Authors: Cora Harrison

Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery & Detective

My Lady Judge (20 page)

BOOK: My Lady Judge

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The walk was pleasant; there had been one of those rapid changes that made the weather the most frequent topic of conversation in
the west of Ireland. Cumhal was right; they would have a few fine days now. The west wind had veered around once more to the east and already the day seemed warm. The damp grass between the clints was steaming gently as the heat of the sun drew its moisture from it and the sky was as blue as the tiny gentians at her feet. There was no sign of sheep-shearing, she was glad to note as she neared Muiris’s farm. If he had been shearing then there would have been no possibility of a casual, but private, conversation with him.

There was no sign of Muiris, but Aoife was sitting on the wall, combing her long wet hair – probably keeping a lookout for Rory, thought Mara. ‘I wonder if your father is at home, Aoife,’ she said, looking around.

‘Yes, he is, Brehon,’ said Aoife helpfully. ‘I’ll run and get him.’ She was gone instantly. Mara bit her lip with annoyance. She would have preferred to go and find Muiris in some quiet corner of a field or barn. Now she would have to speak to him with Aoife there, scanning the horizon for Rory, but lending an ear to the conversation. She turned around and looked back towards the west. Yes, a young slim figure was lightly vaulting a wall in the distance. Hopefully, she would not have long to wait before Aoife left them.

With keener interest than in the past, she studied the farm and its farmhouse. It was a good house, with a neat, well-swept flagstone yard in front of it. The house itself had been sturdily and carefully built. Through the layers of whitewash the square-cut edges to the blocks of stone could easily be seen; most houses on the Burren were just built of random stones piled one on top of the other. Muiris’s roof was thatched with pale gold reeds, much more durable than the thatch of soft oat stems or rushes used by most of his neighbours. The cow cabins in the yard were whitewashed inside and out and looked as clean as the yard. The fields around the house were emerald green, grazed by fat, contented
cows and enclosed by well-built walls. A man who did everything well, thought Mara; a man who had risen high by dint of hard labour and determination; a man who had much to lose. She turned to look at him thoughtfully as he followed his pretty daughter from the barn.

‘Ah, Brehon,’ said Muiris coming to the gate. ‘Will you come in and have a cup of ale?’ The tone was courteous but his eyes were wary. Quickly she sought for a reason for her visit.

‘No, I won’t, Muiris, I just wanted to ask you about fishing,’ she said blandly.

‘Fishing?’ He was taken aback.

‘Yes,’ said Mara. ‘Brigid has been complaining that our stocks of salted fish are almost finished,’ she improvised hastily. ‘Do you think that the mackerel will be in at Fanore?’

‘Should be,’ said Muiris and now his voice began to lose its tension. ‘After these few days of good weather, and then the rain, you should get a shoal of them in. They’ll be there for the picking out of the water.’

‘I was thinking of sending my lads over to Fanore tomorrow,’ explained Mara. ‘Cumhal needs seaweed and I thought the lads could do some fishing too if the mackerel would be in.’

‘Could we go too, Father?’ asked Aoife, with a warm smile at Rory who was now rapidly approaching the farmhouse. ‘Felim,’ she shouted to her brother, who had just appeared with a bucket in his hand. ‘Would you and Aengus like to go fishing at Fanore tomorrow? We can all go, can’t we, Father? We’ll bring you back some shellfish for your supper. You know you love shellfish! Would that be all right, Brehon, if me and my brothers went, too?’ she added.

Mara looked at Muiris. He was smiling indulgently and nodding. He could deny his pretty daughter nothing.

‘That’s fine, then,’ said Mara. ‘Shane and Hugh are going to ask Roderic if he would like to join in and I’ll send a note to
Nuala’s father to ask permission for her to come as well. It promises fine tomorrow, Cumhal says, so it might be best if everyone left early in the morning – perhaps meet about a quarter of an hour after the abbey bell goes for prime. It should be sunrise by then. They’ll ride down the Spiral Hill and go through the mountain pass between Slieve Elva and Cappanawalla. Everyone should have a good day.’

‘And what about me?’ said Rory with a casual air. ‘If Roderic is going I’d love to go too. What about the O’Lochlainn lads from Glenslade? They’re all great fishermen. They’d love to come.’

‘And I’ll ask Emer if she’ll come with me,’ added Aoife demurely.

‘The more, the merrier, as the old saying goes,’ said Mara heartily. Muiris didn’t look too pleased at the thought of Rory going, but the fewer interruptions there were tomorrow the better. Rory had a habit of dropping in to the law school when he had nothing better to do. Mara moved a little aside from the young people and Muiris followed her politely. She lowered her voice.

‘I will be on my own tomorrow,’ she said quietly. ‘I have a lot of work to do. It seems as if Colman was investigating some old cases and it could be that one of them may hold the clue to his murder, that this murder was the result of blackmail. I’d like to be sure, though, to talk to the people involved in these old cases before making up my mind.’

His face paled, and his eyes hardened, but he had himself well in command and he just nodded and looked away. Her bait had been taken, though; she was sure of that. He would come to see her tomorrow morning. He was not a man to postpone an unpleasant task. But was he a man who would kill to rid himself of a threat to the happy world that he had built around him?

Would he have killed a man? she asked herself again as she walked back. Looking around the well-tended fields, filled with happy, well-cared-for cows and sheep, she had her answer. Of course he would kill. He was a man used to killing. He butchered his own animals, and sold the meat at markets. After all, she thought with a sigh, a man is an animal. If this man, if this young lawyer, threatened his security, threatened the happiness of his beloved family, then Muiris might decide to kill and then hope to raise the money for the fine if he were found out. Perhaps, after all, the Bible was right when it said: ‘Thou shalt give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth.’ For a moment the thought depressed her, but then she shook it from her mind and quickened her pace across the clints.

Like the flowers of the field, individual men withered and died, but principles remained constant. The Brehon law was founded on confession, forgiveness and compensation and so long as she lived that law would prevail here in the kingdom of the Burren.

SIXTEEN

CRÍTH GABLACH (RANKS IN SOCIETY)

There are two kinds of outsiders within the kingdom
.

One is an
aurrad,
a person of legal standing such as a

Brehon
,
bard
,
a harpist or a file
,
a poet
.

The other is a
dorad,
who has no legal standing.

If a killer is an outsider
,
or
dorad,
from another kingdom
,
a party of avengers may pursue a blood feud into that kingdom one month after the fine is due
.

H
UGH AND SHANE CAME noisily into the yard outside the schoolhouse just as the last stroke of the bell for vespers sounded from the abbey. Mara went out to greet them just as Fachtnan’s horse clattered over the stone flags.

‘I’ve got all the notes here, Brehon,’ said Fachtnan, swinging his leg over the horse’s back and digging into the leather satchel. He fished out a few scrolls and stared with dismay at the large greasy stain making a blob in the middle of his roll of parchment.

‘I must have put one of the pork pies in the wrong compartment of my satchel,’ he said apologetically.

‘Never mind,’ said Mara soothingly. ‘You can always make a fair copy afterwards if anything is needed for evidence at Poulnabrone. This is just for me; I’ll read through it while Brigid gives you your supper. Hugh and Shane,’ she called as they sidled away in through the door of the scholars’ house, ‘have you got your notes?’

Shane had done most of the writing, she noticed. Most of the questions, too, she thought. She read through these carefully while they stood there. They seemed in a very silly mood, stealing glances at each other as she read through the script.

‘You went to Roderic first?’

‘Yes, we ate our pork pies there while Roderic played us a few tunes and got us to sing some of his new songs,’ said Shane promptly. ‘And then we went over to Diarmuid. He gave us another meal and lots of honey cakes.’

‘And have any of you seen Enda, Moylan and Aidan?’ asked Mara.

‘No,’ said Fachtnan.

She turned to look at Shane and Hugh.

‘No,’ said Hugh quickly.

‘Noooo,’ echoed Shane slowly after a pause. A smile plucked at the corners of Shane’s mouth and Hugh’s light blue eyes were dancing with amusement.

‘There’s King Turlough coming down the road,’ said Fachtnan.

Mara turned away from Shane and Hugh and shaded her eyes against the strong south-westerly sun. There certainly was a troop of horsemen coming down the road.

‘It’s the king coming back
again
, Brehon,’ called Cumhal from the field opposite. He had a slightly sour note in his voice and Mara’s lips twitched with amusement. There was no doubt in her mind now that Cumhal and Brigid were very against any special relationship between the king and their mistress. She understood
their feelings. This law school had been owned and worked by an O’Davoren for many years and if Mara married the king now, that would be the end of the O’Davorens at Cahermacnaghten and the end of the law school, perhaps. This would matter immensely to Brigid and Cumhal who were both so very proud of the status of their position at Cahermacnaghten.

‘Go and have your supper, boys,’ she said. ‘Tell Brigid that the king may be going to pass the night here.’ It was a good idea for him to break his journey between the Aran Islands and Thomond – he would have crossed over this morning, she guessed – but fond as she was of him, she wished that he had decided to spend the night with Fergus and Siobhan at Doolin rather than at Cahermacnaghten. She hastened down the road to meet him.

‘My lord, it is good to see you,’ she said formally. She was pleased to see that the group of
gallóglaich
from Mahon O’Lochlainn were still with him. She still shuddered to think of her close encounter with the O’Kellys. Was Colman involved with the O’Kelly clan? she wondered again. Was there, perhaps, a political facet to the murder of the young lawyer? Anyway, whether or not Colman was involved, the danger to Turlough was very real and he could not ride around virtually unprotected. Brigid wouldn’t be too pleased to have to feed all of these
gallóglaich
again, but it couldn’t be helped.

‘Mara!’ Turlough Donn’s arms went around in a tight hug and the now familiar feeling of pleasure surged through her. I wonder how he would like to have me as a wife of the fourth degree, she thought. He could come to visit from time to time just as Ardal O’Lochlainn visits his fisherman’s daughter in Galway. We could both carry on with our own lives in the meantime. I wonder what he would say if I proposed that.

‘You’ll stay the night?’ she asked, disentangling herself with a quick, amused glance at Cumhal’s disgruntled face. The news of
this would soon be carried to Brigid. Hopefully it wouldn’t affect the supper she served up.

‘I’ll stay the night and have breakfast with you in the morning, with pleasure,’ replied Turlough, ‘but I promised to have supper with Finn O’Connor – he crossed back with me on the boat from Aran. He’s gone down to Ballyganner now to get ready, but I just turned off to greet you.’

‘Ah, Brigid,’ he called as she came out. ‘I won’t be having one of your beautiful suppers, but I will be coming back later this evening to sleep in your guest house so I will have breakfast here. Don’t worry about those lads’ – he indicated the
gallóglaich
– ‘they’ve all got their tents and they’ll put them up there in front of the gate and around the enclosure, if that’s all right.’

‘You’ll have a something to eat when you come back, my lord?’ asked Brigid. She might not be in favour of a marriage, but she could not resist the charm of the man.

‘Just a glass of wine and something very light, then,’ said Turlough, his face lighting up. ‘Your mistress and I will have a few things to talk over.’

‘We’ll have something good for you,’ promised Mara. Despite the slight awkwardness of knowing that he was still waiting for an answer to his letter, her heart felt warm at the prospect of seeing him again and having the pleasure of his company over a glass of wine.

‘See you later in the evening, then,’ he said, mounting his horse. ‘Oh, I saw three of your lads over in Corcomroe this morning. Enda, isn’t it, the tall blond boy, and the other two … the boy with the pimples … What are their names?’

‘Enda, Moylan and Aidan,’ said Mara with a frown. ‘What on earth were they doing over in Corcomroe?’

‘They seemed to be going towards the sea, near Doolin,’ said Turlough, moving off down the road after his bodyguards. The
gallóglaich
formed into pairs, some riding behind him and others in front, all of them scanning the distant horizon for any sign of the O’Kellys. ‘See you this night,’ his voice floated back towards her.

‘It’s a wonder that he doesn’t stay the night at Ballyganner,’ said Brigid with pursed lips. ‘Surely the O’Connor and his wife would be able to put him up. It would be more suitable.’

‘He’ll get a better bed and better food here,’ said Mara calmly, ignoring the word ‘suitable’. The tower house at Ballyganner was damp, draughty and comfortless. Turlough had probably been putting off taking his formal
cuide
from the O’Connor for as long as possible. Every
taoiseach
had to offer the king an evening’s entertainment and supper for himself and his retinue in the winter months. Turlough, she knew, had already paid his formal visits to the O’Brien, the O’Lochlainn and the MacNamara.

‘Perhaps some little baked salmon pies and some sorrel to go with them,’ mused Brigid. ‘Giolla from Ballyporty has been fishing.’ Her face had softened. She did love to cook and she did love appreciation. ‘You’ll get out the wine yourself, will you, Brehon?’

‘I will,’ promised Mara. Yes, a marriage of fourth degree would suit her fine. That would give the people of the three kingdoms something to think about, she thought merrily, it would give them something to discuss in front of the slowly burning turf fires during the long winter evenings. In the meantime, she had work to do. She followed Brigid back into the law school enclosure, her mind running over the tasks that lay ahead of her.

The schoolhouse was warm and comfortable and blessedly silent. The sun had moved around to the west, warming the stone building and lighting up the whitewashed wall opposite the window from floor to roof-rafters. Mara peered at Fachtnan’s untidy
scrawl. He had done a great day’s work, but the information was all higgledy-piggledy and she needed to tabulate it and copy it all out in her clear, bold hand before she could reduce the possible murderers to something manageable. Now all I need is Enda’s information about Oscar O’Connor, she thought. He might be another possibility for my murder list. But would Oscar climb all the way up a mountain and murder a man just as an act of revenge, or was it a murder done on the spur of the moment? Perhaps it’s a pity that I didn’t get Fachtnan to enquire about Oscar O’Connor as well and then I would have all the facts in front of me now instead of having to wait for Enda, Moylan and Aidan to make their appearance.

There’s the parish bell for the angelus, she thought after a while; those boys should be here by now. She got to her feet to go to see Brigid and then stopped. There was something of significance in Fachtnan’s evidence. She went to the shelf, took a small piece of vellum and made a note of her question, and then returned to her work.

Some time later she realized that the light was dimming. It’s getting late, she thought. Where are those boys? She got to her feet. The broad band of sunlight on the wall had shrunk to a narrow orange strip high up near to the rafters. When she looked out of the window the high wall of the enclosure shadowed the flagstones in the yard. The sun had sunk down near to the horizon over the sea. Suddenly Mara remembered the king’s words. Enda, Moylan and Aidan must have gone over to Corcomroe to see Oscar. They had no business doing that, of course. Their instructions were to interview the people on the list Mara had written out for them, but they had probably got bored with this. She wondered uneasily whether they had tried to force a confession from him. Enda had spoken of solving the murder. If they had done that, and if Oscar were the murderer, what might have happened? He was a very powerful young man; he could easily
have overpowered three skinny adolescents. She pictured the huge iron mallets that pulverized the stone and felt an icy prickling at the back of her neck as she went hurriedly out of the door.

‘Brigid, have Enda, Moylan and Aidan come back yet?’ she asked, opening the door of the kitchen house.

‘No, Brehon,’ said Brigid, scrubbing a handful of wet sand energetically over the surface of the large alder-wood kitchen table. ‘I was just going to come over to see you about them, but Shane and Hugh seemed to think that they might be quite late so I didn’t worry too much.’

‘But, how do …’ began Mara and then she remembered the two mischievous faces. Something was going on.

‘Where are the others?’ she asked, looking around. Everything was suspiciously quiet.

‘Fachtnan’s gone for a walk and I think Hugh and Shane are playing chess in the scholars’ house,’ said Brigid, returning to her scrubbing.

Shane and Hugh were not playing chess, she guessed as she opened the door of the scholars’ house. The house was too silent. They never played chess without shouting at each other. There were three rooms: one in the middle for study, reading and games, one bedroom for the older boys at one end and one for the younger boys at the other end of the small house. The doors to the middle room and to the older boys’ bedroom stood ajar, but the door to Shane and Hugh’s room was closed and from behind it Mara could hear urgent whispering. She opened the door swiftly and stood on the threshold. They were sitting side by side on Shane’s bed and the two faces, illuminated by the last rays of the setting sun, no longer bore the mischievous, amused expressions of earlier, but now seemed worried and apprehensive.

‘Where are Enda, Moylan and Aidan?’ she asked abruptly.

They looked at each other. Hugh opened his mouth and then shut it and looked down on the bed.

‘We don’t know, Brehon,’ said Shane. There was an uneasy note in his voice and she pounced on him instantly.

‘Tell the truth,’ she said fiercely.

‘I am telling the truth, Brehon,’ he said defensively.

She gave him a long look.

‘When did you last see them?’

‘We saw them here this morning, Brehon,’ said Hugh.

‘That was not what I asked you,’ she said swiftly. ‘I’ll ask the question again and I want a truthful answer: when did you last see Enda, Moylan and Aidan?’

‘This afternoon, Brehon,’ said Shane with a despairing glance at Hugh. ‘A while before the bell went for vespers.’

She sank down on Hugh’s bed. ‘Tell me what they said to you.’

‘They asked us to give a message to Roderic, Brehon,’ said Shane.

‘To Roderic?’

BOOK: My Lady Judge

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