Cross of Vengeance (4 page)

Father MacMahon looked at him suspiciously, but made no comment. Didn’t know English, thought Mara – and neither did Ardal O’Lochlainn, nor probably the other two clerics. The prioress lifted her hands to heaven and shook her head, muttering something about the wickedness of the world which misinterpreted God’s works.

‘But …’ began Cormac.

At that moment, to Mara’s relief, Mór pushed open the door and staggered in. Though a large, fat woman, she was weighed down by the tray that she carried and was followed by two of her kitchen maids carrying other trays. Blad got up from his seat and bustled around with a flagon of wine, the kitchen lad with a pitcher of ale. Cormac immediately lost interest in the sale of indulgences and licked his lips. Art forgot his giggles and picked up his wooden spoon. Even the adults stopped talking and got out their knives from pockets and pouches and looked with interest at the food.

Most meats and fish had been spit roasted, and were attractively laid out on iron skewers arranged on wooden trays with bunches of herbs and vegetables in between. There were partridges and quails, baked quinces, roast curlew, woodcock, all served with sauces of damsons in wine or hypocras, exquisitely spiced with nutmeg and cinnamon. Another tray held trout, salmon and small perch, with crabs and lobster, fresh from the nearby Atlantic Ocean, their scarlet and dull pink colours set off by the dark green of watercress and the small garlic-tasting cloves of
cainnenn
– a plant that Mara grew as much for its wonderful purple flowering heads in early summer as for its plentiful clove harvest in September. Slices of red-skinned apples formed a border on the tray and large leaves of cabbage, decorated with small heaps of glistening blackberries, were placed around and underneath the fish.

Mara helped herself to a partridge and accepted a generous helping of the spiced hypocras. There was no doubt that either Blad or Mór was an expert in food preparation. The spicy wine sauce went so well with the bird. She was pleased to see that her boys were tucking in as if they had been deprived of all food for many hours. She sent her compliments to the cook and chewed happily on the slices of fresh white bread and a helping of damsons in wine. She would have liked to talk to Ardal about Rome – her father had brought back many stories of the wonderful buildings there. Ardal, however, was fully occupied with the two priests and their discussion about this Martin Luther so she turned her attention towards Hans Kaufmann. To her surprise he was flirting with the prioress, gallantly moving choice pieces from his to her plate and even, Mara overheard, admiring the sheen of her nails and dropping a quick kiss on the tips of the woman’s fingers.

Mara concealed a smile. He was the sort of man who could have had any woman adoring him, but the shy, badly scarred younger sister was resolutely keeping her eyes fixed on her plate. The heavily built widow on Grace’s other side was also enjoying the German’s gallantries to her buxom person, though she did from time to time try to include Grace in the conversation. And after a few minutes of personal gratification the prioress also remembered her younger sister. Grace, however, would not respond and blushed fierily whenever the German tried to say something in his highly accented English. Mara began to feel a little sorry for the girl. Her elder sisters seemed to be making a determined effort to throw her into conversation with this rich German. Did they hope that he would offer marriage to her, wondered Mara? Otherwise, she would have thought that the prioress would be too pious to encourage an unmarried young girl to be on easy terms with a man who was no relation. Hans Kaufmann was the sort of man who would flirt with any woman, she decided, catching a rapid wink that he sent in the direction of Mór when the prioress was not looking.

‘The king will be sorry that he has missed this feast,’ she said to Blad, knowing that the slightest word from Turlough would have been more welcome to the man than a bagful of gold. ‘What a shame that there are not more pilgrims here today,’ she went on.

He nodded resignedly. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and these few will be leaving as soon as the meal is over. Their luggage is all corded and ready for the packhorses and they will be on the boats to Aran within a couple of hours from now.’

Even as he said the words, Hans Kaufmann rapidly swallowed what was left on his platter and got to his feet decisively.

‘I must see to my luggage,’ he said and strode from the room. The noise of his boots sounded on the courtyard outside. Blad’s eyes followed him with a disappointed expression. The magnificent meal which he had provided had not been appreciated by the German pilgrim. Mara could see him worrying whether a poor account of the inn would be carried to other Germans. In fact, she thought, I can never remember a pilgrim from Germany coming before now.

‘Well, perhaps things will pick up,’ she said consolingly. ‘This Martin Luther business of speaking out against the worship of relics might be just a flash in the pan. Fashions come and go in pilgrimages.’

‘Canterbury is not as popular as it was, but of course, Rome will always be the most important destination,’ said Brother Cosimo smugly.

‘The numbers of pilgrims at the shrine of the Blessed St James at Santiago has continued to rise,’ said Father Miguel assertively. ‘By the way, Master Innkeeper, perhaps you might hand some of these out to future pilgrims.’ He dug deep into a leather bag by his side, producing first the small candle lantern that most travellers carried and then a rolled up bunch of small sheets of parchment. He unrolled one and showed it to Mara. It was written in Latin so as to be comprehensible to all travellers and it invited the pilgrim to see for himself, or herself, the huge spiritual benefits to be gained by visits to the shrine of St James at Santiago. There were even neat little pictures of the relics on show which were painted around the margins of the sheet. Blad accepted one glumly.

‘We could do some splendid ones like that for you, Blad,’ said Mara enthusiastically. ‘It could show the church here with the two-armed cross in the gable and then the round tower with the relic. Finbar would do the drawings – he is very good at that. Cormac,’ she looked severely at her son, ‘needs to practise his script so he could write a few every evening for you.’ She beckoned to the two boys to come up to the table and they obeyed, Finbar rather nervously, and Cormac stuffing a tasty chunk of venison into his mouth before he left his plate. They leaned over the scroll and admired the small pictures – at least Finbar did, and Cormac wisely confined himself to some vigorous nods as he chewed rapidly.

‘And here’s one for Walsingham Priory – I carry some of theirs and they carry some of mine.’ Father Miguel delved into his pouch again and placed another leaf of vellum in front of her.

‘The house of Mary, Mother of Jesus?’ queried Mara. ‘I thought that Walsingham was in England …’ She stopped. After all, in the world of miracles, all was possible. Houses could be moved from Jerusalem to Norfolk in the east of England.

‘And they have a small vial full of her breast milk there as well,’ said Father Miguel. There was a note of sheer envy in his voice. This shrine business was competitive, not just for the innkeepers but for the priests and monks themselves. Soon the prioress would be weighing in with the account of St Winifred’s miraculous bones at Holywell in Wales.

‘Milk?’ queried Cormac in a puzzled tone, and then saw Finbar blush to the roots of his fair hair and his jaw dropped and his lips formed the letter ‘B’. Mara glared at Cormac, daring him to say anything more.

‘Yes,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Go back to your meal, boys. We’ll discuss this later. We’ll show you a sample, Blad, and then you can see if you like what we do.’

The boys returned quickly as the two kitchen maids were now bringing in the sweetmeats: honey cakes and apple and pear pies and succulent mouthfuls of blackberries sitting inside pastry baskets. Mara took one for politeness and then a long hour ensued during which everyone ate and drank and talked – mostly about relics and pilgrimage shrines. Father MacMahon embarked on a long, complicated description of the history of Kilnaboy and the monastic site, and proudly explained to Herr Kaufmann how the right to sanctuary was still retained by the church.

‘Sanctuary from what?’ Cormac was leaning back, patting his stomach, and the word had caught his attention. ‘Isn’t “sanctuary” a sort of refuge – a holy place that shelters people? Didn’t we have something in our Latin, something about Ajax …?’ he finished vaguely.

‘They have “sanctuary” in St Nicholas’s Church in Galway,’ said Domhnall. ‘If you are in danger of being hanged or something then you can go to the church and stand beside the altar and demand sanctuary – I think that it only lasts for forty days and that you have to stay beside the altar for all of that time. Is that right, Brehon?’

‘What about if you have to go … well, you know …’ queried Cormac with interest, and Mara sighed and thought about moving her son to another law school.

‘No one hangs people on the Burren so sanctuary is no good here,’ observed Art.

‘Except that the English ruled here for a while a couple of hundred years ago, before they were defeated at Dysart O’Dea,’ put in Domhnall. ‘They might have needed sanctuary then. The English hang people even for stealing a loaf of bread.’ Thankfully he spoke in Gaelic to Art and the rest of the company just looked at him with polite interest. Mara hastened to intervene.

‘It will be an interesting subject to discuss when we go back to the law school,’ she said emphatically, and was glad to see them look distracted by a fresh tray of tiny stuffed figs which had just been brought in by a kitchen maid. Domhnall was the only one of the boys who had ever tasted one before, and he gave such an enthusiastic account that Mara could guess that the other boys’ mouths were watering before the tray came to them.

She was glad to see, after the trays of sweetmeats began to empty, that the remaining pilgrims were beginning to look out through the windows to where the sun had begun to move into the south-west. Like everyone on a journey they would want to move on to the next stage. And Mara wanted to get back to the reality of her life in the law school and leave relics to those who liked them. She pictured her husband’s face when he heard, as he undoubtedly would from Cormac, about the vial of the Blessed Virgin’s milk, and she bit her lips to disguise the sudden smile.

‘You’ll have a good crossing to Aran,’ she said politely to the prioress. ‘The sea can be rough sometimes, although the island is only about six miles from the port at Doolin. There may be a storm tonight, but tomorrow will be a lovely day – or so my farm manager tells me, and he is a great judge of the weather. He plans haymaking tomorrow, so it will definitely be dry and calm,’ she continued, seeing the alarmed look on the faces of three women. The Irish sea between Wales and Ireland was notorious for storms, high winds and rough waves; the pilgrims probably already had an unpleasant crossing. They would have been worrying about the trip to Aran. The other pilgrims finished their meal hastily but waited for Father MacMahon to say a solemn Latin grace after meals before standing up also.

‘I’ll take leave of you now, and wish you God speed,’ said Mara graciously, exchanging bows with the three ladies and then with the two clerics. Not a very interesting or, except for the timid Grace, a very likeable group of people, she thought, and decided that she would not demean her office as Brehon by standing around in the courtyard while the usual bustle of loading goods and mounting horses took place. She summoned the boys to make their farewells also and they did not disappoint her with their polite bows and the ease with which all, except for Finbar, were able to switch between Latin and English. She dismissed them then back to their own table with a quick nod. There was no reason why they should not quickly finish up the left-over sweetmeats while the visitors were getting going. She herself went to one of the small open windows and looked out on to the courtyard. Hans Kaufmann was already mounted on his horse, though the others had not yet arrived out.

Mara stood at a discreet distance and observed him. Blad was not there, but his daughter Mór emerged from the stable. She took a quick glance around and then stood on her toes, leaning coquettishly on the shoulder of his horse. He stooped down, kissed her on the lips and then impulsively dismounted and took the woman in his arms. This time the kiss was very prolonged and seemed to Mara’s interested sight to be extremely passionate. She doubted that it was the first embrace and wondered about the sleeping arrangements of the night before. Still, it was none of her business and she turned away quickly before any of the boys joined her at the window. As she crossed the room towards them, she heard, through the open door in the passageway, the noise of horses’ hoofs. Hans Kaufmann could not wait to depart. He had gone ahead of his fellow pilgrims and would probably reach the coast well before the other five.

Mara watched the boys eat for another minute. No expense had been spared on this meal. Cyprus sugar was cheap enough in Galway – she had tasted it, beautifully blended with vinegar, in one of the sauces that had accompanied the fish – but the cakes of refined sugar from which some of these sweetmeats had been made were very expensive indeed, and of course the figs, imported from somewhere in the south, would have cost Blad a good few pieces of silver. And then there would have been the cost of the transport of the sugar, and the wine, across the mountain that lay between the city and the Burren. Mara bought wine and some other luxuries from Galway, but Domhnall’s father, her daughter Sorcha’s husband, Oisín, delivered hers free whenever he had an order for goods in the neighbourhood.

‘Let’s go into the kitchen and thank Mór for the lovely food,’ she proposed when she saw the hand to mouth action beginning to slacken. She was meticulous about insisting on courtesy from the boys, who, if they passed all of their examinations, would have the responsibility of acting as Brehon – with all the peace-keeping and diplomatic implications of that position – and so she never passed up an opportunity to show them how to behave to others.