vague hooded shape could be seen. Certainly there would be nothing to distinguish the king from his cousin Mahon O’Brien in that dim light and from those angles.
‘Thank you, Ardal,’ she said aloud. She turned to the abbot. ‘Father Abbot, you may give orders for the body of your brother to be prepared for burial. The church may now be cleaned and purified. I have finished my business here. Will you come with me, Ardal? We’ll go across to the guest house now.’
Even though Mara had deliberately left the church by the west door – as far away as possible from the abbot’s parlour – the thunderous sound of Turlough’s voice came clearly to their ears as they crossed the trampled snow, through the guest house garth, on their way to the guest house.
‘What’s my marriage to do with you? How dare you . . .’
‘So it looks as if anyone could have got into the church this morning, Brehon,’ said Ardal hurriedly. He was obviously trying to cover up the king’s voice by starting a conversation. He would want to spare her the embarrassment of hearing herself discussed.
She smiled up at him, grateful for his sensitivity, though inwardly amused. Dear Ardal, always the soul of nobility!
‘That’s right, Ardal, at least anyone from the abbey,’ she said and then, hunting around to continue the conversation as Turlough’s voice rose and swelled like the sound of a stormy sea, she added, ‘Father Abbot didn’t get on that well with his brother Mahon O’Brien, I seem to remember. Do you know anything about that, Ardal?’ Ardal O’Lochlainn bred horses on the rich limestone land of the Burren and sold them in Galway. He had many friends among the merchants in Galway city and among the chieftains in the surrounding lands. He, if anyone, would know all about Mahon O’Brien.
‘Well, I think it was because of his son, the priest.’ Ardal glanced around nervously. He would be loath to offend the abbot, but with Turlough roaring like a bull there was no point in low voices.
‘Mahon’s son? I thought he had no children.’
‘No, the abbot’s son. It happened a long time ago when Father Abbot was a young monk. He wasn’t abbot, then, of course.’ Ardal’s voice was apologetic.
‘Of course,’ agreed Mara solemnly.
Well, well, well, she thought. The old hypocrite! Her spirits soared. Turlough will enjoy this, she thought. She herself did not care that much about the abbot’s decision not to marry them, but one glance at Turlough’s face had shown her the depth of his hurt feelings.
‘Come into the Royal Lodge, Ardal,’ she said, tucking her arm inside his. ‘We’ll go to the guest house in a minute, but I feel frozen and I’m sure that you are also. Brigid,’ she called as she opened the door, ‘could you bring some of your wonderful spiced ale into the parlour for myself and the O’Lochlainn.’
There was a gloriously warm fire blazing in the huge fireplace in the parlour. Mara shook the snow from her mantle and hung it up behind the door. Ardal did the same while she dragged two stools near to the warmth.
‘I’ve got a couple of my pies, too,’ said Brigid, coming almost instantly with the steaming cups and closely followed by her husband Cumhal bearing a platter of small pies.
‘I’ve been keeping these warm; I knew that you would be cold,’ she continued, putting the drinks on the stove and taking the pies from her husband.
After they had gone, Mara busied herself giving Ardal the cup and a pie. He was not a natural gossip, she knew, and she wondered how to get all the information without it sounding as if she were just curious.
‘It’s a very serious affair this, Ardal. I am very worried about the king’s safety. I need to know everything possible about the other people who were at the abbey last. So unless it would break any vow of silence I would like you to tell me all that you know about the abbot, his son, the priest, and the abbot’s relationship with his brother
‘Thank you, Ardal,’ she said aloud. She turned to the abbot. ‘Father Abbot, you may give orders for the body of your brother to be prepared for burial. The church may now be cleaned and purified. I have finished my business here. Will you come with me, Ardal? We’ll go across to the guest house now.’
Even though Mara had deliberately left the church by the west door – as far away as possible from the abbot’s parlour – the thunderous sound of Turlough’s voice came clearly to their ears as they crossed the trampled snow, through the guest house garth, on their way to the guest house.
‘What’s my marriage to do with you? How dare you . . .’
‘So it looks as if anyone could have got into the church this morning, Brehon,’ said Ardal hurriedly. He was obviously trying to cover up the king’s voice by starting a conversation. He would want to spare her the embarrassment of hearing herself discussed.
She smiled up at him, grateful for his sensitivity, though inwardly amused. Dear Ardal, always the soul of nobility!
‘That’s right, Ardal, at least anyone from the abbey,’ she said and then, hunting around to continue the conversation as Turlough’s voice rose and swelled like the sound of a stormy sea, she added, ‘Father Abbot didn’t get on that well with his brother Mahon O’Brien, I seem to remember. Do you know anything about that, Ardal?’ Ardal O’Lochlainn bred horses on the rich limestone land of the Burren and sold them in Galway. He had many friends among the merchants in Galway city and among the chieftains in the surrounding lands. He, if anyone, would know all about Mahon O’Brien.
‘Well, I think it was because of his son, the priest.’ Ardal glanced around nervously. He would be loath to offend the abbot, but with Turlough roaring like a bull there was no point in low voices.
‘Mahon’s son? I thought he had no children.’
‘No, the abbot’s son. It happened a long time ago when Father Abbot was a young monk. He wasn’t abbot, then, of course.’ Ardal’s voice was apologetic.
‘Of course,’ agreed Mara solemnly.
Well, well, well, she thought. The old hypocrite! Her spirits soared. Turlough will enjoy this, she thought. She herself did not care that much about the abbot’s decision not to marry them, but one glance at Turlough’s face had shown her the depth of his hurt feelings.
‘Come into the Royal Lodge, Ardal,’ she said, tucking her arm inside his. ‘We’ll go to the guest house in a minute, but I feel frozen and I’m sure that you are also. Brigid,’ she called as she opened the door, ‘could you bring some of your wonderful spiced ale into the parlour for myself and the O’Lochlainn.’
There was a gloriously warm fire blazing in the huge fireplace in the parlour. Mara shook the snow from her mantle and hung it up behind the door. Ardal did the same while she dragged two stools near to the warmth.
‘I’ve got a couple of my pies, too,’ said Brigid, coming almost instantly with the steaming cups and closely followed by her husband Cumhal bearing a platter of small pies.
‘I’ve been keeping these warm; I knew that you would be cold,’ she continued, putting the drinks on the stove and taking the pies from her husband.
After they had gone, Mara busied herself giving Ardal the cup and a pie. He was not a natural gossip, she knew, and she wondered how to get all the information without it sounding as if she were just curious.
‘It’s a very serious affair this, Ardal. I am very worried about the king’s safety. I need to know everything possible about the other people who were at the abbey last. So unless it would break any vow of silence I would like you to tell me all that you know about the abbot, his son, the priest, and the abbot’s relationship with his brother
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