Eye of the Law

by Cora Harrison

  ‘I brought a horse for you,’ said Ardal turning from his niece to Mara. ‘I thought you could just sit on it and I could lead it. We won’t go quickly, but it will be faster than walking pace and less tiring for you.’

  ‘Thank you, Ardal,’ said Mara gratefully.

  She accepted his help in mounting the sturdy horse and then looked at Nuala’s downcast face. Poor child, she would go back to an empty house and then there would be nothing to look forward to; just the arrival of her father who she felt did not understand her, and of Caireen and her sons whom she disliked. ‘Would you like to come back with me and spend the night in the guesthouse, Nuala? I think I probably need a physician on hand. Just joking,’ she added hastily, seeing alarm in both faces.

  ‘Yes, I’d like that,’ said Nuala after a moment’s consideration. ‘It’s Sive’s day off so she won’t worry about me and when Father comes home he’ll probably guess I’ve gone to Cahermacnaghten.’ She sounded indifferent as to whether her father would worry about her or not – the housekeeper’s feelings were of more importance to Nuala and Mara found it hard to blame her.

  ‘She can get up behind me, can’t she, Ardal?’ asked Mara.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said readily. ‘Liam uses this gelding often and he’d make double both your weights added together.’ He looked at his niece with a certain amount of disfavour as she climbed lithely on to the back of the horse. ‘You should try and put on some weight, Nuala. You’re far too thin. Try having some cream on your porridge every day.’

  ‘He wants me to be as fat as Caireen,’ whispered Nuala in Mara’s ear as Ardal turned away to climb on his own horse.

  Mara couldn’t help a quick smile, but didn’t reply. Her mind was on Becan, picturing his cloak and his clay-encrusted boots.

  ‘Becan didn’t stay with you last night, Ardal?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’ Ardal sounded startled. ‘No, I haven’t seen sight or sound of him since the day of the burial.’ He was silent for a moment, perhaps reviewing his own conduct. Ardal was always the soul of hospitality. ‘I didn’t feel like inviting him after his accusation, at Poulnabrone, that I had murdered his nephew.’

  ‘No, no, I didn’t really think that you should have,’ said Mara hastily. ‘The thing is that I wondered where he did stay the night. I invited him, but he refused and when I left him, daylight was fading fast. He wouldn’t have had time to get to his relations in Kinvarra before dark and even if he did go there, he was back here again in early morning. It looks as if he spent the night somewhere near here. It couldn’t have been with the basket maker; he would have mentioned it – so where did he go?’

  ‘Well, I’ll make enquiries, Brehon, and send over to Cahermacnaghten if I find out anything.’

  ‘If you could do that, Ardal, I would be very grateful,’ said Mara, wondering whether this would be a good way to get rid of him. She couldn’t stand being led along the road like a flighty heifer. ‘Do you think it would be possible for you to do this now, before the men go home for the night?’

  ‘Well,’ said Ardal with a hesitant glance at the clouds. ‘I’m—’

  ‘Why don’t you gallop on ahead?’ interrupted Mara. ‘I’ll be fine here with Nuala to help me. I really would be so grateful if you could do that for me.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure.’ That was the good thing about Ardal. Her word was always law to him.

  ‘Yes, of course, I’m sure.’ Mara made her voice brisk and authoritative.

  ‘Well, I’ll do that then. To be honest, I would like to be back for the men’s supper. Liam’s been telling that there is a lot of unrest. It’s time for the spring sowing of vegetables and none of the men want to do it. They don’t want to go near Balor’s Cave. And, of course, this second death will make things worse. I’ll have to try to clamp down on the rumours before they go too far.’ And with that, Ardal clapped his feet to the sides of his horse raising his hand in a brief salute.

  ‘Where do you think that Becan stayed last night?’ asked Nuala curiously as Ardal shot away down the road, his thoroughbred stallion carrying him at more than double the speed that Liam’s gelding would have been capable of.

  ‘I think I know,’ said Mara thinking of the clay-stained boots and the besmirched cloak. ‘I think I know, but it would be good to be sure. In any case, it got rid of Ardal. I’m sure that I can manage without him since I have you to take care of me.’

  Her voice was affectionate and she thought from the quick intake of breath from the girl behind her that Nuala repressed a sob.

  ‘Thanks for inviting me, Mara,’ she said after a minute. ‘Things are very bad between Father and me at the moment. Has he told you that Ardal wants me to come and live with him?’

  ‘Yes, he has.’ Mara said no more. Let Nuala talk, she thought. This slow journey back to Cahermacnaghten at walking pace was the ideal opportunity for the girl to unburden herself.

  ‘That was Ardal’s idea.’ From the sound of her voice, Mara could tell that Nuala was frowning. ‘Well, perhaps not his idea from the start. The strange thing is that I think it was big, fat Liam who dreamed it up. I don’t know what business of his it was, but I suppose he thought he was being useful. He’s the greatest busybody in the kingdom, always sticking his nose into everyone’s business.’

  ‘You wouldn’t think about living with Ardal, would you?’ asked Mara mildly. ‘He’s a very generous man; he would treat you well. You would want for nothing when you were with him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he would give you your own way about a marriage. I’d say that, if you put your mind to it, you would be able to handle him well. If not, I would do it for you.’

  ‘But you don’t understand, Mara.’ Nuala’s voice was almost a wail. ‘If I go to live with Ardal I lose all chance of becoming a physician. I know that Father doesn’t bother teaching me much, but I’m there and I can use his stillroom, I can grow the herbs, I can experiment with medicines, and if anyone comes looking for a physician I can go with him. I make sure that I do that no matter what he says and no matter what hour of the day or night it is. And, of course,’ she added with a note of deep satisfaction in her voice, ‘if he is off in Galway, dancing attendance on Caireen, letting her spend all of his silver, then I can manage the case myself.’

  ‘I see. Well, leave it to me. Don’t you worry about it any more. I’ll think of something.’

  The rain had begun as they turned into Cahermacnaghten, but Mara hardly noticed it as she left Nuala with Brigid and hastened over to the Brehon’s house. Her mind was busy with worries about Nuala. Briefly she thought of Turlough, but the sky had turned as black as soot with ominous rumbles of thunder, and, as she stood at the doorway of her house, the rain began to fall in long slanting lines, hopping silver on the flagstoned path. It would be unfair to send any of her men out in this. Turlough, she knew, was staying at Inchiquin with his son Conor, but even so the ride might take about two hours in this weather. The news could wait until the morning.

  Mara closed the door, lit her candle and went into the kitchen. Brigid had left her supper – succulent meat pie – keeping warm in one of the three-legged pots to the side of the fire. She would eat it now and then go to bed, she decided. There was no point in worrying about Becan tonight. Tomorrow she would deal with the consequences of this second and unexpected death. Tonight she would consider the plight of Nuala, who was as dear to Mara as her own daughter, Sorcha, over in Galway.

  There was only one solution as far as Mara could see, but she felt she had to inform Malachy before saying any more to the girl.

  Whatever the consequences to the father, she thought the daughter of her best friend, the brilliant Mór O’Lochlainn, was not going to be allowed to waste her potential and to go on suffering like this.

  Ten

  Bretha Comaithchesa

  (Judgements of Neighbourhoods)

  Trees are classified, according to their value, in four categories:

  These are the Class Two Trees:

 
; Alder: useful for its hard, water-resistant wood.

  Willow (Sally): its rods are used for boat-building and basket weaving.

  Whitethorn: used for cooking spits.

  Rowan: its berries are valuable for food and its wood makes cooking spits.

  Birch: valuable firewood.

  Elm: wood is used for making stools and its bark is used in rope-making.

  Wild Cherry: the fruit is eaten and the bark is used to dye wool.

  Damage to any of those trees is punishable by a fine related to the extent of the damage.

  Breaking of branch: one yearling heifer.

  Destruction of the tree: five séts or two and a half ounces of silver, or three milch cows.

  ‘I didn’t see the other fellow from Aran and the others did.’ Mara woke with a start, the words as clear in her head as if they had just been spoken at that instant.

  But of course they hadn’t been spoken then. It had been yesterday that she had heard them and she had been so perturbed by the sight of Becan’s body and the macabre threat to it by the hovering ravens that she had not picked up on them. It was the boy, the youngest boy of Dalagh the basket maker, who had said that.

  And who were the others? For a boy like that, the youngest of the family, the others would have had only one meaning. It was of his brothers that he spoke. There had been something about that family that had made her uneasy. She had worried that the parents were unkind to their children, that the constraint that she had felt from all of them was the result of ill treatment.

  But that had not been true, she thought, recalling the basket maker’s cottage and the sally gardens. These children were chatty and open when their parents were not around. They were not damaged, frightened children, normally; she was sure of that. Something had happened, something in connection with this secret and unlawful killing of Iarla from Aran, and this event had some connection with this hard-working family of the basket maker. The children had been warned to keep their mouths shut and were now showing an uncharacteristic silence.

  Dalagh and his wife knew of the death of Iarla from Aran before Nuala and Fachtnan had discovered the body. They had all been there that morning, parents and children, loading up the cart with baskets to be sold in the surrounding farms. What could be more natural than for one of the children to notice the ravens and to sneak over to the cave to see what was interesting the birds so much?

  And if it were true that one, or all of these older boys, saw the dead body on that Thursday morning, then why were they all told to say nothing.

  Was that the reason why the basket maker and his wife had taken all of the children with them when they went off to sell the baskets? Now that she thought about the matter, Mara realized that it was strange behaviour on their part. Surely the older ones could, and would, in normal circumstances, have been left behind to get on with their work.

  Deep in thought, Mara got out of bed, gathered up her clothes and went down to her bathhouse. Her father had built that when she was a child. There was a big pump there and she rapidly half-filled the wooden bathtub with icy water from the hundred-foot-deep well. Brigid had already been in and had lit the charcoal in the iron brazier. The room was warm and there was a large pot of almost boiling water ready to be ladled into the cold water.

  She was tempted to linger in the bath for some time, admiring the curved mound of her stomach where her baby kicked happily inside the encircling walls of the womb. However, she had a busy day ahead of her so soon she forced herself out of the warm water and began to dress, her mind busy with her plans for the day.

  ‘Some nice hot milk for you and some honey on your porridge. Now eat it up.’ Brigid hovered over her like an anxious mother.

  ‘I can manage, Brigid,’ said Mara cheerfully. She couldn’t stand honey, but it was quicker to get rid of Brigid than to argue about it. ‘Are the boys up yet?’ She cast a meaningful eye out of the window towards the law school.

  ‘Don’t you worry about them,’ scolded Brigid. ‘Young Nessa is giving them their breakfast.’

  ‘Hope they’re not teasing her and being silly.’ Mara kept her tone nonchalant, but she noticed that Brigid in her turn looked out of the window as if alert for any signs of riotous behaviour.

  ‘Nuala is there and that might make them a bit more sensible.’ Despite her words, Brigid sounded unsure and after a few fidgety minutes, said, ‘Well, if you’re sure you’ve got everything, Brehon, then I’ll go back over. It’s a lovely morning after all that rain last night.’

  ‘Thanks, Brigid. Oh, and tell Seán to saddle the cob, will you? I want to send him on a message over to the king. He’s at Inchiquin Castle.’

  Brigid was right. It was, indeed, a lovely March morning. On her way across to the law school, Mara lingered a few minutes in her garden. The sun was warm and illuminated the dark purple of the violets with its light, making a lovely contrast with the pale faces of the primroses. There were still some remaining sudden gusts of wind and the small trumpets of the daffodils swivelled happily in its breeze, their golden colour rivalling the bright sunshine.

  The boys were still eating their breakfast as she came through the gates, and Nuala was standing, the picture of gloom, by the door of the kitchen house.

  ‘I know,’ she said as Mara approached. ‘I’d better get back.’

  ‘Just in case your father is worried about you,’ said Mara gently. ‘Otherwise you’d be welcome to stay.’

  ‘He probably spent the night in Galway and never gave me a thought,’ said Nuala bitterly. ‘Still, I’d better get back before they arrive. Will you be able to return the gelding to Ardal, Mara? I don’t want to go over there. I’d only get a lecture from him.’

  ‘Yes, if you’re sure that you don’t want to borrow it to get back to Caherconnell.’

  ‘I’d prefer to walk,’ said Nuala, and then she was off, her cloak swinging as her long legs moved rapidly down the road.

  Mara watched her go for a moment and then turned her thoughts back to work. Her mind was fully made up now. She had to find out the truth of what really happened to Iarla from Aran in that hour or so between his breakfast as Lissylisheen and the moment of his death. But, first, Turlough had to be notified about this second death. She remembered his words about Aran. If there was still a certain amount of unrest at being ruled from the mainland, then two deaths in rapid succession was going to cause trouble. She would not send news of Becan’s demise across to the island until Turlough was informed. Quickly she went into the schoolhouse and wrote a short note to Turlough on a piece of vellum, coiled it into a scroll and tied it. Then she lit a candle, melted the top of a stick of sealing wax, dropped a blob of wax on to the knot and pressed her ring into it. It had been her father’s ring before her and she wore it on her thumb, a feeling of pride within her every time that she used it and remembered the long line of lawyers from whom she was descended.

  ‘I’m ready now, Brehon.’ Seán’s rather vacant face peeped in through the door. ‘Brigid said you need me to ride over to Inchiquin. Some sort of message, she said.’

  Seán’s voice held an inquiring note, but Mara did not respond. There was no real secret about Becan’s death, but if Seán felt that he had a piece of interesting news to impart he would stop at every farm on his route and the message would not get to Turlough before noon.

  ‘That’s right,’ she said briefly, handing him the scroll and watching carefully until he had stored it safely into his satchel. ‘Make as good time as you can, won’t you? I may have another errand for you.’ That, hopefully, would get him back quickly. He was easily bored by routine farm work and loved to ride out on the Brehon’s business. ‘Send the scholars into me, Seán, will you, if they’ve finished their breakfast?’

  ‘I’ll need you all to do a task for me this morning,’ she said as they crowded into the schoolhouse, jostling against each other playfully. ‘It was something that we should have done before now, but this case has been confusing. We’ll take a look at this
map that the O’Lochlainn got Liam to draw out for me.’

  She went to the top shelf of the wooden press and took out the piece of vellum. ‘You see, from the evidence taken from Ardal’s men, who were all working in those fields here –’ she pointed with a long finger, before continuing – ‘you can see there was no possibility of Iarla going the direct route from Lissylisheen as he would undoubtedly have been seen, therefore he must have gone back towards Lemeanah through the Ballymurphy lands and then come from Lemeanah back up through Shesmore, Carron, Poulawack and then turned down towards Kilcorney. Now I want you boys to visit every house on that route and enquire whether they saw any sign of the stranger from Aran on the early morning of Thursday the twentieth of March. Take your pens, inkhorns and some vellum in your satchels. It’s a wide area to cover so I am going to trust you to work quickly and bring back the results to me as soon as possible.’

  ‘So who’s doing what?’ Aidan sat up very straight with an air of energy that was quite alien to his usual lethargic attitude.

  None of the scholars had mentioned Becan so Nuala must have kept quiet about this second murder. This showed an unusual degree of maturity in a girl of only fourteen, thought Mara, musing on the puzzle of how a father could not see what an exceptional daughter he possessed.

  ‘What about Kilcorney itself?’ asked Enda, studying the sketch map with interest.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ said Mara, turning her mind back to business. ‘At least,’ she amended, ‘I had planned to see the basket maker and his family, but thank you for reminding me, Enda; there are also the priest and his housekeeper at Kilcorney. It’s possible that they may have seen something. I hadn’t thought about the priest.’

  ‘Probably because he is as old as the hills and as blind as a bat,’ muttered Moylan under his breath.

  Mara ignored this. She had long ago decided to allow her scholars to give vent to their witticisms and complaints as long as they did not force her to acknowledge that she had heard them.