Before Mara could reply, she heard Shane stumble.
‘Are you all right, Shane?’ Her voice was sharp with anxiety, but he answered readily.
‘I’m all right, Brehon, there’s just a bit of a hollow here, I stumbled, but I didn’t fall.’
‘Look, the mist is clearing a little,’ said Aidan thankfully. ‘We’re still facing the sun, look you can see it behind the mist right there in front of us.’
Mara took her eyes from Shane and looked. Yes, the sun was in front of them but the ground seemed to be rising rather than falling. She looked around and got a shock.
‘We’ve been here before,’ she said. There was the hollow which had caused Shane to stumble. The mist had lifted for a few minutes, just enough to allow her to see the exquisite little rock garden of ferns dotted with the three tiny white flowers of wild strawberries. She had seen this earlier; she knew instantly. The mountains were full of these fertile hollows, but it was unlikely that another had the same arrangement of May blossoms growing among the November ferns.
‘We’ve gone too far,’ she said blankly. ‘We’re on the way over to Formoyle. We must have crossed the path without realizing it. We have to turn back.’
None of the boys said anything, but she could imagine their thoughts. If they had gone wrong before, perhaps they would go wrong again.
‘Let’s turn around now,’ she said briskly. ‘Perhaps it will stay clear long enough to allow us to get back on the path. Keep your eye on the sun from time to time. We must keep it to our backs.’
Even the watery streak of pale gold did not stay for long, though. When Mara turned around after a few minutes of stumbling along the rocky ground of the ‘saddle’ she saw that the mist had closed down again and now there was nothing but endless banks of vapour enclosing them. She was desperately worried now; as they were coming down
from Lios Mac Sioda she had been confident of recognizing the path once her feet met it, but now that confidence had been shown to be unjustified. The path, no longer grassy at this height, probably would feel, to the feet, very much like a small flat piece of the stony ground of the mountain.
‘I think that I heard the two notes of the horn,’ said Shane. His voice sounded more optimistic than certain, but Mara seized on the slender hope eagerly.
‘How stupid of me,’ she exclaimed. ‘We should try calling. Can any of you make the noise that Muiris demonstrated? Do you remember? A two-note
béic.
Try it one at a time, and leave a few minutes’ space in between. We’ll keep walking, though. I’m pretty sure that we are going in the right direction now and remember that Lios Mac Sioda is built on a cliff face so there is no danger of us wandering ahead this time. When we meet anything steep then we’ll turn right.’
Easily said, she thought as she listened to the boys yodelling enthusiastically. Shane’s would carry the best, she thought. He had a high clear voice. After one of his yells she thought she heard something and she quickly hushed Aidan.
‘Listen,’ she said.
Yes, there it was again. She was quite sure of it. But it wasn’t a two-note blast from the horn. This was a bark, very distant … Probably just a farm dog roused by the noise from the mountain … Nevertheless …
‘Do it again, Shane,’ she said urgently.
This time there was no mistake. The bark came from the Formoyle direction. It was coming nearer and she had no doubts. This was no sheep dog. This bark was a deep note, the bark of a huge dog.
‘Bran!’ yelled Shane and the others joined in instantly.
‘Thank God,’ breathed Mara. ‘Bran,’ she called, ‘here, boy.’ She could hear the sound of tumbling stones and feet running on the uneven ground. ‘Steady, now, Bran,’ she called. Dogs had been injured running on ground like this and Bran would be anxious to get back to her as soon as possible.
The next minute his hard, narrow head was under her hand and she was stroking the harsh wiry coat. And then he was licking the boys frantically, and his whipcord-like tail was flailing them all.
‘I’ve got hold of his collar, Brehon,’ said Shane. ‘Better put the leash on him before he goes off again.’
‘I don’t think that he’ll do that,’ said Mara. All of her worries had now vanished. She took the leash from her pouch and passed it to Shane.
‘He’s got something stuck in his collar,’ said Shane. ‘Wait a minute; it’s a piece of heather, I think. No, it isn’t. It’s sort of crackly. I think it’s a bit of seaweed, a dried-up bit. Yes, that’s what it is – it smells of that. Here it is, Brehon.’
‘You shouldn’t have run away like that, Bran,’ reproved Aidan, ‘we were all worried about you.’
‘He was just following his mistress’s orders, weren’t you, Bran?’ Mara took the dried-up crumpled strip from Shane’s fingers and sniffed it carefully. ‘Yes, you’re right, that smells of the sea,’ she said thoughtfully as she placed it in her pouch.
‘Come on, Bran, home, boy, home,’ she commanded taking the leash into her own hand and she signalled to him to go ahead of her.
Bran did not hesitate, nor did he put his nose to the ground. He just strode out confidently. The mist was still blanket-thick, but Mara had no fears now. After about five minutes of trotting steadily, Bran turned to the right and began to lead the way downhill.
‘He’s going the right way now, I just felt some grass brush my leg, and the ground feels softer, too.’ Hugh hadn’t spoken for quite some time and now his voice was full of relief.
Mara shared his feeling. Now there was nothing else to worry about. Bran would lead them straight down to Rathborney.
‘You might try calling again,’ she suggested. ‘I thought I heard the horn just now.’
‘All together, now,’ said Aidan, reasserting his mastery of the younger boys. ‘On the count of three, lads …’
The two-note yell that burst from them was enough to raise the dead and it was immediately answered by the horn.
‘And once more for luck,’ shrieked Aidan.
This time there was a triumphal, celebratory note from the horn and a cacophony of exuberant yodels in return.
‘They know we’re on our way down,’ said Aidan with satisfaction.
‘Do you think that Sheedy might have anything to do with Sorley’s murder, Brehon?’ asked Shane chattily as they made their way down the hill, Mara holding Bran’s leash and the little party following the big dog confidently. Through the mist she could see that there were a string of torches coming up the hill and the heavy air smelled strongly of burning pitch.
‘He’s got a thing about bees,’ said Hugh. ‘He might be
brooding over the time that he pushed a hive over and killed a man.
‘And he certainly hated Sorley,’ put in Shane eagerly.
‘He’d be high on my list if I was Brehon,’ said Aidan wisely.
‘And he wouldn’t have to pay a fine if he were a
dásachtach,’
said Shane knowledgeably.
‘Everything all right, Brehon?’ Muiris’s powerful voice reached them a minute before they could see his outline.
‘We’re all fine, Muiris, thank you. I’m sorry that you’ve had such trouble.’ Mara said no more; none would question her further.
They walked on until the two parties met. There was Muiris, and Cumhal, his face impassive, but his eyes full of relief. He would make a good story of this to Brigid, tonight, guessed Mara.
‘Glad you’re all safe, Brehon.’ Muiris’s voice was relieved, but held something else, also. ‘I’m afraid that we have some bad news for you,’ he continued. His voice was grave and for a moment her heart stopped. Had an accident happened to one of her boys? Her eyes scanned the crowd of the young and active who had accompanied Muiris up the Rathborney lane and then she let out a breath of relief. There was Fachtnan with Nuala and beside him Enda and Moylan.
‘Bad news?’ she echoed, turning back to Muiris.
‘I’m afraid so, Brehon,’ he said. ‘We haven’t found the man. I had to call everyone off the mountain,’ he explained. ‘I daren’t let them up there any longer with mist coming down so early.’
Mara considered for a moment. She had almost forgotten about Rory, as her mind was busy with another person.
She sought for the right sentences to utter. She knew well that her lightest words were repeated and spread all over the kingdom.
‘Well, you’ve all done your best, Muiris,’ said Mara consolingly. ‘I should leave the matter now,’ she said, picking her words carefully. ‘I will make some enquiries tomorrow and I’ll let you know if anything further needs to be done.’
‘Bran ran away.’ Aidan’s loud, adolescent, uncontrolled voice could be heard by all.
‘No, he didn’t!’ Shane’s was just as loud and more vehement. ‘No, he didn’t run away. The Brehon asked him to track Rory and he tracked him right as far as Fanore. I found the seaweed in his collar.’
Muiris swung around to listen and then turned back to Mara. ‘I see,’ he said evenly and there was a look of comprehension and also of triumph in his grey eyes. He had done his best for Rory. He had hunted all day and used every ounce of his skill and his expertise, but it had come to nothing and now he was interested in the latest news. She could see surmises, suspicions and finally enlightenment flash through his mind.
‘I see,’ he repeated. ‘Well, we’ll call it a day and go back to our homes, Brehon.’
‘That’s right, Muiris,’ said Mara meeting his eyes frankly. ‘You’ve done all you can now and everyone can go home with the feeling of a good day’s work being done. I shall send Cumhal to make further enquiries tomorrow.’
DIN TECHTUGAD (ON LEGAL ENTRY)
This is the legal procedure to be used by the lawful owner for taking possession of land, unjustly occupied by another person.
The claimant must enter the land accompanied by one witness and two horses. If possession is not yielded, then ten days later the claimant comes back with two witnesses and four horses. if still not allowed possession, he returns after twenty days with three witnesses and eight horses.
The claimant then spends a night on the property, kindles a fire and allows his horses to graze freely.
The following day the case must be heard by the Brebon of the kingdom and judgement given as to the rightful owner of the property.
‘O
H, BREHON, BRIGID SAID to remind you that the king is coming to have supper with you tonight,’ said Cumhal at the end of Saturday morning schooling. He had waited for the boys to go off for their dinner before giving his account of the mission she had sent him on.
‘No, I won’t forget about the king,’ Mara said, still pondering on the news that he had brought her. ‘And the man was sure that Cathal said that?’
Cumhal nodded silently, scanning her face, but he asked no questions.
‘I must ride over to Newtown Castle now,’ said Mara decisively. ‘Tell Brigid that I will be back in plenty of time for supper. I’ve given permission to all of the boys to spend the night with the O’Lochlainns so you and she will have a quiet afternoon and evening. They won’t be back until nightfall on Sunday.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, Fachtnan told me that they’ll be off after their dinner — going hunting on Aillwee tomorrow at dawn apparently.’ He lingered for a minute and then said, ‘You might be interested to know, Brehon, that the lad Cuan, the silversmith’s son, is back staying with Toin the
briuga.
I met Tomas from Rathborney and he told me the news.’
‘Oh, is he, indeed?’ Mara saw a grin on Cumhal’s face and waited. There would be more to come, she knew that.
‘Apparently young Cuan was up in that mountainy farm of his when the rain came bucketing down last night and the thatch of that old cabin he lives in started to leak and the place flooded out, so down came your man, with his pride tucked into his pouch, and the
briuga,
decent man that he is, welcomed him back,’ finished Cumhal who had obviously
heard the full story of Cuan’s outburst on Wednesday night from Tomas.
So Cuan had been taken back under Toin’s wing, well that didn’t surprise her, but she hoped that the young man would have the courtesy to be there to meet her at Newtown Castle as she had ordered him.
The road that wound steeply downhill from Cahermacnaghten to Rathborney was running with rainwater when Mara rode her mare towards Newtown Castle. The air was cold and the skies overcast with a hint of more rain to come. One of the green meadows deep in the valley of Gragans was flooded; already a flock of white swans had discovered it and they rocked peacefully on its grey surface.
‘We’re getting our winter at last, Brehon,’ said Eoin MacNamara, as she reined in her mare to allow him to cross the road after an endless herd of sheep. ‘Just helping Lorcan take these ladies of his up to Gleninagh South,’ he added, closing the field gate as a frantic sheepdog, circling around the heels of four lagging sheep, finally drove them across the road.
‘It’s a bit wet for them down there now, I suppose,’ said Mara, looking down at the flooded valley. Many of the valleys in the Burren had underground lakes which spilled above ground when they overflowed.
‘That’s right,’ he said cheerfully, ‘they’d get foot rot before you could turn around if they were left down there any longer. I’ll be bringing my own cattle up to the mountains soon, too, and then it will be Lorcan’s turn to give me a hand.’
And with that he followed the sheep through a narrow gap in a wall on the side of the road, just pausing to replace a few large boulders before striding up the lower slopes of Gleninagh South.
This way of life on the Burren was a custom that had probably gone on for thousands of years, thought Mara as she rode on; soon all of the animals from the valleys would be brought up onto the common land in the hills. It was a way of life that depended on neighbours sharing mountain space, helping each other with the movement of herds, keeping a friendly eye on each other’s animals.
The thought set her to thinking about yesterday and how the whole neighbourhood had turned out to hunt for the missing bard. Where was Rory now, she wondered, and, more importantly, who had been instrumental in his disappearance?
Three men on horseback rode out from Toin’s gate as Mara came down into Rathborney. They greeted her with great respect, hesitated, but when she made no effort to overtake, they bowed again and rode on ahead of her towards Newtown Castle.
Who were they, she wondered. Their faces were familiar, but it was only when one glanced over his shoulder at her that she realized she knew them; all three were members of the king’s household back in Thomond.
Ulick was in the courtyard chatting to Daire when they all rode in through the instantly opened gate and he came forward immediately.
‘My dear Brehon, how wonderful to see you,’ he said enthusiastically, but his eyes were on the riders and the leather satchel that the foremost bore at his saddle. These messengers from the king were obviously expected.
‘I won’t keep you, Ulick, I’ve just come to see Deirdre. I’ll wait until she’s free.’ She made no attempt to dismount but waited while the king’s men came forward hesitantly towards Ulick. All five looked at Mara, but she lingered, engaging the porter in conversation about the night’s rain.
The first of the king’s men dismounted, took what seemed to be a heavy box from a satchel, and handed it to Ulick, who carried it across the courtyard to the workshop where Deirdre was waiting. The once-rejected wife seemed to have taken complete charge of everything: castle and silversmith’s business. Mara watched with interest how Deirdre took the box into the workshop, probably carefully checked its contents and then re-emerged a few minutes later with two small leaves of vellum in her hand. She gave one to Ulick and stood waiting while he tucked it into his pouch, then handed the second to the dismounted man and then, with more low bows to Mara, all three galloped back out through the gate. Mara watched them go and then eyed Ulick sharply. The king’s messengers, coming from Toin, obviously on business that also concerned Ulick; there could only be one answer to that. Mara set her lips in a gesture of annoyance. Ulick gave her a hasty glance – no doubt, even he was embarrassed about having involved the king in his money affairs – and then smiled with all the charm at his disposal.
‘Well, my dear Brehon,’ he said smiling amiably, ‘I must
congratulate you; I hear you have solved the case of the silversmith’s death.’
‘Really!’ Mara raised a reproving eyebrow at him, but Ulick was incorrigible.
‘So it was Rory all along.’ His light, slightly high-pitched voice seemed to carry around the yard. Several men stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him. ‘I must say that I suspected him from the start and now he’s fled to France. What a shame! Still he would not have been able to pay the fine, would he? Perhaps Cuan could have had him as a slave. What do you think about that, Brehon?’
‘I suspect that you are calling my attention to Rory because you wish to distract my attention from another person.’ Mara stopped and looked at him keenly. Suddenly the easy-going, slightly effete, man-of-the-world mask had slipped and it was a warrior’s eyes that confronted her own.
‘Ulick’s the best companion in the world until you cross him, and then, God help you,’
Turlough had said once, but Mara didn’t care. Her eyes met his steadily and Ulick was the first to look away.
He leaped lithely onto his horse and, without any farewells, followed the king’s servants through the gate as Daire came towards Mara.
‘You’re looking very fine today.’ Mara gave Daire a friendly smile, as he helped her to dismount from her horse. She wondered whether Deirdre was going to come over to greet her, but then turned her full attention to Daire. He was indeed looking very well dressed, and in Gaelic rather than English-style garments. He was wearing a pale blue
léine
and a mantle chequered in squares of blue and purple.
An elaborate silver torc was around his muscular neck and the mantle was fastened with a large silver brooch.
‘Where are you off to, then? Not to Poulnabrucky, by any chance?’ she asked teasingly.
He flushed, but then smiled in return. ‘Muiris invited me over there to spend the night. Apparently there is going to be a big hunting expedition on Aillwee Mountain tomorrow morning at dawn.’
‘I hope the weather is kind and that you have a wonderful time,’ said Mara heartily. It looked as if there would be full approval from the father of the girl, and the girl herself had seemed to be hanging on Daire’s arm when Mara had seen her last at the hunt for Rory yesterday evening. So much had changed for this handsome young man since the death of Sorley. But did that mean that he had a hand in it? No, she thought, it’s fairly unlikely. After all, he couldn’t know that things were going to turn out so well for him. If Una had been left mistress of Newtown Castle and of the mine and the silversmith business, then his position would probably have remained unchanged. Una would have been as likely as her father to exploit the young man’s talent. Cuan would have had no spirit, no will-power to change anything. Deirdre had been kinder but it could never have been predicted that Deirdre would just walk back into the castle as if she had never left it. No, Mara decided with a sense of relief: this young man, at least, can be put from my mind. With a last smile and wave, she turned to walk across to the mistress of the house.
Deirdre now came forward with a few murmured words of welcome. She was even more richly dressed than on the
last occasion when Mara had seen her. She flashed in the watery sunlight with silver brooches pinned on every possible spot of her gown and mantle and her work-worn fingers were laden with silver rings.
‘I was hoping to meet Cuan here, Deirdre,’ said Mara. ‘I went up to see him at his farm and told him that I thought he should take up his rightful place at Newtown Castle. I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to live up there on the side of the mountain, do you?’ Her voice was easy, chatty, a one-mother-to-another-mother tone. The last thing she wanted was for Deirdre to feel that the Brehon was interfering in private family matters.
‘He’s not here.’ Deirdre seemed taken aback and uncertain.
‘Perhaps he’s still with Toin, then,’ said Mara. ‘My farm manager, Cumhal, told me that he heard, when he passed through Rathborney this morning, that Cuan was with the
briuga
.’
‘I think he might be there,’ said Deirdre cautiously.
‘Would it be possible to send a servant to fetch him?’
Deirdre thought about that for a moment. Her heavy face betrayed no emotion, but her eyes were intelligent and when she spoke her voice was resolute. ‘I’ll go myself; it will be best that way.’ She called an order to a servant who came running with a heavy fur-lined mantle held carefully in her hands, and then Deirdre turned to Mara. ‘Ciara will take you up to Una; she will entertain you until we get back.’ She shrugged on the mantle and then turned to speak in a low tone to the girl. Orders were given for refreshments in a decisive clear way. There was no doubt that
Deirdre could manage this house, and probably the business, with no problems.
But what about Una? Where did that leave her?
Una was sitting by the western window of the hall. Her embroidery frame was beside her and she continued to stitch even after the girl had announced Mara.
‘Shall I sit here beside you?’ Mara took a chair and bent to look at the work and then gave a gasp of surprise. The picture was of a beautiful girl, sitting on a grass seat in a garden and beside her was a young man strumming a zither. And the man was the living image of Rory. Everything was right. The blue eyes, the red-gold hair, the slim figure, even the clothes that the youth in the picture was wearing were identical to those that Rory wore when Mara had visited Newtown Castle on the day before Sorley’s death.
Una followed her eyes with a malicious grin, but said nothing until Mara blurted out, ‘But that’s Rory! How marvellously you have captured the likeness. How did you do it? It seems amazing to be able to paint an exact portrait just with some pieces of embroidery silks.’
Una gave a harsh laugh, and short, explosive bark of amusement. ‘I’m afraid that you credit me with too many powers, Brehon,’ she said. ‘Embroidery takes longer than you might think. I first saw Rory the bard about three or four weeks ago. He came here to sing at a banquet held for some noble lords and silversmiths from Galway. I had been working on this tapestry since last year and it was almost completed then.’
‘I see,’ said Mara, but she was puzzled not so much at the resemblance now – she herself had often thought that Rory looked like a picture from an ancient tale – but more because of the intense bitterness with which the woman spoke.