Chain of Evidence (14 page)

‘Brethren,’ he said, and it was obvious from the effort that he put into the words that this, the traditional way of addressing the clan, came uneasily to his tongue. ‘In your presence earlier I accepted your desire that I should be your new
taoiseach.
However, since then, I have thought long and hard and I feel that I am not the man that you are looking for. I have been a wanderer for many years and the wandering is in my blood and I don’t think that it is something that I can easily shake off. You have done me great honour in selecting me; but I don’t think that I am worthy of that honour. Tomás here –’ and with a gesture he signalled to his cousin from the kingdom of Thomond to come forward – ‘Tomás is the man who has the clan’s interest at heart. He will make you a wonderful
taoiseach
– I feel sure of that . . .’

Jarlath stopped talking and looked appealingly at his cousin. Tomás bowed his head gravely.

‘If I can serve the clan,’ he said graciously and with a deep note of sincerity in his voice, ‘then my life’s dearest wish will be granted.’

Mara caught a glimpse of the diminutive wife, Cait, clasp her hands together and raise them to her mouth as though to stop the words in praise of her husband flowing out. His tall son had flushed a deep red, but the man himself stood modestly and quietly by Jarlath’s side, looking only at him. She, herself, had to admit that Tomás had handled Jarlath’s surprise announcement with dignity and adroitness. The clan, of course, had no doubts. They had been through an uncertain and difficult time – Garrett had been deeply unpopular. He had begun his reign over them by raising the tribute of goods and silver expected from them to an unprecedented level and he had proved to have a poor understanding of the people that he ruled over. Perhaps there may have been some fears that Jarlath would follow in his footsteps. There was no doubt that Tomás knew every one of them, knew their desires, their needs, their resources and their expectations. He would probably make a good
taoiseach.
At any rate, he had the sense to make his speech short and then to step back, signalling to Jarlath to come and stand beside him.

Mara looked around the hall. The majority of the clan of MacNamara were definitely present. There was no doubt that representatives of all main branches were there. She would take a vote, she thought. The people would have their say.

‘All those in favour of Tomás MacNamara for
taoiseach
say ay,’ she said unemotionally, and the hall rang with the
acclamations
. ‘Against,’ she said and not a person raised their voice.

‘I hereby declare that Tomás MacNamara is the true choice of the clan for the position of
taoiseach
and I shall ask the king if he is willing to ratify your decision,’ she said and after a moment all cheered.

Tomás slipped out of the room and a few minutes later, the housekeeper followed by men and women servants came in, bearing platters of honey cakes and other fine food and flagons of mead.

It was almost, thought Mara, as if all were already prepared for a feast this evening.

Turning a blind eye to her scholars, who were enthusiastically sampling some pastries and hopefully eyeing the mead, she strolled across to Jarlath.

‘Any regrets?’ she asked.

He turned a smiling face towards her. His eyes blazed with emotion – relief, perhaps, jubilation certainly, the face of a man who had made the right decision.

‘No regrets,’ he said with a short laugh, ‘but a strong desire to get out of here before they start toasting my own corpse.’

‘Come home with us,’ she invited. ‘Spend the night at Cahermacnaghten. In the morning you can think of what to do. I’d say that you’ve made the right decision,’ she added, looking at his worried face. ‘What do you want for your life – settling disputes, worrying about leases, thinking of your tribute? No, you’re a young man, brave and adventurous; you’ve enjoyed life on the high seas – enjoy it for a few more years.’

Mara looked around her. A big group were around Tomás; various women were gathered in a smiling throng listening to Cait simpering, her eldest son’s hand firmly clasped within two of her own tiny hands; the mead was flowing with a generosity that almost seemed as though this eventuality had been foreseen. Mara approached Tomás, murmured her congratulations and promised to speak to King Turlough on his behalf and made her excuses. Moylan, nobly resisting a refill of mead,
immediately
answered the message from her beckoning hand by gathering up his fellow scholars and, accompanied by Jarlath, they all left the castle.

‘So that’s all settled,’ said Aidan as they mounted and rode down the empty road in group, Moylan going ahead with Jarlath and the two younger boys while Fiona and Aidan were riding one on either side of Mara.

‘Bird brain,’ said Fiona scathingly. ‘How can the matter be settled when we don’t know what happened to Garrett? Haven’t you got any intellectual curiosity?’

‘Not really,’ said Aidan with his usual frankness. ‘I couldn’t stand Garrett MacNamara.’ He lowered his voice slightly at the last words, but they penetrated through the worry about Slaney that was going through Mara’s head. It was a dangerous sentiment, she thought, though a boy’s heedless words.

‘ “To no one will we deny justice”,’ she quoted aloud. ‘The law is the same for all people in the kingdom. We owe it not just to Garrett MacNamara, but to everyone on the Burren, to find out the truth about his death.’

‘So we start to investigate the death,’ said Fiona briskly. ‘I am making a list in my mind,’ she added.

Aidan looked at her with curiosity. ‘But if the O’Lochlainn had not seen a chain around the leg of the corpse then there would be no further bother – what if he has made a mistake? And you’re a birdbrain if you can’t see that.’

Fiona gave him a disdainful look, snorted something under her breath and urged her pony ahead. Jarlath glanced over his shoulder and dropped back to ride by her side.

Mara roused herself from her worry about Slaney. Aidan’s point was a valid one and it needed answering.

‘I always evaluate evidence, not just for what it contains, but also I evaluate the character of the person bringing the evidence,’ she told him. A moment later she added, ‘What is your opinion of Ardal O’Lochlainn, Aidan?’

She thought he might make a joke; he was the school’s clown, but he seemed flattered to have his opinion asked.

‘Careful sort of fellow,’ he said after a minute.

Mara waited. It would be good for him to formulate his ideas and to learn to trust his judgement.

‘I was listening to Muiris O’Hynes talking to Diarmuid O’Connor about a mare that he bought for breeding purposes,’ he said after a pause for thought. ‘And he said: “I paid a good price for her because the O’Lochlainn said he liked the look of her and he never speaks until he knows what he’s talking about.” That’s what Muiris said and he’s pretty shrewd himself,’ added Aidan with a wise air that she found rather endearing. He was growing up, the little boy who liked jokes and funny stories in preference to work. Soon he would be gone from her and she would have a new generation of children to train up in the intricacies of Brehon law.

‘That’s a very good point,’ she said, allowing a note of
admiration
to enter her voice. ‘I’ll remember that, Aidan. I think that is an excellent example of how a man’s reputation should influence what weight is given to his evidence.’

Her mind went to Jarlath’s words. Was it possible that Garrett had been bound hand and foot – and presumably gagged – and then had managed to free himself, just too late, of all chains except one? Or had there just been one chain which had knotted both ankles together? A man might be able to unpick a knot, but it took time; and time, with a herd of maddened cows thundering down the road, was not available to anyone in that particular situation.

But she and her scholars had searched the roadway soon afterwards and there were no signs of any chains on the paving or in the ditches on either side. She wondered whether Nuala would be able to discover any signs of the second ankle or leg being tied. Or was it possible that Garrett’s wrist had been secured to his ankle by a piece of twine threaded through the links and then he was slung down into the pathway of the cows, the second knot slipping free as he was thrown. It would take an immensely strong man to throw a heavy-weight like Garrett down the hill.

Her eyes went thoughtfully to the tall figure of Jarlath. The two young boys, Shane and Hugh, had gone ahead with Moylan. He and Fiona had fallen behind and were joking and laughing about something. Jarlath showed no signs now of the almost panic with which he faced her in the window embrasure and spoke of his dead brother. Why had he sought her out so urgently and cross-questioned her about Garrett’s death before coming to the decision to give up the leadership of the clan?

Had he been determined to show that he had no reason to murder his brother for the position of
taoiseach
since he had been so quick to give it up?

And yet, he would not have been under much suspicion as he had been on top of the mountain when the marauders had started the cows on their stampede through the Burren. Yes, he had reached Carron before the marauders, but probably not that long ahead of them; it was unlikely that he would have had time to stage an accident. And why had Stephen Gardiner looked like a man with a great problem to solve when he heard that Jarlath was declining the post of
taoiseach
to the MacNamara clan? After all, though Jarlath had been his companion and friend on the journey from Donegal in the north of Ireland, the affairs of a tiny kingdom on the Atlantic fringe could not have been of such great interest to an
emissary
from the great king of England.

And what did Stephen Gardiner think of the fact that Tomás, a man of small importance until today, was now to be the leader of the MacNamara clan?

A person found guilty of murder must pay a fine to the relatives of the dead.

If, however, the murder has been committed by one of the near kin, such as a son or a brother this is classified as
fingal
and then no fine is big enough. The guilty person must be placed in a boat without oars and abandoned to the sea and to the vengeance of Almighty God.

M
ara slept well that night, forbidding her mind to range over the puzzle until more of the facts about the strange death could be ascertained. She needed Nuala’s knowledge before coming to any conclusions, she decided. The party from Thomond would not be expected to reach the law school of Cahermacnaghten before noon and in the meantime there was much work to be done since study had been interrupted by the unexpected events of the last few days. The scholars had, after a few groans, accepted her dictate that they should not talk about the death of Garrett MacNamara until after Nuala had arrived and had had a chance to examine the body. They had worked well that morning, conning passages of Latin, turning out their own versions of poems in that tongue, memorising tens and twenties of the wise sayings of Fithail, examining the laws of inheritance and referring to
Miadslechta
(sections dealing with rank and status) about the procedure for the
election
of a new
taoiseach.
With the example of the MacNamara procedure fresh in their minds, this would make the dull triads and heptads easier to memorize, Mara thought. She owed a lot of her success as a teacher to her practice of seizing on any real-life examples to illuminate the dry facts of the laws of Ireland.

After almost three hours of work, they had looked tired and Mara had relented. It might be, she thought, there would be little that Nuala could tell them. It had been impressive on one occasion when she was able to tell whether a wound had been inflicted before death, or after. However, on this occasion the body of Garret would be days old before Nuala could look at it. And the blood had been washed from it before even Mara and her scholars had seen it.

‘I suppose we could speculate a little about the death of Garrett MacNamara,’ she said cautiously when her hour glass showed her that they had now worked for a good, solid three hours.

‘A secret and unlawful killing,’ said Aidan with relish.

‘Motive and opportunity,’ said Moylan smartly, almost as if he had waiting for this moment.

‘Let’s look at motive first,’ said Fiona thoughtfully. ‘Opportunity is difficult when we are not exactly sure of when he was killed.’

‘Should Hugh write on the board, Brehon, since Fachtnan is always saying that his handwriting is the best in the school?’ asked Shane and Mara nodded with a feeling of pleasure. She had been right to choose Fachtnan as an assistant. She had had many clever scholars that had qualified at her school and then passed on. Quite a few of these would have been pleased to work under her and learn how to conduct a successful law school, but Fachtnan, despite problems with memory, had always had those special qualities of understanding and sensitivity. Hugh, they both knew, had little confidence in himself, but Fachtnan had obviously been quick to praise him and to emphasise his strong points to the other scholars.

‘The usual categories, Hugh,’ called out Moylan as soon as the fifteen-year-old was in position in front of the board with the charcoal stick in one hand and the damp sponge beside him. The board had been recently lime-washed by Cumhal, the farm manager, and the black strokes of Hugh’s neat script stood out starkly against the white as he wrote: ‘GREED; FEAR; ANGER; REVENGE’ across the top and then turned enquiringly towards his fellow pupils.

‘Greed is probably going to be the most important category,’ said Shane thoughtfully. ‘It’s not as if Garrett was a poor man without possessions. He had a lot – plenty that someone else could have wanted.’