Writ in Stone (24 page)

She took her mantle from the chair and allowed Patrick to help her into it. It was only after they had closed the abbot’s door and had begun to make their way along the darkened cloister walk under the faint, misty light of the moon, that he spoke.

‘Have a care,’ he said. ‘If the assassin suspects that you have guessed, then you are in grave danger.’

Fifteen

(Judgements of Inadvertent Events)

‘Brehon!’ The voice was soft but insistent and Mara woke with a start.

‘Brigid! What’s wrong?’

It was just as well that Turlough slept in his own room, well-guarded by Fergal and Conall, as Brigid had come right into the bed-chamber and was now standing above Mara, candlestick in hand. Brigid still wore her nightgown and her pale sandy hair hung over her shoulders so presumably it was as early as it felt. Mara sat up in bed and tried to collect her thoughts.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, and the breath caught in her throat at the thought of all that might be wrong.

‘It’s happened!’ Brigid’s tone was as gloomily exultant as one who, expecting little of the human race, is pleased to see those expectations fulfilled.

‘What’s happened?’ Mara swung her legs over the side of the bed.

‘Brother Melduin has just come over. He’s always the first to get up because it is his duty to pump up water for the cooking and washing.’

‘Ah,’ said Mara. Now she could guess what was coming next and the hard hammering of her heart slowed down.

‘They’ve gone!’ said Brigid.

‘Who’s gone?’ said Mara. She might as well play her part now, but she knew who had gone and she looked around for her clothes.

‘Father Denis and the wife of the
tánaiste
,’ said Brigid. ‘I told you, didn’t I? Mark my words, I said it, didn’t I, Brehon?’

‘You did, indeed, Brigid,’ said Mara patiently. ‘I think I’d better talk to the king. Is that water hot?’

Brigid, recalled to her duties, rushed across to the jug on the hob by the brazier and poured the water into a wooden bowl on the small table against the wall.

‘What will you wear, Brehon?’ she asked, going to the chest at the bottom of the bed. ‘I think your woollen purple gown will be the best for riding. It’s good and loose and it’s warm. There’s a cold wind out there, this morning. Yes, the purple will be best.’

‘You’re probably right,’ said Mara, trying to conceal a smile. Brigid, as always, had unerringly seen into her mind. Her first thought had been that she would go after the pair. After all, she had stated that no one was to leave the abbey until she had declared the crime solved. Of course, she could send some servants or lay brothers, but, no, she decided, I’ll do this myself.

‘Perhaps, you could have a word with one of the bodyguards, just say that I wish to speak with the king, don’t say any more; we’ll try to keep this matter a secret.’

‘I’ll get Cumhal to do it,’ decided Brigid. ‘I’ll go back to the kitchen and get you some breakfast. Just a couple of pies and a cup of hot ale: that will keep you going. It’s not raining yet, but that there sky doesn’t look good.’

Where would they have gone? wondered Mara as she rapidly washed and dressed. She went to the window and unlatched the heavy wooden shutters and then pushed open one of the casements. Brigid was right. Already the trees were bending before the force of the wind. There might even be a storm today. Her window faced east and she could just see the sun rising above the swirling silver terraces of Abbey Hill and the sky was striped with long slanting lines of crimson and purple against a pale yellow background; the sun, itself, perched on the rounded summit of the hill, was like an enormous copper platter.

‘Red sky in the morning is the sailors’ warning,’ quoted Mara as she turned away from the window and pulled on an extra pair of footless woollen stockings before picking up her leather boots. A sound of voices outside made her return to the window, boots in hand.

It was the abbot. She could not mistake those tones of authority. She leaned out of the window as far as she could go. He was over by the stables near to the gate; she could just see the top of his head. His back was to her, but by his voice she knew that he was furiously angry.

‘Make all the speed that you can . . .’ She just caught those words but the strength of a sudden blast of wind from the west blew away the rest of the sentence. And then the abbey gate swung open and there was a noise of horse hoofs striking the limestone road.

Mara quickly pulled on the other boot and plaited and coiled her hair with the speed of one who often had to respond to emergencies. In a moment she was down the stairs, smiling affectionately as she heard the sound of Turlough’s sleepy voice from his bedchamber. In a few minutes this would turn to a roar of rage, she knew, but she did not wait.

The abbot was striding across the wet grass, his mantle sailing vigorously in a straight line behind him. He had seen her; she was sure about that, but it did not look as if he were going to stop so she called to him peremptorily. Even then he paused and looked at her with an expression of annoyance on his face, a busy man detained when he had serious matters on his mind. She ignored the expression and drew near to him.

‘Father Abbot, how did they get out? I thought the abbey gate was to be kept locked until I gave the word?’

His thin lips tightened, but then he said in a resigned tone: ‘Father Denis stole the key from my chamber. I noticed he was missing at the service of prime. I only realized that when we were halfway through the service. I thought he had overslept. Once I came back to my house, I looked for him and found that his chamber was empty and then one of the lay brothers came running to tell me that the gate was wide open and two horses were missing.’

‘Two?’ queried Mara. Did he know about Ellice, she wondered, or was there any possibility of keeping this matter of the
tánaiste
’s wife a secret?

He nodded solemnly. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you, Brehon,’ he said with a return of his usual pompous manner, ‘he did not go alone. The king’s daughter-in-law went with him. I have sent after the guilty couple, but whether we will catch them in time to prevent another sin, I don’t know.’

‘Another sin?’

He bowed his head in an expression of humility but his nostrils flared like those of a warhorse and his grey eyes were as cold as the stone around them.

‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? You gave many people the impression yesterday that you might have solved the case; the king’s younger son was saying that he thought it was all settled in your mind, and now the guilty ones have fled. So this man as well as being guilty of adultery and theft has probably also killed. He has broken almost every commandment in the laws of God. He should hang!’

‘Hang!’ For once Mara was taken off guard and her voice rose with astonishment. ‘Your own son!’

The abbot said nothing, but his eyes spoke for him. There would be no forgiveness, no compassion to be expected from this man.

‘Your own son,’ repeated Mara quietly. She wondered whether he might be about to deny paternity, but he didn’t.

‘I live my life by the law of God, Brehon,’ he said loftily. ‘Justice has to be impartial.’

‘And how did they get out? Surely no lay brother disobeyed your instruction.’

‘Certainly not! I told you, the key was stolen. And from my own chamber! They must have seized the opportunity of Brother Porter’s absence at prime. And that’s not all, he also opened the wall cupboard in my own room and stole a valuable communion cup which is worth a hundred marks.’ The abbot, a thin man, seemed to swell with anger just as his clothes swelled with the wind. Then he rearranged his features into their usual stony calm. ‘However, Brehon,’ he continued, ‘you need not concern yourself further about this matter. I have told the lay brothers to bind the guilty man and to bring him before the judge in Galway. The crime was committed here at the abbey and should be judged by Roman law, not Brehon law.’

‘The crime was committed here in the kingdom of the Burren and as such will be judged by me,’ said Mara firmly. She eyed him steadily. Yes, there was no doubt that the abbot wanted to get rid of Father Denis as quickly as possible, but he was not prepared to see one of the most valuable possessions of the abbey disappear with him. This unwanted son could languish in a jail in Galway until the visit of the abbot of Tintern Abbey was over; that was obviously the plan.

‘Mara!’ The king had undoubtedly heard the news by now. His tousled head with its rough iron-grey hair was protruding out of the window and Mara hastened to obey the summons before any further indiscretion could betray the matter to the whole world.

‘I’ll see you in little while, Father Abbot,’ she said. ‘I must speak with the king first.’

He said something, but the wind was rising now and his words only faintly reached her. She turned back to look at him and he repeated the words, loudly enough to be heard by the king at his window.

‘He will hang!’ he shouted. ‘I will allow nothing else. He is under the rule of Rome.’ He stopped for a minute and then said, more quietly, ‘As for her, the wife of the
tánaiste
, the king may deal with her as he wishes.’

‘So far as the theft of the communion cup is concerned, the abbot may be within his rights; it is a difficult point. We were discussing this at the last Brehons’ convention. The consensus of opinion was that these monastic communities could rule themselves according to their preferences, and could, if they felt it to be right, reject Brehon law and be subject to the law of England or Rome as they themselves are considered to be daughter houses of English abbeys and monasteries. However, where the murder of Mahon O’Brien is concerned, that is my affair to deal with.’ Mara kept her voice very quiet as she poured some more ale for Turlough and took another oatcake for herself. They were alone. Brigid had gone to fetch Fachtnan and Shane to tell them to saddle their ponies and even the two bodyguards were outside the door discussing the weather with Cumhal. ‘He seems determined that Father Denis will hang, one way or another,’ she added.

‘What!’ Turlough gulped down his ale. ‘He’s not going to bring English law into the Burren, not while there is a breath in my body. If this Father Denis is guilty of anything then he can be tried at Poulnabrone and can pay a fine. That will be more use to everyone than a dead man swinging by the neck.’

‘And what about Ellice?’ asked Mara, gulping down the last of her cake and taking down her mantle from the peg.

‘She had nothing to do with the murder,’ said Turlough defiantly, wiping his moustache with the back of his hand. ‘As for the other, well if she fancies this young priest, then that’s her affair. I’d like to have a word with the girl, though, before too much gets out. Give her a chance to think again. It’s not a good thing for her. I didn’t like the look of that fellow. She’s better off with Conor; he’s a decent lad, poor fellow.’

‘If we can catch up with them,’ said Mara, ‘you can do all the talking that you like, but there is no way that they can be allowed to ride off together now. I have said that no one was to leave the abbey without my permission and I am not going to have my authority flouted like that. In any case, you’re right; I don’t like the look of that young priest; Ellice should be given the chance to think again. We’ll take Cumhal as well as Fergal and Conall and then there will be Fachtnan, and Patrick will come too. I’ve sent over a note to him.’

‘He’s on his way across. Can you see him? He’s under the archway to the cloisters and there’s Father Peter outside the window. I wonder what he’s come for?’

‘I’ll go and talk to him.’ Mara quickly left the parlour and slipped past the group of men outside and opened the front door. If Conor’s condition had worsened during the night she wanted to be the first to know.

Father Peter, however, was beaming sweetly, his small, thin face alight with pleasure.

‘Ah, Brehon,’ he said. ‘Could you tell the king that his son is very well this morning.? He woke with no fever and he even talks of going out and walking by the seashore today.’

‘Thank God,’ said Mara sincerely. ‘I even feared you were coming to tell the news of his death.’

‘No, no,’ Father Peter seemed genuinely shocked. ‘Who is talking of death? We’ve had a few setbacks during the last few days, that’s true, but it is understandable. A week ago I would have said that he would definitely live. He was putting on weight, regaining his strength. But, with the help of God, this is just a temporary business. He’s had a few shocks, but I’ll get him back to health again. With the wasting sickness, it’s just a matter of giving the patient time, good food, good air and rest. This is all very bad for him. The sooner it is all solved, Brehon, the better for everyone.’

What will happen, though, if he finds out that his wife has left him for a young priest? wondered Mara. She cast a quick glance around. Patrick, seeing her occupied, changed direction and was now making for the stables. After he passed, the monks working in the cloisters had moved closer as if sharing a conversation. A couple of lay brothers, engaged in sweeping the paths, had heads together while the brooms stayed idle in their hands. When they saw her glance over at them, they took up work again, but she could guess what they were gossiping about. Soon everyone would know that Ellice had left the abbey in the company of Father Denis. Would there be any way of protecting Conor from the news?

‘The
tánaiste
’s wife has gone for a ride but when she has returned she will be delighted to hear that news,’ she said, looking at the small monk intently.