to hang and was pleased to find that the hearty, bloodthirsty expressions of the eager faces turned towards her changed to surreptitious and slightly guilty sidelong glances at each other. Fionn O’Brien, Aengus MacCraith, Raour and Maccon suddenly became very interested in fresh helpings of eggs and bacon produced by the obliging Rosta and she moved slightly back into the window recess and waited with her eyes on Turlough until he had the sense to join her.
‘The captain of the guard says that I may borrow two of his men to aid the physician to investigate the body thoroughly,’ she said in a whisper. She was an expert at pitching her voice, so she knew that the words had reached the men standing around the table. A whisper, she had found from experience, mostly travelled further than words spoken in a low voice.
She scanned the faces carefully, but they all looked ill at ease and almost furtive. The thought of that dead body stored down in the basement was giving everyone an uncomfortable feeling and she was glad to see that nobody dared to protest about the cancelling of their hunt through the marshy ground after that. She smiled reassuringly at Turlough and left the hall quickly.
‘Could you send one of your lads to find Enda for me, Rosta,’ she said as he followed her out of the great hall. ‘Tell him that I’ll be in the Brehon’s room,’ she added.
Tomás MacClancy’s room was always kept for him – indeed, he probably spent far more time in Bunratty Castle than he did in his own place at Urlan. Situated in the south-east tower it was always known as the robing room, as in the past both of Turlough’s uncles had used it for that purpose.
Turlough, however, was not a man who liked pomp and ceremony. His view was that his ordinary clothes were in general good enough for all ceremonies and he was strengthened in that belief by his popularity with the clan. He got dressed where he slept and did not require any particular place or particular ceremonies to do with his clothing. The robing room was handed over to his Brehon who found that the impressively carved press, painted dark green, was a useful place to keep the law documents relating to the courts held at Bunratty Castle.
Mara gazed around while she waited and wondered what secrets that piece of furniture might hold, secrets which might point the way to the murderer of Brehon MacClancy.
The problem was, when Enda arrived, that he had no idea where the key might be. Mara’s heart sank, but she knew that she had to get that key.
‘Go to the captain of the guard and get him or one of his men to search the body,’ she said, trying to sound unconcerned though she felt sickened at the idea.
Enda hesitated. He had become very white, she noticed. Despite herself, she wondered about that superstition that the wounds on a dead body would bleed if the murderer stood beside it.
‘Wait a minute,’ he said. He produced his knife from the inner lining of his tunic and applied it to the lock. After a minute there was a click. Enda grinned – it was, thought Mara, the first time that she had seen that wide grin since she arrived at the castle.
‘Nice to be able to open this rather than have it slammed shut whenever I entered the room. It’s not often that I’ve been allowed to have anything to do with this sacred press,’ he said flippantly.
The cupboard was a large one, made from oak and with four sections within it. It was neatly arranged with scrolls filling the two bottom sections and a fine collection of law books in the top right-hand section. Beside it was a section labelled ‘The Year of Our Lord 1519’ and holding boxes, each with a day of judgement marked upon it. They had more judgement days here in Thomond than she did back in the Burren, Mara noticed, reading the exquisitely lettered labels on each box
: Imbolic
, Mid Spring,
Bealtaine
, Midsummer,
Lughnasa
, Mid Autumn,
Samhain
and finally Yule. The Yule box was the one that she was
‘The captain of the guard says that I may borrow two of his men to aid the physician to investigate the body thoroughly,’ she said in a whisper. She was an expert at pitching her voice, so she knew that the words had reached the men standing around the table. A whisper, she had found from experience, mostly travelled further than words spoken in a low voice.
She scanned the faces carefully, but they all looked ill at ease and almost furtive. The thought of that dead body stored down in the basement was giving everyone an uncomfortable feeling and she was glad to see that nobody dared to protest about the cancelling of their hunt through the marshy ground after that. She smiled reassuringly at Turlough and left the hall quickly.
‘Could you send one of your lads to find Enda for me, Rosta,’ she said as he followed her out of the great hall. ‘Tell him that I’ll be in the Brehon’s room,’ she added.
Tomás MacClancy’s room was always kept for him – indeed, he probably spent far more time in Bunratty Castle than he did in his own place at Urlan. Situated in the south-east tower it was always known as the robing room, as in the past both of Turlough’s uncles had used it for that purpose.
Turlough, however, was not a man who liked pomp and ceremony. His view was that his ordinary clothes were in general good enough for all ceremonies and he was strengthened in that belief by his popularity with the clan. He got dressed where he slept and did not require any particular place or particular ceremonies to do with his clothing. The robing room was handed over to his Brehon who found that the impressively carved press, painted dark green, was a useful place to keep the law documents relating to the courts held at Bunratty Castle.
Mara gazed around while she waited and wondered what secrets that piece of furniture might hold, secrets which might point the way to the murderer of Brehon MacClancy.
The problem was, when Enda arrived, that he had no idea where the key might be. Mara’s heart sank, but she knew that she had to get that key.
‘Go to the captain of the guard and get him or one of his men to search the body,’ she said, trying to sound unconcerned though she felt sickened at the idea.
Enda hesitated. He had become very white, she noticed. Despite herself, she wondered about that superstition that the wounds on a dead body would bleed if the murderer stood beside it.
‘Wait a minute,’ he said. He produced his knife from the inner lining of his tunic and applied it to the lock. After a minute there was a click. Enda grinned – it was, thought Mara, the first time that she had seen that wide grin since she arrived at the castle.
‘Nice to be able to open this rather than have it slammed shut whenever I entered the room. It’s not often that I’ve been allowed to have anything to do with this sacred press,’ he said flippantly.
The cupboard was a large one, made from oak and with four sections within it. It was neatly arranged with scrolls filling the two bottom sections and a fine collection of law books in the top right-hand section. Beside it was a section labelled ‘The Year of Our Lord 1519’ and holding boxes, each with a day of judgement marked upon it. They had more judgement days here in Thomond than she did back in the Burren, Mara noticed, reading the exquisitely lettered labels on each box
: Imbolic
, Mid Spring,
Bealtaine
, Midsummer,
Lughnasa
, Mid Autumn,
Samhain
and finally Yule. The Yule box was the one that she was
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