A MASS FOR THE DEAD (8 page)

“May I sit down?” she asked, and I hastily found the three-legged stool, dumped the cloak and dirty bowl that had been sitting on it on the bed, dusted it off and placed it by the fire.

“Here,” I said. “I am sorry. I am not used to having women here.”

“Fine I can see that,” she returned.

“I was just returning from the Priory. Would you be wanting some drink? I’ve no food to offer you.”

“I am not surprised by that,” Mariota said tartly, but, to my surprise, she accepted some
uisgebeatha
, after I had found a cup and wiped it out, and settled herself on the stool, gathering her skirts somewhat carefully around her. Somerled roused himself from his place by the hearth to come and lay his large head on her lap.

“A fine big dog you have here,” she observed, as she scratched at his ears. Somerled responded to this gesture by trying to climb into her lap.

“How is it you have a deerhound?” Mariota asked, as we tried to convince Somerled to get out of her lap. It was an understandable question, for usually none but the Lords owned deerhounds.

“My uncle was giving him to me. The dog took a liking to me and he is a bad hunter.”

“So what were you finding at the Priory?” she asked, after Somerled had finally settled back down at Mariota’s feet, leaning his bulk against her skirts.

I scowled. “Brother Gillecristus, the sub-prior, swears that no canon could have committed such as act, for all that I am knowing they are as great a bunch of prideful fools as ever walked the earth.

“A young mason fell from a scaffold the day before the murder, and I suppose someone could have held my father to account for it, as Gillecristus and my father argued over the construction shortly before that happened. But Calum Glas, the master mason, says it was an accident only, and no cause for suspicion. No one admits to knowing anything of any use, at all, at all,” I finished, in frustration, “but I am not sure I have been asking the right questions.

“Brother Columbanus insists he was in the dormitory, asleep, when the Prior left, but it is clear he has no love for my father. And he is Sheena’s brother. I think Columbanus could easily have left, met the Prior when he was returning, and killed him then. Brother Donal said he heard someone leave the dormitory that night.”

“Why? For his sister’s sake?”

“Indeed, that is the way of it, I am thinking. It was clear he was not liking the Prior, from the little he did say.”

“That is possible. And if he cares for his sister, it is plain that the Prior did not treat her well.”

“What did you find at Sheena’s?”

Mariota settled her skirts about her for a moment before she answered me

“She is not an easy woman to talk to, Muirteach, but after awhile she opened up a bit to me. The wee bairn was peevish with the teething, and so I made a remedy for that, and gave her some wormwood for the bruising, and—”

“Was she saying how she got the bruise?” I interrupted.

“Aye, she was, but you must be waiting for me to tell you. You are not patient, are you Muirteach?” she asked, smiling a wee bit, but then she herself did not wait for my answer. “She told me the Prior hit her, that last night he came.”

Well, that was as I had expected, really. “Did she say aught of Columbanus?” I asked.

Mariota laughed. “Muirteach, she knows I am trying to help you. I do not think she would be saying much about Columbanus, even if she did know he had killed your father. He is her baby brother, for all that he is a grown man and a canon.”

“And what of herself? She is a strong woman, after all.”

Mariota shook her head. “She is truly grieving for him. And his death will mean nothing but trouble for herself and the bairns.”

“She could have killed him,” I insisted stubbornly, “after he beat her.”

“But why at the Strand?”

“So they would not be finding the body back at her cottage,
amadain
.”

“Perhaps,” said Mariota, but I could tell by the look around her mouth that she was not believing me. “Whoever hit him was tall, and struck him from behind,” she added.

“Sheena is tall,” I replied, but Mariota did not answer that. “And there are her brothers as well. Perhaps they came, and found him beating her, and then they murdered him. They could have lied about the deer.”

Mariota shook her head stubbornly, and I gave it up and tried a different tack. “Why was my father giving her that bruise? You were forgetting to tell me.”

“You were not giving me the chance, Muirteach.”

“Well, I am giving you the chance now,” I said sourly, then wished I could take my words back.

“Did he need a reason? He could have hit her for anything that displeased him. She said he did not have any reason to beat her, but it was a feeling I was having, just, that she was not telling me all she knew of it.”

The thought of it sickened me, but I knew my father well enough to know the truth of what Mariota said. My father had hit me, on occasion, as a child, when the temper was on him. Sheena could have done anything, or nothing at all.

“So what is next?” Mariota asked, after a moment.

“Seamus and I will visit Tormod.”

“What of other people here on Colonsay?” she asked, after a moment. “Is there no one here who would have wanted the Prior dead? What of Tormod’s kin? Would they be blaming your father for his fall?”

“Better to blame Calum Glas. And Calum is strong, but he would not be killing my father. He defended Calum, when Gillecristus wanted him taken off the job.”

“What of someone from Islay? They could have beached a boat on the strand and waited for him, if they knew his habits.”

“There is only my mother’s kin. And if they were going to kill him, they’d have been doing it eighteen years ago.” I thought a moment. “I shall have to return to the Priory.” The look on my face gave me away.

“You are not liking it there,” Mariota observed. “Why?”

“I spent my boyhood there,” I said. I could have said that I hated it there, and had hated my father the most of all, but I did not, and remained silent.

“What of Gillecristus?” Mariota asked. “They argued. He benefits from your father’s death, does he not? Is he not likely to become the next Prior?”

“I have never liked him,” I admitted. “He is ambitious. But he has known my father for many years; they founded the Priory together twenty years ago. They were close.”

“Ambition could, perhaps, drive a man to murder,” mused Mariota.

“I shall talk with him again, or perhaps Donal can find out something more.” So then there was no help but to tell her of Donal and how he was keeping his ears open for me, there.

“Your Canon Donal seems a kind man,” she said. “So perhaps all was not bad at that place.”

I did not answer. After awhile Mariota must have realized I was not going to say anything more, for she set her cup down on the floor, and stood up, brushing the dog hairs off her skirts. “I should be going,” she said. “My father will be waiting for me up at the Dun.”

I stood awkwardly by the door as she left, that scent of elderflower wafting past me, then I went and filled my cup again with
uisgebeatha
.

* * * * *

The next morning Seamus and I set out early, to walk to Kilchattan where Tormod and his family lived. The morning was foggy. Somerled loped by my side, eager at the chance for the outing, leaving us every few minutes to chase a rabbit, then returning, after a minute or two, without catching any. He was, as I have already said, a lazy dog.

We reached the little settlement of Kilchattan in good time. Tormod’s home lay somewhat before the old chapel, still used by the village. The homestead looked in good repair, well kept and tidy, with the thatching of the roof held down by rope netting weighted with rocks. We approached the door-flap and knocked on the stone walls of the house.

An older woman answered our summons, short, round, and neat as her holding, with her hair tidily coifed and wrinkles of worry behind her blue eyes.

“And whoever is it then?” she asked. “Och, it will be you, Seamus. It is good to be seeing you—how you have grown tall! And how is your mother faring?”

Seamus replied Aorig was well, and gave Tormod’s mother the cheese that Aorig had sent. Chatriona told us her elder son was recovering, but still weak, and would be glad of our company for some short time as she ushered us inside.

Some time was taken up with pleasantries while Chatriona settled us with some mead and bannocks by Tormod, and then took her spinning outside while we visited with her son. The lad lay propped up against the wall on his bed, a pile of bracken covered with blankets, in a corner of the cottage. One arm rested awkwardly on his blanket, and from the looks of the bandaged hand, with purplish bruises fading to yellow and green visible outside the bandages, he would have a hard time carving again. His face looked pale, as thin and angular as his mother’s was round, with a sour and a fretful look to it.

“I was hearing of your accident, Tormod,” said Seamus, after we had greeted him, “and was just wondering how you were doing with it all. A sad thing indeed, to be hearing of it.”

Tormod grimaced. “Aye, a foolish thing it was.”

“How did the accident happen?” I asked.

“The scaffolding collapsed. I am not knowing how or why, as I had Eogain check it before I went up.”

“Eogain?” I asked.

“That is Tormod’s wee brother,” interjected Seamus. “So he is working there as well?”

Tormod nodded. “Aye. He is just fetching stones and the like now. But I had him check the scaffold. There looked to be nothing wrong with it. Calum Glas was the one who supervised the making of it. The master mason.” Tormod spat out these last words.

“What are you saying Tormod?”

He turned his head wearily. “Just that himself is always too busy, hurrying to get things done to the satisfaction of that Prior, to be looking to the safety of his scaffolding. He curries favor, does that man. I will not work for him again.”

Whether Tormod meant that he would refuse to work for Calum or that he would not be able to work again I was not sure.

“But surely he would see to the safety of his men?”

Tormod shrugged and said nothing. I tried again. “Are you saying he would not?”

“Och, I do not know. Fine he is always making up to Prior Crispinus, and lashing us with his tongue to work faster, so how would I be having the time to check that scaffolding before I am climbing up it?”

Which could mean anything. After puzzling on it for a moment I decided Tormod must have meant that was the reason his brother had checked it.

“Were you knowing that the Prior and Gillecristus were arguing? Gillecristus was wanting Calum taken off the job.”

“That dried up old stick of a man!” Tormod scowled, which I noticed he did frequently. It was not a pleasant expression. “I am guessing who won that argument. I would not like to be crossing that Crispinus.”

“Why not?”

Tormod thought a moment before he answered. Finally he replied, “He is a man who will always be getting whatever it is that he is wanting, no matter what it is that is in his way.”

I had to agree with that assessment of my father. I changed the subject, saying nothing about my own relationship to Crispinus. Evidently Tormod had not heard of the Prior’s bastard son and I saw no reason to enlighten him.

“Were you knowing,” Tormod continued, “that Crispinus was always after the masons, even after the boys who carried the stones, berating them, telling them to work harder. As though it was his business.”

I shook my head. “I was not knowing that. Did he do so to you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Gillecristus is kin with you, is he not?”

“Aye, on my mother’s side.”

“But you were not hearing about the Prior?”

Tormod’s eyes narrowed in a way I found I did not like. “What about him?” he asked.

“He was found murdered on the Strand. Three days ago now, it was.”

Tormod turned his head away a moment before he looked at us again. “The black heart of him. Well, he will not be bothering the workers anymore. Or anyone else, either.”

He took a drink from the cup sitting near on a stool near his bed, his face pale. “I had not heard of it,” he added. “I have had a fever. Mayhap my mother knows of it.”

“I would think young Eogain would have brought word.”

“We have not seen him since I was brought home. He will be staying at the masons’ village there on Oronsay.”

“But how are your injuries? Will you be working again?”

“I am not knowing. They say my hand was broken in some three places, and there is a sore pain in my back, but I can move my legs so perhaps, once the bruising heals. . . they are thinking it is only a bad sprain of the legs and the back. At least I should still have the strength in my arms and shoulders for carving the stone, but I am not knowing if I will be able to hold the chisel.”

It was just at this point that Chatriona returned. She took one look at her elder son’s white face and sent us on our way, telling us that himself would be wearing himself out now, with his visitors, and we must be off with him just getting over the fever and needing rest to heal from his injuries.

It occurred to me that perhaps the Beaton could be of some use, and I offered to send him to look at Tormod’s injuries, for which his mother thanked me. Tormod however, just sat staring at the thatching while we said our good-byes to his mother, and did not respond to our farewells.

“You’ve fair worn him out, the white love,” she said, firmly showing us the door. “Give Aorig this honeycomb, and thank her for the fine cheese, Seamus. We will be enjoying it, along with her kindness.” And with that we left.

“It is plain to see that Tormod could not have killed your father,” said Seamus when we were some half-mile down the track leading back to Scalasaig. “With him being in bed and not able to walk and with the fever and all.”

I remembered, then, how Alasdair Beag claimed to have seen Tormod on the strand the evening my father died.

“Aye,” I agreed, “unless he is lying about his injuries. And what man here does not have kin to avenge him?”