knock.
‘I’ve had an idea, Brehon,’ said Domhnall ignoring, in his dignified way, the badly behaved twins. ‘I was thinking that I could get a piece of board from the carpenter and use it to make a chart. We could write all the names of the adults across the top of the board and perhaps the parts of the room along the side …’
‘Do it for everyone during the “Hey Jig” – that’s the fourth tune of the evening and that’s probably the time that the murder took place,’ said Cael in an offhand manner.
‘Great idea,’ said Mara enthusiastically. ‘When all the scholars have had their breakfast, Domhnall, then Cael or Cian will take you to the master carpenter’s house and you can see if he has a suitable piece of board for you. If you write with charcoal then the board can be given back as good as new.’
‘And it can be wiped clean if the killer forces his way in,’ said Cael.
‘I thought you were a suspect,’ said Cian challengingly.
‘I didn’t do it – guess why? Because I wouldn’t have stuck a knife in his back like that; that’s not a good place to kill anyone – just under the shoulder blade. I’d have gone behind and slit his throat. No, it definitely wasn’t me.’
‘Do you know,’ said Mara slowly and thoughtfully, ‘I think you two are going to be a great help to me in this investigation.’ It was an interesting idea. There were easier ways of killing someone at a feast than sticking a knife into their back under the shoulder blade. She wondered whether it was true that was not a good place and decided that it was. There was a competence and sincerity about the twins’ observations which made her believe that they knew what they were talking about, and that they were not lying.
‘Let’s go and get Cormac out of bed, and the rest of them,’ proposed Cian and he and Cael disappeared instantly from the room. Cael had flushed slightly at Mara’s praise but had immediately scrubbed her finger tips through her uneven locks of bright-red hair and then tweaked her nose in a business-like way.
‘Have your breakfast in peace, Domhnall,’ advised Mara, but she knew that he would manage the twins. She went over to the hatch, opened it and glanced down.
Aengus MacCraith was drinking some ale and chatting with Turlough while the cook slid some fried pork and eggs onto his plate. She would join them, she thought. It would be interesting to see the poet’s reaction to her presence.
Did those satirical verses still exist? she wondered.
Eight
Bretha Nemed Deinech
(the last laws)
The law regards satire as a very severe attack on a person because it strikes and cuts at log n-enech (literally the ‘price of his face’ – but meaning the ‘honour price’.) Anything that causes a person to lose face, injures that person and recompense has to be paid.
Heptad 33
Composing a satire
Repeating a satire
Mocking a manner of speech
Casting scorn on professional ability
Mocking a person’s appearance
Making public a physical blemish
Giving a nickname that endures.
‘H ere’s the person that we all want to see,’ said Turlough boisterously when Mara came into the great hall. All faces turned smilingly towards her. It seemed, she thought, still like a merry festive gathering, not a hall where last night a man, well known to all of these guests, had been murdered in the presence of his friends and neighbours.
‘What can I do for you, my lord?’ she queried pleasantly.
‘It’s just that Maccon has to go home tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘We really do need to have the bustard hunt today.’
‘I’m afraid that you will all have to be patient for a while longer,’ she said smoothly. It was no good, she thought, wishing that her husband had a bit more sense than to tackle her in public like this. He was who he was. ‘I can make no promises – no confession of guilt has been made and my investigations have produced several possibilities.’ She allowed that sentence
‘I’ve had an idea, Brehon,’ said Domhnall ignoring, in his dignified way, the badly behaved twins. ‘I was thinking that I could get a piece of board from the carpenter and use it to make a chart. We could write all the names of the adults across the top of the board and perhaps the parts of the room along the side …’
‘Do it for everyone during the “Hey Jig” – that’s the fourth tune of the evening and that’s probably the time that the murder took place,’ said Cael in an offhand manner.
‘Great idea,’ said Mara enthusiastically. ‘When all the scholars have had their breakfast, Domhnall, then Cael or Cian will take you to the master carpenter’s house and you can see if he has a suitable piece of board for you. If you write with charcoal then the board can be given back as good as new.’
‘And it can be wiped clean if the killer forces his way in,’ said Cael.
‘I thought you were a suspect,’ said Cian challengingly.
‘I didn’t do it – guess why? Because I wouldn’t have stuck a knife in his back like that; that’s not a good place to kill anyone – just under the shoulder blade. I’d have gone behind and slit his throat. No, it definitely wasn’t me.’
‘Do you know,’ said Mara slowly and thoughtfully, ‘I think you two are going to be a great help to me in this investigation.’ It was an interesting idea. There were easier ways of killing someone at a feast than sticking a knife into their back under the shoulder blade. She wondered whether it was true that was not a good place and decided that it was. There was a competence and sincerity about the twins’ observations which made her believe that they knew what they were talking about, and that they were not lying.
‘Let’s go and get Cormac out of bed, and the rest of them,’ proposed Cian and he and Cael disappeared instantly from the room. Cael had flushed slightly at Mara’s praise but had immediately scrubbed her finger tips through her uneven locks of bright-red hair and then tweaked her nose in a business-like way.
‘Have your breakfast in peace, Domhnall,’ advised Mara, but she knew that he would manage the twins. She went over to the hatch, opened it and glanced down.
Aengus MacCraith was drinking some ale and chatting with Turlough while the cook slid some fried pork and eggs onto his plate. She would join them, she thought. It would be interesting to see the poet’s reaction to her presence.
Did those satirical verses still exist? she wondered.
Eight
Bretha Nemed Deinech
(the last laws)
The law regards satire as a very severe attack on a person because it strikes and cuts at log n-enech (literally the ‘price of his face’ – but meaning the ‘honour price’.) Anything that causes a person to lose face, injures that person and recompense has to be paid.
Heptad 33
Composing a satire
Repeating a satire
Mocking a manner of speech
Casting scorn on professional ability
Mocking a person’s appearance
Making public a physical blemish
Giving a nickname that endures.
‘H ere’s the person that we all want to see,’ said Turlough boisterously when Mara came into the great hall. All faces turned smilingly towards her. It seemed, she thought, still like a merry festive gathering, not a hall where last night a man, well known to all of these guests, had been murdered in the presence of his friends and neighbours.
‘What can I do for you, my lord?’ she queried pleasantly.
‘It’s just that Maccon has to go home tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘We really do need to have the bustard hunt today.’
‘I’m afraid that you will all have to be patient for a while longer,’ she said smoothly. It was no good, she thought, wishing that her husband had a bit more sense than to tackle her in public like this. He was who he was. ‘I can make no promises – no confession of guilt has been made and my investigations have produced several possibilities.’ She allowed that sentence
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