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Authors: Cora Harrison
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laneway to Balor’s Cave. Fiachra O’Lochlainn was ploughing from sunrise in the field opposite the turn-off for the lane and Dalagh the basket maker was there all the morning and so was his wife and his ten children.’
‘Perhaps Becan murdered him somewhere else and then threw the body across a horse and took it over to Balor’s Cave,’ suggested Moylan.
‘No, that wouldn’t work,’ said Aiden. ‘Anyone working in the fields would have noticed him leading a horse with a dead body on top of it. I know how it was done.’ Aidan’s voice rose and then cracked badly with the force of his enthusiasm. ‘He could have put the body on one of those turf barrows, you know how low they are, then he could have thrown some old sacks over the body and people meeting him would have thought he was just wheeling along a pile of winter cabbages, He could have bent double over the barrow, bent down lower than the walls, so that he wouldn’t have been seen from the fields.’
Mara thought about the idea with as much gravity as she could command. She was always careful to encourage her scholars to think for themselves; throwing too much cold water on their ideas would just make them reluctant to venture an opinion. However, she could not quite see why Becan should go to so much trouble to hide overnight, kill Iarla in the morning and then creep along the roads in that furtive way just so as to place the body by Balor’s Cave.
‘Thank you, boys,’ she said eventually. ‘That’s an idea worth thinking about and you have brought me some very useful information. You have done very well and have helped me considerably. Now take Bran into the stables and Seán will feed him while you are rubbing down your ponies. Then go in and have your supper. Brigid will have kept something for you.’
After they had gone she stood for a few minutes wearily watching the sun sink down behind the hill. She wished for a moment that she were at Ballinalacken, the castle on the top of the hill near the sea. She could sit on the window seat and watch the sunset colours streak across the sea and perhaps forget about this puzzling murder and wipe her mind clear of the task that had to be done. She shook herself resolutely and turned to go into the schoolhouse. This was her choice to keep working, her choice to do everything: to be a teacher, a Brehon, the king’s wife and the bearer of the king’s child.
She wanted to have it all; that was her problem.
‘Brehon.’ Brigid emerged from the kitchen house.
‘Ah, Brigid.’ Mara forced a smile and straightened her back. ‘I told Aidan and Moylan that you would have kept them some supper.’
‘Don’t worry about them. That will be the day when they starve!’ Brigid narrowed her small green eyes against the sun and fixed them on Mara’s face. Her sandy-coloured hair was sticking up in spikes – always a sure sign that she was perturbed. ‘Don’t worry about them,’ she repeated. ‘What about you? You look very tired. Why don’t you go and have an early night? Cumhal and I will see to the lads.’
‘I can’t,’ said Mara. ‘I really should go over to Lissylisheen. I was just wishing that I could ride, but I don’t suppose that it’s a good idea at the moment.’
‘What’s there that can’t wait for the morning?’ asked Brigid sharply. ‘You should go over to your house now and just get straight into bed.’
‘You could be right,’ said Mara resignedly.
Brigid had looked after her when she was little and had not got out of the habit of treating her mistress as if she were about five years old. It was usually easier to follow Brigid’s commands than to argue with her.
‘Though I suppose you’ll toss and turn all night unless you get your own way.’ It was Brigid’s turn to sound resigned. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ she continued. ‘I’ll send young Donie over to Lissylisheen to ask the taoiseach to come and see you. Will that satisfy you?’
‘There’s
‘Perhaps Becan murdered him somewhere else and then threw the body across a horse and took it over to Balor’s Cave,’ suggested Moylan.
‘No, that wouldn’t work,’ said Aiden. ‘Anyone working in the fields would have noticed him leading a horse with a dead body on top of it. I know how it was done.’ Aidan’s voice rose and then cracked badly with the force of his enthusiasm. ‘He could have put the body on one of those turf barrows, you know how low they are, then he could have thrown some old sacks over the body and people meeting him would have thought he was just wheeling along a pile of winter cabbages, He could have bent double over the barrow, bent down lower than the walls, so that he wouldn’t have been seen from the fields.’
Mara thought about the idea with as much gravity as she could command. She was always careful to encourage her scholars to think for themselves; throwing too much cold water on their ideas would just make them reluctant to venture an opinion. However, she could not quite see why Becan should go to so much trouble to hide overnight, kill Iarla in the morning and then creep along the roads in that furtive way just so as to place the body by Balor’s Cave.
‘Thank you, boys,’ she said eventually. ‘That’s an idea worth thinking about and you have brought me some very useful information. You have done very well and have helped me considerably. Now take Bran into the stables and Seán will feed him while you are rubbing down your ponies. Then go in and have your supper. Brigid will have kept something for you.’
After they had gone she stood for a few minutes wearily watching the sun sink down behind the hill. She wished for a moment that she were at Ballinalacken, the castle on the top of the hill near the sea. She could sit on the window seat and watch the sunset colours streak across the sea and perhaps forget about this puzzling murder and wipe her mind clear of the task that had to be done. She shook herself resolutely and turned to go into the schoolhouse. This was her choice to keep working, her choice to do everything: to be a teacher, a Brehon, the king’s wife and the bearer of the king’s child.
She wanted to have it all; that was her problem.
‘Brehon.’ Brigid emerged from the kitchen house.
‘Ah, Brigid.’ Mara forced a smile and straightened her back. ‘I told Aidan and Moylan that you would have kept them some supper.’
‘Don’t worry about them. That will be the day when they starve!’ Brigid narrowed her small green eyes against the sun and fixed them on Mara’s face. Her sandy-coloured hair was sticking up in spikes – always a sure sign that she was perturbed. ‘Don’t worry about them,’ she repeated. ‘What about you? You look very tired. Why don’t you go and have an early night? Cumhal and I will see to the lads.’
‘I can’t,’ said Mara. ‘I really should go over to Lissylisheen. I was just wishing that I could ride, but I don’t suppose that it’s a good idea at the moment.’
‘What’s there that can’t wait for the morning?’ asked Brigid sharply. ‘You should go over to your house now and just get straight into bed.’
‘You could be right,’ said Mara resignedly.
Brigid had looked after her when she was little and had not got out of the habit of treating her mistress as if she were about five years old. It was usually easier to follow Brigid’s commands than to argue with her.
‘Though I suppose you’ll toss and turn all night unless you get your own way.’ It was Brigid’s turn to sound resigned. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ she continued. ‘I’ll send young Donie over to Lissylisheen to ask the taoiseach to come and see you. Will that satisfy you?’
‘There’s
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