‘I’ll do that then, Fintan.’
‘We were wondering about painting the bench, Brehon,’ said Fintan. ‘You can see it has had its first coat of paint, black just like you wanted. We’ll give it a second or third
coat before we bring it over to you. The thing is, that Balor here has got it into his head that he wanted to do the berries in red. What do you think?’
Mara hesitated for a moment. She liked the simplicity of the black iron bench, but one look at Balor’s eager face made her quickly come to a decision.
‘Red for the berries would be beautiful,’ she said smiling at Balor. ‘Red is a lovely idea.’
‘Well, Balor will do it for you then,’ said Fintan. ‘He’s a great hand at doing the small delicate bits. I always leave that sort of thing to him. You’d be surprised how good he is at painting.’
‘The school cob!’ exclaimed Balor turning his head towards the east.
‘That must be Cumhal,’ said Fintan. ‘Balor knows the sound of all the horses around here. Yes, it sounds like that cob of his. I know the way he bangs his feet down on the road. Run out to the road and tell him that the Brehon is here, Balor.’
Balor quickly shambled out and bellowed, ‘Whoa!’ Mara and Fintan followed. Bran wagged his tail and ran ahead of them. The cob and he were great friends. Cumhal slowed his pace and then reined in the cob.
‘I’ll see you when I come back, Cumhal,’ said Mara. ‘I’m just going to ride over to Lissylisheen now.’
Cumhal looked uncomfortable, and she added, ‘All is well?’
‘Yes, Brehon,’ he said. He still looked ill at ease so she watched him narrowly and saw him give a quick glance at Fintan and Balor.
‘I’ll just wait and go along a stretch of the road with you, Brehon,’ he said carefully.
Mara was about to tell him to ride on, that Brigid was worried about him, but something in his expression checked her.
‘That will be nice,’ she said affably as she waved a farewell. Cumhal said nothing until the two men had returned to within the forge and even then he spoke in a low voice.
‘Brehon, there was a bit of trouble up in Carron.’
Mara shielded her face from the western sun and turned to look closely at him.
‘At the tower house? What happened?’
‘Well, when I arrived at the gatehouse with the pouch, the MacNamara himself came out. I thought he would just take it and thank me. But he took me into the hall. And he started to weigh out the silver.’
‘To
weigh
it?’ asked Mara incredulously, her voice rising. ‘From the pouch!’
Cumhal edged the cob a little further over onto the grass verge to make more room for Mara to ride on his left side. Then he lowered his voice even more. ‘And then the
ban tighernae
came in and she started doing it, too.’
So Slaney herself came to check the contents of the pouch, no doubt to see how much she had to spend on the latest improvements to her husband’s property. For once, Mara was speechless.
‘I think that’s Niall coming down the road with his blue cow and calf,’ said Cumhal with an alert ear for the usual sounds of the country. ‘We’ll just pull the horses in at this gate until he passes. She’s a bit nervous-like, that cow.’
What on earth did Garrett hope to find out by weighing the silver? wondered Mara as she automatically smiled at the plump little calf and greeted Niall. He didn’t look too well, she thought, but her mind was too full of the extraordinary behaviour of the MacNamara and his lady wife to wonder about Niall.
‘They were taking out all the leases from the big chest in the hall and looking at them and making lists of what had been paid in tribute last year and of what was given, who would have paid silver,’ continued Cumhal, clicking his tongue at the cob who had just found an inviting piece of grass on the far side of the gate.
‘So they were looking at the leases, then,’ said Mara thoughtfully, reaching out to pat the cob who had obediently forsaken the interesting grass and was now plodding determinedly towards home and stable and evening meal.
‘That’s not all, Brehon,’ said Cumhal. His tones were hushed and embarrassed. ‘They say that not all the silver is there. There should have been more. They want to see you, Brehon. They want you …’ here he hesitated, but seeing that Mara’s enquiring gaze did not waver, he continued bravely. ‘The
ban tighernae
said that she wanted an explanation from you, and the
taoiseach
agreed with her. They want you to come and see them tomorrow morning.’ His voice was distressed and embarrassed and he avoided her gaze. She understood him well. He had served the father, and then the daughter, and every fibre of fierce Gaelic loyalty was given to her. Any insult to her would be of grave importance to him. He and Brigid would die for her, and she had to remind herself continually not to underestimate the strength of that allegiance. She smiled grimly as the picture of Slaney’s stately
figure, summoning her to Carron, came to her. No one else in the whole kingdom of the Burren would treat the Brehon, the king’s representative, with such discourtesy. Mara pulled up her mare and stayed standing in the middle of the road. Cumhal stopped also and sat pulling the cob’s ears and looking at the distant slopes of Slieve Elva. Bran looked enquiringly from one to the other.
‘Well, well, well,’ said Mara lightly. ‘Do you know, I think I will do just that. I’ll go and see them and put them both right about a few things. Cumhal, would you take Bran back to Cahermacnaghten? I think I will pay the MacNamara and his wife a visit today. I don’t want to waste the lads’ time tomorrow; they need their schooling. I’ll ride up to Carron this evening. I’ll be back before dark. Go with Cumhal, Bran; good boy.’
‘I’ll take Bran back and then I’ll come and ride with you,’ said Cumhal firmly. ‘You don’t want to be going up there on your own. It wouldn’t be fitting.’
‘Oh, nonsense,’ said Mara firmly. ‘You’ve had a long day, and I don’t suppose they gave you anything to eat while they were busy weighing silver and consulting ledgers. You take Bran back and have your supper and keep an eye on the lads for me. No, you go now, Cumhal. I’ll be fine.’
After they had gone Mara waited, standing quite still on the road, until she was sure that Bran was going happily with Cumhal. Her mind was busy. She didn’t care in the least about Slaney’s rudeness. She would soon put her straight on the sort of behaviour that should be shown to the high office of Brehon. No, that was not what made her thoughtful. Suddenly Garrett MacNamara was revealed as a man who was so desperate for silver that he would even offer a
discourtesy to the Brehon – someone whose honour price was lower only to that of King Turlough Donn himself. No one else in the Kingdom of the Burren would have done that.
The day was turning chilly and Mara cast a worried eye over her shoulder as she galloped her mare along the road towards Carron. The western sky was ominous with wild slashes of silver behind the soft black down of the clouds. There might be a storm in a few hours. She had no desire to accept any hospitality from the MacNamara and his unpleasant wife. However, there was a road going all the way along the valley from Noughaval to Carron and her mare was fit and in a mood to enjoy a flat-out gallop. She would just say what she had come to say and then depart immediately. There would be a couple of hours before sundown. If it rained, it rained. Mara was philosophic about that. Anyone who lived in the west of Ireland was used to the rain and her
brat,
or mantle, with its combed woollen surface, made a rainproof and windproof covering.
She wasn’t the only visitor coming to Carron Castle on this late afternoon. As she approached the tall, gloomy tower house, she heard the sound of another horse galloping fast towards her. Mara slowed her mare, as the road was narrow at this spot. She would wait until the horse passed before turning up through the magnificent iron gates, presented as a Michaelmas tribute by Fintan.
However, the other horse slowed also, and as the rider approached Mara saw who it was and schooled her face to present a grim appearance.
‘Slaney,’ she said with a nod of acknowledgement, but omitting the usual greetings and blessings. She deliberately
crossed the road in front of Slaney and her horse and proceeded up the avenue in front of the
ban tighernae.
She was pleased to notice from a quick glance over her shoulder that Slaney had looked quite taken aback and seemed content to follow the Brehon meekly up the avenue. Neither spoke until they reached the courtyard in front of the great oak door.
‘Find someone to take my horse,’ said Mara in tones of cool command. Slaney was looking very flushed and ill at ease and, to Mara’s surprise, even slightly guilty. A man rushed out from the stable and then looked from one to the other uncomfortably. Mara walked her horse to the mounting block and held out the reins to him. He came instantly and meekly took the reins while she dismounted.
‘Murty,’ shouted the stableman and a boy rushed out and started to lead Slaney’s horse to the mounting block while Mara hung on to the stableman’s hand for longer than usual, ensuring that Slaney clambered awkwardly down without assistance. Mara turned away from her and addressed the stableman.
‘Fetch the MacNamara,’ she commanded. ‘Tell him that the Brehon wishes to speak to him.’
He rushed off to the barn, looking alarmed. Garrett was doubtless counting over the tribute in there, as he appeared in a minute followed by bald-headed Maol. No doubt Maol was being taught the steward’s duties.
‘Ah, Garrett,’ said Mara. ‘I wish to speak to you. Shall we go inside?’
A quick glance passed between husband and wife, but neither spoke. Both followed her meekly in through the door and up the steep winding staircase to the hall above. There was no fire in the hall and the room was damp and chilly. A
large chest, full of scrolls of parchment and sheets of vellum, stood in the centre of the room, its lid thrown back and its contents untidy and jumbled.
‘I’ve received an extraordinary message from my farm manager, Cumhal,’ said Mara, looking from one face to the other. ‘He said that you had
summoned
me. Can this be correct?’ She was pleased to notice that the right degree of astonishment and incredulity sounded in her voice.
‘No, no,’ stuttered Garrett, but Slaney was made of sterner stuff.
‘That is correct,’ she said defiantly. The flush had faded from her face and her prominent blue eyes were hard as pebbles.
‘Oh,’ said Mara icily. It annoyed her that the statuesque Slaney was so much taller than she. She looked around the room. There was a carved chair, luxuriously padded with red velvet cushions, placed beside the empty brazier. Mara crossed the room and sat on it. Now Slaney and Garrett were left standing awkwardly together in front of her like a pair of scholars waiting to receive a scolding.
‘Tell me what the problem is,’ she said.
Garrett looked at his wife and she did not fail him.
‘The problem is that we don’t think there is enough silver in the pouch,’ she said aggressively. She seemed to have recovered completely from her earlier embarrassment. Mara raised an eyebrow and continued to stare at her.
‘We would just like an explanation of how the pouch came into your hands.’ Was there, perhaps, a slight emphasis on the words
your hands?
wondered Mara.
‘Oh, didn’t Cumhal tell you?’ she said with an air of surprise. ‘You should have asked him,’ she continued.
‘Yes, yes,’ stuttered Garrett, but once again Slaney interrupted him.
‘If you could just tell us the whole story, Brehon,’ she said, trying to make her shrill, high-pitched voice sound soft and sweet.
‘Guaire O’Brien, the linen merchant from Kilfenora, was killed in a fight,’ said Mara evenly. ‘He was in an alehouse in Corcomroe. When the Brehon of Corcomroe heard that there was a pouch full of silver in the dead man’s possession he went himself to the widow. She confirmed that the pouch was not belonging to Guaire. The Brehon was told that Guaire had been at the Michaelmas Fair in Burren so he brought the pouch to me. I confirmed that it was Ragnall’s pouch so I sent Cumhal over to you.’
‘You looked inside the pouch?’ Slaney’s question was delivered with the speed of a cat pouncing on a fleeing mouse.
Mara allowed a long silence to fill the chilly room before she replied.
‘The Brehon of Corcomroe opened the pouch, showed me the silver. If he had not done so, I would have sent the pouch over to Shesmore so as to return it to Ragnall’s daughter. No doubt you have returned the man’s personal private property to Maeve by now. Perhaps that’s where you were coming from?’ she added to Slaney, knowing that the woman had been riding from the opposite direction. Garrett was mumbling something about Oughtmama and the mill when Slaney cut across him again.
‘Of course, neither of us would suspect either you or the Brehon of Corcomroe of tampering with the money,’ she said with the sweet air of one who is too innocent to believe any evil.
‘Of course not,’ said Mara coldly.
‘It’s just that we feel the full sum of the tribute was not contained in the pouch,’ continued Slaney.
‘I can’t help you with that,’ said Mara. She put her two hands on the carved arms of the chair and made as if to rise.