An Unjust Judge

by Cora Harrison

  ‘You mustn’t worry about Niall,’ she said sweetly. ‘You know what boys are like. He’s probably gone for a walk on this lovely windy autumn day. He’s like that, you know. Prefers his own company.’

  ‘Well, I think that we’ll look for him,’ said Mara. This was no June day, this was October. The light would fade early in these days, so it would, she thought, be urgent to find Niall before that happened. She had a slightly uneasy feeling about him.

  ‘I’d say that he has probably gone back to Craggy,’ said Ríanne helpfully. ‘He likes walking around there.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Mara bluntly. There was nothing for anyone to see in ‘Craggy’, or its adjacent townland, named ‘Island’.

  ‘Goodness knows. Well, you know boys!’ said Ríanne.

  There was, thought Mara, a very false note in the girl’s voice. ‘I think that we should search for him,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘I’ll tell you what, Ríanne, you search Craggy, if you wish, and we’ll go down towards the cliffs.’

  ‘There was, undoubtedly, a flash of alarm on Ríanne’s face, but she tried to conceal it with one of her shrugs. ‘I might as well go with you to the cliffs,’ she said. ‘I still think that is not where he went; he hates the sea, but I don’t want to be stumbling around up there by myself. Or would you come with me to Craggy, Brehon? I’m sure that is where he went. Shall we go there first and then if we don’t find him we can easily cross over towards the cliffs.’ Again the false note was very apparent. Mara gave her a long look and then turned to Cael.

  ‘Ask Brigid would she keep the supper warm, Cael? Tell her that we will be as quick as we possibly can. And call Cian and Art. If they come with us we can spread out. Now, Ríanne, you can come with us or not, just as you please.’

  I dread the sea, she thought, as they all set out, Ríanne trailing reluctantly behind. There was something remorseless about the sheer power of the waves. The night had been windy and as they went across the headland of Doon MacFelim they could hear the crashing of the waves against the rocks. It was still low tide, though, and there was no sign of the waterspout.

  ‘Brigid said to tell you that there are four panniers missing,’ said Cian in a low voice. ‘And that there are four cakes of bread, some apples, and two jars of buttermilk and half a cheese gone from the supplies that she put into the larder.’

  Mara’s eyes met his. She was conscious of a feeling of relief. There was no doubt that Niall was an odd, morose boy. She had experienced a momentary panic in case the boy had been driven to take his life, but now it looked as though he, and probably Ríanne, had planned to leave and to return to their own home. But why? After all, the king had promised to provide them with an escort back to Ossory. It was a two to three days’ ride and times were troubled. Ossory marked a border zone between Gaelic Ireland and the English-occupied area around Dublin. And, of course, the O’Briens of Thomond and the Fitzgeralds of Kildare, not to mention the Desmonds of the south, were always at loggerheads. What on earth would be the point of the two young people riding unaccompanied through this territory. What could be driving them to make this hasty and unannounced flight? She thought about tackling Ríanne, but then decided against it.

  ‘Just slip back and check on Ríanne’s pony,’ she murmured to Cian. ‘And you might look around to see whether those panniers are hidden anywhere.’ She would keep an eye on Ríanne. She was fairly sure that the girl knew where Niall had gone. There was an uneasiness about her, but no panic, no worries about a boy with whom she had grown up. No, Niall had some enterprise, some mission and she was beginning to guess what it might have been. It was, she thought, unlikely that they would slip away tonight. Already the sun was setting and soon it would be twilight. No, she thought, they planned to disappear early in the morning, but if so, where had Niall gone now? And, of course, he had taken his pony with him. That, she thought, was significant.

  ‘No sign of him,’ announced Ríanne in loud tones.

  ‘No sign of the pony, either,’ said Art and Ríanne shot him a glance, a worried one, thought Mara and she was now even more sure that an escape was planned. But what was Niall doing down here at the cliffs just as dusk was falling and he could have been indoors, playing the part of an innocent, with his friend Ríanne. If they were going to depart at first light, it would have been sensible for the two to seek their beds at an early hour.

  There was no sign of the pony when they reached the cliffs. The tide was coming in fast, flooding over the sands of Bones’ Bay and sending up clouds of spray from the spit of rocks that stretched out into the sea. Even the large slabs of terraced rock were shining wet and it would not be long before they were submerged by the saltwater.

  ‘He must have gone up to Craggy,’ announced Ríanne. ‘I was right, after all.’ There was, noted Mara, not a trace of anxiety in her voice. Whatever Niall was doing, then Ríanne knew all about it and found no reason to worry.

  ‘Look in the little laneway,’ murmured Mara in Art’s ear and he left them instantly, striding across the grass with long strides. Art was a finely built boy, Mara thought, already as tall as his father. She wondered whether he ever had a wish to join his foster brother Cormac in his training to be a warrior. Or perhaps his mother’s dearest wish that her only child would be a lawyer one day was of too much importance to him. It had been a bargain between Cliona and Mara. Cliona would be wet nurse and then foster mother to the delicate baby that Cormac was, back in the far-off days of 1510 and, in return, Mara would accept Cliona’s son into her law school and endeavour to make him a lawyer. It had worked out well, thought Mara as she watched him. Art was a good scholar, a great friend, and a good influence over the mercurial Cormac.

  And then she forgot about the past. Art had just taken one glance into the laneway and was on his way back.

  ‘The pony is tied to one of the blackthorn bushes,’ he reported quietly and then: ‘here comes Cian.’

  Cian was running at top speed. For a moment Mara worried, but as he came nearer she could see that there was no bad news. Cian’s face was triumphant and smiling.

  ‘You three go on,’ ordered Mara. Cael and Ríanne had stopped and were looking back as the pounding feet sounded behind them. Just as well, she thought, not to betray to Ríanne that plans had been discovered. Ríanne, she thought, as she saw her gaze flirtatiously into Art’s face, was not in the least worried about her lifelong friend, Niall. And surely, even if they had differences, she should be. It looked as though the girl knew quite well what Niall was doing.

  ‘Well,’ she said, as Cian drew up beside her.

  ‘Her pony is there, just eating some oats, nothing different about him, but two of the four panniers were hidden in the rafters of the stable and all of the food is in two of them.’ He spoke in a low voice, but the note of triumph was apparent.

  ‘So it was all well planned,’ mused Mara, ‘but why did Niall take his pony down here. Why bother? Just to save himself a walk of a few minutes? That’s nonsense, isn’t it? Especially if they planned to leave tomorrow, and the theft of the four panniers and of the food seems to point to that, doesn’t it?’ She was now fairly sure that she knew what Niall was up to – it fitted well with thoughts that she had earlier in the day – but now she waited to see whether Cian would think of it.

  ‘Well, he probably has two of the panniers with him since they are not in the stables. Let me think. Why would I take a pony on a very short walk,’ he said aloud. And then, with a quick flash of excitement on his face, he said, ‘I know. I’d take a pony if I had something pretty heavy to carry. And it must be something that would fit in the panniers. You know the size of them, Brehon, don’t you? They are the ones that Brigid fills with food for us if we are out for the day. I think he has gone to fetch something, something hidden.’

  ‘Well done,’ said Mara. ‘That’s very likely. But what? And it must be something heavy, mustn’t it?’

  ‘But not too heavy,’ said Cian lowering his voice. Ríanne had stopped and
looked back, almost as though she hoped to hear what they were talking about. ‘Wouldn’t be a piece of furniture, or anything. You couldn’t get that onto a pony. It has to be pieces of silver, doesn’t it? But where did he get it? Did he steal it from his master? That’s not so likely, is it? Brehon O’Doran had not had time to get the fines that he imposed, so I don’t suppose that he had too much, certainly not enough for Niall to need a pony to carry it.’

  Mara did not answer. Ríanne, Cael and Art were standing on the edge of the cliff peering down and she moved forward to join them. There was an ominous rumbling sound from the fissure in the rocks. Soon a few big waves would erupt through the opening. She looked down over the cliffs, thankful that the wind had dropped somewhat. There were several large, pale-green shapes in the water and she guessed that they marked the entrances to caves. These would flood at high tide, though, and so were of no interest to her at the moment.

  ‘If we go down the path here, at the side, we’ll get onto the limestone flats,’ said Art. ‘It’s not dangerous, Brehon. Cormac and I and my mother often went down there when we were waiting for my father to come back. We used to gather mussels from the rock pools.’

  ‘You lead the way,’ said Mara. She did not look at Ríanne, but hoped that she would not make any signal to Niall, if he was within earshot. I’m tired and hungry and I want this business wrapped up as quickly as possible, she thought impatiently and then turned a puzzled face towards Art. He, too, was listening intently. It was difficult to hear anything above the tumultuous thunder of the waves crashing against the rocks, but then, when she thought she must have been mistaken, she heard it again.

  And it was the voice of a woman.

  And then Mara remembered her earlier thoughts when she had sniffed at the dregs in the mug from which Fergus drank before lapsing into a doze. She put her finger to her lips and started to move rapidly down the half-concealed path that wound through the rocks and down towards the beach.

  ‘Let me go first, Brehon. I know the way.’ Art was just behind her and she stood back to allow him to pass and then followed closely on his heels. She was impatient to solve this part of the mystery and perhaps it might also solve the secret and unlawful killing which she was investigating. She sensed that the others followed her, but they did so in dead silence, the sandy path that Art had chosen masked any sound of footsteps and the roaring of the sea would be in the ears of those further down.

  They had gone about three quarters of the way to the spread of deeply fissured limestone flags when there was an angry shout from below. Not a woman’s tones this time, but a harsh, half-broken voice filled with fury. Mara stopped abruptly. The voice seemed to come almost from beneath her feet. And then she saw why Art had demanded to go first. Beside the path which he had taken, there was a hole, not large, though wide enough to receive a man’s body. These cliffs, made from the limestone that fractured easily under the power of rain and seawater, were probably riddled with holes, none of them quite as spectacular as the blowhole on the cliff, but forming a vertical tunnel to the beach below. Or to a cave. The next words that came: the woman’s lighter tones and the bellowing of the boy, seemed to have a curious echo in them. A cave, of course. They were right above a cave. The voices came up from there. That made sense and it fitted with her earlier thoughts. She was worried, but stayed obediently behind Art he as threaded his way through the protruding rocks.

  A cry rang out once more and then a woman’s figure, low in stature, but squarely built, came out onto the limestone. ‘Gobnait,’ whispered Cael in Mara’s ear and she nodded. The woman was moving rapidly and did not look up. Let her go, thought Mara. I can deal with this later on. The woman, she was not surprised to notice, had two long leather pouches, one in each hand. But then she stopped, took two steps to one side and waited. Her head turned back towards the cave entrance from which she had emerged.

  And then Niall erupted from the cave. He was bleeding heavily from a cut on the right side of his forehead and he lurched like a drunken man, almost catching his boot in one of the long fissures engraved into the flat slabs.

  ‘Gobnait,’ called Mara.

  But it was too late. Before the word reached the woman, she had swung the leather pouch in and hit the boy once again on the head. Niall staggered under the blow. For a moment it looked as though he would regain his balance, but then he staggered in a zig-zag pathway. Gobnait gave him one glance, but then hurried on towards the rapidly flooding beach, a pouch swinging from each hand.

  ‘Niall,’ screamed Ríanne. ‘Niall, take care!’

  The voice startled him. He looked up. Mara could see blood streaming from his forehead, dripping down over his ear. Art still kept threading a careful way through the rocks and she did not urge him to go more quickly. He was the only one who knew that path. But Niall had strayed dangerously near to the edge of the limestone pavement. Gobnait stopped, looked up at the five figures coming down the path and then quickly and neatly dropped the two pouches into a rock pool. Hesitantly, and still sending glances up towards Mara and her companions, she turned and went back towards Niall.

  Whether she meant to help him or not, her movement was disastrous. Niall shrank away from her. He took one step backwards and staggered, his arms flying out in an effort to keep his balance. But it was no good. One foot had caught in the deep-set rut. He wrenched at it, but his movement had been too impetuous, too uncoordinated and he overbalanced and tumbled over the edge of the limestone pavement and hit the sea with a crash that momentarily rose above the noise of the waves.

  ‘It’s all right, Brehon,’ yelled Art. ‘It’s not deep. Cormac and I learned to swim there when …’ The rest of his words were drowned in a terrible scream that came up from Gobnait.

  She had gone straight to the edge of the water and was looking down, her mouth wide open and scream after scream forcing its way out, dulling the sound of the wind and waves. Mara pushed past Art and went swiftly across the deeply lined stone pavement, an inner caution, though registering the information that it was not slippery, warning her to be careful of the deeper ruts, here and there. She had barely reached Gobnait’s side by the time that the woman had hastily pulled off her woollen mantle and her boots.

  ‘Wait,’ shouted Mara, putting all the authority she could into her voice. ‘Wait, Gobnait!’

  But it was no good. Dressed only in a long léine, Gobnait had leaped into the water. There was a swirl of foam and then the creamy froth turned a dark red. There was blood, but for a moment Mara could not see where it came from.

  ‘No, Art, no,’ she shouted with all the command that she could force into her voice. ‘No, no one is to go. Make a rope. Use your mantles.’

  They obeyed her instantly and she leaned over, holding one spur of rock firmly with her right hand and peering down into the turbulent water.

  And then she saw it.

  It was an immense fish – no, not a fish, an eel, she thought, seeing the long sleekly shining body and the gaping mouth – a giant eel, longer than the tallest man, as thick as a man’s body. Its teeth were bared and it turned and twisted.

  ‘It’s a conger,’ shouted Art. ‘Stay very still, Niall. Don’t provoke it.’

  But it wasn’t Niall who was bleeding. It was Gobnait. Her mouth gaped wide and scream after scream came from it. She hit the water frantically with her two arms, but her legs remained very still. All around her there was a pool of blood, darkening the white of her léine and turning the water around her into a dark shade of purple. She was immensely courageous, this Gobnait. She twisted in the water, splashing noisily, trying to keep afloat, but still one leg was held in the grip of the creature’s mouth. Niall had managed to pull himself up onto a rock, but Gobnait was in terrible danger.

  ‘Grab this, Gobnait,’ shouted Art. And Cian gathered up the makeshift rope, scrunching it into a bundle and slung it into the centre of the pool. It unravelled quickly as soon as it hit the sea and straggled out in a long line. Gobnait reached desperately
for it, but a wave swept it from her. She had stopped screaming now and Mara hoped that her body was not shutting down with pain and loss of blood.

  ‘I have to go in, Brehon,’ said Art. Already he had shed his boots. His knife was in his mouth and without a glance at Mara, he dived into the water, his hands stretched out over his head, a sharp clean dive that took him into the centre of the pool. His arrival, amid the crashing of the waves was hardly noticeable. With two powerful strokes, he was at the tail of the enormous beast. Mara stood very still. And neither Cael nor Cian said a word. Ríanne was sobbing helplessly, but that sound seemed to have gone on for a very long time, seemed to form a monotonous sound in the background, just like the incessant roar of the ocean.

  Art seemed to be treading water, his chest and shoulders rising above the sea level, using two hands to stir small circles. The knife was still in his mouth and a ray from the setting sun caught a spark from the blade and illuminated his face. Mara caught her breath. She dare not shout to him to move away. Any retreat now would attract the attention of the beast. Its mouth still gripped Gobnait’s leg. The woman no longer screamed. Was she dropping into a state of unconsciousness? And yet her hands still beat the water and she still floated.

  And then Art struck. There was a quick flash of light and then the knife suddenly slashed across the centre of the beast, right through the spine. There was a spurt of blood. Art seized Gobnait by the hair. For a moment all was confusion, the long black body of the eel convulsed, jerked up and then fell back. Art was swimming strongly now, using his legs and one hand to claw his way towards the rocks. Cian was already there, waiting for him. In a flash he had shed his léine, ripped the linen down with his knife and then handed it to Cael. In a moment, he, too, was in the water and Cael, intuitive to her brother’s unspoken command, was tying knots in the piece of cloth at the same time as moving rapidly down the limestone pavement towards the beach. Mara followed instantly. Cian had now reached Gobnait and had grabbed a fistful of her clothing. He had instantly seen his sister’s move and he also turned to go back out to sea. The twins, both of them working from that almost miraculous communication of minds, had realized that it would be almost impossible to pull the unconscious and badly bleeding woman up the steep slabs of rocks onto the limestone pavement.