hooker or
bád mór
, a gaff-rigged boat about thirty feet in length, ideal for carrying goods swiftly and easily with its three brown sails. By sea, the journey to Galway City was less than half the length of the journey by land. And in a boat like that one, it would be accomplished quickly and easily and there would be no deterioration in the samphire, unlike if it was carried by cart along the dusty roads.
‘Here comes Liam,’ said Domhnall in her ear and she nodded her appreciation at his judgement at not calling the attention of the others to the appearance of the physician’s apprentice. She raised a hand of acknowledgement, said quietly to Domhnall, ‘I’ll leave you in charge,’ and then strolled down towards the hidden stretch of sand within the rocks.
The tide had turned, she thought, as she climbed the rocks. It would be urgent to move the body as soon as possible. Certainly there were enough strong arms to carry it to the churchyard and that would be best solution. Many of the men lived close to the shore and spades and pickaxes could be quickly produced to make a grave for the stranger. When she had got to the sand she saw that Nuala had covered the body with the sheet of tarpaulin and he could be buried in that, buried within the boat which was surely worthless, if, as she felt sure, it had been abandoned in the sand dunes.
‘Take a seat,’ said Nuala, nodding towards one of the flat-topped rocks and Mara seated herself, waiting until Nuala had finished her instructions to the man who was emptying seawater over the rocks. All was almost as it had been and the fresh breeze from the sea had blown the smell away.
‘Perhaps I should move my hospital down here,’ said Nuala as she came across and sat beside her. ‘The air would be good for my patients and salt water is a great cleanser.’ And then, almost in the same breath, ‘The man you are interested in was middle-aged to elderly – over fifty, I’d say. He ate a substantial meal a few hours before he was killed.’
‘Killed,’ queried Mara.
Nuala nodded. ‘And not by exposure, nor by thirst, nor by starvation; he was killed by a sharp blow to the head about eight hours after his last meal. In fact,’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘he certainly didn’t die of starvation. He had enough food in his stomach when he was killed to last him for almost a week, I’d say. Wine also, or some form of alcohol.’
‘I see,’ said Mara. She wasn’t surprised. All her instincts had told her that she was witnessing something that had been arranged like a picture, arranged to deceive. The boat with no oars, the seaside location, that body stretched out with eyes wide open to the sky, and that tongue, artistically arranged as though dying of thirst.
‘Something interesting about the meal,’ said Nuala. ‘Among other fragments there was an almost whole apricot in the stomach. I’ve eaten one of those in Italy but never here on the Burren, or at Bunratty Castle.’
‘I’ve eaten apricots, but it was in Galway City,’ said Mara. The pieces of puzzle were beginning to knit themselves together, just as a carpenter puts together the carefully sawn timbers to make a jointed stool.
Nuala absorbed this without comment. ‘And I would say that the man has been dead for about three days,’ she said.
‘Three days. That’s a surprise!’ Mara looked all around the tiny bay. The sand was soaking wet and every dip and declivity in the rocks around them was filled with seawater and most of them held tiny shrimps or other sea creatures. It was obvious that the tide would cover this spot and extend far up to the high-tide level where the smoke from the fires drifted back towards the sand-dune cliffs.
Nuala had followed her thoughts. ‘Came in on the tide, Liam thinks. He’s had a look at the boat. Says the bottom timbers are more soaked than they would be if it were just resting here. He knows about boats; he’s the son of a
bád mór
, a gaff-rigged boat about thirty feet in length, ideal for carrying goods swiftly and easily with its three brown sails. By sea, the journey to Galway City was less than half the length of the journey by land. And in a boat like that one, it would be accomplished quickly and easily and there would be no deterioration in the samphire, unlike if it was carried by cart along the dusty roads.
‘Here comes Liam,’ said Domhnall in her ear and she nodded her appreciation at his judgement at not calling the attention of the others to the appearance of the physician’s apprentice. She raised a hand of acknowledgement, said quietly to Domhnall, ‘I’ll leave you in charge,’ and then strolled down towards the hidden stretch of sand within the rocks.
The tide had turned, she thought, as she climbed the rocks. It would be urgent to move the body as soon as possible. Certainly there were enough strong arms to carry it to the churchyard and that would be best solution. Many of the men lived close to the shore and spades and pickaxes could be quickly produced to make a grave for the stranger. When she had got to the sand she saw that Nuala had covered the body with the sheet of tarpaulin and he could be buried in that, buried within the boat which was surely worthless, if, as she felt sure, it had been abandoned in the sand dunes.
‘Take a seat,’ said Nuala, nodding towards one of the flat-topped rocks and Mara seated herself, waiting until Nuala had finished her instructions to the man who was emptying seawater over the rocks. All was almost as it had been and the fresh breeze from the sea had blown the smell away.
‘Perhaps I should move my hospital down here,’ said Nuala as she came across and sat beside her. ‘The air would be good for my patients and salt water is a great cleanser.’ And then, almost in the same breath, ‘The man you are interested in was middle-aged to elderly – over fifty, I’d say. He ate a substantial meal a few hours before he was killed.’
‘Killed,’ queried Mara.
Nuala nodded. ‘And not by exposure, nor by thirst, nor by starvation; he was killed by a sharp blow to the head about eight hours after his last meal. In fact,’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘he certainly didn’t die of starvation. He had enough food in his stomach when he was killed to last him for almost a week, I’d say. Wine also, or some form of alcohol.’
‘I see,’ said Mara. She wasn’t surprised. All her instincts had told her that she was witnessing something that had been arranged like a picture, arranged to deceive. The boat with no oars, the seaside location, that body stretched out with eyes wide open to the sky, and that tongue, artistically arranged as though dying of thirst.
‘Something interesting about the meal,’ said Nuala. ‘Among other fragments there was an almost whole apricot in the stomach. I’ve eaten one of those in Italy but never here on the Burren, or at Bunratty Castle.’
‘I’ve eaten apricots, but it was in Galway City,’ said Mara. The pieces of puzzle were beginning to knit themselves together, just as a carpenter puts together the carefully sawn timbers to make a jointed stool.
Nuala absorbed this without comment. ‘And I would say that the man has been dead for about three days,’ she said.
‘Three days. That’s a surprise!’ Mara looked all around the tiny bay. The sand was soaking wet and every dip and declivity in the rocks around them was filled with seawater and most of them held tiny shrimps or other sea creatures. It was obvious that the tide would cover this spot and extend far up to the high-tide level where the smoke from the fires drifted back towards the sand-dune cliffs.
Nuala had followed her thoughts. ‘Came in on the tide, Liam thinks. He’s had a look at the boat. Says the bottom timbers are more soaked than they would be if it were just resting here. He knows about boats; he’s the son of a
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