s for you,’ she said.

‘Six pieces,’ said Cian.

‘Only six,’ said Cael with disgust. ‘We should have had thirty pieces of silver at least for betraying our own father.’

‘Stay here,’ said Mara, but as she went rapidly down the stairs towards the great hall, she heard them follow her.

The hall was full when she pushed open the door. Even Conor and his wife had joined the crowd and they were all listening to Raour, who was graphically describing how, single-handed, he had killed a wolf who had just brought down a deer.

‘My lord,’ said Mara imperatively and Turlough, looking startled, broke away from the crowd and came towards her.

‘Maccon MacMahon’s twins have told me the true reason why he wanted to leave here by today,’ she said rapidly in a low voice. ‘He has betrayed you to the Black Knight, the Knight of Glin.’

Turlough’s eyes went cold. Immediately he beckoned his captain of the guard. He looked past her to the twins and they stared back at him with set white faces and fear-filled eyes. His face softened.

‘Rosta!’ he yelled. And then when the cook popped his head out from the kitchen, he said: ‘Take these two into the kitchen and give them one hour’s work.’ As the two turned, Turlough winked at Rosta and then put his head back into the hall and jerked it at the captain of the guard. The man came instantly, closing the door behind them and allowing Raour to continue with his story about the wolf.

‘Yes, my lord,’ he said as soon as the three of them stood alone on the landing.

Turlough took in a deep breath. ‘The Knight of Glin is proposing to pay us a visit,’ he said. ‘You can guess who’s behind it, Desmond himself, I’d say.’

‘That would be it, my lord; I’d say that you are right,’ said the man unemotionally. He gazed out of the small loophole at the fog that surrounded the castle. ‘They’ll attack by river, my lord, I’d say.’

‘They’ll get an unpleasant surprise, then,’ said Turlough with a grin. ‘Get some men out to the cannon as quickly as possible.’

‘The cannon has been disabled,’ said Mara quickly. ‘I’ve just got information about that. Wet mud has been stuffed down the barrel and into the touch hole. It will take you hours to get it clean and dry.’

‘What!’ roared Turlough. ‘If I get my hands on the traitor who did that, I’ll kill him. Who did it?’

‘I believe that it was one of your guests who ordered it to be done, my lord,’ said Mara, adding hastily, ‘but the first thing of importance, surely, will be to secure the castle and the safety of the inhabitants.’

Turlough stared at her. ‘One of my guests; I don’t believe it,’ he said slowly. ‘It couldn’t be. Him of all people … Across the river, of course …’ His eyes sought those of the captain and they stared at each other. Eventually the captain nodded.

‘I thought he was very anxious to get out of this place when the Brehon had said that no one should leave. The man seemed nearly demented when we brought him back. “
That man is afraid of something
,” that’s what Peader said to me. But who would have thought it.’

‘And how did he meddle with the cannon? He’s been with me all the time.’

‘He had some young helpers,’ said Mara.

‘Don’t tell me,’ said Turlough resignedly. ‘It wasn’t Cormac, was it?’

‘No, no, he was deliberately kept away from the scene,’ said Mara. She knew that he had guessed who the perpetrators were, but Turlough was not a man to vent his anger on children. Already he was beginning to lose his angry flush.

‘They might not get as far as us,’ said the captain. ‘But, of course, we’ve always relied on MacMahon’s men to guard the—’

Suddenly he stopped.

‘The Knight of Glin!’ Turlough exclaimed.

His eyes went to Mara and she nodded reluctantly. Of course, she thought, Maccon MacMahon’s property spanned the whole northern sweep of the Shannon estuary. In the normal way of things it would be very difficult for the Knight of Glin to get ships to go upriver without being intercepted by him. Turlough had always relied on MacMahon to keep his riverward boundary safe.

‘Do you know why? Maccon is the last man that I would have expected to betray me like this,’ suddenly asked Turlough, looking from his wife to his captain. He didn’t wait for an answer, but turned and began directing operations.

‘Put a chain across the river, my lord.’ Rosta had appeared, pan in hand, drawn by the shouts down the staircase for men to arm themselves. ‘Just by my salmon weir – that will be the place for it, my lord. Let me go in the boat with the men. I know just the place to fasten it.’ He thrust the pan into the hand of one of his assistants and limped rapidly down the stairs behind Turlough. Mara followed more slowly.

The main guard hall was full of activity. Men were everywhere, taking down swords, shields and knives from their places on the wall – Turlough had never believed in bowmen, preferring to rely on the old Celtic weapon, the throwing knife. In a minute, every man had a set of these inserted into belts and others strung in bags from their belts. Several were donning the heavy quilted jackets of boiled bull-leather and she looked for one of her scholars to send up to the bedroom to fetch Turlough’s, as he was still casually dressed in
léine
and tunic. But when she started to make her way through the crowd that parted for her she could no longer see any of them. She had definitely seen the five of them at the top of the room and she had noticed that the twins had joined them, but a minute later they had disappeared. She continued to make her way around the main guard hall and through the men, but there seemed to be no sign of them. The group who had been arming themselves moved away and she saw behind them an iron grille. She had noticed that before and had assumed that it guarded a shaft leading down to the moat – a place where waste food could be thrown down to feed the carp that swam there. But now the grille had been opened like a gate and she noticed that a rope was tied to it.

And her five scholars, as well as the MacMahon twins, had disappeared. Mara bent down and peered into the dark hole. She could see very dimly that there was a dark passage. A raw stench of mud met her nostrils. Could they possibly have gone down there?

‘Where does that lead?’ she asked sharply of one of the men.

He glanced back, looked surprised and then bolted the grille.

‘Shouldn’t be open,’ he said. ‘What goes out can come in.’

Before she could say anything he had hastened out of the room, joining up with the others. She opened the grille again, peered down and called Domhnall’s name a few times but there was no reply. She beckoned to a man who had just unhooked his shield from the wall.

‘Have those boys gone down there?’ she asked and he shook his head.

‘They’ve gone up to the roof, Brehon,’ he said readily and she hoped that he was right. She had decided that they should be confined to somewhere safe if there was any chance of fighting and the roof was probably not a particularly safe place, she thought, and hastened back up the steps.

There were no voices from the roof, though she met the captain of the guard coming down. He looked so preoccupied that she hesitated to bother him. However, he passed her with a muttered, ‘No sign yet,’ and this cheered her.

Mara climbed the five flights of stairs right up to the roof of the castle but there was no one there. She looked across at the spaces between the battlements of the other three towers. These also were empty. She looked down at the river and found that she was less encouraged by the captain’s words than she had been when she met him on the stairs. The fog was even thicker than on the day before and there would be little possibility of seeing or hearing any enemy on the river. She was just about to go down when she heard a low murmur of voices and some figures emerged on the south-eastern tower – the first out was Turlough. He did not look across at her, but went straight to the edge of the tower. She was about to call across but noted how low his voice had been so she went back down the stairs, crossed the great hall, and then went up the staircase leading to the south-western tower. She stood to regain her breath just beside the door which led out onto the battlements. She hoped that it might be her scholars and their friends with her husband, but it didn’t sound like them so she was not surprised to see Turlough, his captain of the guard and young Raour standing above there looking down, and talking quietly. She joined them, but did not speak. This bore the marks of a war conference and was no moment to ask about missing scholars. Raour, she noticed, was giving his opinion eagerly – very keen to make an armed sortie from the castle and be ready with a rough greeting for the intruders. Turlough was amused and inclined to acquiesce, while the captain of the guard was sceptical, but cautiously careful about not offending his King’s grandson and possible heir. Mara decided to say nothing, but just stood there, looking down for moment and trying to orientate herself.

‘The fog is lifting,’ said the captain and she could see that it was true. She looked all around her. She still could not see the grounds of the castle, but in the distance to the north was the wooded slope of Bunratty Hill, to the north-east were the meandering curves of the Raite with the long hogback of the heavily forested Cratloe Hills behind it. Mara’s eyes had just gone to the south when there was an exclamation from Raour.

‘Look! Down there! They’re out there on the Shannon. They have to row against the tide, though; it’s an ebb tide.’

Turlough and the captain crowded against him, leaning over the parapet, trying vainly to see something through the white mist of the fog. There was a strained silence and then the unmistakable clash of wood against water as one oar missed its stroke.

‘That’s them,’ said the captain.

‘Let’s go,’ said Turlough. There was all the confidence of a successful war leader in his voice. After all, nine years ago he had met the whole might of the troops belonging to the Earl of Kildare, supplemented by those of Desmond and vastly swelled by men sent over from England. Turlough, his men and his allies had defeated them at what was known at O’Brien’s Bridge, spanning the Shannon on its exit from Lough Derg, on its journey towards the city of Limerick and then to the sea. Turlough had even captured a cannon on that occasion, the very cannon that had been disabled by the twins on orders from Maccon MacMahon.

‘I’ll just go and let my father know what’s happening,’ said Raour and Turlough uttered an absentminded ‘good lad’ before proceeding on down the stairs. If only they had a cannon these intruding boats could be given a rough welcome and would immediately turn and get out of range as soon as they could. Turlough, however, was not a man to bewail the impossible and his voice was hearty and even slightly amused as he gave orders for a chain to be put across the river. Mara hoped that it would work, but could not help thinking how ineffective it would be compared to a blast of ammunition.

At the thought of the cannon, Mara left her post on the roof and went downstairs.

The door to Shona’s room was firmly closed and that of Maccon was now guarded by a hefty-looking man with several knives stuck through his belt. He greeted Mara effusively and was keen to hear the news of the sighting of the enemy. Bored, thought Mara.

‘Any trouble from your prisoner?’ she asked.

‘Just keeps pestering to speak to the King himself,’ said the guard. ‘Thinks he’ll be a soft touch. Thinks he’ll talk him round.’

I’m not sure about that, thought Mara. Turlough could be easy-going, but this castle, this pride and joy of the O’Brien clan, a site that they had wrested from the Englishman, de Clare; this castle, built by his uncle, was of huge strategic importance to the whole kingdom of Thomond. It commanded the River Shannon and made sure that enemies could not get into the heartland of the kingdom.

And then there was the precious land beneath the castle; that was almost of more importance, having belonged to his clan from time immemorial. Turlough would fight to the end to retain both castle and land. The traitor MacMahon had better keep out of his way, she thought as she nodded to the guard and told him to keep the prisoner in close confinement and then went on down towards the lower part of the castle.

Enda had a room on the floor of the main guard hall. She stood for a moment in front of the door and then tapped on it. Yes, he might be a suspect, perhaps a prime suspect in the case of the murder of Brehon MacClancy, but just now she badly needed help, and after all, a man was innocent until found guilty.

‘Enda,’ she said impetuously when he opened the door to her, ‘Enda, could you please help me. I’m very worried about my scholars.

His face had been closed up, the eyes shuttered by half-dropped lids, but at her words they opened up. A look of pleasure appeared on his face and he reached for his cloak which hung on a nail behind the door and in a moment he was by her side.

‘Don’t worry, Brehon; they can’t have gone far,’ he said in such a soothing manner, that, despite her anxieties, it brought a half-smile to her face.

‘Would you go up and collect Shona?’ she asked. ‘I’d like her help, also.’ There was no reason why the sixteen-year-old should stay in her room. Mara had intended questioning her further, but the whole truth had been obtained from the twins and Shona was not responsible in any way for the treachery of her father.

Ireland is a country divided against itself, she thought as she watched Enda bound up the stairs and listened to the clatter of his boots as he spiralled up without stopping. She had been accustomed to blame the English for their predatory attitude to Ireland. Their immense scorn for Brehon law had made her hate them. She recalled the description of the law of the native Irish as being ‘repugnant quite both to God’s law and man’s’. But it was Ireland’s disunity which provided England with its best opportunities. If Turlough Donn O’Brien, king of three western kingdoms, was to be defeated and taken prisoner by this treacherous act of a person who had been a friend, then that might prove a turning point in Ireland’s resistance.

She waited, feeling a cold dread come over her as she wondered what was happening. Would Turlough and his men-at-arms be able to stop the onslaught? If the Earl of Desmond was involved in helping his cousin, the Knight of Glin, then there might be vast numbers of men approaching up from the River Shannon.