‘I’m not sure that I am doing a wise thing or not, Ardal,’ she said, turning impulsively towards him, ‘but I’m thinking of interfering in the affairs of another kingdom, or state,’ she finished.
He took his time about replying. Very characteristic of Ardal, she thought with amusement. If she had said something like that to her husband he would immediately have exclaimed. A thousand questions, pieces of advice, appeals would have instantly come to his lips. But Ardal just looked at her intently for a moment, his blue eyes thoughtful. He was a good-looking man, she thought, admiring the way he rode his strawberry roan mare with such ease and sat tall and slim, with his long-fingered hands holding the reins loosely. His red-gold hair was burnished by the pale winter sun.
‘I think you, yourself, may have doubts about the wisdom of becoming involved, Brehon,’ he said eventually. He and Mara were almost the same age and had grown up together, lived near to each other, played with each other – Ardal’s sister had been Mara’s greatest friend – but his respect for her high office meant that he always addressed her by her formal title. She smiled now at his diplomatic answer.
‘You refuse to pass judgement yourself,’ she said lightly. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said more seriously. ‘I wouldn’t have asked you if I had been sure that I was doing the right thing. And, of course, I still need to do nothing, but I strongly feel that I should try to appeal on behalf of the man who is held in the gaol – have you seen this gaol, Ardal?’
‘From the outside, only, Brehon – an unpleasant, stinking place even from there.’ His high-bridged nose wrinkled fastidiously.
That decides matters, thought Mara. A man used to the clean, windy atmosphere of the limestone land of the Burren was languishing in a stinking gaol set among alien people who did not speak his language or live by his laws. If possible she would rescue him; she would appeal to this mayor, or sovereign, of Galway.
‘James Lynch,’ she said aloud. ‘Tell me more of him, Ardal? And why has he been re-elected four times?’
‘I suppose you could say, Brehon, that he is in his fifth year of office because he is an honest man. When the English King – King Richard, the third of that name – granted a charter to Galway, he waived all his own rights to taxes on the goods; the mayor was to have the taxes, supposedly for building walls and paving the town, but . . .’
‘But not all mayors used the money for that purpose.’
‘Not even a fraction of it,’ confirmed Ardal with a slight smile. ‘These merchant families of Galway have been swapping the office of mayor around between them for the last thirty years or so and they have become more and more wealthy during that time.’
‘But not James Lynch,’ put in Mara quickly.
‘James Lynch has grown rich, though not outrageously so,’ corrected Ardal, ‘but he has also seen to it that the increased prosperity of Galway has been shared out amongst the people of the town, that they are protected by high walls, manned by men with guns – even cannon – and that the streets of the city are paved and kept in good repair, and, of course, as I said to you, he governs with a strong hand, so no lawlessness, neither theft nor drunkenness, can affect the trade in the city.’
‘Can anyone be a mayor?’ Mara turned over in her mind the power that was exercised by this man – a power over life and death.
‘The bailiffs are elected every year, but the choice of mayor is then limited to the mayor and his two bailiffs. I suppose in theory anyone can be a mayor, Brehon, but in practice it is restricted to the great trading families of Galway: the Lynches, the Blakes, the Joyces, the Skerretts and the Brownes – there are more but these are the ones that I remember. They tend to be related to each other as they intermarry a lot. For instance, the wife of James Lynch is the sister to Valentine Blake and Valentine Blake is married to the sister of Philip Browne.’
‘And Philip Browne is married to the sister of James Lynch,’ suggested Mara, interested by the links. In Gaelic Ireland most marriages seemed to take place within the clans.
‘Well, no, not so,’ said Ardal, tugging at his moustache with his right hand while the left hand slowed the mare to a standstill. The scholars were all waiting obediently at the bottom of the steep hill leading from the Carron Mountains down to sea level and marking the division between kingdoms. ‘Philip Browne is married to a Spanish lady, in fact. They have one daughter, a girl called Catarina.’
‘Oh, that’s exotic! A half-Spanish girl!’ Mara was amused to see that her scholars were listening to this piece of gossip with interest. ‘Where did Philip Browne meet this Spanish lady?’
‘Like your friend, Lawyer Bodkin, he imports horses from Spain,’ said Ardal, and then waited while Mara marshalled her scholars so that the very-adult Fachtnan was at the front beside Moylan, the two youngest scholars, Shane and Hugh, were in the centre and Fiona and Aidan were bringing up the rear, where she could keep a strict eye on any silly or noisy behaviour. It was only after they had moved on at a decorous pace that Ardal spoke again, keeping his voice so low that she could barely hear him.
‘They are very powerful men, these merchant princes in Galway, Brehon. You know your own business best, of course, but I would say that you should hesitate to interfere too deeply into what they regard as their royal right to govern the city in the way that they choose.’
Two
Charter of Richard III
A new charter was accordingly granted, dated at Westminster, the 15th December, 1484, whereby the king confirmed all former grants, and renewed the powers to levy the tolls and customs, which he directed should be applied towards the murage and pavage of the town; he also granted licence that they might, yearly, forever, choose one mayor and two bailiffs and that the mayor should continue to hold sovereign rights . . . The first mayor and bailiffs were accordingly elected under this charter, on the 1st August, 1485, and were sworn into office on the 29th September following.
Mara had often visited Galway – her daughter, Sorcha, had married a merchant, named Oisín, and they lived there with their three children – but for most of her scholars it was a first visit and they were overawed by the sight of the great stone city surrounded by a high wall and packed with tall houses squeezed together like herrings in a box of salt. A large amount of those houses were tower houses or even small castles and they reared up, their castellated roofs outlined against the sky. The streets were well paved with limestone cobbles – a drain running down the centre of each street and a narrow pavement for pedestrians on either side. It was a city built around a western seaport on the Atlantic Ocean, and despite the crowds of people and numerous houses it was a fresh airy city on this fine, breezy day in early February.
Ardal O’Lochlainn courteously conducted them through the Great Gate, capped with a stone tower, straight down the High Street, past the church of St Nicholas, whose size made the scholars open their eyes widely, and then on towards the sea until they reached Lombard Street, where he instantly found their host’s house down a short lane leading from this and took his farewell once the door had been opened to his knock. Mara did not attempt to detain him. Ardal was a mysterious person who went his own way and kept details of his private life very much to himself. For years he had a relationship with a fisherman’s daughter somewhere north of Galway – a wife of the fourth degree, as Brehon Law phrased it – but that now seemed to have come to an end. Was his visit to Galway for business or for pleasure? she wondered as she greeted the stately manservant who had opened the door to this large crowd of guests.
Lawyer Bodkin’s residence was a tower house – not unlike the one in which Ardal O’Lochlainn lived back in the spaciousness of the Burren kingdom. The legal business must be very prosperous, Mara thought as servants thronged around the doorway, some coming from behind the house and leading the horses and ponies to the stable yard, some taking satchels upstairs and others escorting the guests to their bedrooms high up in the tower.
There was no sign of either Lawyer Bodkin or his
sister Jane – it would have been strange behaviour in hospitable, Gaelic Ireland, not to have the hosts at the door, exclaiming ‘Come in, come in, you’re very welcome . . .’ – but there was something to be said for this custom of first allowing guests to refresh themselves and change their clothing first, thought Mara as she tested the softness of the four-poster bed, well screened with curtains, and then strolled to the window to look out. Her beautifully furnished room faced west and she had a clear view of the harbour with the large sailing ships rocking gently at their anchorage points. Fiona had been lodged just across the corridor to her and the five boys were all in a large attic where Lawyer Bodkin had formerly housed his law pupils.
Mara washed her face and hands in the soft, warm water – rainwater, she thought with interest and wondered how they managed to store it in sufficient quantities in order to provide enough for such a large household.
Then she changed her clothes. Her daughter Sorcha had told her to be sure to wear a fine silk gown and a silken hood – had even sent a messenger with a bundle of suitable clothing – but Mara was not minded to try to look like a lady from Galway. She knew that the wives of Gaelic chieftains dressed up whenever they went to town, wearing swathes of linen around their heads and elaborate, fussy gowns, but she did not like that fashion either.
She was Mara, Brehon of the Burren, judge and lawgiver, and she would dress as she always dressed, she thought as she pulled a fresh léine over her head – woven from the flax that grew on the mountainside of the Burren, the creamy shade of the linen tunic suited her dark colouring. Over it she wore a gown of soft moss-green with loose sleeves and a laced bodice. The neckline was low and allowed the lace-embroidered léine to be seen above it. Next she combed out her long dark hair, plaited it and coiled it at the back of her head while gazing at the dim reflection in the silvered glass that was placed helpfully beside the window. For a thirty-eight-year-old grandmother she looked good, she thought with satisfaction, before going to tap on Fiona’s door.
Fiona was also dressed in the Gaelic fashion, wearing the traditional léine topped with a blue gown, which matched her blue eyes. She was a tiny girl, but with a perfect figure, perfect features, hair like spun gold, gleaning white teeth. She had been at Cahermacnaghten law school for almost a year now, and the boys had settled down into regarding her as a companion, though when she first came she had caused a lot of excitement. Only Fachtnan, guessed Mara, still hoped to be something more than a friend to her, but Fiona treated him with friendly indifference.
Lawyer Bodkin’s sister, Jane, gave Mara’s uncovered head a slightly scandalized look, but said nothing. Her brother now addressed his guest by the English word of ‘Judge’ rather than the Gaelic ‘Brehon’ and this, Mara thought with an inward smile, probably made her hostess feel that she was entertaining some strange, hybrid creature. She seemed relieved that they all spoke English and smiled kindly on the boys, though their tight, woollen trews, knee-length léinte and short sheepskin jackets probably made them look very strange to her eyes.
‘What polite, well-mannered young men,’ she remarked to Mara. ‘When Henry had law pupils here they used to vex the life out of me. Always playing tricks and shouting, and so rude, too. One day one of them even put a frog into my bed. I said to Henry that I couldn’t stand it any longer – surely we don’t need the little money that they bring, I said to him – and there was all the washing to do with them too. How do you manage about their washing?’
‘I shall tell them how you approve of them,’ said Mara with a friendly smile, declining to go into housewifely details. Her scholars had been bribed with the prospect of a few hours’ liberty to explore the town and port if they behaved well during the meal and she wanted to keep an eye on Aidan. She would have to invent a similar bribe for future meals, she was thinking when Henry Bodkin, who had taken a whispered message from a servant, turned to her with a smile.
‘My neighbour, Valentine Blake, has heard of your arrival and has invited us all to supper at his place. It’s only around the corner from here and he has sent a message to say that there will be plenty of young people present to entertain your scholars. The Lynch family and the Browne family will be there, and Valentine Blake himself has three daughters by his first marriage – there may even be others.’ He beamed at the boys and added consolingly to Fiona, ‘And so there will be a few young ladies for you to talk with, my dear.’
‘I don’t really like other girls; I’m just used to boys – in my father’s law school and here.’ Fiona ignored the look of horror on Jane Bodkin’s face and cross-questioned her host on what these ‘youngsters’, as he called them, were studying.
‘In training to be merchants, I should imagine,’ he said with a smile. ‘Even the law is not a very popular subject here in Galway.’
‘Perhaps they don’t have as much power as the merchants,’ said Mara thoughtfully. She added some extra milk to her porridge and then controlled an expression of distaste with effort. The milk was slightly sour, something that would never have occurred in her own well-run establishment. Brigid, who had been Mara’s nurse and housekeeper to her father before that, would never have served up anything but milk fresh from the cow. Still, she thought charitably, it was probably more difficult in Galway. Her host and his sister had not seemed to notice anything and Mara sent a warning glance around at the younger members of her school, and pushed a jar of honey in the direction of Moylan who would be quick-witted enough to take the hint.
The meal passed peacefully and the scholars, with an eye on Mara, were effusive in their praise and thanks for the many dishes of food. Jane Bodkin openly praised the system of young children beginning their studies early as it seemed to make them so well mannered. ‘This young man tells me that he came to the law school at the age of five,’ she added, patting Hugh on the arm and causing his freckled face to turn scarlet with embarrassment.
‘I was eight, when I came to law school,’ said Shane, and added politely, though with a twinkle in his eye, ‘but I hope that I managed to learn good manners even at that advanced age.’
‘O tempora, o mores!’ exclaimed Moylan dramatically. Judging by the slight jump that he gave a minute later, Aidan had kicked him quickly on the shin to warn him against showing-off and Mara thought it was time to dismiss her scholars before their behaviour began to deteriorate to its normal level of silly jokes and teasing. While they fetched their outerwear, she rapidly embarked on an explanation to Jane Bodkin about the Irish cloak, which was famous for resisting the continual rainfall due to a secret ingredient that Mara revealed to be honey combed into the tightly curled sheep’s wool outer surface of the garment.
‘Looks lovely on you, my dear,’ said Jane generously to Fiona as she drew the wide hood over her golden curls, and even Lawyer Bodkin smiled with appreciation of the picture that she made.
‘Would you like me to send a manservant with them?’ he asked Mara in a low voice, his eyes on Fiona. ‘The streets of Galway will not be like your quiet lanes in the Burren.’
‘I don’t think so, but thank you for offering it,’ returned Mara quietly. ‘I’ve had a word with Fachtnan and told him to make sure that they all stay together. They are strong, able boys and they won’t allow anyone to get the better of them.’ Aloud she said to the scholars, ‘I’ve given Fachtnan some silver for you all and the rule is that all six stay together. And please be back here by . . .?’ She looked enquiringly at their host who responded immediately by suggesting that they listen for the four o’clock bell from St Nicholas’s Church and return when they heard that sound its call for evening prayers.
‘Is it possible for me to see this unfortunate man who is lying in your town gaol?’ Mara decided to put the question as soon as the scholars had departed. Lawyer Bodkin would, no doubt, be wondering what to do with her this morning and she had no desire to be left to gossip with Jane.
‘It would be better not to,’ he said a little uncomfortably. He tugged his beard, his shrewd eyes do
wncast and hooded by his bushy grey eyebrows. Mara waited until he continued. ‘I feel that it would be best if you met the mayor in a social setting today – at the Blake supper – this evening – and then perhaps put the question to him as to whether you could attend the trial.’
‘Perhaps I could interpret for him,’ suggested Mara mildly. ‘He speaks no English, is that correct? What actually did he steal?’
Lawyer Bodkin’s face looked more cheerful. ‘That’s a good idea. That might work very well,’ he said. ‘Of course, the view of the court is that English is the official language so anyone in the city should speak it – by law no one should be in the city without a knowledge of the English language and English customs. In fact, strictly speaking, the man had no right to stay within the city walls when he had lost the employment that brought him here.’
‘And his crime?’ persisted Mara.
‘He stole a meat pie – of over a shilling in value.’ The lawyer’s voice was heavy with significance and Mara nodded her understanding. The death penalty, under English law, could be exacted for any theft of an article worth more than a shilling.
‘Why did he come here?’ Mara was curious about this. A young man, adventurous, perhaps looking for work on one of the boats that went from Galway harbour to Spain – but Lawyer Bodkin just shook his head and spread his hands as if denying all knowledge of the culprit.
‘Let’s go for a walk and I shall show you my chambers,’ he said, to her relief. ‘Perhaps we’ll take a tour of the city first, or would you like to see the Green outside the city walls? I keep my horses stabled there and hardly an hour goes by when you cannot see a fine example of horses being put through their paces at the spot.’
‘The Green,’ responded Mara promptly. She had no particular interest in Lawyer Bodkin’s horses but did not want her scholars to think that she was dogging their footsteps as they explored the city. Perhaps tomorrow afternoon she would get them to show her around. She was prepared to bet that a morning’s exploration by six curious and uninhibited young people would result in a thorough knowledge of the whole place.
Laws in Conflict Page 2
