Chain of Evidence (18 page)

‘She won’t have any appetite after standing over that stinking body,’ muttered Aidan to Hugh, but Nuala ignored him. In fact, she ignored Mara also. Having requested water, soap and towels from young Caelyn MacNamara, she had turned all of her attention to Peadar and she was busy instructing him – instructions which he absorbed with a look of bliss on his plain face. He seized her bag and preceded her up the stairs with a confident air, very different to his usual round-shouldered, shambling walk.

‘Have some fresh air,’ Mara advised her remaining scholars. ‘Rhona, perhaps you could show them around outside the castle. I will be reading the will of the late
taoiseach
in the great hall in about an hour’s time.’ She glanced at the clock on the wall. Trust Garrett to have a clock for the benefit of his men-at-arms and visitors. There was probably one in every room. Garrett and his wife Slaney had certainly furnished this place with the most modern of comforts and conveniences.

‘Shall we say meet back here in twenty minutes and then that will give us time to have our refreshments before the reading of the will?’

She wasn’t sure what the four scholars would discover in their tour around outside the castle but any information at the moment would be useful in solving this extremely puzzling case. Her mind ran down the list of suspects and then she paused on the corner of the stairs. Tomás MacNamara was one person that neither she nor the others had thought of when assessing who might have profited from the death of Garrett and yet he, ultimately, was the one who had gained the most from that. Motive, yes, she thought; opportunity, certainly. But how could he have guessed that Jarlath would have decided to reject the office of
taoiseach
and that he would be the one to profit? Deep in thought she went on to where Nuala and Peadar were waiting for her outside the locked and sealed door of the wall chamber where Garrett’s body lay.

‘I can’t tell you a lot, but I do know that he was dead when he was trampled by the cattle,’ said Nuala eventually. ‘See,’ she said, answering the question in Peadar’s eyes, ‘if you look there at the arm, Peadar, you’ll see that though the flesh has been battered and torn from the bone, just here, yet there is no sign of black bruises under the skin – something you would expect if the man had been alive when he was trampled.’

‘Why is that?’ breathed Peadar. He had an ecstatic look about him and appeared to take little notice of the smell or the revolting appearance of the body.

‘I’m not quite certain,’ confessed Nuala, ‘but it does seem to me that after death the blood no longer moves in the body. I wish I understood more myself. There is great work going on in Italy. I might go there for a while.’ She had a reflective look. Mara guessed that she was thinking of Fachtnan. If he had no interest in marrying her then Nuala might be lost to the Burren and Mara desperately wanted her to return and to take up her heritage of a farm and a beautiful house at Rathborney.

‘Nuala,’ she said, ‘would you examine Garrett’s ankles, both of them, please, and tell me what you think.’

‘I noticed that,’ said Nuala. ‘There is a ridge there, see, Peadar, on the right ankle. Something was tied around this ankle. Something quite thick – the ridge is broad, but it was pulled tightly, whatever it was. The flesh still bears a mark.’ She looked at the boy and said, ‘Do you think that you could tell the Brehon whether it was tied onto the man before death or after death, Peadar?’

‘After death,’ said Peadar without hesitation. ‘I can see that there is no bruising under the skin, just this hollow ridge.’

‘I would say, also, that the chain was tied to the ankle immediately after death. If there had been a lapse of time then the skin would have lost its elasticity. Interesting, isn’t it, Peadar?’

‘And what about the other ankle, or the wrists?’ asked Mara thinking of the theories that had been advanced at the law school.

‘Nothing there,’ said Nuala after making another quick examination of the body.

‘That tells me what I want to know,’ said Mara rising from her place. ‘Is there anything else that you can tell me?’

‘Only this . . .’ said Nuala. She took from her bag a long, wickedly sharp knife and without hesitation slit the stomach of the corpse with one neat slash. The stench was appalling but Nuala regarded her handiwork with satisfaction and Peadar did not flinch.

‘I saw this done in Italy,’ said Nuala as she bent over and peered into the stomach. Then she leaned back and said, ‘I can tell you something else about Garrett: he had not eaten for several hours before he died.’

Odd, thought Mara. She remembered Jarlath’s words about everyone rushing out from their supper. So Garrett was killed before that meal – and yet the fact that he had not been present had not been mentioned.

‘This, I think,’ she said, more to Peadar than to Nuala, ‘is a fact that should be kept to ourselves for the moment.’ She surveyed the two, rapt in their medical secrets and smiled humorously.

‘Come on,’ she said to Nuala, ‘I want you to look at Slaney. I’m not happy about her.’

‘I’ll just sew up the stomach first,’ said Nuala calmly. She produced a large needle already threaded with fine linen thread, rapidly sewed up the incision and then wrapped the body again in its winding sheet.

‘Wash your hands very carefully,’ she said to Peadar and stood over him while he scrubbed with a brush which she produced from her medical bag. ‘Now let’s see the live patient,’ she said when they both had washed.

Slaney was still in bed, but this time none, other than her maid from Galway, was with her. Mara gained instant access to her bedroom after a quick rap on the door.

‘She’s no better, is she?’ she said after a moment, looking down at the woman on the bed. Slaney almost seemed to have lost weight since her last visit. She was lying there, quite inert, previously an opulent figure, now subtly shrunken. She appeared to be fast asleep and snores broke from her once aristocratic nose. Nuala crossed the room and without ceremony snapped open one eyelid.

‘Drugged,’ she said tersely. And put her finger on the wrist of the flaccid woman.

‘What has she been taking?’ she asked and Mara, silently, produced the jar from her pouch.

‘Cowbane,’ she answered and saw a flicker of anger in Nuala’s dark brown eyes. Peadar, beside her, drew in his breath in a gasp of horror. ‘I took this jar away but there must be another source, somewhere,’ said Mara with a glance at the maid.

‘Cowbane,’ said Nuala. ‘No wonder that she is like this.’ She glared angrily at the servant. ‘Why have you given her this?’ she said, spacing the words out, as one who is controlling her temper with difficulty.

‘It’s her medicine; she brewed it herself.’ The woman was half-paralysed with fright and Mara held up a hand to Nuala.

‘Yes, yes,’ she said soothingly. ‘But did she ask for this medicine just now? And has she had the usual dose?’

The woman’s eyes were shuttered. She took a long moment before replying. ‘As to that, Brehon,’ she said hesitantly, ‘it was not I who gave her the dose.’

‘I see,’ said Mara soothingly. ‘It was . . .’ She hesitated for a moment. What was that woman’s name? It was probably the wife of Tomás, who gave the dose to her. ‘So someone else gave the dose to her,’ she said, watching the woman’s face. ‘Is that right?’

The nod was enough, though the woman repeated with the same hesitation. ‘It was not I who gave her the dose.’

‘I see,’ said Mara soothingly. ‘It was . . .’ She hesitated for a moment. What was that woman’s name? ‘It was Cait, the wife of Tomás that gave the dose to her. Is that right?’

A tiny nod told her what she wanted to know. Without waiting for an answer, Mara continued, ‘The physician here –’ she indicated Nuala with a world of confidence in her voice and in her gesture – ‘she will see to your mistress. Do all that she asks of you without question. She has had experience in cases like this and will soon be able to restore your mistress to her usual self. Peadar, you will remain here to assist the physician for the moment. I will send for you shortly.’

No time for refreshments, she thought. The meal was being cleared away from the great hall when she returned. Without asking permission from Tomás, she sent a servant to find her law school scholars and also Rhona, and to request them all to return to the hall. Stephen Gardiner was missing, now, she noticed as she stood in impassive silence awaiting the arrival of her scholars and of Peadar. It might be that Stephen had retired to his room when he saw her once more approach the great hall, but she hoped that it meant that he had taken his leave. Despite the poor weather, it still was the season of May and if he rode fast he could be in the city of Galway before night fell.

At that moment Peadar, accompanied by his mother Rhona, entered the room. The scholars, ushered in by Fachtnan, followed. Mara raised a hand to quell the low-voiced conversation and spoke out clearly.

‘I would have wished that the wife of the deceased man could be present, but that, I feel, given her condition, is not possible. Rest assured, though,’ she said making her voice as emphatic as possible, ‘rest assured,’ she repeated, ‘that I shall make sure that this woman has her rights.’

And then she took up the will, reading out the various bequests to Slaney in clear, unemotional tones, ignoring the gasps as the clan realised quite how much had been left to the woman from Galway.

‘And now we come to another matter,’ she said as she rolled the will and slipped the knot of pink tape around it. She paused. Every eye was upon on her. ‘Under our law,’ she said, ‘any son of a father is entitled to succeed to his portion. In this case, Garrett MacNamara had no son by his chief and only wife Slaney. However, days ago, when all here were present at the wake for the late
tánaiste
,
Garrett MacNamara publically recognised this boy.’ With one forefinger she beckoned to Peadar and when he came to her side she placed one hand lightly on his shoulder and then continued, ‘This boy here, from Scotland, was, in my hearing and in yours, recognised by Garrett as his son – “bred of my bone” was the expression that he used, if I remember rightly.’ She turned, picked up a branch of candles from a nearby table and held it in front of Peadar’s face. ‘I ask all here to attest that this boy has, in the words of the Brehon law, “the family face and the family manner”
.
Indeed,’ she resumed, replacing the
candles, ‘it seems to be that likeness is remarkable and there
can be no question about the matter.’ She paused, but none spoke, so then she resumed. ‘This means,’ she said briskly, ‘that Peadar MacNamara inherits the property which was Garrett’s own personal possession; that is the farm at Castletown. All other property, with the exception of the personal silver and possessions bequeathed to his wife Slaney, will go to the new
taoiseach.
’
Mara eyed Tomás sternly before finishing, ‘Whoever he may be.’

There was a thoughtful look on the face of Tomás but he did not argue with her verdict and after a moment of waiting for queries, Mara said decisively, ‘And this is the position about the last will and testament of Garrett MacNamara; may God have mercy on his soul and grant him everlasting peace.’

There is nothing like a tag from the Bible or the prayer book with which to end an awkward moment, she thought, as she moved away from the centre of the room and carelessly helped herself to a honey cake from the table now pushed against the wall. Not as good as Brigid’s cooking, she thought critically as she munched through its sticky texture, nevertheless it gave her something to do while she waited to see whether any would approach her with a question.

It was Peadar, however, whom she found by her side, his mother, Rhona hovering anxiously behind him.

‘How much is that farm worth?’ he asked abruptly.

‘Are you thinking of selling it?’ asked Mara with interest. He could probably get a good price for it, she thought. It was very good limestone land with fields on the high plateau as well as in the fertile valley. Muiris O’Hynes, always on the look-out to increase his land, might well be interested in it. ‘I wouldn’t know how much it is worth,’ she went on when he didn’t answer her question. She looked across at Rhona and added, ‘But I do know that it would bring in enough for you and your mother to live on in comfort.’

‘Oh, Mother wants to go back to Scotland; she has nothing to keep her here,’ he said with a grin. ‘And I have no interest in farming,’ he added impatiently. ‘I want to go to one of those schools for medicine in Italy. There are none in this country, Nuala says . . .’

For Peadar everything came back to Nuala. That had been a fortuitous meeting for the young man. Mara left him to his dreams after promising to ask her farm manager about how much silver he might be able to get for the farm. Possibly Ardal O’Lochlainn might be interested – he was one of the few people in the kingdom of the Burren who was reputed to own boxes of silver. He sold horses to England and to Spain; unlike others such as Muiris who traded locally, mainly with bartered goods. Muiris would probably prefer to rent the farm and to pay in goods rather than with silver. If Peadar did want to go to Italy, goods were of no use to him. However, she had another idea and immediately went over to Nuala.

‘Do you remember how much you wished that there was a school for physicians in Ireland?’ she asked. ‘I recollect how you envied my scholars when they were discussing law cases with each and sharpening their wits on their fellow pupils.’

Nuala looked at her in a puzzled way. ‘Yes, but . . .’

‘But you no longer need a school,’ Mara finished. ‘But what would you say to the idea that you should open a school? You are eighteen years old now – the very same age as I was when I took over the law school at Cahermacnaghten. All here on the Burren respect you greatly – and have done since you were a child of twelve or thirteen. You could start with Peadar over there and then by the time you had taught him, other pupils would follow. That house that was willed to you in Rathborney is lying empty and you remember what Toin said in his will and testament. I read it to you the night that he died.’ Mara had an excellent memory and she found the words had come to her mind and she quoted them softly, ‘ “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.”
Of course,’ she continued, ‘the revenues from the farm have fed and clothed you, paid your fees when you were an apprentice and enabled you to visit Italy in pursuit of knowledge. Perhaps now is the time to fulfil the second part of your ambition . . .’