The Celtic Riddle (28 page)

It occurred to me with some surprise, as I watched the two of them
walk arm in arm down the street, that I wouldn't mind if I did.

Chapter Fifteen

HE WHO DESCRIBES THE MOON'S ADVANCE

I want to know about the stolen child, the real one, I mean," I said
to Malachy.

"That's just one of Denny's stories," he replied. "You shouldn't pay
much heed to them. He's not quite right in the head, you know, although
I am still proud to call him my friend. He thinks he was there, way
back then, when all the battles were fought. The magic ones, between
the Tuatha de Danaan and the Fir Bolg and the Fomorians. As far back as
that."

"Then I want to know all about the Byrne family," I said. "Where
they came from, what they did before they got here, everything. There
must be someone who would know."

"Kitty McCarthy," he said. "Although she's getting on a bit. She was
with them when they came here, many years ago. The housekeeper and
nanny for the children. Denny's sister."

"Where do I find her?"

"The pub," he replied.

"She lives in a pub?" I said.

"Not in a pub," he said, laughing. "Over a pub. Over the Boar's Arms
and Brigid's place. The tearoom. Brigid's Kitty's stepdaughter, Denny's
niece."

I made my way along the main street, and into the door that
separated the bar and the tearoom, and then quickly up the stairs. I
knocked on the door where I had first met Kitty McCarthy. Brigid
answered.

"I'd like to talk to your mother," I said to her.

"Whatever for?" she asked, perplexed.

"About the Byrne family," I replied.

"She'll not want to be talking about that," Brigid replied.

"People are dying, Brigid."

"I've noticed," she said tartly. "People who worked there, too. So
my mother won't be talking to you, or anybody else on that subject."

"Who is it, dear?" a quavering voice inquired.

"Nobody, Mother," she called back in to the room.

"It's me, Mrs. McCarthy, Lara. The person who was here for Eamon
Byrne's clue." Brigid glared at me. "I want to talk to you about the
Byrne family."

"Come in, then," Kitty replied. "I like to have visitors."

"Mother!" Brigid exclaimed. "We decided you wouldn't speak to anyone
about the Byrne family. It's dangerous, remember."

"I'm practically dead already, in case you hadn't noticed, Brigid,
so let the young lady in," Kitty said. She had a tone to be reckoned
with. I expect she used it to good effect with the Byrne girls.

"Thank you," I said to Kitty, as she gestured to a seat on the sofa
next to her chair. Brigid sat across from us, her face rigid with
anxiety.

"I'm sorry," I said to Brigid, "but there are too many people dying.
I feel that if I could just understand what is happening to this
family, if the police knew, then maybe the killing would stop."

"What do you want to know?" Kitty asked, her hands trembling as she
held the blanket around her, but her eyes still bright and intelligent.

"I want you to start at the beginning, when you first met the Byrne
family, and I want to know why Deirdre thought the family cursed."

"All right," she said. "From the beginning. I was housekeeper to
Eamon Byrne's father, Michael, known as Mick. Mick was a widower, his
wife had died when the children were young, and he needed someone like
me to look after his home."

"Was it around here?"

"Oh, no, farther north, near Galway. The children were almost grown
up when I went there. Eamon was in his early twenties, and Rose, the
daughter, was about eighteen."

"Rose Cottage!" I exclaimed. "I've always wondered why it would be
called Rose Cottage when there aren't any roses around."

The old woman nodded. "Rose Cottage was named for her. Eamon doted
on his little sister."

"Where is she now?"

"Dead. Long gone and buried," she said sadly, shaking her head.

"Go on," I said.

"There was very bad blood between Mick Byrne, and another man by the
name of Mac Roth, Oengus Mac Roth, a landowner up farther north, by
Sligo. Had been for years, generations even. We Irish can hold a grudge
for a very long time. I'm not even sure what was at the basis of it.
Sometimes, it doesn't matter what started it really. It just takes on a
life of its own. Even those involved can't recall why it all began.
Probably an argument over some sheep or something like that, way back
many years, or generations, before. Perhaps it was over a dun cow."

She hesitated for a moment, and then laughed a little. "That was by
way of a little joke. There's a very ancient tale in Ireland called the
7am bo Culainge, The Cattle Raid of Cooley. It tells the story of a
huge war between the forces of Connacht, led by Queen Maeve and her
king Ailill, and the forces of Ulster, with their hero Cuchulainn. It
all started with a disagreement over a dun cow. But you understand what
I mean, don't you? In any event, the two men were rivals, and their
families were too, although as far as I know, they never had a chance
to meet. At least not right away."

The old woman coughed a little, and her daughter brought her some
tea. "Here, Mother," she said. "You mustn't talk too much." I thought
she had tears in her eyes.

"I want to talk, dear," she said, waving her away. "I've been
wanting to talk about this for years. I promised Eamon Byrne I never
would, but I don't suppose it matters much anymore.

"Mick Byrne had big plans for his son and daughter. Eamon was
already working with him in the family business-peat, I think it was at
the time. Rose, he planned to marry to a widower in the area, a
middle-aged man by the name of MacCallum, who had great landholdings
near those of Mick Byrne."

"A strategic alliance, was it?" I asked.

"I suppose you could call it that," Kitty replied. "Between them,
the two families would control much of the land in the area." She
paused for a moment, taking a sip of tea before proceeding. "But Rose
loved another, a young man she'd met at a dance. And his name was…" she
started to choke a little.

"Mac Roth," I said taking the teacup from her and trying to steady
her hand. "Don't tell me it was Mac Roth."

She nodded. "Owen Mac Roth. Son of her father's sworn enemy. She
didn't tell anyone about it, except I think for me. She was so happy
with her young man, and he was a looker, eyes so blue you could see the
sea in them, a very lovely young man. And she was a beauty, too, let me
tell you. But it wasn't to be.

"Eamon found out about Rose's lover, told his father, and Mick
forbade her to see Owen ever again. But she did, and…" here the old
woman paused and wiped a tear from her eye, "and with my help. She was
so much in love, you see, and begged me to help her. I never could
really say no to her, nor Eamon either for that matter. But Eamon found
out again, and told his father, and this time, Rose was sent away to
Dublin. I wasn't told exactly where: I suppose they thought I might
tell Owen, and perhaps I might. The terrible thing was, Rose was
pregnant with Owen's child. She was sent away to have the baby-the
family said she was finishing her schooling in Dublin. And she was
forced to give up the child the minute it was born. She told me she
wasn't even allowed to hold it, not once, not even for a minute. She
was told her baby was sick and had died, but she never believed it. It
had all been arranged by Mick."

"The lost child," I said. "So the Byrnes and the Mac Roths were the
local equivalent of the Montagues and the Capulets, were they? Did it
end just as badly?"

She smiled slightly. "I suppose you could put it that way, like
Romeo and Juliet, but this is Ireland, not Verona. This is more like
the old tale of Deirdriu and Naisiu. You don't know the Tain, but do
you know the story of Deirdriu?"

"Deirdre of the Sorrows," I replied. "Yes, that one I do. Deirdriu
was to marry an old man, a king, I think, I can't remember his name…"

"Conchobar," Kitty said.

"Conchobar. But she loved a strapping young man by the name of
Naisiu. They ran away together, but Conchobar and his men tracked them
down, and Naisiu was killed, I think. Is that what happened to Owen?"

"Go on," she said, "with the story."

"Deirdre was being given to someone else by Conchobar, and she was
on a wagon or something, I can't quite recall all the details, but she
dashed her head against a rock and died rather than be with either of
these two awful men. Did I get it right?"

"More or less," she replied. "Well, Mick Byrne insisted the wedding
between Rose and MacCallum go ahead, and that nothing ever be said
about the baby- MacCallum was never to know. Eamon was supposed to be
driving Rose over to see MacCallum the night before the wedding. He
called her to come out of her room, but there was no reply." Kitty
stopped for a moment, and tears started to pour down her cheeks. "Eamon
went in after her, but she was dead when he found her. She'd hanged
herself." Kitty crossed herself.

"She killed herself rather than marry MacCallum!" I exclaimed.

"She was very depressed, over the loss of her child, and all. Owen,
I thought he would die with sorrow. I told him about the baby. I don't
know whether I should have or not, but I did. He became a wild man. He
looked everywhere for that child, his and Rose's, but he couldn't find
a trace. It was very difficult in those days, to track down a child put
up for adoption. More difficult than now, and Mick had seen to it there
would be no evidence of the child. Owen took to drinking, lost his job."

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know. I moved away. For all I know he's still looking for
his child."

"And Eamon? What did he do after all this?"

"He disappeared for about a year, ran away to sea. He came to hate
his father, almost as much as he hated himself. I thought I'd never see
him again, but after Mick died, shortly after that, a bitter man, Eamon
came back, married Margaret, who'd been his sweetheart before all this
happened, and set up here in the Dingle. He asked me to come and look
after his household, and I did. Denny joined me a few years later. I
met Brigid's father here, and little Brigid, long after I thought I
could be so happy, and have made this place my home. I felt sorry for
Eamon, you know, and he wasn't a bad man. I liked looking after his
daughters, even though I couldn't see what he'd found to like in
Margaret, and sometimes late in the evening, when his wife had retired,
he'd ask me to sit by the fire in his room, the red one, and he'd talk
to me about Rose. He had loved her, you know. And in his own way he had
tried to do the best for her. When his mother was dying-he was just a
little tyke and Rose just a toddler-she made him promise he'd take care
of his little sister, never do anything to hurt her. And I suppose he
tried. I think he thought he had broken a sacred promise to his
mother." She paused for a moment. "Do you know what a geis is?" The
word sounded like gaysh. I shook my head.

"It is sort of like a tabu. In the old stories, people are held to a
geis: there is something they mustn't do, or perhaps something they
must do without fail, an obligation if you see what I mean, and if they
did it, or forgot to, as the case may be, broke the geis, that is, it
usually meant their death. Eamon Byrne thought he had broken a geis, in
hurting his sister. He was good to us, though, wasn't he, Brigid? He
gave us the money for Brigid to start up the tearoom, and my son-in-law
the pub." Brigid nodded. "And he did try to look for Rose's baby. I
know he did. But the authorities said that there was no way to do this,
that he wasn't the father, and in any event, the name would be revealed
only if the child wished it. Died in his prime, did Eamon. He can't
have been sixty. And I know he would have wished to find the child
before he died.

"Strange, though," she went on. "About Deirdriu and Naisiu, I mean.
In this story, the tragic one was Rose. It's Owen's sister who's called
Deirdre."

I could see Kitty was tiring, and Brigid was begging me with her
eyes to go. "I'll leave," I said, "And thank you."

"Thank you for listening," she said. "I feel better for telling you."

As I turned to go, I asked one more question. "The baby," I said.
"Was it?"

"A little boy," Kitty said. "Rose said it was a beautiful, healthy
little boy."

Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe it wasn't. There must be at least
a million Deirdres in Ireland, and Deirdre had had a rather spinsterish
way about her, the look of a woman never married, but one can never
assume too much. "Was Deirdre Flood ever married, do you know?" I asked
Rob.

"I believe she was," he replied. "And do you know her maiden name?"
"I think I saw it on the file, but I don't think I can recall it. Why?"

"I don't suppose it was Mac Roth. Deirdre Mac Roth."

"I think perhaps it was."

So Deirdre Flood was the hidden Mac Roth in the Byrne household, the
poison asp in the fruit basket, the bald face of revenge behind the
mask of servitude.

"How ever would you know that?" Rob said, watching my face.

I told him. "So you're saying you think this blood feud is still
going on, and that a Mac Roth, Deirdre, insinuated herself into the
Byrne household… to do what?" Rob said. "She had ample opportunity,
surely, over the five years she's been there, to do whatever she
wanted. Are you saying she murdered Michael? Why?"

"I don't know what I'm saying," I replied. "Probably not that she
killed Michael. Is there any indication she killed herself?"

"No. It looks as if she was strangled first, then hrown into the
sea. The autopsy will tell us for sure, t's nigh on impossible to
strangle yourself, and while he could have thrown herself over a cliff,
she could ardly have done both. My guess is she was strangled rst.
There'll likely be no water in the lungs."