‘And this was the window, was it, Niall. The shutters were open.’
‘That’s right,’ said Niall. ‘My master was getting me to write down the judgements. We had just come to the last one, the case of “the cold son”. I had just written the first line when my master looked up.’
‘He was sitting here, looking this way, looking towards the window?’
Niall nodded again.
‘What made him look up?’ queried Domhnall. He seated himself at the place Niall had indicated and looked towards the window, narrowing his eyes and leaning forward. Mara could see the point of his question. The window frame was filled with very small panes of glass, enclosed within large thick strips of lead. The glass, itself, was of a poor quality, not coloured, but heavily blemished with bubble marks.
‘I think it must have been the cackle of the geese,’ said Niall after a minute. ‘I wasn’t paying too much attention. I was concentrating on my pen. Brehon O’Doran was a hard man to please. A blot would start him shouting and swearing.’
He did not, Mara noticed, utter the usual prayer for the dead man’s soul when mentioning his name.
‘So he looked towards the window, attracted by the sounds of the geese,’ she said. ‘What did he do next?’
‘And then he jumped up, he swore, he shouted out, As ucht Dé! If anyone is hunting over my land I’ll have him up before me on the next judgement day. And then he just ran out of the room and I heard him slam the door in the passageway.’
‘And you?’
‘I went to close the window. It was blowing smoke into the room.’ Niall sounded defensive. ‘I just took one look out to see what had put him into such a passion and I saw five men with bows and arrows and the geese were flying overhead. Then I went back to my work. He calls out the words so quickly that I can’t keep up with him, so I was glad to have a few minutes to myself.’
‘And where was Ríanne at this time?’ asked Mara.
He shrugged, but there was an uneasy furtive look in his eye. ‘Don’t know,’ he said.
‘But you said that she was there,’ blurted out Art. ‘I distinctly remember you saying that Ríanne was there too. You said, You can ask Ríanne; she was there, too. You said that, didn’t you?’
It was unusual for Art to intervene when the Brehon was questioning a suspect. Scholars were supposed to keep silent, to listen and to learn. There was an angry look on the boy’s face. Perhaps he had sensed that Mara might accept Niall into the law school as a substitute for Cormac; maybe Art was, perhaps, sending a message that this boy would be no substitute for his best friend and his foster brother. Mara decided not to reprove him, even by a look. She kept her eyes fixed on Niall and slightly raised her eyebrows.
‘I suppose she was looking out of the upstairs window, that’s what I thought, anyway,’ he said eventually. ‘She came down complaining as usual. She was saying, What is he doing, Niall? I want my supper. I thought you’d be finished ages ago. Orlaith had it ready ages ago. She wants to go home.’
‘And did Ríanne go out after her husband?’
Niall shrugged again. It seemed to be a habitual gesture with him. ‘How do I know? I just went back to my notes. I could get on better without him shouting in my ear. I’ve a good memory, better than his, anyway.’
Mara studied him. ‘You seem unhappy with your master, Niall. But your father thought this was a good prospect for you, didn’t he? Were you at your father’s law school before you came here with Brehon O’Doran?’
The boy’s sullen expression deepened. ‘No, my uncle’s. My father wanted him to take in my younger brother at Michaelmas, but he said that he never had more than ten scholars and he never would. And the next thing was that I found myself shunted off into the wilds, just to make a place for that nuisance Tadgh that my father thinks is so clever.’
‘And what will happen now?’
‘I’m going back,’ said Niall with an air of satisfaction. ‘I’m going back to Ossory. The king, your husband said so. He sent me a message and to Ríanne. He said that he would send an escort in a week’s time and then we could both go back. Young Tadgh can wait another year or go somewhere else. I’ll be back with my friends.’
‘And is Ríanne pleased?’ Mara thought that she must see the girl herself but it was worth getting Niall’s opinion now that he seemed to be in such a talkative mood.
‘Should be. She’s been crying her eyes out ever since she got married. She used not be like that. She was always coming down to the law school and all the boys thought that she was great fun. Sometimes she’d sit in on the lessons. She’s not stupid. You’d be surprised how much of the law that she knows. She’d even play at hurling with the other lads.’
‘So you grew up together. You would be friends,’ said Mara. There was, she thought, no hint of a romantic interest, but friendships could be strong at that age.
‘Well, sort of,’ he said with a shrug. The look of uneasiness was back on his face.
‘And was Ríanne present at the judgement day? You thought, did you not, that she might have recognized Peadar?’
‘Yes, she was.’
But nowhere in sight. And how very strange would it be for a man with a newly-wedded wife not to bring her up to introduce her to the king and to Mara who was not only the wife of the king, but also his future colleague, the Brehon of the nearby kingdom, working and living only a few miles away.
‘Did the king know that Brehon O’Doran was married?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Niall unhelpfully. His lips were tight, and his eyes darted apprehensive glances at her.
‘But you said that he sent a message.’ It would be most unlike Turlough, the most gallant of men, not to immediately think of a distraught young bride. Mara would have expected that at the first news of the murder that he would come straight over, would immediately have thought of what to do about her. It seemed strange just to include her in a casual message to Niall. ‘Did he mention her by name?’ she finished.
‘I told the man about her. I asked him if Ríanne would come, too. And he said that she could.’
‘I see.’ It was as she thought. Turlough knew nothing about the girl. His messenger probably thought that she was some hanger-on, a washerwoman, a cook or even a bedfellow of the Brehon’s.
‘And what’s going to happen to your Brehon’s wife until next week?’ She asked the question, not because she thought that he would have any useful suggestion, but just to gauge his reaction.
‘Well, I suppose we’ll just both wait here.’ Niall sounded uninterested. Domhnall’s eyes met Mara’s with a glint of amusement in them.
Mara nodded gravely. ‘We’ll see,’ she said. ‘And how old is Ríanne, do you think?’
Niall thought for a moment. ‘She’d be about my age, about fourteen, I’d say. Yes, she is. She was making a big fuss about getting married. She was going on about how she had been promised by her father that she wouldn’t get married until she was sixteen. But I suppose it was a good match.’
I can’t leave her there for a week. And that couple have enough to do to look after Fergus. I’ll take the girl back to the law school and put her in Brigid’s care, thought Mara and then a better idea came to her. Cahermacnaghten was a good ten-mile ride from Knockfinn. Why not move her scholars and herself into the kingdom of Corcomroe while she was dealing with this murder. Cael could look after Ríanne, share a room and Niall could share with Art and Cian. The Brehon’s house was a bachelor establishment, but it had three bedchambers as far as she could remember, as well as a room by the kitchen for the woman who had cooked and cleaned for him. They would all manage well there. She would make sure that her presence was widely advertised and people who had evidence, suspicions or even items of gossip could find her quickly and easily if she took up residence in the Brehon’s house at Knockfinn. She looked across at her grandson. Domhnall was not a Brehon, but he was now a qualified lawyer, an aigne. And, more importantly, he was careful, discriminating and of
sound judgement. She could trust him to deal with small matters, the daily queries about boundaries and the requests for deeds to be drawn up relating to the buying and selling of land. Domhnall could manage all of this easily. He had worked side by side with her for ten years and knew all of her methods. If he needed any help, then Fachtnan, her previous assistant, though occupied with the new school that had been set up, would certainly be available for advice. And what was even more important, the people of the Burren trusted Domhnall. He was seen as the natural inheritor of the law school, following in the footsteps of his grandmother and his great-grandfather. Only last week, she remembered, Fintan, the blacksmith, had sent a message to Cahermacnaghten asking whether the young Brehon could call in to give him some advice about taking on a new apprentice.
‘Domhnall,’ she said aloud. ‘I’m going to trust the affairs of the Kingdom of the Burren to you. I think myself, Art, Cian and Cael will take up residence here in the Brehon’s house at Knockfinn. I’m sending you back to Cahermacnaghten. And would you get Brigid to pack up clothes for us all and to come herself and –’ she glanced around at the dusty room and the dirty flagstones on the floor – ‘tell her to bring a few girls with her to do the scrubbing and bring enough food to keep us going for a few days. We can find out where to purchase more supplies if I have to stay longer. Will you be happy about that, Domhnall? Do you think that you can manage?’
‘I’ll do my best,’ was all that he said, but she could see how his eyes shone and how pleased he looked, with a small smile curving his lips. ‘And you won’t be too far away if I need help or advice,’ he added.
‘That’s settled, then,’ said Mara briskly. ‘You set out straight away so that Brigid and the cart can travel in daylight. Art, you and I and Niall, of course, will go and collect Cael and Cian and Ríanne.’
‘But what about the alehouse, the meeting that you were going to have there. Won’t you need me to help to set it up?’ Domhnall’s expression showed that he was torn between excitement at the prospect of his new dignity and his conscience which told him that he might be needed in Corcomroe.
‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Mara, ‘and I don’t think that I’ll rush into organizing it for today. Tomorrow is Sunday. I’ll get the priest at Killilagh Church to make an announcement about the death of Gaibrial O’Doran and asking that all who know anything about the hunters on the cliffs, or who have any information for me, should attend the alehouse after Mass has finished.’
‘That should be popular,’ said Domhnall with a grin. ‘And what about the physician?’
‘You call over to Nuala and if there is anything important for me to know, then just send a letter with Brigid,’ decreed Mara. Nuala, she knew would have a lot of medical details about the dead body, but really, for the moment, all that concerned her was whether the man was alive or dead when he was tied up and placed in the broken lobster pot. And she was fairly sure that she knew the answer to that question.
Six
Cáin Lánamna
(The Law of Marriage)
A wife in a marriage of joint property is entitled to make contracts regarding household and farm, including the renting of land, purchase of provisions and buying of young animals.
Mara delayed for some time after Mass was finished. The priest was talking with Ciaran and Emer and she stayed in the background until they left, going down the road towards the alehouse. Then she stepped forward and greeted him. The priest, she was relieved to find, was eager to discuss the situation, to express his horror at the deed and to enquire about the funeral. Mara listened to him patiently, told him that the king would be sending the body back to Ossory and then enquired tentatively about the feelings of his parishioners about the new Brehon. The man had a keen, intelligent face and she thought his opinion would be worth hearing. She waited, however, until the rest of the congregation had straggled out through the gate and were walking in twos and threes and in small groups down the road towards the sea, or back up the cliff. There was, she noticed with satisfaction, a good crowd streaming across the grass towards the alehouse.
‘I couldn’t speak for others, and to be honest with you, I carefully avoided making any enquiries, but I thought last week that he was building up trouble for himself,’ said the priest.
‘In what way?’ asked Mara.
‘Encouraging complaints, opening up old wounds, rousing up feelings of greed and revenge,’ said the priest succinctly and Mara nodded an agreement. She said nothing, however. The priest would be satisfied with her nod and nothing then could ever be quoted against her. From her earliest days as Brehon she resolved to guard her tongue always, to listen and to weigh her words. It had made for a lonely, though satisfying life, until she had married Turlough, but she had kept to that resolution made almost thirty years ago.
‘Were you there at Judgement Day?’ she asked. She knew he had been; she had seen him there, standing quietly in the background, but her query opened an opportunity to him. He could answer with a simple affirmative or he could volunteer some information. The choice would be his, but she knew, by his quick look around to make sure that no one was within listening range that he would share his opinions and knowledge with her.
‘I must say that I was surprised, surprised and upset,’ he said. ‘The old Brehon, God bless him, he was a gentle soul. People respected him and his judgements were always carried out. No one ever complained of him in all of my time here – if a wrongdoer began to say something, he was quickly silenced by his clan. But this time, well, those judgements were very harsh, Brehon, very harsh indeed. Especially poor Peadar.’ He paused for a moment and then said tentatively, ‘I would not have thought that there was any harm in those boys.’
‘You would know them,’ said Mara.
‘Yes, of course. Baptized them all, knew them seed, breed and generation,’ he said briefly. ‘Peadar is a good lad. As for Ciaran and Emer, well they’ll settle down to married life when they grow up a bit, always did quarrel, that pair. And Seán is a good lad. Not like him to be careless, but sure, the wind here, on the cliffs, well … You never know the hour or the minute when that starts blowing. Well, I’m delaying you, Brehon, and I mustn’t go on gossiping. God bless the king for lending you to us in our troubles.’ And with that he went off hastily, leaving Mara to ponder his words. He had not mentioned Ronan’s attack on the innkeeper, nor Donal’s copying of his friend’s song; perhaps regarding these offences as too trivial to bother about, she thought, as she followed the MacMahon twins and Art and Niall, down the hill to the alehouse. Ríanne had not come to Mass. The woman who looked after Fergus had met her just before she spoke to the priest and said that the girl complained of a headache and had taken the old man for a walk.
‘She’s a great girl with him. Not many of that age would have the patience to keep explaining and repeating things. The Brehon, God bless him, has got very fond of her.’ The woman’s words were in Mara’s mind. She eyed Niall’s back as he walked stiffly by himself. He had painted a very different picture of Ríanne as spoiled and demanding. Why, she wondered, had he done that and why had he left her alone in that house all night and never once mentioned her presence? Mara resolved that once her meeting at the alehouse was over that she would go on down to the little house on the cliff, pay a visit to Fergus, and have a chat with Ríanne. In any case, as wife to the dead man she should be kept informed about what was happening in the investigation into his death.
The alehouse was full. Everyone wanted to know the latest news about the strange death in their midst. Mara was feeling rather sorry that she did not have Domhnall when the door opened and Domhnall came in. He was carrying his satchel in one hand and in the other a large canvas bag of the type that Cumhal, the farm manager, used for carrying apples from the orchard. He stood at the door for a moment, assessing the size of the crowd, and then came straight across to Mara.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said in a low voice, ‘Fachtnan came up to the law school this morning.
He had a message from Nuala for you and when he heard about you staying in Corcomroe, he said that he would look after everything for today as the school is shut. Nothing ever happens on a Sunday, anyway, that’s what he said. Here’s the message from Nuala and here in this bag is the broken lobster pot, the one that the body had been stuffed into.’ He cast a quick look around the crowded room and slipped the bag unobtrusively under the table in front of Mara. ‘It was quite an important message and I thought that you would want to know as soon as possible. Nuala thinks it is possible that the knife was wielded by a left-handed person. She said to tell you that she could not be sure, but that she thought it was a possibility.’
‘I see,’ said Mara slowly.
‘Does it help?’ he asked.
‘It should do, I suppose, or at least it would do if she were sure about the matter,’ said Mara. Niall, she had noticed immediately, was left-handed. A handicap, she had always thought it to be for any scholar.
She wondered whether this accounted for some of his surliness. There was usually an effort to force such a child to write with their right hand. In fact, she had, herself, tried that with a scholar in her early days of teaching, but had given up when she saw that she was making the child anxious and furtive and from then on concentrated on helping left-handed children to achieve a neat script, even seeking help from Fergus as she, herself, was strongly right-handed.
However, many well-respected teachers persisted in enforcing a scholar to use the right hand. She could understand their frustration. There was, she knew, a prejudice against left-handed people. One of the ancient Gaelic words for ‘clumsy’ was the same as the word meaning a left-handed person. All through the tales of antiquity, through the Bible verses, the importance of the right hand was always underlined. “Him hath God exalted with his right hand to be a Prince and a Saviour, for to give repentance to Israel, and forgiveness of sins”. When, in 1494, Turlough’s uncle had confirmed her appointment as Brehon of the Burren, and Fergus, dear Fergus, had whispered in her ear, ‘Raise your right hand’, she had thought of these lines from the Bible. They had, she thought, great relevance to the law to which she had sworn allegiance. ‘Repentance and forgiveness of sins’; these had been the functions of a Brehon. The accumulated thousands and thousands of words which her scholars memorized on a daily basis provided fixed penalties for each case and had allowed the sinner to repent and the injured to forgive.
An Unjust Judge Page 7
