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from her presence. If Domhnall had not gone to fetch her, would the man already be under the earth, in the same way as the stinking remains of a giant whale that came ashore after a storm last winter had been hastily buried until the earth had stripped the flesh from the valuable bones?
    ‘Father O’Connor is waiting for him,’ said Setanta and it was his voice, anxious and somehow slightly guilty, that aroused her suspicions even more. She had known Setanta for over twelve years and had entrusted him with the care of her beloved son, and would have been certain that he trusted her and was devoted to her interests, but he avoided her eye when she looked straight at him. All her instincts told her that something was wrong here, that this was not what it appeared to be – that it was not a body that had drifted up from the Kingdom of Kerry.
    And then she looked up at the dunes. Something had just occurred to her. She remembered the old boat that had lain there where a rabbit had jumped out – was it there? Somehow, she thought, as she rode down, and looked across at the tents in the hollows, the boat was no longer there, though it had taken her eye three days ago.
    And yes, it had been about the size and shape of the one which now held the dead body. She glanced at her eldest scholar and saw that he too seemed to be gazing at the body in a slightly surprised way. When he sensed her eyes upon him, he made up his mind and turned to her with an air of decision.
    ‘Could I have a word with you, Brehon?’ he asked quietly and immediately she moved away from the crowd and only halted when she knew that they were out of earshot of all.
    ‘I think that I know this man,’ he said, before she could ask him anything. ‘I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. It has been puzzling me ever since I saw the body, but looking at him there again, I suddenly remembered. I think that he is a goldsmith and dealer in gold from the city of Galway. I haven’t seen him for a few years, but I’m fairly certain that is who he is.’
    Mara nodded. This was enough for her. Domhnall’s parents, her daughter and son-in-law, lived in Galway and he spent his holidays there. He was a careful boy, would be most unlikely to speak unless he was reasonably sure of the facts. This combined with her instinct that something was wrong was enough for her for the moment. Step by step she would check the facts, and if necessary unravel the mystery. She returned to her place beside the boat and allowed all eyes to fix upon her before she spoke.
    ‘Domhnall,’ she said quietly, ‘would you ride to Rathborney and ask Nuala, the physician, to come here. Tell her that I want her opinion on the cause of death. Go now, the sooner she is back, the sooner we can discover the truth.’
    The cause of death, in the opinion of all that surrounded her, was probably obvious. The man had committed the crime of
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, had been judged, had been sentenced – somewhere along the south-western coast, probably, certainly well away from the Kingdom of the Burren – had been placed in a boat with no oars, had been set adrift upon the Atlantic Ocean, had been delivered over to the judgement of God Almighty, had died by exposure to the wind and the waves, by lack of pure water.
    And yet some strong instinct made her wonder whether this was the true story, and Domhnall’s words had now confirmed this. If the man was from Galway City, then English law prevailed there. A man who committed a murder would not be left in the hands of God, but would be hung from the gallows that stood just outside the city walls.
    And if this weather-worn boat came from the Fanore sand dunes, then the murderer might well be standing there in front of her.
    ‘Art,’ she said looking at her son’s foster-brother, ‘would you go and tell the priest that the Brehon is investigating the death of the unknown man and there may be no burial today.’ Art was a polite, pious boy and would be tactful and