Writ in Stone by Cora Harrison Page A

dramatic silence and stillness just inside the doorway, while the icy wind blew through the room setting the oil lamps smoking and the candles flickering. In a moment the abbot was on his feet, looking from her to the king. With a muttered curse Turlough sat down again. Ardal got up from his place beside Frann and moved up the table to squeeze in between Finn O’Connor and Teige O’Brien.
    Banna was tired of being immured, thought Mara uncharitably, as she got to her feet and went towards the door. The new widow wanted an audience for her mourning and some food sent to her room on a platter would not have suited her. Now there was a startled silence in the refectory and every eye turned towards her.
    The abbot left the company of Ellice and went down towards his dead brother’s wife with his hands outstretched.
    ‘My dear Banna,’ he said solicitously. ‘Are you able for this?’
    Banna gave a loud convulsive sob and moved towards his brotherly arms. Mara reached around her bulk and managed to get the door shut against the icy wind.
    ‘Come and sit by me,’ she said soothingly, taking the cushion-like wrist in one hand and leading Banna across the floor and up the steps to the high table. Turlough, she noticed, was looking apprehensive; undoubtedly he had had enough of Banna during his interview in the morning, but Mara steered a steady course towards them followed by the abbot.
    ‘I’m sure you won’t mind giving up your seat so that Banna can sit by me,’ she said to Murrough and he responded with his usual charm and grace, carefully holding the chair until Banna had lowered her weight on to it and then sending a lay brother for a clean platter and a cup of wine.
    ‘I just couldn’t stay in that room any longer,’ sobbed Banna. ‘It holds too many memories.’
    You were only there for one night, thought Mara, but aloud she said: ‘I suppose you keep picturing him going out this morning and then not returning.’
    Banna answered only with a sob, so Mara added: ‘Or perhaps you didn’t expect him to go out. Perhaps he went while you were still asleep, was that it?’
    Banna nodded her head vigorously and the yards of linen, which she had wound around her head, came loose. Impatiently she pulled the covering off and eyed the platter of hot food placed before her. She gulped down some wine and then attacked the cod with small, rapid, ladylike mouthfuls, her full cheeks creasing as she chewed on the rubbery fibre.
    ‘Perhaps Father Peter would be good enough to come up here and recommend something for the Lady Banna,’ suggested Mara to the lay brother. It was cold enough up here with a large brazier of charcoal to their backs. It must be almost unbearable further down in the room. Peter would appreciate the thought and he might have some poppy syrup or something which would quieten the lady if she started to become hysterical again.
    ‘So your husband, Mahon, left this morning while you were still sleeping,’ she continued. ‘Were you surprised when you woke up and found him gone?’
    Banna took another gulp of the wine.
    ‘No,’ she said in an almost normal voice. ‘I knew where he had gone.’
    ‘You knew?’
    ‘He told me that he had arranged it with the abbot?’
    ‘With the abbot?’ Mara still felt puzzled about this matter. Of course the abbot had said that he thought the king had changed his mind and that his bodyguards should have known their own king, but didn’t it occur to him at least to check the body? He of all people should have known that the two men, Turlough and his cousin Mahon, were very alike. It did seem quite odd that the abbot, the man in charge of all matters to do with the establishment had not verified the first hasty guess of the bodyguards. And should he not have administered the holy rites instantly? Was that not canon law?
    Banna nodded. ‘Yes, he told me that Father Abbot had asked him to do it and he had told him to keep his hood up so that if one of the brothers