some boys and girls,’ said Mara firmly. ‘I don’t think that you would enjoy it. Anyway, I presume that you will be off back to Galway now that your host is dead.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Ulick thoughtfully. ‘I think that I’ll enjoy seeing you at work, Brehon. I’ll tell you one thing, if I may: if that skep of bees was deliberately upset in order to cause the death of Sorley the silversmith then there will be quite a choice of names for your killer.’
FOUR
FIDBRETHA (TREE JUDGEMENTS)
There are seven nobles of the forest:
1 . Dair ( oak )
2 . Coll ( hazel )
3 . Cuilenn ( holly )
4 . Ibar ( yew )
5 . Uinnius ( ash )
6 . Octach ( pine )
7 . Aball ( apple )
If anyone injures one of these trees on another man’s property he shall incur a penalty of five séts, or two-and-a-half ounces of silver, or three cows.
‘L ORD BLESS US and save us, that was a terrible thing to happen,’ said Brigid with huge enjoyment as Mara rode into the courtyard of the ancient enclosure which housed Cahermacnaghten law school with its kitchen house, scholars’ house, schoolhouse and farm manager’s house.
‘So you’ve heard the news!’ No surprises there! Brigid always did hear all of the news. Despite all of her worries, Mara found herself smiling broadly.
‘Cumhal was over repairing the wall in the Moher field and he met Muiris O’Heynes on his way back from the burial mass at Rathborney,’ explained Brigid. ‘Muiris told him the whole story.’
‘What did Muiris say?’ enquired Mara, neatly jumping from the mounting block and handing the mare’s reins to Sean, one of her farm workers. ‘Give Brig a good rub down and let her cool off before you give her a drink, Sean, that hill is very steep and she’s very hot. Yes, Brigid, so Muiris told Cumhal all about Sorley, did he?’
‘Someone tipped over a hive and he was stung to death,’ whispered Brigid with evident relish as Mara marvelled at how rapidly news spread throughout the kingdom. Brigid waited for a moment, eyeing Sean to make sure that he was not dawdling in order to listen and then, when he had taken the mare into the stables, she leaned forward so that her face was quite near to Mara’s shoulder and whispered, ‘I’m not one to gossip, as you know, Brehon.’
‘No, of course not.’ Mara hoped her tone held the right mixture of curiosity and shocked denial.
‘Well, between us both and that gatepost there, Muiris told Cumhal that he knew who had done it.’
‘Done what?’ queried Mara.
‘The murder, of course, the murder of the silversmith.’ She paused dramatically while Aidan retrieved a hurling ball from in front of the kitchen house and waited until he had vaulted the wall back into the field before hissing: ‘Muiris says that it was young Rory the bard that murdered the man.’
‘It may have been an accident,’ said Mara blandly. ‘It appears as if a whole swarm of bees stung Sorley. He ran away from them and collapsed at the church door. Malachy thinks he might have had a seizure.’
‘Hmm.’ Brigid had a very expressive range of sniffs. This one seemed to express doubts about Malachy’s competence or, indeed, about his ability to come to a firm decision about anything.
‘Anyway, why on earth should Rory kill Sorley?’ Mara decided to move away from the subject of Malachy.
‘Well, I swore to say nothing to nobody about this so I’d only mention it to you, Brehon,’ Brigid lowered her voice even more, ‘but do you know that young bithlúnach,’ Brigid always reverted to the old Gaelic of her grandmother’s time when she wished to be emphatic. ‘Well, that young scoundrel has walked out on poor little Aoife, and is paying court to the daughter of Sorley. Perhaps he got up to his usual tricks with her – and he’s no saint that one – we all know that – and Sorley was going to throw him out so Rory made the first move. It stands to reason that the daughter will be easier to
‘I don’t think so,’ said Ulick thoughtfully. ‘I think that I’ll enjoy seeing you at work, Brehon. I’ll tell you one thing, if I may: if that skep of bees was deliberately upset in order to cause the death of Sorley the silversmith then there will be quite a choice of names for your killer.’
FOUR
FIDBRETHA (TREE JUDGEMENTS)
There are seven nobles of the forest:
1 . Dair ( oak )
2 . Coll ( hazel )
3 . Cuilenn ( holly )
4 . Ibar ( yew )
5 . Uinnius ( ash )
6 . Octach ( pine )
7 . Aball ( apple )
If anyone injures one of these trees on another man’s property he shall incur a penalty of five séts, or two-and-a-half ounces of silver, or three cows.
‘L ORD BLESS US and save us, that was a terrible thing to happen,’ said Brigid with huge enjoyment as Mara rode into the courtyard of the ancient enclosure which housed Cahermacnaghten law school with its kitchen house, scholars’ house, schoolhouse and farm manager’s house.
‘So you’ve heard the news!’ No surprises there! Brigid always did hear all of the news. Despite all of her worries, Mara found herself smiling broadly.
‘Cumhal was over repairing the wall in the Moher field and he met Muiris O’Heynes on his way back from the burial mass at Rathborney,’ explained Brigid. ‘Muiris told him the whole story.’
‘What did Muiris say?’ enquired Mara, neatly jumping from the mounting block and handing the mare’s reins to Sean, one of her farm workers. ‘Give Brig a good rub down and let her cool off before you give her a drink, Sean, that hill is very steep and she’s very hot. Yes, Brigid, so Muiris told Cumhal all about Sorley, did he?’
‘Someone tipped over a hive and he was stung to death,’ whispered Brigid with evident relish as Mara marvelled at how rapidly news spread throughout the kingdom. Brigid waited for a moment, eyeing Sean to make sure that he was not dawdling in order to listen and then, when he had taken the mare into the stables, she leaned forward so that her face was quite near to Mara’s shoulder and whispered, ‘I’m not one to gossip, as you know, Brehon.’
‘No, of course not.’ Mara hoped her tone held the right mixture of curiosity and shocked denial.
‘Well, between us both and that gatepost there, Muiris told Cumhal that he knew who had done it.’
‘Done what?’ queried Mara.
‘The murder, of course, the murder of the silversmith.’ She paused dramatically while Aidan retrieved a hurling ball from in front of the kitchen house and waited until he had vaulted the wall back into the field before hissing: ‘Muiris says that it was young Rory the bard that murdered the man.’
‘It may have been an accident,’ said Mara blandly. ‘It appears as if a whole swarm of bees stung Sorley. He ran away from them and collapsed at the church door. Malachy thinks he might have had a seizure.’
‘Hmm.’ Brigid had a very expressive range of sniffs. This one seemed to express doubts about Malachy’s competence or, indeed, about his ability to come to a firm decision about anything.
‘Anyway, why on earth should Rory kill Sorley?’ Mara decided to move away from the subject of Malachy.
‘Well, I swore to say nothing to nobody about this so I’d only mention it to you, Brehon,’ Brigid lowered her voice even more, ‘but do you know that young bithlúnach,’ Brigid always reverted to the old Gaelic of her grandmother’s time when she wished to be emphatic. ‘Well, that young scoundrel has walked out on poor little Aoife, and is paying court to the daughter of Sorley. Perhaps he got up to his usual tricks with her – and he’s no saint that one – we all know that – and Sorley was going to throw him out so Rory made the first move. It stands to reason that the daughter will be easier to
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