My Lady Judge

by Cora Harrison

  That gave Father Conglach a shock. He stood staring at her, his grey eyes as cold as those of a raven.

  ‘The king!’ he said, and then he rallied. ‘I’ve heard that the king is a man of poor judgement.’

  ‘He is a man of warmth and integrity,’ said Mara evenly. ‘And I am surprised to hear you criticize your king.’

  The priest knew he had gone too far and he tried to retract. ‘All of us can make mistakes,’ he said loftily. ‘If the king’s chief advisers, his Brehons, do not give him the right counsel then he may be led into deeds unworthy of him.’

  Mara was walking away, but then she stopped. She took a deep breath. Would she ignore this or retaliate? Retaliate, she decided immediately. She whirled around and walked back to him.

  ‘By the way, Father Conglach,’ she said stonily, ‘one of the cases that I will be hearing today at Poulnabrone is about poor young Nessa. What can you tell me about her?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked furiously. ‘What have I to do with that girl who committed such a grievous sin?’

  ‘One of your own flock, nevertheless,’ said Mara. ‘She, her father and her mother worship at your church every Sunday. I understand that her mother cleans the church, so I would have thought that Nessa’s welfare would be of great concern to you.’

  ‘Her spiritual welfare is of concern to me,’ he replied gravely. ‘And so is the spiritual welfare of everyone within the parish of Kilcorney. And this devilish work’ – he stabbed a finger dramatically at the stone circle – ‘this endangers the souls that are in my charge.’

  With that, he swung around and stalked rapidly away across the stones towards the church of Kilcorney.

  Well, that got rid of him, thought Mara, but her sense of satisfaction was soured by the thought of poor young Nessa. Her religious mother might have been better taking care of her than spending all her free time cleaning and polishing the church. Nessa was left on her own to get up to mischief and the mischief had resulted in a stillborn baby. Who really was the father of the baby? wondered Mara for the fiftieth time. Why had the girl obstinately refused to give his name for the whole of her pregnancy, and then suddenly changed her mind? And why had Nessa given such an unlikely name for the father of her child?

  THREE

  TRIAD 176

  There are three destructive elements to the wisdom of the court:

  1. A harsh pleading

  2. A talkative court

  3. A judge without knowledge

  During the proceedings of the court, the Brehon may be

  addressed as ‘Tighernae’, my lord judge, or ‘Ban

  Tighernae’, my lady judge.

  THE DOLMEN OF POULNABRONE stood at the eastern edge of the four miles of flat tableland called the High Burren. Four huge upright slabs, each of them the height of a man, supported the soaring capstone of rough, lichen-spotted limestone. The field around it was paved with limestone clints, the grykes between them dotted with purple-spotted orchids, and the dolmen stood silhouetted against the sky, towering above the clints.

  By the time King Turlough Donn and his bodyguards arrived for judgement day Mara was seated at the foot of the dolmen with Colman by her side and her six scholars gathered around her. The field was full of people who had walked or ridden from all corners of the hundred-square-mile kingdom of the Burren. The only empty spot was immediately around Diarmuid who stood unhappily, holding a wildly barking dog by a stout iron chain. People backed away nervously and the space around man and dog grew larger by the minute.

  Turlough Donn had become king of Thomond, Corcomroe and Burren in the year 1499. He was a heavily built man, about fifty years old, with the brown hair that had given him the nickname of ‘Donn’ just turning grey, light green eyes and a pleasant open face. A pair of huge moustaches curving down from either side of his mouth gave his face a warlike look, which was denied by the gentle amiable expression in his eyes.

  ‘Mara!’ He greeted his Brehon as always with a hearty kiss and Mara responded with a hug. She was fond of the king. His warmth and his generosity appealed to her.

  ‘We’re honoured by your presence, my lord,’ she said formally as the four taoiseachs of the principal clans of the Burren – the O’Lochlainn, the O’Connor, the MacNamara and the O’Brien – came up to greet him.

  ‘Ardal! Finn! Garrett! Teige!’ With his usual lack of formality, the king saluted each of his chieftains with a quick slap on the back and then seated himself beside Mara.

  ‘I’m looking forward to having dinner with you afterwards,’ he said in a low voice. ‘There’s a favour I want to ask of you.’

  She looked at him in surprise, wondering what it was.

  ‘I have a favour to ask of you, also,’ she said quickly. ‘I want you to come up the mountain, up Mullaghmore, after we finish here. Father Conglach, the parish priest of Kilcorney, is trying to stir up the bishop of Kilfenora against the custom. I know that the bishop is in Corcomroe, not in the Burren, but his diocese spreads up here and it could make things very unpleasant if priests try to forbid their parishioners. It’s an old custom and a harmless one. Will you come? If you show approval, then it will be hard for the bishop to stand against you.’

  ‘Of course, I will,’ he said with all the good humour that she had learned to expect from him. ‘I will enjoy that. I’m sure it will be good exercise for me, too. Your lads are going too, I suppose. How many of them have you now at your school?’

  ‘Just six,’ said Mara. ‘The four oldest scholars graduated last year – Cormac went back to Cork, his father is Brehon there, Aodh got a position in Ossary, Giolla went to Donegal, and Colman, you know Colman … well, I kept him as an assistant master. He’ll move on when this term finishes.’

  ‘Funny, you keeping him,’ mused the king, his eyes on Colman who stood a few feet away, wearing the severe expression of one who bore the burden of the whole day’s proceedings. ‘I’d’ve thought that some of the others would be more your type. Cormac, now, he was a boy of great spirit.’

  ‘Come to court all ye people of the kingdom of the Burren and hear the judgements of the Brehon,’ called Colman in his shrill, reedy voice and everyone obediently drew nearer, all the while casting uneasy glances at Diarmuid and his dog.

  Mara rose to her feet and picked up a scroll of parchment. ‘The first case is between Diarmuid O’Connor and his cousin Lorcan O’Connor,’ she said, raising her voice more than usual. Normally she could pitch it perfectly to the back of the crowd, but the barking of the dog made her doubt whether her normal tones could be heard. She unrolled the parchment, glanced over it and then rolled it up again. She had, in fact, not got round to writing up this case, but the scroll was like a wand of office to her by now, always held in her hand, but seldom referred to. Her memory was excellent, trained by years of study.

  She wondered briefly whether it would be worthwhile telling the dog to be quiet, but decided not to bother. After all, he would prove her case better if he kept barking.

  ‘Diarmuid’s cow was stolen from a latched cabin within the yard around his house,’ she continued, her eyes scanning the back of the crowd to make sure that everyone caught her words. ‘The door to the yard was bolted on the inside, but the bolt could be reached over the top of the door from the outside. This dog, named Wolf, was free in the yard.’ Abruptly she pointed her scroll at the dog and it stopped barking and eyed her uncertainly. Mara took advantage of the quiet and proceeded. ‘During the night someone entered the yard and stole the cow. But,’ she paused dramatically, and heard the sigh of anticipation from the crowd, ‘this dog did not bark. Why did the dog not bark? The dog did not bark because he knew the man that came in and stole the cow. Who was that man?’ Again she paused and again the crowd sighed. Mara felt a familiar rush of pleasure. She loved these occasions.

  ‘That man was the only man on the Burren, apart from Diarmuid, who could approach this dog. That man was the breeder of the dog.’ Here Mara stopped and turned around and pointed
at Lorcan, who was looking down at his feet. ‘And the breeder of the dog was Lorcan O’Connor. What do you say, Lorcan? Do you plead guilty?’

  ‘I found the cow straying,’ muttered Lorcan. ‘I was going to return her. Someone else must have stolen her.’

  ‘And who, except yourself, could have gone into that yard and faced the dog?’ said Mara, raising her voice. The dog had begun to bark again. ‘Diarmuid’s bedroom window was just above the yard. One bark would have woken him.’

  ‘Other people knew the dog,’ said Lorcan with desperation in his voice. ‘He would not have barked for some people that he knew well.’

  ‘Who?’ demanded Mara. ‘Is there anyone here today who can approach this dog without making him bark?’ She glanced all around the assembly, but no one shifted his position. Most people were looking amused. Lorcan was unpopular and they were enjoying this.

  ‘Is there anyone here who will go up to the dog and test him?’ asked Mara.

  ‘I’ll try,’ offered the king after a long silence.

  ‘Oh, no, my lord,’ said Diarmuid. The sweat broke out on his forehead at the very idea of what might happen if his dog bit the king.

  ‘I won’t go too near,’ said Turlough Donn. He got up from his seat and steadily strode towards the dog, eyeing him carefully. The dog leaped and strained at his chain and barked with rage. The crowd cheered and laughed.

  ‘Well, I think that was convincing,’ said the king, returning to his seat with a grin.

  Mara waited until the echoes of the dog’s frenzied barks died down. ‘We’ll do another test. Colman, my assistant, has been with this dog all the morning. The dog surely knows him by now. Colman, will you approach the dog, please?’

  Shane, Mara noticed, was nudging Hugh and smirking, but Hugh was not smiling; just staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed on Colman. All of the other boys, even eighteen-year-old Fachtnan, were sniggering as Colman walked slowly and reluctantly towards Wolf. The crowd fell very quiet. There were none of the gleeful smiles and cheers that had greeted the king. Colman was not popular, thought Mara. She had noticed that before. The people of the Burren were uneasy with him.

  There was no need for Colman to go too far. The dog immediately lunged at him and broke out into a passion of barking. Colman drew back hastily, licking his lips. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his high white forehead.

  ‘Now we’ll try a last test,’ said Mara. ‘Lorcan,’ she ordered, ‘approach the dog.’

  Slowly and reluctantly, Lorcan began to move. The crowd parted to allow him through, a broad smile appearing on everyone’s face. Even Finn O’Connor himself was laughing at his clansman’s discomfiture. Lorcan, a ferocious scowl on his face, tried looking away from the dog but Wolf was not deceived. His barking was replaced by a soft puppy-like whine and he began to wag his bushy tail.

  ‘Stroke him,’ commanded Mara and Lorcan stretched out his hand and stroked the massive head. The dog’s tail now wagged so hard that it wagged his whole body. A deep sigh of amusement came from the crowd. The case was proven.

  ‘Have you anything to say, Lorcan?’ enquired Mara.

  Lorcan shook his head miserably.

  ‘In that case, I pass sentence,’ said Mara. ‘Fine imposed is one sét, or half an ounce of silver, to be paid within five days. Case dismissed.’

  ‘May I take the dog home now, Brehon?’ asked Diarmuid.

  ‘You may, indeed,’ said the king with a chuckle. ‘That dog has been an excellent witness. He did not fear to speak out and to convict the guilty.’

  The ensuing roar of laughter made the dog bark again and King Turlough Donn smiled with satisfaction.

  ‘Next case,’ called Colman, regaining his poise and indicating to Gráinne MacNamara to come forward with her son, Feirdin. Garrett MacNamara, taoiseach of the MacNamara clan, strode out and faced them both. He was a tall, aggressive-looking man with a high sloping forehead, a fleshy nose and a heavily swelling lower lip.

  Garrett made his case as convincingly as he could. Mara listened carefully, although she did not look at him as he was speaking. Her eyes were fixed on Feirdin. She felt quite puzzled. There was something strange about him. After all the stories about his fits of rage, she expected him to protest, to get angry, but he said nothing. He did not seem even remotely interested in the proceedings. He was a good-looking boy, she thought, with large blue eyes and brown curly hair.

  ‘I don’t see much wrong with him,’ said the king in an undertone. ‘What does the physician say?’

  Mara beckoned to Malachy and he came over and took his place beside Colman.

  ‘Give your opinion,’ commanded Mara.

  Malachy held up a scroll and read the account of his medical examination of the boy in a monotonous voice. Mara did not listen very carefully this time. The report contained very little and did not mention that strange joke about the little man in the boy’s head. She had already made up her mind what to do.

  ‘Gráinne,’ she said gently. ‘The court feels that your son has certain problems. There have been times when he has frightened others on the Burren. Do you feel confident that you are able to keep your son from harming anyone?’

  Gráinne lowered her eyes for a moment and then looked straight at Mara. ‘Yes, Brehon,’ she said defiantly.

  ‘And yet, in the past, he has exploded with rage and your taoiseach is worried about him and about you.’

  ‘It’s the other lads, Brehon,’ explained Gráinne, ‘they will tease him and call him names. He likes to be on his own. He likes walking around and collecting bits of rocks. He has them all on shelves at home.’

  ‘That sounds very interesting,’ said Mara. ‘You must show me your collection sometime, Feirdin.’ She looked directly at him, but he avoided eye contact with her. There was definitely something wrong with him, but was it enough to condemn him to the harsh stewardship of his cousin who might well keep him tied up? This would not only frustrate him more, it would be likely to drive him into full madness. She paused for a moment, whispered to the king, and then rose to her feet.

  ‘The court finds that Feirdin MacNamara is to be classified as fer lethcuinn, a half-sane man. This means that he has the protection of the court and the community. Anyone who incites him to commit a crime must himself pay the penalty, anyone who mocks him will be fined five séts, two and a half ounces of silver, or three milch cows. This is the law of the king.’

  The crowd moved and sighed once more. Mara could hear the soft murmur of conversation swell as neighbour turned to neighbour. Heads nodded. It had been a popular judgement. The crowd approved. She only hoped that they, and she, were right. I’ll go and see him tomorrow myself, she thought. I’ll check on him at least once a week.

  ‘Next case,’ called Colman.

  FOUR

  CASE NOTES AND JUDGEMENT TEXTS FROM MARA, BREHON OF THE BURREN, 15 MAY 1509

  Judgement day: last day of April 1509. On the eve of Bealtaine I judged the case between Declan O’Lochlainn and Rory the bard. Declan O’Lochlainn declared that his daughter Nessa, aged twelve, had been raped by the aforementioned Rory at the festival of Samhain of the previous year …

  WHAT’S THIS ABOUT?’ ASKED the king, leaning over and speaking in Mara’s ear as Colman announced the case and called the witnesses.

  ‘Well, the child, Nessa, looked pregnant in January, but she kept denying it,’ whispered back Mara. ‘I sent Malachy, the physician, at the request of the parents, but Nessa became hysterical and he, rightly, in my opinion, refused to force her, so he was unable to examine her. However, it was obvious that she was pregnant. The baby was stillborn last week and Nessa’s father, Declan, sent for Colman to take down the statement. Apparently, Nessa named Rory, the young bard, as the father of her baby and accused him of raping her.’

  Mara got to her feet; Nessa, her parents and Rory were all standing in front of the dolmen with Colman and Malachy on either side.

  ‘The accusation has been made,’ she said, her clear voice
carrying to the back of the crowd. ‘How say you, Rory the bard? Are you guilty or not guilty?’

  ‘Not guilty,’ said Rory firmly. Mara looked at him with interest. Rape of a girl of Nessa’s age was a very serious crime and carried a heavy fine of an éraic, or body fine, similar to that given for murder, and also a fine equivalent to the honour price of the victim’s father. Nessa’s father was an ócaire, a small farmer, so his honour price was only three séts, or one and a half ounces of silver or two milch cows, but when the éraic was added, this amounted to forty-five séts, or twenty-two and a half ounces of silver, or twenty-three cows. That would be a huge sum for this young bard to find. Mara suspected that Rory earned very little money. He had no patron; what silver he possessed would come from the selling of his poems or ballads at fairs. He had no land, no livestock, no kin here in the Burren. It would be impossible for him to pay a fine like that. Rory, however, did not look worried; only annoyed and slightly embarrassed.

  ‘What evidence can you give in support of your innocence?’ asked Mara. She had been surprised when Nessa’s parents had accused Rory of this crime. Since he had come to the Burren a year ago all of the marriageable girls and a few of the married ones had sighed after him. He was an extraordinarily beautiful young man, his hair was a pale blond with a shade of red in it, his eyes were intensely blue and he was tall with broad shoulders and slim hips. Mara looked at poor little Nessa – small, fat, with the spotty skin of early adolescence. Would Rory really have raped her? she wondered cynically.