Eye of the Law (27 page)

‘So I wondered whether you have a chosen place where the people of the island would meet for judgement day. On the sands, by the harbour, perhaps?’

‘No.’ The word was abrupt and he seemed conscious of that as he immediately rushed into an explanation. ‘These days we normally meet on the courtyard in front of the castle. It’s easier for everyone like that – the noise of the waves can drown voices down there.’

‘Very well.’ Mara nodded graciously. ‘If you can call the people together at noon, at the time of the angelus bells, will that give us enough time for our return journey?’

‘Should do. The wind is going around to the north-west. You’ll make Doolin in three or four hours. You’ll be home before sundown.’

‘Good. Well, if you can arrange the meeting for noon then that will give us enough time for our return journey.’ And give me enough time to meet Becan’s widow tomorrow morning, she added silently to herself.

Brian seemed ill at ease. ‘I must apologise for the poor reception that you received, my lord, and you, Brehon, and your scholars,’ he said after a moment. ‘It just seemed to me . . . well, to be honest, the priest, Father Petrus, felt that we could not have a big party when it followed the funeral of the two men of Aran. I would like to have had some more merriment, but you understand that I had to defer to the priest on this matter.’

‘Yes, of course. No, you could not have done any more. Everything was excellent.’ Turlough was loud in his reassurance.

Mara said nothing. The door had been closed; she had been sure of that, but now there seemed to be quite a draught coming from it. Rapidly she stood up, gathering her cloak about her and pretending to shiver. She crossed the floor and jerked the door by its latch.

‘Ah, Father Petrus,’ she said, ‘were you coming to join us?’

He was very taken aback by this, but he rallied quickly. ‘I just wanted a word with you, Brehon,’ he said. ‘I was puzzled as to why Iarla was not considered to be the son and heir of Ardal O’Lochlainn. Did he give the letter that I wrote to you?’

‘Yes, of course, it was given to Ardal and he showed it to me.’ Mara kept her voice neutral.

Why was the priest so concerned about this matter? she wondered. Was there perhaps some feeling on the island that he should do something to aid the other children of his mother? Was he, perhaps, the one who had suggested Ardal as a father for Iarla? And if so, who was the real father of the boy?

‘Nothing was proved before the unfortunate death of Iarla,’ Mara said. She waited for a moment, eyeing him appraisingly and standing determinedly in the centre of the doorway.

‘Thank you, Brehon,’ he said eventually, and backed away awkwardly.

Mara was up early next morning, but by the time she arrived at the field in front of the castle the woman, Bebhinn, was already in the field, milking the black and white cow. Mara stood for a moment watching her; she had a strong determined face, intelligent, but careworn. She was extremely thin, almost as if there had not been enough food to go around and her large family had taken most of it. The farms on these islands were tiny and since there were no trees and no bogs, much of their produce would have to be bartered for winter fuel from the mainland. And now she was left without a husband and still with young children to care for. Mara made a silent vow that whoever was responsible for the killing of Becan would be forced to pay the rightful fine to this poor woman.

‘I need your help, Bebhinn, if I am to find the man or woman who robbed you of your husband.’ Mara did not waste time with any greetings or expressions of sorrow. The field was tiny and soon others would pass by on their way to milk and tend the cows scattered on the hillside.

Bebhinn gave a last few tugs of the cow’s udder and then straightened her back. There was pitifully little milk in the small wooden cask. She saw Mara look at it and smiled grimly.

‘Enough to flavour the porridge.’ Her voice was harsh and husky, the voice of someone who lived most of her life in the open air among the rains and mists of this offshore island. ‘Ask your questions and I will answer them with the truth, so help me God.’

Mara nodded. ‘Becan came back here after his visit to the Burren. He was here when the news came of the killing of Iarla, your sister’s boy.’

‘That’s right.’ Bebhinn gave a quick nod. She seated herself on one of the great slabs of stone that paved the little field. The wind was cold and she wore no cloak over her
léinte
but she did not shiver or wrap her arms around herself but kept her eyes fixed on Mara.

‘Was he surprised when the news came?’ Mara sat down beside the woman. She wished that she could offer Bebhinn the shelter of her fur-lined cloak, which had enough folds to wrap around both women, but the unyielding pride in the face beside her made her hesitate to make the offer.

‘No, he wasn’t.’ Mara allowed a silence to hang after this short sentence until the woman reluctantly added, ‘He was angry.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He said that he should have stayed.’

‘And what did you say to that?’

‘I told him that he shouldn’t have meddled in the first place. I knew that nothing would come of the plan. Why did he have to involve himself? It was nothing to us. We would get nothing by it – he was a selfish boy, Iarla. Étain spoiled him. She always treated him as if he were something special.’

‘So why do you think Becan did come over with Iarla? I must say that I thought at the time,’ said Mara with a show of frankness, ‘that it was surprising that Becan came to support Iarla. After all, his support was enough to declare to the people of Aran and of the Burren that he knew his own brother to be a cuckold.’

Bebhinn considered this while a contemptuous smile twisted her lips. ‘Not surprising at all if you had known Étain. She could always get any man to do what she wanted.’

‘From the parish priest down,’ commented Mara.

Bebhinn gave her a grudging smile. ‘So you’ve picked that up,’ she commented. She looked curious, but Mara had no time to waste. Already the smoke was rising from cottage chimneys, doors were slammed and commands shouted. They would have little more private time together.

‘So your husband wanted to put Étain’s mind at rest by making provision for her son. Was he the one that thought of Ardal O’Lochlainn, the O’Lochlainn
taoiseach
?’

‘He and the priest together. They cooked it up between them and put it to her.’ Bebhinn’s voice held a note of distaste.

‘And Étain went along with it?’

‘She didn’t care as long as Iarla was cared for. She would tell any lie if it benefited Iarla. There was nothing here for him. The blacksmith’s business was hardly enough for one and Iarla had no boat. All he could do was help when an extra man was needed and that was not often.’

‘But of course she and you knew that Ardal O’Lochlainn was not the man who had fathered Iarla.’ Mara’s voice was so confident that Bebhinn, after a startled glance, did not contradict her. In fact, Mara thought she could discern a slight nod of the woman’s head. ‘Would you tell me the name of the man who actually was the father?’ she continued.

Bebhinn met her eyes. There was a troubled look on her careworn face. ‘I can’t do that, Brehon. I swore on the gospel to Étain when she was on her deathbed, I swore to keep her secret. Ask me anything else you like, but I can’t give you that name.’

Mara thought for a moment. There was a deep note of sincerity in the woman’s voice. There was no doubt that she would keep the secrets of her dead sister so any further questions on this would not be useful. A statement, however, might work.

‘I suppose Becan thought that Iarla had been murdered by the man that had fathered him.’ Mara kept her eyes fixed on Bebhinn’s face and did not miss the quick flash from those grey eyes. She said nothing, however, so Mara continued: ‘Anything that you can tell me will help in finding the murderer of your husband and of your nephew.’ Then she waited watching the struggle that took place in the woman’s face.

‘I think that you will find the man that did the deed, both deeds, Brehon,’ Bebhinn said eventually. ‘You’re a great woman to make a good guess,’ she added casually, rising to her feet.

Mara rose too. ‘The
éraic
will be forty-five cows if I do find the man or the woman,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘I will be announcing that at the meeting outside the castle at noon, but I want you to know the position now.’

A tide of red colour poured across the woman’s face. It started at her forehead, engulfed her cheeks, and then swept down over her neck. She looked up at the tiny fields on the hillside, almost as if she could imagine them peopled by that vast amount of cows. And then she looked down at her own careworn hands – the hands of an old woman with their broken thickened nails, distorted fingers and calloused palms. Then her glance went up into the grey sky where the clouds were beginning to gather over the sea. It was almost as if she had linked for a moment with the heaven that was supposed to lie above those clouds where she hoped that her sister had found a resting place. The light went abruptly from her eyes and the colour died out of her face, leaving it an ugly grey.

‘I can’t do it, Brehon,’ she said hoarsely, and for the first time on that chilly morning she shivered. ‘I can’t do it,’ she repeated. ‘I can’t break my sacred oath.’

‘Don’t worry, Bebhinn.’ Mara smiled serenely. ‘I won’t ask you to endanger your immortal soul.’

Étain, she thought, had shown more courage.

Fourteen

‘
A
nyone arrive while I was away, Brigid?’ The question was a perfunctory one. After the sea journey across from Aran and the jolting ride home from Doolin, Mara was ready for her bed. It was very unlikely that anyone would have visited the law school; news travelled fast around the small kingdom of the Burren; everyone would know of her journey.

‘Well . . .’ Mara had been on her way out of the kitchen when an uncertain note in Brigid’s voice had made her turn. She said nothing, just waited, an inquiring look on her face. Turlough had gone back to Thomond with his men-at-arms so she had decided to have an early night. However, she had the time to spare to allow Brigid to unburden herself.

‘Well, I was going to tell you tomorrow morning. I didn’t want to be bothering you tonight.’ Brigid’s face bore a look of annoyance, almost of anger.

‘Tell me tonight or I’ll be wondering.’ Mara’s voice was light-hearted.

Brigid was a great worrier about things. This, doubtless, would prove to be something small – a careless word spoken, something that she and Cumhal might regard as threatening the dignity of the Brehon’s office. Or perhaps some problem in the neighbourhood that would require a legal decision.

‘It’s just that Seán . . .’ began Brigid.

Mara went back into the kitchen and sat on a stool to drink her milk. Her housekeeper didn’t often complain to her about household matters and if the problem about Seán was as serious as it seemed from the angry look on Brigid’s face, then Mara would give her full attention.

‘You see,’ said Brigid guiltily, ‘with you and the lads away for a couple of days I thought I would go over and see my cousin in Kinvarra.’

‘Good idea,’ said Mara heartily. Brigid took very few hours for herself out of the whole year.

‘Well, while I was away, and Cumhal was out seeing to a cow calving, that Caireen turned up with her eldest son.’

Mara had only been half listening; her mind was running on a conversation in Aran; as usual, she was well able to pay outward attention to Brigid while thinking her own thoughts. Now, however, she put down the milk and looked startled.

‘Caireen!’ she exclaimed. ‘But she must have known that I was away. Malachy would have told her; after all we took Nuala with us.’

‘Oh, she knew you were away all right.’ Brigid’s voice was rough with anger. Brigid was whole-hearted in everything. She adored Nuala and therefore she detested Caireen who was threatening the child’s happiness.

‘So?’ Mara spoke the word softly, giving Brigid her full attention. There would be more to come; she knew that. But what was Seán’s part in all of this?

‘So what does my brave Seán do but put the two of them into the schoolhouse to wait. To wait!’ Brigid’s voice rose to a note of pure fury. ‘To wait for what? I asked him that. The
amadán
! What did he think they were going to wait for? You had only gone an hour! Did he think that you were a sea eagle and that you would fly over to Aran and be back before dinner.’

‘Never mind, Brigid.’ Mara’s voice was soothing. ‘I don’t suppose they stayed long.’

‘They stayed long enough. And that’s not the worst of it.’ Brigid’s pale, freckled face turned red with shame. ‘I can hardly bring myself to tell you this, Brehon, but when Cumhal came back from the calving and he was out there in the yard, washing his hands under the pump, he saw them in there. And he saw what they were up to. He rushed over to the door. And then in comes Seán, puffing and panting, he was, the way he is when he’s pretending to do some work. “Oh, Cumhal,” he says –’ Brigid lifted her voice into a strange falsetto that yet had an uncanny resemblance to Seán’s rather moronic tones – ‘“Oh, Cumhal, I’ve been all the way up to the Moher, and back, looking for you to tell you that the Brehon has visitors.”’