My Lady Judge (3 page)
CASE NOTES AND JUDGEMENT TEXTS FROM MARA, BREHON OF THE BURREN, IS MAY 1509
Judgement day: last day of April 1509. On the eve of Bealtaine I judged the case between taoiseach Garrett MacNamara and his kinsman, young Feirdin MacNamara. Garrett MacNamara swore that his kinsman’s behaviour was so wayward that he should be kept in the close curtody of a male cousin. Feirdin’s mother, Gráinne, pleaded that her son be allowed to live with her and that she be held responsible for his behaviour …
T
HIS WAS THE CASE that worried Mara the most. And so, on that morning of the eve of
Bealtaine,
she left Fachtnan to look after the younger scholars for a little while longer and went across the fields to Caherconnell. She wanted to see Malachy, the physician, a distant relative of hers, and she wanted to discuss this boy, Feirdin, with him.
HIS WAS THE CASE that worried Mara the most. And so, on that morning of the eve of
Bealtaine,
she left Fachtnan to look after the younger scholars for a little while longer and went across the fields to Caherconnell. She wanted to see Malachy, the physician, a distant relative of hers, and she wanted to discuss this boy, Feirdin, with him.
Malachy’s house, at Caherconnell, was a handsome two-storey
building set within the rounded enclosure wall of an old
cathair.
Several other old forts lay around it, all in a ruinous state. In the near distance was an ancient circle of thirteen tall stones.
building set within the rounded enclosure wall of an old
cathair.
Several other old forts lay around it, all in a ruinous state. In the near distance was an ancient circle of thirteen tall stones.
Nuala, Malachy’s daughter, a pair of small sharp shears in one hand and a basket in the other, was working in the herb garden at Caherconnell when Mara arrived. Nuala was a tall girl for thirteen, her skin tanned to a deep brown and her glossy black hair neatly braided into two long plaits. Her face was intent and serious as she industriously sheared off the soft grey-green tops of the rosemary in her herb garden, but she lifted her head at the sound of footsteps and when she saw Mara she ran to open the gate, her brown eyes shining with welcome.
‘Mara, I was hoping you would come,’ she said with pleasure. ‘I really need your help in talking sense into Father. You will talk to Father, won’t you? He’s got this idea in his head that he doesn’t want me to be a physician. He’s been talking about Mother all the morning, about how she had planned this marriage with Naoise O’Lochlainn as soon as I was born. He wants me to get married on my fourteenth birthday but I don’t want to! It’s all so stupid. Just because we are second cousins! Why can’t I decide for myself?’
The words poured out of her and Mara smiled. Nuala was always like this, always bubbling over with excitement, anger or fun. Mara was very fond of her. However, she had to remind herself that this was Malachy’s daughter and that this marriage would have to be his decision.
‘Well, your mother’s wishes would be very important to your father,’ she said diplomatically. ‘You know how much he misses her.’
‘At least he’s stopped drinking himself silly in alehouses now,’ said Nuala sternly. ‘And besides’ – her clear strong voice wobbled slightly – ‘I miss her too.’
‘I know,’ said Mara, putting her arm around the slim shoulders.
Mór O’Connor had died of a malady in her breast over a year ago. She had only been twenty-seven years old and her death, though a merciful release from intense suffering, had had a devastating effect on Malachy. Strong drink seemed to be his only way of enduring the unendurable. The people of the Burren, compassionate towards a man who had suffered such a great loss, had looked after him, taking him home night after night and making sure that no harm came to him. Even Colman, she had heard, had been seen taking him home one night.
Mór O’Connor had died of a malady in her breast over a year ago. She had only been twenty-seven years old and her death, though a merciful release from intense suffering, had had a devastating effect on Malachy. Strong drink seemed to be his only way of enduring the unendurable. The people of the Burren, compassionate towards a man who had suffered such a great loss, had looked after him, taking him home night after night and making sure that no harm came to him. Even Colman, she had heard, had been seen taking him home one night.
The effect on Nuala must have been great, although the housekeeper had done her best to shield the child. Nuala herself had seemed to deal with her mother’s death with a show of almost frightening maturity, but Mara had kept an anxious eye on her.
‘Be a sensible girl, now,’ she said, stroking the shining hair. ‘Say nothing, and leave your father to me. He wants the best for you. Your happiness is the most important thing in the world to him at the moment.’
‘Well, he must be pretty stupid if he thinks I will be happy married to that stupid Naoise,’ said Nuala with her usual forthrightness. ‘That stupid boy thinks of nothing but hunting. He’s such a show-off, too, and he has nothing to show off about. He’s just stupid.’
‘That’s three “stupids”,’ said Mara briskly. ‘If you are going to be a good physician, Nuala, you must learn to judge people less harshly. Everyone has their own way of conducting their lives.’
‘Oh, do you really think I might be able to be a physician?’ Now Nuala glowed with excitement, ignoring the reproof. ‘Oh, please do tell father that he must allow me.’
‘I think you could be a good one,’ admitted Mara cautiously, ‘you certainly cleaned that nasty cut on Fachtnan’s arm very well. It was beginning to go bad, Brigid said, when you put a green paste on it and then it healed up very well. Now, bring me in to
your father, like a good girl. I have a few things to talk over with him before the judgements at Poulnabrone this afternoon.’
your father, like a good girl. I have a few things to talk over with him before the judgements at Poulnabrone this afternoon.’
Nuala led the way indoors. ‘It was a paste of goosegrass that I used on Fachtnan’s arm,’ she said seriously, ‘I think that works very well. I read about it in one of father’s old scrolls. I’ve read every one of them about six times now. Father is in here in his still room. I’ll go in with you. I want to get some twine to tie up the woodbine.’ She added in a whisper, ‘You won’t forget to talk to him about me, will you?’
‘Take some of my tape,’ said Mara, producing from her pouch a strip of pink linen tape that she used to bind her documents. It would be easier to tackle Malachy on her own.
Nuala slipped away with a quick smile, while Mara took a deep breath, prepared for battle, and opened the door of the still room. Malachy was a very tall, dark-haired man of almost forty, a strong-looking, handsome man, thought Mara, wondering whether he planned to remarry and have a son to carry on the long line of physicians at Caherconnell. Perhaps that was why he wanted Nuala off his hands. She felt irritated at the thought. He owes Nuala his full attention and affection now, and there is no reason why there should not be a female physician at Caherconnell, just as there is a female Brehon at Cahermacnaghten. She looked at him sternly. He smiled a welcome and then held up his hands in mock surrender.
‘I know, don’t tell me,’ he said in his pleasant, deep voice. ‘You’ve come to persuade me to allow Nuala to become a physician and to postpone her marriage to Naoise.’
‘Actually, I came to talk about Feirdin MacNamara,’ said Mara, sinking down on a stool and looking around her with interest. She had not been in this room for over a year. It was hung with fragrant drying herbs and the shelves that lined the walls were filled with flasks and jars, all labelled in Malachy’s untidy scrawl. Tiny black seeds were drying in one shallow dish
and fat white ones in another. An iron brazier, burning lumps of charcoal, stood in the middle of the floor and a pot bubbled with something that smelled sweet and pungent.
and fat white ones in another. An iron brazier, burning lumps of charcoal, stood in the middle of the floor and a pot bubbled with something that smelled sweet and pungent.
‘Seaweed, honey and a few berries of juniper,’ said Malachy, following her glance. ‘Just a cough syrup for summer colds.’
Mara nodded. ‘I’m worried about this boy, Feirdin,’ she said, coming quickly to the point. ‘Garrett MacNamara thinks that he might be dangerous. I can’t find any evidence that he is, but he has frightened a few people. He seems prone to great fits of anger. Garrett, of course, is in the right. He is
taoiseach
, so he is responsible for the behaviour of his clan and if the boy is insane he has a perfect right to place him under the care of a cousin, Eoin MacNamara. The boy’s mother would not be strong enough to restrain him. What do you think?’
taoiseach
, so he is responsible for the behaviour of his clan and if the boy is insane he has a perfect right to place him under the care of a cousin, Eoin MacNamara. The boy’s mother would not be strong enough to restrain him. What do you think?’
Malachy hesitated, stirring his brown mixture around and around with a wooden spoon. Mara tried to control her impatience. She herself was quick at everything, could usually conduct a conversation and at the same time do some gardening or cooking, or keep an eye upon her scholars. Malachy, however, waited until his mixture boiled and thickened and then he moved the iron pot to the stone beside the heat before speaking. He put down the spoon carefully and turned to face her.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said reluctantly.
‘You can tell me,’ said Mara encouragingly. ‘You know I will speak of it to no one else.’
‘No, no,’ he said quickly, ‘it’s not that. I know that I can always trust you. It’s just that I don’t know what to say. He’s a strange boy, quite shy, and perhaps he is just a bit melancholic. I went to see him at Garrett’s request. He never looked at me once while I was talking to him. I stayed quite a long time, chatting to his mother just to try to put him at ease, but he wouldn’t speak to me at all.’
‘I see,’ said Mara thoughtfully. ‘Mind you, a lot of boys are shy and tongue-tied at that age – what is he? Nineteen?’
‘He did say something before I left,’ said Malachy, knitting his black eyebrows in a puzzled frown and not answering her question. ‘I was just going out the door when he said, quite suddenly: “You know what’s wrong with me? I’ve got a little man in my head and he keeps spending all of my silver.”’
Mara looked at him with startled attention and Malachy nodded.
‘Mind you,’ he added, ‘Gráinne and I had been discussing the silversmith, Cian – you know Cian, the father of young Hugh at your school – and it may be that the lad tried to make a joke.’
‘Sounds strange to me,’ said Mara, brooding over all of the young boys that she had known. ‘It sounds like a joke, but it sounds like a joke that a seven-year-old might make, not a nineteen-year-old. Perhaps the boy is just slow and the frustration of that makes him explode into tempers. What do you think? Should we leave him with his mother for the moment?’
‘I’ll keep an eye on him if that is what you decide,’ said Malachy.
He’ll leave the decision to me, though, thought Mara. Well, it has to be my decision, I suppose, although this is more a matter of medicine than of law. She looked at him carefully. He was not looking well. His dark skin was sallow and there were black wells of anxiety or melancholy under his brown eyes. He can be no more than forty, she thought, and yet he is beginning to look like a man nearing sixty. She thought about the third case on her schedule for the day and decided against discussing it. He had enough on his mind and his advice would probably not be too useful, either.
‘So,’ she said abruptly, ‘what about Nuala?’
Malachy grimaced though he tried to force a smile. ‘I knew she would get you on her side,’ he said.
‘She’s very young for marriage,’ observed Mara mildly. He must know how often these thirteen- and fourteen-year-old children died of bearing a child too big for their young bones.
‘Her mother wanted it, this marriage with Naoise,’ he said stubbornly.
‘Wanted it, yes,’ said Mara. ‘But would she have forced it?’
‘She was married herself at fourteen,’ he replied. ‘And so were you,’ he added.
‘So I was. And a mother at fifteen. And divorced at seventeen!’ She smiled to herself, thinking back. ‘I don’t suppose that I was forced into it, though. He was quite a handsome young fellow, Dualta, the handsomest at the law school. I had my eye on him from the time that I was thirteen and I pestered my father to allow me to marry him. He wasn’t too keen. He didn’t care too much for Dualta even though he had been a scholar at Cahermacnaghten law school since he was seven.’
Malachy laughed but his face was slightly embarrassed. The people of the Burren had long memories and the story of Mara’s divorce would never be forgotten. Divorce was quite common; the law was very clear on this subject, but normally it was just used for cases of adultery or impotence. Her divorce had shocked everyone.
‘Well, it all ended well for me,’ she said happily. ‘I had my beautiful baby daughter. I got my divorce and I kept my
coibche,
bride price, as well,’ she added with immense satisfaction. She returned to the subject. ‘This is a different matter entirely. Nuala does not want this marriage and she dislikes Naoise. She’s not a girl to change her mind easily. You know that.’
coibche,
bride price, as well,’ she added with immense satisfaction. She returned to the subject. ‘This is a different matter entirely. Nuala does not want this marriage and she dislikes Naoise. She’s not a girl to change her mind easily. You know that.’
Malachy’s eyes were anxious. ‘The O’Lochlainn is in favour of this marriage,’ he said. ‘He has promised to give Naoise a good farm.’
Mara nodded. The O‘Lochlainn, Ardal O’Lochlainn,
taoiseach
of the O’Lochlainn clan, had been Mór’s brother. It was only
natural that he would take an interest in the future of his niece and be happy to see her make a good match with another of the clan. Nevertheless, Mara doubted whether Ardal would spare much thought for Nuala’s happiness.
taoiseach
of the O’Lochlainn clan, had been Mór’s brother. It was only
natural that he would take an interest in the future of his niece and be happy to see her make a good match with another of the clan. Nevertheless, Mara doubted whether Ardal would spare much thought for Nuala’s happiness.
‘Won’t you think about it?’ she asked gently. ‘At least allow her to finish her studies and qualify as a physician so that she has that to fall back on if this marriage does not work out. Naoise will want her to be a farmer’s wife and that may not suit her.’
He did not reply. His brown eyes were full of pain. He looked at her appealingly. ‘I just want someone to look after her. If anything happens to me she would be alone,’ he said.
Mara considered this carefully. Perhaps he, also, was ill. Could those growths pass from one person to another? She didn’t know. She prayed inwardly to God to give her the right words, but knew that it was for her own brains to say the right thing. The thought of all that burning intelligence and ambition within Nuala being confined to a mountain farm made her indignant, but she knew she had to handle the matter carefully. After all, Nuala was Malachy’s daughter and he probably was sincere in his wish to do his best for her.
‘If anything ever happened to you,’ she said solemnly, laying her hand on his arm, ‘I would look after Nuala. After all, I am a distant cousin of yours. Nuala would be a daughter to me. I swear to that, and I will draw up a legal document if you wish. Let her go on studying, Malachy, and then you can think again when she reaches fifteen or sixteen.’
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