Deed of Murder by Cora Harrison

turned her thoughts back to Fiona.
    Fiona had left Ballinalacken at midnight, had ridden across O’Briensbridge, gone to the O’Brien castle at Arra, left there, still in the early morning, quarrelled with Eamon and returned back the way that she came. That was her story.
    But what if that was not true. What if she had done Eamon’s bidding, rode north with him, and then for some reason had quarrelled with him, picked up a stone and flung it at him, stunned him, then perhaps squeezed his throat and killed him.
    If that were the case it could have been an accident. An accident, where she would have been completely blameless if the young lawyer had attempted rape.
    But if that were the case, why had Fiona not admitted to the deed and said that was an accident?
    But what if it was not an accident? An unlucky chance, Nuala had said. Only someone with a physician’s training would have known that a blow on that particular part of the neck would result in death . These had been her words.
    But, of course, it was not just physicians who possessed that knowledge.
    The law scholars chanted the words, day in and day out, from the laws of Déin Chécht: There are twelve doors of the soul: 1. Top of the head, 2. Occipital fossa, 3. Temporal fossa, 4. Thyroid cartilage, 5. Suprasternal notch, 6. Axilla, 7. Sternum, 8. Umbilicus, 9. Anticubital fossa, 10. Popliteal fossa, 11. Femoral triangle, 12. Sole of the foot.
    And two scholars from her school were suspects in this murder.
    ‘That was kind of you to come to the burial, Cathal, and all of your family, also.’ Mara made a point of going rapidly to the back of the church and standing beside the O’Halloran clan while the coffin was being carried down the aisle of the church.
    ‘Terrible thing to happen.’ Cathal was ill at ease, looking at her and then looking away quickly.
    ‘Terrible,’ echoed Mara. This was not the time, nor the place, to do any questioning, but she was interested to see the glances from the O’Halloran clan that seemed to flicker between looking at Cathal and then at her. Almost as though they expected some sort of announcement from her. But how could they know of the loss of the deed?
    Well, they would have to wait, thought Mara. She would first of all have to see O’Brien of Arra, check that the deed had been signed, check that it was not lying somewhere among the rocks and fissures on the mountainside.
    Only then would she be able to tell the O’Halloran clan that no deed existed and that another auction would have to be held.
    ‘Excuse me,’ she said to Cathal, and took her place behind the coffin as it was carried out into the little graveyard on the south side of the church. She stood at the side of the grave, listened to the prayers, made the responses, watched the coffin being lowered down into the hole and then took a small, symbolic handful of clay from the pile beside their feet and threw it down.
    ‘ Requiescat in pace ,’ she said. She hoped that Eamon would rest in peace. She had seen his body committed to the grave, would commission a stone marker to commemorate him with an inscription. There was only one thing more to do now, and that was to find his killer.
    ‘Brehon,’ said Moylan, ‘what is the honour price of a flax master?’
    Mara looked at him with surprise. She and her scholars had been standing at the gate to the churchyard for what felt like ages, greeting neighbours, thanking them for coming to take part in the burial service, accepting their condolences and fielding questions about Eamon’s untimely death.
    Now they were alone, the boys preparing to walk back to Cahermacnaghten where Brigid would have a large meal ready for them and Mara, accompanied by Fiona, about to mount her horse and ride back to Ballinalacken and entertain her husband’s guests, when Moylan’s question made her stop to consider her answer. She noted to her amusement that he had waited until they were completely alone before speaking. Moylan was