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Authors: Cora Harrison
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fisherman.’
‘That’s what everyone here has been telling me – that the boat came in on the high tide in the early morning.’ Mara stared meditatively at the boat. And yet, she thought, she was fairly certain that the boat had been there on the dunes when she had noticed the rabbit jump from it. And Slevin remembered it also.
So, he could have been killed three days ago, launched out to sea and then drifted in on the tide, thought Mara. The south-westerly wind had just got up this very morning, she remembered. Perhaps that had made a difference. Or perhaps it was just fate. Perhaps one boat looked like another to someone like herself, or even Slevin. She got up and walked all around but there was nothing to make it look different – no name, no marks, just a boat whose timbers were worn out, were fragile with the passage of time.
‘There was something else strange about the body.’ Nuala had been watching her, waiting until Mara’s thoughts had unravelled themselves.
‘Yes.’ Mara turned to her with relief. Gathering evidence, she often reminded her scholars, should come before speculation.
‘The man’s tongue was pulled out after death – I don’t mean that it was torn out, but a certain force was used before the body stiffened. It was pulled out and then the upper teeth were closed over it and probably held in position – this probably happened about an hour after death. You see, the body starts to stiffen from the head down, so the eyes and the mouth stiffen before the neck and shoulders. Someone did this when the jaw had begun to stiffen. It would not have taken long.’
She made no further comment, but Mara nodded. ‘I can understand the reason for this,’ she said. ‘I think that it was all part of painting a picture, of giving an appearance of a man who was put out on the ocean in a boat with no oars. My own scholars are always fascinated by that – by the fact that a man would be launched out to sea and that his fate would be in the hands of God. In fact, it probably condemned him to die of thirst. The murderer wanted the corpse to present the appearance of a man who died of thirst.’
‘Whereas, in reality, the man had died from a blow to the head,’ said Nuala drily.
‘Can I see?’ asked Mara, nerving herself to stand up.
‘There’s nothing to see,’ said Nuala without moving from her seat. ‘You can look if you like, but no mark has been left. The damage is internal. The instrument that hit the skull must have been well padded. And, as well as that, he wore a wig so that also protected the skull.’
‘I’d better have a look anyway,’ said Mara. She didn’t want to, but she felt a responsibility to this man who had drifted up onto the shores of the territory where she was Brehon. She was embarrassed that she had not noticed that he wore a wig. She had focused on the face, the open mouth, the widely opened eyes. Now she needed to find out more about him. He was not a man from her jurisdiction and he had, if Domhnall was correct, no relations to be compensated for his death, but for the sake of law and order and of justice within the kingdom, the truth had to be established. Resolutely she walked towards where the dead man lay within the boat.
The body had been washed, the incisions neatly sewn up, the linen shirt laid over it, under the tarpaulin. Most of the seaweed that had draped it when she had first seen the corpse had now been picked off and left at the side of the boat. She bent down and looked at it: reddish-brown leaves of dillisk, white carrageen, sea cabbage, long brown broad strands of kelp and flat purple slices of laver – there were even a few strands of samphire.
‘Nothing unfamiliar here,’ she said. ‘All of this could be found on Fanore beach. When I was a child I used to come here with Brigid. She used to pick carrageen to make cough syrup to give to my father’s scholars. I used to bring back these long brown kelp streamers – Cumhal told me
‘That’s what everyone here has been telling me – that the boat came in on the high tide in the early morning.’ Mara stared meditatively at the boat. And yet, she thought, she was fairly certain that the boat had been there on the dunes when she had noticed the rabbit jump from it. And Slevin remembered it also.
So, he could have been killed three days ago, launched out to sea and then drifted in on the tide, thought Mara. The south-westerly wind had just got up this very morning, she remembered. Perhaps that had made a difference. Or perhaps it was just fate. Perhaps one boat looked like another to someone like herself, or even Slevin. She got up and walked all around but there was nothing to make it look different – no name, no marks, just a boat whose timbers were worn out, were fragile with the passage of time.
‘There was something else strange about the body.’ Nuala had been watching her, waiting until Mara’s thoughts had unravelled themselves.
‘Yes.’ Mara turned to her with relief. Gathering evidence, she often reminded her scholars, should come before speculation.
‘The man’s tongue was pulled out after death – I don’t mean that it was torn out, but a certain force was used before the body stiffened. It was pulled out and then the upper teeth were closed over it and probably held in position – this probably happened about an hour after death. You see, the body starts to stiffen from the head down, so the eyes and the mouth stiffen before the neck and shoulders. Someone did this when the jaw had begun to stiffen. It would not have taken long.’
She made no further comment, but Mara nodded. ‘I can understand the reason for this,’ she said. ‘I think that it was all part of painting a picture, of giving an appearance of a man who was put out on the ocean in a boat with no oars. My own scholars are always fascinated by that – by the fact that a man would be launched out to sea and that his fate would be in the hands of God. In fact, it probably condemned him to die of thirst. The murderer wanted the corpse to present the appearance of a man who died of thirst.’
‘Whereas, in reality, the man had died from a blow to the head,’ said Nuala drily.
‘Can I see?’ asked Mara, nerving herself to stand up.
‘There’s nothing to see,’ said Nuala without moving from her seat. ‘You can look if you like, but no mark has been left. The damage is internal. The instrument that hit the skull must have been well padded. And, as well as that, he wore a wig so that also protected the skull.’
‘I’d better have a look anyway,’ said Mara. She didn’t want to, but she felt a responsibility to this man who had drifted up onto the shores of the territory where she was Brehon. She was embarrassed that she had not noticed that he wore a wig. She had focused on the face, the open mouth, the widely opened eyes. Now she needed to find out more about him. He was not a man from her jurisdiction and he had, if Domhnall was correct, no relations to be compensated for his death, but for the sake of law and order and of justice within the kingdom, the truth had to be established. Resolutely she walked towards where the dead man lay within the boat.
The body had been washed, the incisions neatly sewn up, the linen shirt laid over it, under the tarpaulin. Most of the seaweed that had draped it when she had first seen the corpse had now been picked off and left at the side of the boat. She bent down and looked at it: reddish-brown leaves of dillisk, white carrageen, sea cabbage, long brown broad strands of kelp and flat purple slices of laver – there were even a few strands of samphire.
‘Nothing unfamiliar here,’ she said. ‘All of this could be found on Fanore beach. When I was a child I used to come here with Brigid. She used to pick carrageen to make cough syrup to give to my father’s scholars. I used to bring back these long brown kelp streamers – Cumhal told me
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