well, wouldn’t it, Domhnall? I remember we had a small fire in our barn once and a lambskin that was pegged up to dry was the first thing to burn – it’s the fat in the skin, Brehon,’ he added, and Mara smiled an acknowledgement. She liked the way boys of Slevin’s age assumed that she had little knowledge of practical matters. They probably fancied that she did not know the origin of the parchment and vellum which they used in the law school.
‘I think I know why that piece of vellum was used here,’ said Domhnall. He and Slevin always worked well together; the more volatile Slevin often started an idea and Domhnall would then pursue it to its logical conclusion. His dark eyes now showed that concentration that made him such a good scholar. ‘Perhaps it was originally a longer piece of vellum than the bit we’ve got,’ he said slowly. ‘In that case it might have had one end touching that velvet cushion and the rest of it tucked in beside the candle.’
‘And the heat from the candle would warm the fat; it would blaze up quickly – and then the fire would travel along the line of the vellum.’ Slevin looked excited.
‘A clue! That vellum comes from the hand of the villain!’ exclaimed Cormac loudly and dramatically. He lowered his voice as Mara frowned, but whispered loudly in Art’s ear, ‘A pity it’s not a murder. I’d love a murder to solve.’
‘This is worse. A crime against God is a greater crime than a crime against man,’ said Art piously.
‘That’s not true, according to the law. According to the law, the worst crime is the rape of a girl in plaits,’ said Cormac airily.
‘There’s a word here, Brehon,’ said Domhnall. He held up the twisted piece of vellum to the light.
‘A number – the number 90.’ Slevin peered closely.
‘Funny letters,’ commented Finbar.
‘Let us see,’ commanded Cormac, pushing Finbar to one side. ‘T, A, G, E,’ he spelled out the letters with difficulty.
Mara held out her hand for the scrap of vellum. She peered at the ornately curling letters intently. ‘It’s German,’ she said slowly. She glanced over her shoulder but Father MacMahon had already come over and was standing just behind her and peering at the twist of vellum. Still, there was no help for it. The truth had to be uncovered and the matter dealt with by the law. A crime had been committed and restitution had to be made.
‘I think, Father,’ she said, ‘this is an indulgence – an indulgence written in the German language. “90
Tage
”
would probably refer to a remission of 90 days’ suffering in the fires of purgatory.’
‘German!’ Ardal’s voice was harsh with suspicion. ‘Hans Kaufmann?’
‘Or possibly one of the other pilgrims,’ said Mara. ‘These people have been visiting lots of shrines. Indulgences are to be … to be acquired at all of those places – and the language would not necessarily alter their efficacy in the eyes of the pilgrims. Is that not right, Father?’ She spoke from an automatic dislike to give a ruling before an investigation of the facts was completed, but she had little doubt in her own mind now that Hans Kaufmann was a follower of Luther and had destroyed the relic at his master’s behest – perhaps others, also. And had shown his contempt of indulgences by lighting his fire with one of them.
‘Get them back, all of them!’ Father MacMahon’s face was now so red that she feared he might have a fit.
Without a moment’s hesitation Ardal shouted ‘Danann!’, and followed by his steward he set off at a run towards the stables in front of the inn. Nechtan O’Quinn followed him, shouting at his own steward to get other men.
The die is cast, thought Mara. She wondered what would be the end of this. She feared fanaticism of any kind – it upset balances and checks. Who would take charge of this case – a matter of petty arson, really? After all, what was destroyed: a carved shrine blackened with smoke, slightly melted, a
‘I think I know why that piece of vellum was used here,’ said Domhnall. He and Slevin always worked well together; the more volatile Slevin often started an idea and Domhnall would then pursue it to its logical conclusion. His dark eyes now showed that concentration that made him such a good scholar. ‘Perhaps it was originally a longer piece of vellum than the bit we’ve got,’ he said slowly. ‘In that case it might have had one end touching that velvet cushion and the rest of it tucked in beside the candle.’
‘And the heat from the candle would warm the fat; it would blaze up quickly – and then the fire would travel along the line of the vellum.’ Slevin looked excited.
‘A clue! That vellum comes from the hand of the villain!’ exclaimed Cormac loudly and dramatically. He lowered his voice as Mara frowned, but whispered loudly in Art’s ear, ‘A pity it’s not a murder. I’d love a murder to solve.’
‘This is worse. A crime against God is a greater crime than a crime against man,’ said Art piously.
‘That’s not true, according to the law. According to the law, the worst crime is the rape of a girl in plaits,’ said Cormac airily.
‘There’s a word here, Brehon,’ said Domhnall. He held up the twisted piece of vellum to the light.
‘A number – the number 90.’ Slevin peered closely.
‘Funny letters,’ commented Finbar.
‘Let us see,’ commanded Cormac, pushing Finbar to one side. ‘T, A, G, E,’ he spelled out the letters with difficulty.
Mara held out her hand for the scrap of vellum. She peered at the ornately curling letters intently. ‘It’s German,’ she said slowly. She glanced over her shoulder but Father MacMahon had already come over and was standing just behind her and peering at the twist of vellum. Still, there was no help for it. The truth had to be uncovered and the matter dealt with by the law. A crime had been committed and restitution had to be made.
‘I think, Father,’ she said, ‘this is an indulgence – an indulgence written in the German language. “90
Tage
”
would probably refer to a remission of 90 days’ suffering in the fires of purgatory.’
‘German!’ Ardal’s voice was harsh with suspicion. ‘Hans Kaufmann?’
‘Or possibly one of the other pilgrims,’ said Mara. ‘These people have been visiting lots of shrines. Indulgences are to be … to be acquired at all of those places – and the language would not necessarily alter their efficacy in the eyes of the pilgrims. Is that not right, Father?’ She spoke from an automatic dislike to give a ruling before an investigation of the facts was completed, but she had little doubt in her own mind now that Hans Kaufmann was a follower of Luther and had destroyed the relic at his master’s behest – perhaps others, also. And had shown his contempt of indulgences by lighting his fire with one of them.
‘Get them back, all of them!’ Father MacMahon’s face was now so red that she feared he might have a fit.
Without a moment’s hesitation Ardal shouted ‘Danann!’, and followed by his steward he set off at a run towards the stables in front of the inn. Nechtan O’Quinn followed him, shouting at his own steward to get other men.
The die is cast, thought Mara. She wondered what would be the end of this. She feared fanaticism of any kind – it upset balances and checks. Who would take charge of this case – a matter of petty arson, really? After all, what was destroyed: a carved shrine blackened with smoke, slightly melted, a
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