Verdict of the Court by Cora Harrison Page A

gave a slight sigh as she thought of all the careful questioning that she would have used to seek the truth, slowly and carefully, in the way that a good cook would peel the translucent layers from an onion in order to expose the succulent centre. Just as she was thinking about him, there was knock on the door. It was pushed open and Rosta arrived on the scene holding a large ladle in his hand and followed by two of his assistants carrying an enormous iron two-handled urn which, according to her instructions, would be full of soup. This was to signal the end of the eating and drinking and merriment for the night – in the great hall, though some might go down and join the revellers in the main guard hall. Rosta did not appear to notice the slumped figure of the Brehon and the appalled faces of the guests. Mara made a swift decision. Her scholars were tired and were eyeing the soup with appreciation, but now while memories still were active she had to take notes.
    ‘Get my satchel from our bedroom,’ she said in Cormac’s ear and saw a flash of almost incredulous pleasure flash from his large green eyes. He wasn’t, she thought, used to being chosen from the ranks of the law scholars and she had picked on him because he was fast, observant and often in and out of their bedroom, playing wrestling games with Turlough on the huge four-poster bed.
    ‘Go ahead and pour the soup, Rosta,’ she said aloud. ‘And then you and your assistants can depart. The King has something to say to his guests, here. Could you and your assistants go down to the main guard after you have finished.’
    Rosta looked puzzled, but did her bidding in silence, using his ladle to fill the small wooden bowls stacked on the table. She moved slightly so that she would conceal the dead body for the moment and Domhnall moved also, the others following him. They stretched like a guard across the window recess and waited in grim silence until the door had closed behind the cook and his assistants. Then Mara went over to Turlough.
    ‘My lord,’ she said formally, ‘I think it would be best if you announced this sad death to the rest of your guests. They will not wish to continue with the merriment in the face of the terrible event. Tell them that they can then disperse to their sleeping places, unless anyone has information to give to me.’ Hastily and before Turlough could assure her that no one would be too upset at the death of the Brehon and that it was a shame to cut short the night’s fun, she moved away and went back to her scholars.
    By the time that Cormac had come back she had arranged the boys in pairs: Art with Slevin; Finbar, who was not too sensible on occasion, with the reliable Domhnall; and Cormac himself with Enda. She hoped that all would think that this was because Cormac was the youngest and so was placed with the assistant Brehon, but at the back of her mind she had a tiny doubt over whether Enda might not be involved in this killing and Cormac, she knew, would speak out loudly and clearly if there were any attempt to tamper with any of the evidence. Her heart hurt to think this of Enda, but she had to use her logical brain at this stage, not her heart. The young man had much to gain from this opportune death.
    Aloud she said: ‘Brehon MacClancy was killed by a knife plunged into his back at some time during the last half-hour. Did anyone come in or go out of this room at that time?’ She waited for a moment, but heads were shaken. ‘Or see anyone go in or out?’
    Heads were shaken again, but Cael said in a high, clear voice. ‘I saw something.’
    All eyes turned to the urchin-like figure and her elder sister Shona took a step towards the child.
    ‘Yes,’ said Mara. She could have wished that this had been said to her in private but everyone was looking with intense speculation at Cael and it was probably best to hear what she had to say in public.
    ‘Just a bat, one of those big bats,’ said Cael hastily and her father